“Ah, yes, so he did. Where in Amsterdam? I am curious.”
Her tone held only vague interest, as though she made polite conversation, but my heart beat faster in worry.
Fortunately, Daniel, on our train ride to Esher, had instructed me on what to say if questioned. He’d prepared a thorough story for the traveling Mrs. Holtmann.
“On the Amstel,” I said. “A house, left by my husband.” The Amstel was a long canal and river, Daniel had told me, so a safe answer. He’d also told me what lanes to name if pressed, but to never give up more information than exactly what was asked.
The duchess nodded as though she did not care one way or the other. “A lovely city, is Amsterdam. Or can be. Rather smelly.”
“Indeed,” I murmured.
“Ireland can be a dirty place as well. Cities with lanes of filth. And then one turns and beholds fields so green they will break your heart.”
“That sounds very nice.” I took another sip of tea to cover my unease.
“I lived in Ireland as a girl.” The duchess had finished half her tea and lifted the pot to pour more. “It is where I met the duke. I resided near Dublin, on a grand estate. My mother passed away when I was very young, and my father and I looked after each other.” She smiled in fond memory.
“I am sorry to hear of your loss,” I said, as she seemed to wait for my answer.
The duchess nodded her acknowledgment, set down the teapot, and carried on. “When I was twenty years old, in 1830, my father was accused of siding with farmers who were rioting over having to tithe to the Church of Ireland—they were devout Catholics, you see, and being forced to support the Protestant church was anathema to them. My father did have sympathy and tried to help by paying most of the tithes of his tenants himself, only requiring that they give him a small amount so the officials wouldn’t investigate. But he was found out.”
She paused to take a sip of tea. My mouth was too dry to comment, but the duchess did not note my silence.
“Too many men in high places detested my father,” she went on. “And so he was tried, found guilty, and stripped of his wealth and estate. He killed himself while under house arrest. I found him. Then the English turned me out and burned the house around his dead body.”
25
I sat very still. The duchess spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but I saw the fires of rage deep in her eyes. The smiling, sweet lady was the facade, while a fierce dragon burned inside.
“How dreadful,” I said when I could find my voice. I set down my teacup, hands shaking.
“So you see why we need your four thousand guineas. My husband will not ask you directly, but I am more to the point than he is. We ladies usually are. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, of course,” I said breathlessly. Had she seen through me? Through Daniel?
My heart banged as the elegant parlor took on a new menace. The door we’d entered through led to the hall, and another door stood in the rear of the room, nearer to the sofa. Was it locked? Could I reach it before she . . . what? I could not picture this small, elderly woman tackling me to the floor.
The duchess calmly sipped tea, not at all behaving as though she’d have a go at me.
“Mr. Lancaster, I beg your pardon for saying, is a bit thick-witted,” she said with a weary air. “But he let slip a few things that told my husband you would be sympathetic. Are you? Though you’ve never set foot in Ireland, you say.”
I thought rapidly. How did I feign sympathy for those who banded together to organize the murders of other gentlemen?
“I do understand their plight,” I said tentatively. “They work very hard for English landlords who grow rich and spend all their money here in London. When there is no food, they have nowhere to turn. Their faith, which is a comfort, is denied them, or at least highly discouraged.” So I understood from all I’d read of Ireland plus conversations I’d had with servants who hailed from there.
“Exactly. Are you a Catholic, Mrs. Holtmann?”
“Oh, I . . .” I glanced nervously at the door behind her.
“I understand. It’s a risky thing to be, even these days. It’s no longer forbidden to be of the true faith, but it can be a social death knell. I advise you to keep it to yourself, as I do.”
“Yes, indeed.”
“My mother was Catholic, you see. My father attended the Church of Ireland, but my mother secretly converted him. She was the daughter of one of my grandfather’s tenants, and she and my father married when they fell madly in love. Do you know how she died? An English soldier came upon her one evening as she walked and, mistaking her for a peasant, tried to force himself upon her. When she fought him, very hard by the look of things, he killed her. She had her revenge though. When she was dying, she wrested his pistol from him and shot him through the heart.”
The duchess smiled proudly and drank more tea.
“I am so sorry, Your Grace,” I said in a near whisper. To live through such things would unhinge my mind. I had the feeling it had unhinged hers.
“The duke met me after my home was burned. I was rather frenzied, as you can imagine. He nursed me, fell in love with me, and I married him. He is a rather weak man, John is. But I am not weak.”
I saw in a flash what she meant. The kind-looking, tiny woman with the warm smile had her iron fist around the duke. Instead of being a deliberate traitor to his country, he was under the thrall of this woman and could not resist her.
“I found my revenge,” the duchess continued. “I had won the heart of a duke, one of the highest men in Britain, prominent in their government. He had plenty of money and influence and no idea what to do with either. I told him. He knew my story and sympathized, as you do, and he has helped men and women in Ireland plan and act for the day we throw off our shackles. It won’t be long now.” She heaved a sigh and set down her tea, the wild light in her eyes fading.
“Thank you for letting me unburden myself to you, my dear. You are very easy to speak to. Give me the four thousand guineas now, please—less embarrassing than negotiating with my husband, who will prevaricate and say everything but what he means. So tiresome.” She leaned to me conspiratorially. “I will tell you that the necklace is worthless, but it is a good pretense as to why you are giving us the money. The vicar has no idea it’s only paste, but that’s the English clergy for you. Fools, the lot of them, and they are supposed to lead us to salvation.”
I picked up my tea and took a casual sip. I certainly did not have four thousand guineas in my pocket, and I cast about for what to tell her.
“The money is at my hotel,” I said carefully. “I wanted a look at the necklace first.”