Page 31 of A Tryst By the Sea
Well, Gill could still be loyal to his wife. He owed her that much and more.
He bowed to the image of his bride, then took himself down to the formal parlor at a dignified, businesslike pace. When he opened the door, he caught Bella stuffing a tea cake into her mouth and Mama reaching for the plate of sandwiches.
Gill had left the door open and had left MacMillan at the ready in the corridor.
“All I want to know,” he said, “is which one of you stole the letters?”
Mama and Bella traded a look thieves exchanged when the constable came upon them dividing up their loot.
“Summerton, how dare you greet us in all your dirt?” Mama began. “Where have you been, by the way? A thoughtful man leaves word of his whereabouts when others are depending upon him, and we have been worried—”
“Which one of you stole my letters to Penelope and hers to me? You either give me the truth now, or the pair of you will never set foot in London again. You will not be received, the shops will not accept your custom, you will be as ignored as if you were in deepest, perpetual mourning.”
Which was exactly what they deserved—nine years of it, without respite or comfort.
Bella chewed with the dispatch of a rodent before launching her volley. “Summerton, have you taken a fall from your horse? I tear myself away from my children and husband and travel all the way from Lychmont to ensure Penelope is not overwhelmed by the duties that come with the Season, and you strut in here making wild accusations. One worries for your sanity.”
“One does,” Mama added. “But then, you always were a difficult boy.”
“While you, my lady,” he retorted, “are insufferable.”
The old Gill, the Gill who’d kept the peace and remained above the affray, would have turned her insult into a joke, or announced a pressing appointment at the club.
The Gill who’d been advised to be ruthless had more to say. “The pair of you are no longer welcome in this house. I don’t care which of you took those letters. You have both overstepped often enough, with me and with Penelope, that you are to pack your things and leave. You will be gone in the next hour and can make the twenty miles to Lychmont easily before nightfall. I would bid you good day, except you don’t deserve a good day. You deserve nine years of despair and bewilderment and misery, and I hope they befall you starting now.”
He spun on his heel and was halfway to the door before Mama spoke.
“I never tampered with any letters from Penelope, Summerton. You insult me to suggest as much.”
Gill studied his mother, whose righteous bearing would make the queen look like a trembling lackey by comparison. Mama was prevaricating or bluffing. She wasn’tquitelying.
“I never tampered with any letters from you, Summerton,” Bella added, though like Mama, her declaration carried an undertone of bravado. “You never wrote to Penelope, as far as I knew. Too busy, I told her. Taking over a title and dealing with a house of mourning aren’t the work of a moment. She eventually understood.”
The truth snapped into Gill’s awareness as Mama and Bella exchanged another one of those caught-red-handed looks.
“I never saw a single letter from Penelope arrive at the Hall,” Mama said. “Why should you be writing daily to a wife who could not bother to write to you and at such a time? A better son would appreciate my efforts to look after his wellbeing.”
Gill wanted to upend the tea tray, smash the mirror over the sideboard, and toss both Mama and Bella into the garden.
“Bella withheld Penelope’s letters from the post here in Town,” he said, “while you, Mama, made sure my letters to my wife never left the Hall. You saw an opportunity to tear me and Penelope apart, to weaken a marriage that was off to a roaring fine start. Both of you committed enormous harm to a young couple who needed your support and compassion.” Who had needed each other, desperately.
In that moment, Gill hated his mother and hated his sister-in-law. He loathed their stupid, venal, selfish schemes. Their small-minded fixation on bonnets and cabriolets and spending money they had not earned. Penelope spent her pin money on orphanages and soup kitchens. Bella and Mama were parasites.
“I was protecting Penelope,” Bella said, her voice for once lacking confidence. “Nary a word from you, and her still recovering from childbed. I had no idea Mama-in-Law was drawing a similar conclusion at the Hall. We meant well, Summerton. You must believe that.”
“And I could not possibly realize that Bella had taken it upon herself to meddle,” Mama said, a touch of her usual asperity returning. “Very forward of you, Bella, to presume to that extent. Had you not been so—”
“Mama-in-Law, you are not thinking clearly. Surely had you allowed even one letter to leave the Hall… but no. As always, you fail to consult me, when my judgment—”
“Hush.” Gill spoke sharply and softly. “Where are the letters? If you have destroyed them, be assured I will destroy you both. I will look after the children, but the two of you will be consigned to a cottage on some sheep farm in the Outer Hebrides.”
A fraught silence took hold, though Gill was no longer being ruthless. He was simply being honest.
Perhaps Mama grasped the depths of his ire, because some of the righteous conviction left her posture. “The letters are at the Hall,” she said. “When Bella and I realized what had happened, we meant to attribute the situation to a problem with the post, to have the correspondence found without explanation, something. But the opportunity did not arise.”
“It has been years, Summerton,” Bella said, shoving to her feet. “What can a lot of old drivel mean now? You and Penelope lead separate lives,there have been no children, and Tommie and I are resigned to stepping into the title when the time comes. Do you think it’s easy, being brought to bed with a child every eighteen months? Watching yourself lose any semblance of a figure and any will to maintain one? My days are full of feuding nurserymaids, and my nights are an inescapable exercise in duty. I almost wish… but no matter. I am a loyal wife. I know my duty.”
She smiled at Gill, as if trying to will him to accede to her version of events. “You have nothing to worry about, Summerton, and nothing to be upset about.”
