A Dangerous Melody Read online

  A Dangerous Melody

  Jane Wetherby

  Copyright © 2020 by Jane Wetherby

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  1

  One always expects a funeral to be held on a miserable sort of day. Rain might be expected to fall in thin, drizzling lines, streaking across the lead-paned windows and rippling across the surface of puddles and ponds. Dark clouds would likely cover the sun, a rather heavy blanket over the world, ensuring that night seemed to be just moments away.

  However, no one expects funerals to be held on the loveliest day of the summer, when the flowers are in full bloom and the grass is thick and soft and green. The sun hung high in the sky, which was the brightest of blues.

  More morose souls might believe that the world was mocking them, an ironic juxtaposition to the reality they faced.

  Others might not even notice at all.

  I, however, chose to see it as a reminder that life might have difficult days, but that doesn’t mean that we couldn’t still find the good in them.

  “Juliana, dear, please come indoors.”

  I looked around and saw Father standing just inside the door to our cottage, a firm yet troubled expression on his weathered face.

  “Yes, Father,” I said, and followed him in through the door.

  He closed the door behind us, allowing a heavy sigh to escape him. “Well, my dears, so ends perhaps the hardest day of my life.”

  He walked down the short hall to the dining room, pulling his tattered top hat from his head before running his boney fingers through his greying hair.

  As he disappeared through the open doorway, I turned to look at the other three young women standing just inside the door beside me.

  Some siblings looked far less alike than others. My sisters and I, however, looked identical in almost every way. All four of us had the same slanted blue eyes that we inherited from our father, with long, dark lashes and strong brows. Our cheekbones all sat high, a gift from our mother, and our narrow chins and pouting lips gave us the impression of spoiled young ladies when we were young but were wonderful when attempting to convince Father to spare us another sweet before bedtime.

  “We should go sit with him…” said Amelia, who was three and twenty, just two years younger than I. While we all looked very similar, she was perhaps the loveliest of all of our father’s children. She was a kindhearted, quiet young woman without a crass word to say. She brushed some of her pale blonde hair from her eyes, staring down the hall after Father.

  “I can’t imagine having to do what he did…” Isabella said. The second youngest of all, Isabella’s hair was darker than my own, like the color of Mother’s favorite tea.

  “Neither can I,” Susannah said, huddling close to Isabella, her inky blank hair nearly hiding her face. “No man should have to bury his own wife.”

  She was right, of course. But unfortunately, it was his duty as the vicar to prepare the eulogies of those that have passed on.

  We just never assumed he would have to read of hope and encouragement to his own daughters about his wife and their mother.

  “Come along,” I said, turning around and pulling the black shawl I wore more tightly around my shoulders.

  Father was sitting at the head of the table, unfolding his newspaper. A fire crackled in the fireplace behind him.

  I looked down at the other three, all of us unsure how to proceed.

  “Father, may we join you?” Isabella asked, leaning over one of the chairs.

  He glanced briefly up at her and nodded his head.

  Hesitantly, we all took our usual seats.

  Folding my hands together, my eyes were drawn across the table to the only empty chair. Mother’s chair.

  “Father…” I said, sitting a bit straighter. “I know that things are going to be a bit different now, but I think we will find a way to make do.”

  Father glanced at me over his newspaper, his blue eyes the very same shade as my own heavy-lidded and rimmed with pink. “I imagine we will,” he said. “I have comfort in knowing your mother is no longer suffering, but I would be quite remiss if I didn’t admit that I will miss her dearly.”

  It was as if someone squeezed my heart within me. “Yes, Father… We will all miss her, too.”

  He took a shaky breath, rubbing his eye. “I do wish that I could have done more for you girls. You should have been married and happy by now.”

  “Father, do not blame yourself,” Amelia said. “How were you and mother to know that her health would be so?”

  “Yes,” Isabella said. “Our greatest desire was for her to be well. We thought of little else these last eight months.”

  “Eight months…” Father said, removing his glasses and rubbing his hands over his eyes. “I cannot believe it has been so long…”

  Silence fell over us all. Through the open windows, we heard the birds singing to one another, high up in the branches of Mother’s favorite lilac tree. A breeze blew in, stirring some of the stale air.

  “Your mother was always the one who knew what to say in these situations,” Father said in a low, sad voice. “I am going to miss her so dearly…”

  He rose without looking at any of us and slowly made his way from the room, his footsteps heavy and scuffing.

  He closed the door slowly behind himself and left us shrouded in the silence.

  “Perhaps we should follow him,” Isabella said, getting to her feet.

  I reached over and grabbed her arm, pulling her back down. “There is nothing we can do for him right now. He needs to grieve, and it is possible he will not be able to if we are chasing after him. I think it’s best if he is alone for a while.”

