Lady Rights a Wrong Read online

  And he was the nephew of a viscount, and everyone seemed sure he would make a bishop one day. Not a ducal match, maybe, but very suitable, and Jane was right—it would give Cecilia a job to do. An important one, if she made it so. And if she could love Philip Brown.

  Thinking about it all gave her a headache. Cecilia shook it away and glanced over at the Prices again. They chose not to be married, or at least Cora and Anne went their own ways. Anne was a lawyer, or had studied to be one, and Cora was Union secretary. And Mrs. Price hadn’t lived with Mr. Price for some time, though Cecilia wondered why.

  The doors at the end of the aisle opened, letting in a swirl of leaves on the breeze along with a low murmur of disapproval. No one ever came late to St. Swithin’s. Cecilia peeked over her shoulder to see the Winters slipping into the back pew. Mr. Winter wore a black overcoat with a glossy fur collar, his bowler hat in hand, his hair patent-leather smooth with fashionable pomade. Mary wore a purple-and-white-striped suit, an ermine stole over her shoulders, a purple feathered hat balanced on her head. She held her husband’s arm but didn’t look up at him.

  Anne Price frowned, but Amelia went on serenely smiling at the altar.

  Cecilia’s mother nudged her, and Cecilia snapped her attention back to Mr. Brown. Luckily, the rest of the service proceeded as usual, and Cecilia was able to find Amelia in the churchyard afterward, chatting with the curate. Cecilia’s parents, along with Patrick, Annabel, and Jane, waited at the lych-gate for her, but she dared take a few minutes to speak to the Prices. The Winters had vanished again.

  “Lady Cecilia, how nice to see you again,” Amelia said with one of her charming smiles, as if her errant daughter and son-in-law hadn’t even cast their small shadow on the day. “I do hope you’ll come to tea this afternoon. I can show you my bicycle.”

  “I would certainly enjoy that, Mrs. Price,” Cecilia answered. “I must have luncheon at my grandmother’s house, but I can stop by Primrose Cottage after.”

  “We shall look forward to it, then.”

  “Cecilia, darling, won’t you introduce me to your new friends?” she heard her mother say, in her most frighteningly cheerful “social” voice.

  Cecilia turned to see Lady Avebury and Annabel standing nearby. They looked elegant and perfect in the shade of the old oak trees, their pastel gowns and furs shimmering, their faces framed in lacy hats. “Of course, Mama. This is Mrs. Amelia Price, and her daughter Miss Anne Price, as well as their secretary Miss Cora Black. This is my mother Lady Avebury and Miss Annabel Clarke.” Cecilia glanced around, but her father had vanished. Perhaps he did not want to run into a figure from his youthful past.

  The ladies all exchanged pleasantries about the warmth of the day, the prettiness of the village. As Lady Avebury smoothed her gloves, a signal to move along, Cecilia decided to be truthful. “Mrs. Price is going to teach me how to ride a bicycle, Mama. I promised to call at Primrose Cottage after luncheon with Grandmama.”

  Lady Avebury’s lips tightened. “A bicycle, Cecilia? Are you quite sure that is wise?”

  Cecilia thought quickly and remembered what Jane had said. “I can do so many errands for the parish, Mama, if I can ride a bicycle. Papa needs Collins and the car most of the time, after all.”

  Her mother still looked doubtful, but she nodded. “I suppose it could be useful at times.”

  “Bicycles are becoming quite fashionable in America,” Annabel said. “The magazines say it’s a good way to keep one’s girlish figure, and the outfits are ever so cunning. Perhaps I should learn as well!”

  Cecilia knew her mother would never speak against Annabel and increased parish duties, but she still didn’t look terribly happy. “Will you be staying in the village long, Mrs. Price?”

  “A few more days at least, Lady Avebury. This is certainly one of the most charming places I have ever visited. Don’t you agree, Anne?”

  Anne seemed doubtful.

  “Then you must call on us at Danby Hall,” Lady Avebury said graciously. “Cecilia, we should speak to Mr. Brown about the bazaar before we go to the dower house. He will be so pleased to hear of your new zeal for parish duties.”

  They bade goodbye to the Prices, and Cecilia’s mother held her arm tightly as they made their way toward Mr. Brown, who was in the shadow of the church porch, chatting with Colonel and Mrs. Havelock. Lady Avebury’s kid-gloved fingers were curled tightly around Cecilia’s sleeve, as if she feared her daughter might suddenly run off to set fire to a letter box.

