Phaedra bowed her head, silently giving assent to Gilly's proposal, all the while struggling with her own despair and fear. Seven years ago, Ewan's vile father Lord Carleton had begun the destruction of the Lethington family. She prayed with all her heart she would not be the one who finished it.
Chapter Seventeen
The cottage stood alone, far removed from the other buildings that nestled together in the small village of Hampstead. A thick blanket of ivy crept up the walls, all but obscuring the whitewashed stone, giving the isolated structure the appearance of some outcast seeking to hide misery and shame beneath a heavy veil.
The house appeared deserted in the gathering dusk, the mullioned windows glinting like dark, unwelcoming eyes. Drawing deeper into the folds of her cloak, Phaedra shrank closer to Gilly. The soles of her feet felt worn to the bone after so long a day. They had slipped from the Heath at dawn's first light, and now it was evening. She had taken great care to avoid Armande, knowing one glimpse of her eyes would reveal to him that she was once more working against him.
She had carried away with her a burden of guilt, weighting her heart with the despairing reluctance of a woman being dragged to the dock to bear witness against her own lover. Trudging along in Gilly's wake, she had listened while he made inquiries about Jason Lethington, starting at the trinket shop in Oxford Street where Phaedra had spied the candlesticks fashioned by Julianna and had first heard the Lethingtons' tragic story. The little shopkeeper had been as eager as ever to sell Phaedra something "wonderful charming." Although disappointed to discover that information was all she and Gilly wanted, the merchant had willingly obliged. He had furnished them with the address at which the Lethington manufactory had once stood.
Traveling to that part of London, she and Gilly had discovered the Lethington shop taken over by a confectioner; the chambers where Julianna had once done her designing were now occupied by the confectioner's burgeoning family. None of these good folk had ever heard of Lethingtons nor showed the slightest interest in their fate. Phaedra had been more than willing to abandon the search at that point, but Gilly had insisted on making enquiries amongst the neighboring shops. They had at last discovered a milliner who was able to help them.
Aye, indeed, she did remember the Lethingtons, the elderly woman had said with a sigh. Such a tragedy. No, she had no idea what had become of Mrs. Lethington or Jason after James's execution, but she recommended that Phaedra and Gilly visit Hampstead. An old doctor lived there who had been a close friend of the family, having none of his own. If anyone knew where Jason Lethington might be found, it would surely be Dr. Glencoe.
Thus their weary search had brought them at last to the outskirts of Hampstead by this lonely dwelling place. But as Phaedra studied the cottage's heavy oak door and gloom-enshrouded walls, she shook her head.
"Gilly, this cannot be the right place." She glanced anxiously up at her cousin. Gilly's mouth was pulled down at the corners with weariness.
"It has to be, Fae. The vicar was most specific in his directions."
Aye, she thought, when the impatient young man had been able to spare them a few moments from his Bible and quill pen. Upon entering Hampstead, they had stopped at the vicarage as the most likely place to gain directions to Dr. Glencoe's dwelling. Although the clergyman had made quite clear his opinion of being disturbed by visitors in the midst of his sermon-writing, he had, in the end, grudgingly pointed out the way.
But despite the irritated vicar's information, Phaedra continued to look askance at the cottage. As Gilly took her by the elbow, steering her forward, she attempted to hang back.
"I cannot believe anyone lives here," she said. "Not even an elderly doctor. The cottage looks utterly abandoned."
But as if to belie her words, a shadowy figure moved behind one of the curtains and set a candle in the window. Phaedra had to swallow her objections and continue on. The light provided no welcoming beacon but only added to the house's aura of melancholy.
With each step she took, the more of an interloper she felt.
When Gilly raised his fist to knock, she made one last effort to stay his hand.
"Gilly, I am so tired. Maybe we could come back tomorrow. The doctor is likely to be at his supper and as displeased as the vicar was to have strangers come calling."
Gilly's arm encircled her shoulders. “I am weary as you, Fae. But this is the first good information we've had all day. If Dr. Glencoe was such an intimate friend of the Lethington family, he will be the one most likely to have the proof we seek to link Armande with Jason Lethington."