  “It is hard to believe that mother is really gone,” Susannah said, her eyes welling with tears, her bottom lip protruding.

  “I know…” Amelia said, wrapping an arm around the youngest sister and pulling her in, kissing the top of her head. “But we must be strong. For Father.”

  “What are we to do now?” asked Isabella.

  “Well, clearly our situation has not changed at all,” I said. “We are still the daughters of a poor minister. I dislike speaking so frankly so soon after mother’s passing, but with one less mouth to feed—”

  “Juliana,” Isabella said, her eyes narrowing. “How could you say such a thing?”

  “I do not say it to be morbid,” I said. “But the finances that father must juggle are very tight. Perhaps, in time, he will find slightly less strain to be more of a relief.”

  “I cannot believe that,” Isabella said, folding her arms over her black mourning dress. “Father would never wish to have more money instead of mother’s presence.”

  “That’s not at all what I meant,” I said, shaking my head. “What I mean to say is that Father needs help with the finances, yes? He can barely afford to put food on the table for us all. The chickens we were able to take from Aunt Patience last summer have helped, but only marginally. What we need is to find a way to alleviate some of the finances he is required to spend.”

  “But how?” Amelia as
ked. “It isn’t as if there is anything he could cut. We have no cook, no housekeeper. Mother made sure that the maid was dismissed as soon as we were all old enough to help.”

  “We must find employment suited for a lady,” I said. “It will ensure that Father is no longer responsible for our well-being. We are fully grown women, after all. Our father should no longer have to care for us as if we were children.”

  “What of marriage?” asked Susannah, her eyes widening. “Some of us might still have a chance.”

  “Very true,” I said with a firm nod. “However, as I am five and twenty, I have a far smaller chance of being chosen. And with so little to offer a man, I would have to hope that my looks alone would sway him.”

  “That’s such a dreadful way to look at it,” Amelia said, frowning over at me. “You are very pretty, sister. And you are quite sensible as well.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Susannah. “Very sensible.”

  “Sensibility is only valuable to a select few men,” I said.

  “And those are the men you would wish to marry in the first place,” said Isabella with a smirk. “Beauty is temporary, but your wit shall last forever, will it not?”

  “What a kind way of insulting me, sister,” I said, returning her smirk.

  “But how are we to find marriage suitors?” asked Isabella. “It isn’t as if we have the greatest of connections.”

  “What of Mr. Samson?” I asked with a shrug.

  Susannah wrinkled her nose. “You mean the butcher’s son?”

  “He has yet to be spoken for, correct?” I asked.

  “But he’s dreadful,” Isabella said.

  “And surely he cannot be the only suitor around,” Amelia said, looking worried.

  “Even if he was, that still leaves three of us unmarried,” said Susannah, her shoulders sagging. Even at nineteen, she still had the manners of a child occasionally.

  “Regardless, we must find some way of making connections,” Isabella said, sitting back in her chair, frowning. “For if we do not, we are all destined to be spinsters, living off our poor father’s measly income.”

  “Lower your voice, Isabella,” Amelia said in a sharp whisper. “You don’t wish to shame our father, do you?”

  “Of course not,” said Isabella, folding her arms. “But we cannot stay here, can we?”

  “No,” I said. “And I think that the very best option we have is to ask for help elsewhere.”

  “And who is going to help us?” Amelia asked.

  I turned and looked at each sister in turn. “I thought that would be rather obvious,” I said. “We shall ask the one person in our life who has the means to provide us with any sort of help.”

  Amelia’s eyes widened. “Oh, sister. You cannot mean—”

  “I am willing to swallow my pride in order to ask for help,” I said, raising my hand. “Not that I have much to be proud of. And don’t you think that I realize how much I might regret this decision?”

  “I am already regretting it, and we haven’t even asked yet,” said Isabella, rubbing her face.

  “We do not have a choice,” I said. “If anyone has the capability of helping us, it will be her.”

  Amelia bowed her head. “For father, I suppose we must do what we have to.”

  “Precisely,” I said. “So, are we all in agreement?”

  Susannah glanced over at Isabella, who was quite pale indeed. Amelia’s brow furrowed as she stared down at her hands folded in her lap.

  “Father needs our support,” Isabella said. “Now more than ever.”

  “I agree,” Amelia said. “No one will be able to take the place of Mother, but we can do our best to make this transition easier on him.”

  “We must do our part,” Susannah said. “And I suppose that will mean difficult things to come, won’t it?”

  “It very well might,” I said. “All right, very good.”

  I reached over and took Amelia’s hand in mine and squeezed it.

  “Do not lose heart, dear sisters. We shall get through this. Our grief shall pass, and we will be able to find joy once again. Our lives are only beginning, and Father will surely do all he can to encourage us to succeed,” I said.

  “But how can we go on without Mother?” Susannah asked, tearing once again.