  “Cecilia, I thought we made our views on suffrage clear,” she whispered fiercely. “You must think of your position. Your future!”

  “That’s just what I am thinking of, Mama,” Cecilia whispered back. What was her future? Marriage—to who? Social duties, children? Maybe college, like Maud Rainsley? A job, like Cora? Travel? “I was just talking to the Prices, anyway. It’s 1912, not 1512.”

  “They certainly seem more respectable than I would have imagined, even if they are misguided,” Annabel said. “Did you see Mrs. Price’s pearls? And that hat. So elegant. I’m sure it must come from Paris. I had imagined these suffrage women would barely even bathe! Yet Mrs. Price wore La Rose d’Orsay scent, very chic. Cecilia, if you do learn how to ride a bicycle, you must show me. It will be such fun!”

  Cecilia knew that her mother wouldn’t argue with Annabel, and she was glad of the unexpected ally.

  Mr. Brown’s smile widened when he saw them. “Lady Avebury! Lady Cecilia, Miss Clarke. How lovely you are all looking today. And your organ playing was as elegant as ever, Lady Cecilia.”

  “Mr. Brown, your homily was excellent as always,” Lady Avebury said with her most charming smile. “You must come to dinner this week at Danby. Cecilia has so many new ideas for the St. Swithin’s bazaar, and I know you will want to hear them all . . .”

  * * *

  It was quite late in the afternoon when Cecilia could escape from the dower house to make her way to Primrose Cottage. All the lunch talk had been of the bazaar, Patrick’s botany work, or the newest styles in hats, and her grandmother’s constant certainty that everything was so much more elegant and clear-cut in her day, all while Sebastian growled and snapped under the luncheon table. Cecilia was glad to escape it, and she took Jack with her, just to be sure he wouldn’t make trouble with Sebastian.

  To her surprise, the cottage door was ajar, and she heard raised voices from inside. She clutched Jack’s basket a little closer. “Hello?” she called uncertainly.

  Cora appeared in the doorway. Her hair fell down her back in an untidy plait, and she wore a loose canvas jacket over her white dress. “Oh, hello, Lady Cecilia.”

  “I came for a bicycling lesson with Mrs. Price, but if it’s a bad time . . .”

  “Not at all, it’s just—well, it seems Mrs. Price has taken a fall.”

  “A fall?” Cecilia exclaimed in concern. “Is she badly hurt? Should I fetch Dr. Mitchell?”

  “Not at all,” Mrs. Price shouted from the sitting room. “Everyone just insists on fussing! Do show Lady Cecilia in, Cora.”

  Cora gave Cecilia a helpless shrug and closed the front door behind them. The sitting room was crowded, with Anne Price, Harriet Palmer, and a slight, pretty blond woman she did not recognize. Judging from the black dress with white collar and cuffs, Cecilia guessed she must be Nellie the maid. Cecilia knelt next to Mrs. Price, who had her foot up on a stool; her fashionable coiffure was all undone. Mary Winter stood in the corner, fidgeting with her ermine stole, but “Monty” was nowhere about.

  “What happened?” Cecilia cried.

  Mrs. Price gave a hoarse laugh, but her usual gesture of waving things away seemed listless. “A tiny tumble down the stairs, that’s all. I just missed a step.”

  “If you would wear more rational skirts, Mother . . .” Anne said. She knelt down on her mother’s other side and pressed an ice pack to her mother’s ankle. J
ack made an indignant “mrow” from his basket, so Anne let him out, and he sniffed at Amelia’s skirts curiously.

  “I doubt it’s the skirts, Anne,” Mary muttered. She shot a long look at the bottle on a side table. “Wine and old, rickety stairs don’t mix, Mother. You need to moderate your habit.”

  “Don’t be such a ninny, Mary,” Amelia said with a snort.

  Cecilia thought the ankle did look terribly swollen under the ripped silk stocking. “Won’t you let us call the doctor?”

  “If you can’t stand at the lectern tomorrow night . . .” Cora said.

  Anne suddenly shot a glance at Cora, full of daggers. “Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you? A chance to heroically stand up for the fallen leader and dazzle with your own speech.”

  Cora’s mouth fell open. “I—I don’t know what you mean, Anne.”

