“Oh no, miss. Cook sent him up a tray earlier and he ate three slices of her best Bakewell tart.”
She smiled. “It appears he is recovering from the exertions of the ball rather well then. And my parents?”
“Out visiting. They are expected home for dinner. Would you like me to fetch you anything, miss?”
“No, thank you, Stella. I shall go to my room.”
The maid returned to her duties in the kitchen and Hecate began to climb the stairs. She had not gone more than half a dozen steps when the front door opened and her mother bustled through it, every inch of her agitated. Edward followed a little more calmly but it was clear even in his demeanor that something was amiss.
“Mother, whatever has happened?” Hecate asked.
“All propriety has gone forever, and good sense along with it!” she declared, snatching her gloves off, pacing the hallway as she did so. “There can be no coming back from this!”
“Father?” Hecate appealed to him for a more helpful explanation.
“Your mother fears there is no hope for the world nor any of us doomed to dwell in it,” he said, taking his pipe from his pocket and loading it somewhat hastily.
Beatrice tutted, drawing her pin from her hat and brandishing it like a sword of justice. “Make fun of me all you care to, Edward. I am right to be appalled, and you know it. Never have I heard of such … This cannot be left unchallenged,” she insisted, taking off her hat and all but throwing it and her gloves onto the credenza.
“Father, will you please tell me what on earth has happened?”
“Lord Brocket—” he began, but his wife could not contain her rage.
“No, let me tell it. A man could not help but frame the thing as a subject for ridicule and derision, but it is not. Mark my words, this has grave significance. Yes, His Lordship, and let us begin with that! That a member of the nobility should … No, I cannot speak of it!” she cried, tears filling her eyes as she sat heavily on the nearest chair.
Hecate descended the stairs at speed. The sight of her mother on the point of weeping was so unusual, so shocking, she dared not press her further on whatever it was that had so upset her. Instead she put her arms around her. “There, Mother, do not distress yourself so.” She turned to face her father, her expression imploring him to make sense of what her mother had been saying. She experienced a deep unease about the fact that whatever it was had to do with the earl of Brockhampton.
Edward took a moment to finishing loading and lighting his pipe. He puffed, taking in a reviving pull of smoke, the aromatic fumes, so familiar to everyone in the household, having a slight calming effect on all present. When at last he spoke he did so in measured tones, wary of setting off Beatrice again.
“It appears he has put out his wife.”
“Put her out?”
“He has sent her from his Brockhampton estate with two carriages of her belongings and declared to all the world that the marriage is over.”
“Good grief! Poor Lady Brocket. She has always been such a supportive wife. I cannot imagine she has done anything to warrant such terrible treatment.”
Beatrice could not remain silent. “She is blameless! The man is cruel and selfish beyond words.”
Edward continued. “There is more.”
Hecate passed her mother a handkerchief. “He has thrown out his wife and publicly stated his intention to divorce. What more can he do to her?”
“Oh the humiliation!” her mother wailed into the lace square.
Edward took another drag on his pipe before saying, “He has installed his mistress at the hall.”
“That woman!” Beatrice had found her rage once more. “What manner of person must she be? She must lack morals, lack any knowledge of God, lack any understanding of what is right and decent. Edward, under no circumstances are you to set foot in Brockhampton Hall. No, not for any amount of business nor for the sake of old friendship. He has put himself beyond the pale.”
Hecate found herself lost for words. Such behavior was beyond scandalous. Marriages did fail, but respectable members of society would go to great lengths to keep such matters private, for the sake of all concerned. To evict a wife from her home, to publicly spurn her, these things were dreadful. To move another woman into that family home and openly live with her was outrageous. Whatever her mother’s view on the matter, more than ever she knew that she and her father must go to Brockhampton as soon as possible.
Such was the consternation in the house, particularly on Beatrice’s part, it was decided they would all take supper in their rooms. So it was that Hecate was able to catch Edward on his way upstairs.
“We must speak,” she whispered to him.
“Indeed we must. I shall join you in my study in an hour.”
“May we meet instead in the attic?”
He looked at her quizzically but did not challenge her choice.
“Very well, daughter. The attic it shall be.”
By the time the two met, dusk had turned to proper dark. Hecate lit two oil lamps so that she could search while they spoke.
“Did you leave Mother sleeping?” she asked, kneeling next to a large tea chest.
“She scarcely touched her supper, despite Cook sending up poached eggs and a little salmon to tempt her. Sleep is what she needs now.” He sat on the one available chair and took out his pipe, loading it with practiced ease as he watched Hecate sorting through boxes. “Are you searching for something in particular?” he asked.
“Yes and no. I wish to equip myself for our trip to Brockhampton.”
“A wise move.”
She stopped digging and turned to face him, sitting back on her heels. “You raise no objection to me coming with you?”
“It presents us with the perfect opportunity to study an Embodied Spirit. We cannot pass it up. Even though it be a perilous course of action.”
“Precisely my thinking. Do you believe the earl is responsible for raising the spirits? I mean to say, if he is knowingly harboring one…”