  “We must trust that we will be with her again one day,” I said. “Just as the good Lord has promised. Just as Father talked about this very day.”

  Susannah nodded, sniffling.

  “We shall do it,” I said. “And we shall do it together, just as we always have.”

  “Yes,” said Amelia.

  “Indeed,” said Isabella.

  “All right,” said Susannah.

  I nodded. “Very good.”

  2

  My Dearest Juliana,

  What a pleasure it was to receive a letter from you! It came at a very opportune time, as the grief of losing my dear sister has been too much for me to bear. Hearing from one of her cherished daughters has brought me great peace and reminded me that not all is indeed lost.

  Things here at Templeton House have been rather busy as of late. Sir Hayward has been gone to London for some weeks, attending to business, and I had not felt well enough to join him. I am grateful that I was home when I was, as I would have been heartbroken had I missed my own sister’s funeral. It fills me with sorrow to write those words, my dear Juliana. I imagine it will for some time.

  As for your request, you and Isabella would be more than welcome to come and visit at your earliest convenience. It has been some time since I have had the pleasure of your company, and I would love to share stories and news with you.

  Is your father well? I can imagine this time is rather difficult for him. Please give him my love and let him know that it is Sir Hayward’s intention for us to pay his respects upon his return. I know traveling is quite difficult for him with his responsibilities at his parish, but please let him know that whatever he needs, we will do our best to provide.

  I look forward to your arrival and will be awaiting it anxiously.

  Yours,

  Aunt Patience

  I looked up from the letter, the sway of the carriage lulling me back and forth.

  “How many times are you going to read that letter?” Isabella asked me crossly, her gloved hands clutched tightly around her shawl. It was a rather blustery day, and even the ribbons tied around our bonnets weren’t quite enough to keep them stationary.

  “I just wanted to be certain of something,” I said, folding up the parchment and tucking it inside my cloak once more.

  Isabella’s eyes narrowed, so much like my own it was almost as if I were looking into a mirror. “Certain what, exactly?”

  “Her wording,” I said simply. I turned and stared out over the landscape, the lush green summer hills rolling past.

  It wasn’t long before Templeton House appeared. Situated on a little knoll surrounded by a large front garden and an orchard behind, it was quite a splendor in comparison to our little cottage we grew up in. Where Templeton House had many rooms and very few children, we were squeezed tightly inside our little home, yet were quite content all the same.

  Nevertheless…Templeton House was rather magnificent to behold, and place we had all spent a great deal of time in as children.

  The carriage pulled up right out front of the large front doors.

  Lady Hayward, or Aunt Patience as we knew her, was waiting out front beside her lady’s maid and their house butler.

  “Oh, my dear children,” she said in her boisterous way, throwing wide her arms as we were helped down from the carriage. “How I’ve missed you.”

  She embraced each of us in turn, which was quite expressive, even for her.

  “Are you doing quite all right?” she asked. “With your mother’s passing, I have been worried sick about you girls. Just positively sick.”

  “We are quite all right, ma’am,” Isabella said.

  “Yes, we are comforted by the know
ledge that she no longer suffers,” I said.

  “Well, at least we can know that, yes,” Aunt Patience said. She looked above us, watching the clouds roll quickly by. “Come along, girls, let’s get you out of this wind. We are sure to get rain.”

  She ushered us inside, and her butler helped us by taking our shawls.

  “Thank you very much for sending your carriage,” I said. “It was a very kind gesture.”

  “Of course, my dears, of course,” she said.

  We turned and headed down the hall toward the drawing room, out footsteps echoing off the long, wide hallway.

  I stared up at the portraits as we passed, long lines of family members of Sir Hayward, all of them bearing a resemblance to him.

  “My heavens, Isabella. That skirt. How long has it been since you mended that hem?” Aunt Patience asked.

  “Oh, well…” Isabella said.

  “Oh, listen to me,” Aunt Patience said. “You’ve had a great deal too much in your mind, haven’t you?”

  “It is something that we will be more aware of in the future,” I said before Isabella could respond in protest. I could almost feel her seething from where I stood.

  We stepped into the drawing room, and just as I always was, I was incredibly impressed by all the lavish furnishings and décor.

  Sir Hayward, a baronet, was quite well respected in our small portion of the country. His eyes fell on our dear Aunt Patience when she was just sixteen, and they were married within a year. She married much younger than my mother did, who was quite a bit less lovely than Aunt Patience had been in her youth. Mother always told us that looks alone were enough to sway a man, yet they were not everything.

  “I see that you had the wallpaper refinished,” I said, looking up at the walls as we took our seats on the sofas in the center of the room.

  “Yes, indeed,” Aunt Patience said. “I suppose you would not have seen that, would you? I had them changed just before my sister fell so ill...”