Lydia Hoyt-Moore stifled a sigh and fanned herself with the program from her friend's musical. Lawd, how I hate these insipid gatherings, she thought to herself, and adjusted her skirts. She smiled over at Dowager Meredith Rawlings, the matriarch of those putting on this dispicable show.
Meredith was looking at her expectantly, and Lydia realized she was supposed to react to something the dowager had said. "I'm sorry, Lady, it's a trifle stuffy in here, and I'm afraid I missed that."
The dowager patted Lydia's hand, and smiled. A bit too much for it to be genuine. "Oh, my dear, it's perfectly all right. We all have those moments at one time or another." She puffed up importantly, and leaned in as if what was about to be said was quite for Lydia's ears only. "I've found out my husband's secrets!"
Lydia leaned back, a slight look of surprise on her pretty face. "But ... Dowager .... Hasn't Lord Rawlings been dead nigh on six years now?" She frowned slightly. and pushed back a long streak of silver-laced black hair, nearly dropping her reticule on the floor.
The old crone's finally gone batty enough to believe she can see the dead! Won't Lucinda and Olivia love this tantalising bit of gossip!
The fan moved a bit closer, a tad faster now, gently rolling Lydia's dark curls back and forth.
Meredith waved a hand, clucking her tongue against her teeth. "Pish-posh, my dear girl, that makes no point at all!" She laugh shrilly and Lydia fought turning red.
Everyone in this room now knows that I've said something absurd ... Which, of course, I haven't!
"My dear Lord Rawlings, beloved Lloyd, spoke to me through a medium!"
Oh, lawd ... Not a medium! The old dowager has lost her wits ... Mediums are nothing but conniving little twits with nothing better to do than lie to desperate old women.
Lydia twitched her skirts, and began preparing her excuses to take her leave.
"Mmhmm, that Lloyd was a sneaky one!" Meredith said firmly. "And I now have proof that he was out catting around on me!"
One moment ... I smell a nice nibble here ...
"Yes, yes, I knew. All those years, I knew. He could have told me the truth, but chose to not-so-carefully sneak around with those little whores of his."
Not only demented, but a guttermouth as well!
"He has, Good Lord forgive me, bastards by these whores! Four by-blows! Can you imagine!"
I can, indeed. Mine has two... I knew when I didn't get with child in the first two years ... Ah, but that is neither here nor there. Back to the Dotty Dowager.
Lydia clucked her tongue, and patted the woman's hand. "So, what else did you find out?"
"Find out! Find out! As if discovering my dear, departed husband has fathered children with those ... those .... women ... Isn't that enough? The medium, speaking to my husband, gave me the names of these women, and where to find the proof of his little 'indiscretions' as Lloyd put them."
This pulled Lydia up short ... Real proof, hidden in the house? And never visited by this medium? She fidgeted with her reticule, thinking about her recent problems at the house.
I have grown low on money. And that damnable Andrew never denied hiding some of the money he got from his little ventures.
"So it was true, then?" Lydia pressed lightly. "And this man .. this medium, was correct in what he told you - What he got from your husband?" At Meredith's quick nod, Lydia leaned in closely, so as not to be overheard. "Would he by any chance be free to speak to mine?"
The dowager's eyes popped open wide. "My dear girl ... You think Andrew catted around on you?"
Oh, for Heaven's sake ...
"No, no, Dowager." Lydia shok her head. "I just miss him so ... Maybe this medium of yours could contact my darling Andrew for a time. It's not been a year, and we were married for twenty years ..."
There! Yes, dab at the corner of your eye, she'll fall for that! The old woman was always one to fall for tears.
"Oh, Lydia!" The older woman whipped out a hankerchief of her own, and dabbed at her own face. "I'll tell you what, two o'clock tomorrow, clear your appointments, I'll give him your card, and have him come over for an appointment."
* * * * * * *
The bell sounded, and Zechariah, the Hoyt-Moore's butler for more than fifteen years now, strode to answer it. He blinked slowly at the man on the steps. "Can I help you sir?" and moved himself to block his entry if uninvited.
The man fished in his front pocket, and withdrew a very slightly crumpled card. "Yes, yes, you can, my good man! I've an appointment with the Lady of the house ... Lady Lydia Hoyt-Moore is in, I was told." He smoothed back his unruly black hair, and his green eyes moved over Zechariah. His smile was slow and charming, even to the fellows, and he adjusted his black cravat with one hand as he motioned toward the house.
"Ah, the Lady's two o'clock, I presume?" Zechariah moved aside a bit reluctantly. He didn't like the look of this man. "Do come in, and I'll show you to the library, and alert the Lady to your arrival." He moved stiffly down the hall, and swung open the double doors, and told the man to make himself comfortable.
An overlong seteé was pushed against a wall decorated with paintings of the former Lords, one of the recently departed Andrew Hoyt-Moore hung over the fire place. The room was bright with sunlight, and the man took a seat in a chair near a table, and Zechariah left to fetch the Lady.
The medium, a one Jeremiah Dunn, looked around the room and walked over to the fire place, sitting down in one of the chairs that sat on either side of the man-size opening, and stuck his legs out, crossing them at the ankle.
His keen ears picked up the sound of swishing skirts, and the Lady of the house strolled in.
My, he's a handsome devil ... Far too handsome, really.
Jeremiah noticed how she straightened her skirts, and his eyes tarried on the heavy expanse of bosom that the low-cut rose dress offered. He moved, and stood to bow, kiss her hand.
"Would you like me to contact him now, Lady?" Jeremiah smiled again, taking a seat after the Lady made herself more comfortable on the chair across from him.
"And you are so sure the person I wish to make contact with is a he, Mister Dunn?"
What an affront! For all he knows, I'm contacting the spirit of my dear, recently departed mother, or wanting grief to be laid to rest at the passing of a child.
Lydia said bluntly, whipping her fan from her reticule and snapping it open in one smooth move.
"Well, Lady Hoyt-Moore, it is just a lucky guess, I imagine." He looked up and smiled into her eyes, and she appeared to melt at the straight, emerald gaze as so many women before her had. "It could be your mother, or an aunt, even a child." His eyes romed over her more freely, taking in the black assesories she wore; the reticule, the fan, the band tied about her wrist, even the roses in her hair. "You are wearing a lot of black, and so much black is generally accredited to the loss of one's spouse."
What an astute observation.
The fan moved a bit faster.
And delivered by such a confounding cad!
She smothered a soft chuckle and looked to the medium. "I do wish to contact my departed husband, Mister Dunn." She sighed softly, and lowered the black silk, leaving him an unobstructed view of her rosy flesh. "You see, he and I were quite close, and married for nearly twenty years ... It - it's just been so hard since he passed ... " She faltered, and let the words hang, not wanting to overplay the part of the bereaved widow.
I honestly didn't give a care of the rat hung, so long as he left me alone, and paid my allowances each month.