The proof she was seeking, yet hoping not to find. No more questions, she had promised Armande, that magic sunlit day by the pond, wanting him both to love and trust her. But it was a promise she had already betrayed past all hope of forgiveness.
She made no further demur, allowing Gilly to hammer upon the oak portal. "What are we going to say to this doctor?" she asked, fidgeting nervously with the clasp of her cloak.
"You just leave that to me," Gilly said.
The door inched open, allowing a streak of light to escape. She caught a glimpse of gray curls tumbled from beneath a lacy cap, but no more gray than the eyes that peered out at them.
"What do you want?" a brusque feminine voice inquired. Gilly flashed his most ingratiating smile, but Phaedra doubted the woman could see much of it in the growing darkness. "We wish to see the doctor, my good woman."
The oak barrier shifted enough to permit a hand to emerge holding an oil lamp. The woman directed the glow toward them. Phaedra flung back her hood and shifted her cloak so that the woman might better remark the quality of her garments and be assured she and Gilly were not some wandering vagrants.
The woman asked, "The young lady is ill, then?"
Aye, Phaedra nearly assented, but her sickness was of the heart, well past any doctor's curing. She kept silent, leaving it to Gilly to reply.
"No, neither of us requires medical services. It is a matter of some personal interest we wish to consult the doctor upon."
"I'm sorry. Dr. Glencoe doesnt receive callers-not at this hour. He retires early because his sleep is far too oft disturbed. Good evening to you."
With that the woman prepared to shut the door, but Gilly's arm shot forward, blocking the movement. "Wait. Please. I am sure he will see us. Just show him these."
Before Phaedra could protest, Gilly had shoved the parcel containing the precious figurines through the narrow opening. There was a pause, then the crackling of paper told her that the woman had seized the package.
The door slammed shut.
"Gilly ..." Phaedra began, uneasily.
"She'll be back."
Phaedra was not sure she shared her cousin's confidence. Long moments passed, leaving her to shift wearily from foot to foot. She was about to instruct Gilly to knock again, when the door swung open wide.
The gray-haired individual bobbed her lace cap. The wariness in her eyes had been replaced by curiosity. But all she said was, "Come this way."
Gilly was forced to duck his head as they passed through the doorway. The woman led them through a chamber which was obviously where the doctor operated on his patients. Phaedra averted her eyes from the collection of sharp surgical implements laid out in orderly fashion upon an oak table.
The woman flung open the door to a tiny parlor, indicating with a jerk of her head that they should step inside.
"Doctor will be with you directly." With an abruptness that seemed quite natural for her, she left them alone.
Huddling close to Gilly, Phaedra glanced about her. The parlor once might have been bright and cozy, but now everything about the room spoke of faded memory, like flowers, brittle with age, pressed between the leaves of a book. The velvet settee shone bare in some spots, and the matte of the carpet was worn. The veneer on the mahogany sideboard and cabinet was no longer glossy, but dull and scarred.
Shut behind the cabinet's glass doors, Phaedra glimpsed rows and rows of leather vo
lumes. She stepped closer to scan the titles. Intermingled with heavy tomes of medicine and science, the more slender books of novels and poems appeared almost dwarfed. When she saw Gulliver's Travels amongst them, her breath caught in her throat. Her heart aching, she wondered if it was here then, in the house of this old friend, that Armande had first begun his own "voyage on the sea of dreams." She lowered her eyes, feeling like an intruder trampling into regions of Armande's heart where she had not been invited to enter.
She felt Gilly tap her shoulder, silently directing her attention to the lower shelf of the cabinet. Somehow it did not astonish her to see the shelf crammed with china. Whimsical medieval chessmen of black basalt jostled for space with vases sporting frolicking cherubs and lambs. So different from the shepherd and shepherdess, yet Phaedra could still detect the delicate artistry of Julianna Lethington. All but hidden behind the chess pieces were other oval disks of china with profiles painted upon them.
She froze, realizing what they were in the same moment that Gilly muttered, "Miniature portraits. That might be exactly what we're looking for."