  “Girls, really,” Amelia said sternly. “I have hardly fallen; it was just a tiny misstep. I don’t need a doctor. I’ll just keep my foot up with ice, and I will be quite well tomorrow.”

  “Please, I can call Dr. Mitchell,” Cecilia offered. She sensed that whatever quarrel was going on there was an old one, a rivalry for control of Mrs. Price and the Union, and she wanted to dissipate it. “He’s been our family’s physician for ages. He’s very good and so kind.”

  “You are considerate, Lady Cecilia,” Amelia said. “If the swelling is worse in, say, an hour, I will call for him. In the meantime, I know you have come for your bicycle lesson. Do let us go outside. I could use the fresh air.”

  “Mother, you shouldn’t move about,” Anne protested.

  “Oh, pooh, I am just going a few steps to the front garden. Nellie, dear, bring the footstool. Cora, if you will give me your arm? And Mary, do stop standing there like a hooked fish! Come along with us. Master Jack can come, too, I think.”

  They made a strange little procession to the garden, Nellie carrying the stool as if it were the crown-bearing cushion, Mary scurrying behind them, Anne looking uncertain, and Jack prancing with his tail high like a king. Cecilia trailed after them, unsure what she should do, but once Amelia was settled with an armchair and her stool under the shade of an ancient plane tree, with Mary and Cora beside her, she gave Cecilia a gentle smile.

  “Come, Lady Cecilia, I’ll show you how to start with the bicycle, even though I can’t ride myself today,” she said. “Anne, dear, can you fetch it?”

  Cecilia followed Anne to the cycle propped up by the garden gate, and they wheeled it into the lane. “Are you a cyclist as well, Miss Price?”

  “Oh, call me Anne, please. After you’ve witnessed all my family’s scenes, it seems silly to stand on ceremony.” She held up the bicycle, pointing out the pedals and brakes, the way to keep skirts out of the wheels. “I’m not the enthusiast my mother is, but I know how to ride well enough. All a part of being a new woman, you know.”

  Cecilia glanced back at Mary, who was fidgeting in her fashionable striped gown and furs. “And your sister? Is she at all a—new woman, too?”

  Anne laughed wryly. “Mary? Not half. She married Montgomery Winter when she was eighteen, and that was that. No hope for her, poor thing.”

  “Mr. Winter does seem very, er, decisive.” She remembered the impression he gave when he arrived, swaggering into Primrose Cottage as if he owned it.

  “That’s one way of putting it. He’s practically kept Mary in a prison since then. We rarely see them.”

  “But they came to find you here in Danby?”

  Anne frowned. “It’s all very odd. We haven’t heard from Mary in months, except for one letter, and then she and Monty show up on the doorstep. I’m not at all sure why. It’s hard to imagine Monty would take time away from his work just to harangue us. He usually does that from a distance.”

  “What is his work?”

  Anne studied the wheel of the cycle. “He’s a solicitor. With a very prestigious firm in London, Bird and Wither. My father helped him find the position when he married my sister. My father was a lawyer, too, you know.”

  And Anne had studied law—but could not practice it, as she was a woman. Cecilia wondered how that made her feel now. It couldn’t be pleasant.

  Anne suddenly looked up and smiled. “Here, Lady Cecilia, let me show you how to get on this beast and start the pedals. You should tie your skirt up a bit. I promise it’s simpler than it looks, and you could even put a basket here for Jack. He does seem the curious sort . . .”

  Chapter Nine

  I’m so glad you could come with me tonight, Jane!” Cecilia said as they clambered over a stile and turned toward the village. It was almost sunset, the sky pale lavender and peach at the edges, the air with the cool nip of early autumn. “You’ll enjoy Mrs. Price’s speech, I’m sure. Her message is so very important for all women to hear.”

  “I’m not sure how having the vote will help me when Miss Clarke is ticking me off for pressing her tea gown wrong,” Jane grumbled, but she looked excited, too. She’d had so many questions about the last rally, and about Cecilia’s visits to Primrose Cottage. “But I am glad Miss Clarke went off to dinner at the Byswaters’ with Lord and Lady Avebury and Lord Bellham. She won’t miss me for hours.”

  “As long as we’re back before they are.” Cecilia thought of her own excuse for not attending the Byswater dinner, a sick headache that absolutely required Jane’s ministrations at home.