"No. Don't," she said as he hunkered down, preparing to reach inside the cabinet. She feared at any moment he would draw forth a likeness of Armande, the undeniable proof of his identity as Jason Lethington.
But before he could do so, the parlor door opened behind them. Gilly straightened abruptly, both of them whirling at the same time to face the old man shuffling into the room, a chintz dressing gown swathed about his spare frame, his feet clad in blue morocco mules. The skin over his cheekbones was parchment-thin, and his cheeks were sunken and hollow. Indeed, the man appeared more in need of a physician than likely to be one himself. And yet his face bore marks of a gentle dignity.
"Dr. Adam Glencoe'?" Gilly asked hesitantly.
The doctor nodded, the porcelain shepherd and shepherdess clutched in his gaunt hands. He regarded Phaedra and her cousin as though they were resurrection men, bringing him a corpse fresh from a violated grave.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," the doctor said, the faintest trace of a Scottish burr in his voice. "I don't wish to give offense. But if I have ever met you or this young lady, my memory-"
"No, sir," Gilly interrupted hastily. "Permit me to introduce myself. Patrick Gilhooley Fitzhurst at your service, and this-this is my sister Phaedra Fitzhurst. "
Although surprised by Gilly's words, Phaedra was quick to conceal her startled expression, realizing her cousin's reason for the lie. The name of Grantham would not be a welcome one to any friend of the Lethington family.
The doctor could scarce have looked less welcoming than he did at this moment. He invited them to be seated, although he made no move to do so himself. She and Gilly perched uncomfortably on the edge of the threadbare settee.
Gilly cleared his throat. "'Tis that sorry we are to be intruding upon your rest, Doctor. But we drove all the way out from the city to ask you a question regarding those figurines."
At the mention of the statues, Dr. Glencoe set both the shepherd and shepherdess down upon the tea table with great care, almost as though loath to release them.
"Aye, the figurines," he repeated. "Might I ask you first how you came by them?"
Before beginning to speak, Gilly shot Phaedra a sidewise glance as though warning her not to contradict him. "Our grandda is a magistrate. Recently he tried the case of a thief who had been hoarding a great deal of stolen merchandise. Most of it was of little value, but these pieces of china were so exquisite, we wanted to see them restored to their rightful owners. My sister made inquiries amongst the china merchants; where she was told the artist had been Julianna Lethington."
Here Gilly paused to give Phaedra's hand a squeeze. "Being the tenderhearted soul that she is, my sister was much moved by the tale of the tragic deaths of Julianna and her brother James, and wanted to return the figurines to some member of the Lethington family."
The full weight of the doctor's scrutiny now fell upon Phaedra. She blushed, made uncomfortable by Gilly's deception. But the old man seemed to read something in her eyes which caused his own expression to soften.
"We were told," Gilly continued, "that you were an intimate friend of the Lethingtons-"
"Aye, so I was," the doctor interrupted. "Maida-that is, Mrs. Lethington, and her children visited me often enough they might well have been my own family."
"Then surely you could tell us where we could locate-"
Dr. Glencoe shook his head, cutting Gilly off again. "I am afraid that is impossible." He sighed and looked at Phaedra. She noticed that his eyes were a deep brown and rather kindly, although the age-carved lines in the flesh beneath made him look very tired.
"It is a most generous impulse on your part, Miss Fitzhurst," he said. "But I fear there are no more Lethingtons to receive your gift."
"But-but," Phaedra said, speaking up for the first time since entering the cottage. "I understood that the mother, and the younger brother, Jason, yet lived."
"Aye, I pray that the lad does still live, but not in these parts. He and Maida set sail for Canada many years ago." The doctor bowed his head for a moment, shading his eyes with his hand. “I’ve heard only once from the boy. He wrote to inform me that his mother had not survived the crossing."
It was obvious that their questions were stirring long-buried griefs inside the old man, and Phaedra hated doing so. She exchanged a wretched glance with Gilly and sensed he was thinking the same thing. But Canada had been the destination of the real Armande de LeCroix, a fact far too strange to be merely coincidence.
"And Jason never wrote you again?" Gilly asked the doctor.
"No, nary another word."
"Sure and that's too bad," Gilly said. "I fear my sister will be disappointed, having worked out all sorts of romantic imaginings. We had heard naught but praise of how handsome this Jason is." He added with seeming casualness, "Dark hair and striking blue eyes, isn't that what they said, Phaedra?"
Phaedra nodded, realizing what Gilly was hinting at. She prayed that the doctor would tell her that Jason was short and blond, but her hopes were dashed when he confirmed, "All the Lethingtons were dark-haired. Though I would have to say Jason was not as handsome as our poor Jamey was."
The old man seemed to unbend completely. He sank down in an armchair opposite them, his eyes misting over as he stared at the figurines. "I daresay you think me a doddering old fool to hear me talk as though they had been my own sons. But for a brief time after their father died, they might have been."
"You helped Maida Lethington look after her fatherless little ones, did you?" Gilly asked.
A wry smile tipped the doctor's lips. "Fatherless mayhap, but scarcely little. When Daniel Lethington was carried off by the fever, James was grown to manhood, and Jason nearly so. And Miss Julianna, she was nigh a lady. But Daniel asked me on his deathbed, as his oldest friend, to look out for his family- especially James, who was a bit much for his mother."
The doctor's shoulders sagged. "He was a restless young man, of such dark moods and with such a quick temper. I never understood him. I very much fear that Jason was my favorite. He was a quiet lad who shared my own fondness for books.
"James was ever hankering after adventure, longing to set sail upon the first ship that came to port." The doctor shook his head, as though still mystified by James's vagaries after all these years. "He never was content to be working at the china shop. Daniel finally gave up trying to make a merchant of him and sent the boy up to Oxford."
"Oxford?" Gilly echoed. "That's a bit unusual for a chinamaker's son."
Glencoe shrugged. "Oh, Daniel had the money. And the lad was certainly clever enough."
Phaedra stirred restlessly in her seat, recalling Lord Arthur Danby's drunken insistence that he remembered Armande from their university days. Reluctantly, she asked, "And Jason- did his father send him there, too?"
"No, but he frequently visited his brother." Dr. Glencoe's cheeks puffed with indignation. "I never approve
d. Oxford is the perfect place for young men to learn the finer points of drinking, gaming, and wenching. James was already wild enough. I didn't like the notion of young Jason being dragged into bad company the likes of Arthur Danby and Lord Ewan Grantham."
Phaedra faltered. "Then-then that's how Ewan-I mean Lord Grantham became acquainted with Julianna. Through her brothers.”
"No, at least not then. That unfortunate introduction came later, after their father was dead." Glencoe's eyes darkened at the memory. "James was forced to take on the responsibility of the shop and as head of the family. A very poor job he made of it, too. I frequently tried to warn Maida that the lad was not suited to such duties, but she looked upon James with all a mother's indulgence and saw none of his faults."
The elderly doctor relented somewhat, saying grudgingly, "I suppose James tried, but he had no head for business, and the shop began to fail. He was trying to collect on some bad debts when his path crossed with Grantham's again."
"Then James thought to clap up a match between his old friend and his sister, did he?" Gilly filled in. He had been squirming for some time, clearly growing impatient for the doctor to reach the significant part of the story.
But Glencoe looked deeply offended by Gilly's suggestion. "No, indeed. James had more regard for his sister than to wish to see her wed to a rascally jackanapes like Lord Ewan. And if you add to that the fact that Ewan's father, Lord Carleton, was the most depraved creature living, I believe James would have locked his sister up before seeing her marry into such a family."
"But I had heard Julianna and Lord Ewan were in love," Phaedra said.
"Love." The doctor snorted. "Infatuation more like-a most tragic infatuation as matters went. For you see, Carleton Grantham was also against the match and he-"
The doctor broke off, a quiver of pain running along his withered jaw. A murmur of pity rose to Phaedra's lips. She was about to assure the old man he needn't say any more, when he continued, the memory seeming fairly wrung from him.