  She could hear the noise from the Guildhall before they saw it, a hum of voices laughing and shouting, the strains of “Shoulder to Shoulder.” As they turned the corner on the high street, she saw the building was lit from roof to basement, the stained glass windows glowing.

  She looked around warily for Lord Elphin and his men, but there were just a few of them, sullenly drinking their pints outside the Crown and Shield and watching the proceedings. She wondered how they felt with some of the Union members actually lodging there at the Crown, right above their heads.

  A movement at the edge of the green caught her attention, and she turned her head to see Georgie Guff, the thief Sergeant Dunn had caught. He lurked there in the shadows, shuffling his feet on the grass, peering out from beneath his ragged felt hat. She was surprised he was still dangling about; surely, a good shaking by the sergeant was enough to put fear into any miscreant.

  “Jane, isn’t that Georgie Guff?” she said.

  “The thief?” Jane answered, briefly distracted from her wide-eyed fascination with the color and noise of the Guildhall. “Where?”

  “Over there.” Cecilia pointed, but the man had vanished.

  “Lady Cecilia!” Anne Price called, and Cecilia hurried over to find Mrs. Price’s daughter handing out sashes and leaflets at the door along with three other ladies. Anne looked much more cheerful since her mother’s fall, as if things were looking up with her work. “I see you brought your friend.”

  “Yes, Miss Hughes,” Cecilia said.

  “So pleased you could come, Miss Hughes,” Anne said, handing Jane a sash. “The response here in Danby has been so gratifying.”

  “No trouble yet tonight?” Cecilia said, and gestured toward the staring men at the pub.

  Anne gave them a scornful glance. “They’ll stay away tonight, if they know what’s good for them.”

  Cecilia was not so sure, not at the rate they were putting away their pints. But for now they kept their distance. “And your mother? Has she recovered from her fall?”

  “She says she feels quite well. I’m afraid that wasn’t the first time such a mishap has happened with her. I think she’s more upset about Mary and her horrid husband appearing like that than she’d like to tell. Mix that with wine . . .”

  “You did say you hadn’t seen the Winters in some time.”

  “Monty thoroughly disapproves of us, as I’m sure you noticed, and Mary does what he says. Thank goodness I never married! I truly have no idea why they
’re here now. I would have thought they’d leave as soon as they could, but I heard they rented a cottage near the florist shop.”

  “How strange.” Cecilia longed to ask more—family drama was always so odd and complicated, like something in a novel. But more ladies came up behind them, and Cecilia and Jane hurried into the hall.

  “Be sure and look for Cora!” Anne called. “She’ll be saving seats for you.”

  Cecilia did find Cora, who was arranging chairs at the front of the hall just beside the dais. She smiled at Cecilia, but Cecilia thought she looked a bit pale that evening, with deep-purple shadows ringing her eyes. Perhaps she had been up all night tending to Amelia—or using her medium skills to commune with the spirits.

  “Oh, Lady Cecilia, hello,” she said softly, pushing back the hair falling from its pins.

  Cecilia introduced her to Jane, but her worry increased when Cora swayed on her feet. “Miss Black, are you quite all right? You do look tired.”

  “Here, miss, sit down,” Jane said quickly, holding out one of the chairs Cora had just arranged.

  Cora gave a faint smile. “I am a bit tired, that’s all. A lecture tour can get a bit taxing at times, though of course anything is worth it to spread the message of suffrage.”

  Cecilia saw some ladies dispensing tea from a table on the other side of the room. “Do let me fetch you something to drink.”

  “You are kind, but I must make sure everything is ready for Mrs. Price! Tea and sandwiches after the speeches. Do sit here at the front, Lady Cecilia, Miss Hughes. It should be quite an exciting evening.”

  She gave one more pale smile and hurried away. Cecilia sat down, but she felt rather worried about Cora. It seemed like looking after Mrs. Price, as important a job as that was, could be quite tiring.

  “Exciting,” Jane murmured. “I’m not sure about the sound of that. Will someone take another tumble?”

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the speeches,” Cecilia said, but she did know what Jane meant. There was always Lord Elphin and his crowd to worry about. They might break some windows this time, beat down the door, accost the ladies of the Union as so many barbarians had in London. And someone had already tried to break into Primrose Cottage, quite aside from Amelia’s fall down the stairs.