Edith

By Alex Binney

Born on All Fools’ Day 1865, Edith Gwendolyn Barrington grew into a beautiful woman, and yet she was haughty and unapproachable. She seemed to have little interest in men until, suddenly, everything changed. Three husbands in three years all died suddenly. Surely no woman could be so unlucky? The police were convinced it was more than just bad luck...

Before she died, Edith issued a curse on those who had brought about her untimely death, a curse to be carried down through the generations. Was it then coincidence that a string of unexplained deaths surrounded Edith’s daughter, or that there were multiple murders connected in some way with Edith’s granddaughter? Surely, all three women could not be serial killers?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strict Publishing International
• Release date: Oct 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9780857793102

Alex Binney

Alex is a well established English author of murder mystery novels. He took early retirement as a manager from a major UK bank to pursue his first love of writing murder mysteries. Over the years he has devised numerous plots which he did not have chance to bring to his readership whilst pursuing his bank career. Divorced, he lives in Plymouth, Devon, UK, and you can correspond with him on Facebook.

Book preview

book one

GENESIS

Chapter One: THE NEWBORN

April 1st 1865.

This was to be no April Fool’s Day in Marstorm Mansion.

On this day, Edith Gwendolyn Barrington entered the world. She was unwelcome, in that her parents had hoped for a boy.

The Barringtons were rich people, Jonathan Barrington being the proprietor of a textile business soon to be incorporated and quoted on The London Stock Exchange. Hannah Barrington, the wife and mother of his child, was the daughter of the Duke of Canterbury. She was in receipt of an income of five hundred pounds per annum from a trust set up in her name, a tidy sum in those days.

The child was immediately passed on to a nanny to suckle and to raise.

On the first floor of Marstorm Mansion, the nursery had to be hastily refurbished and redecorated, it having been initially prepared in the expectation that a son and heir would be the couple’s firstborn.

To the average person, the Barringtons presumption would seem to have been ludicrous and audacious, almost as though they considered that the Lord Almighty had vested in them the power to control all events, but so accustom were the pair to having their own way in everything within their compass that it did not occur to them that the Good Lord would refuse to deliver other than that which they required in the form of an offspring.

Jonathan Barrington was hardly a Henry the Eighth, but such was his standing within the household that when he decreed the next child would be of the male kind, no one was disposed to argue the point with him.

As it turned out, he was right.

Edwin Grantley Barrington was born eighteen months later, amongst much celebration in the family.

But the boy was sickly. As he grew, his weakness became more and more apparent. Enormous amounts were spent on private medical care to improve the boy’s health and welfare, but alas he died of a wasting disease when he was only eleven years old.

The Barringtons tried for more children, but Hannah could not oblige. It was a mystery to the medical authorities as to why she could no longer conceive. Jonathan Barrington himself was too proud to be medically examined as to his potency in that direction, so all they had to show for their attempts at procreativity over the years was one Edith Gwendolyn Barrington.

When she was the right age, she was sent to a finishing school in Italy, and she returned an accomplished and articulate young woman.

At twenty-one, she was an attractive, seductive brunette.

A beauty, in fact.

A superb catch for any man. Well, not any man. A catch for the wealthy or the titled.

If the Barringtons were disappointed that their only surviving child was female, they were not blind to the magnetism that Edith exuded to the red-blooded male.

When she returned from finishing school, her parents arranged a number of balls in their impressive mansion, inviting various eligible bachelors whom they thought might win Edith’s hand.

But none of them did.

This led to a great deal of frustration on the part of the Barringtons and, as Edith approached thirty, they were concerned that she might be ‘left on the shelf’.

It was as much the Barrington’s doing as Edith’s as to why she remained unattached. She had been unloved by her parents during her upbringing and neglected as far as accompanying her on what were important occasions for her, such as prize-giving ceremonies where she had accomplished certain achievements. At her boarding school, she had won verse-speaking competitions and horse-riding competitions, and there had been exhibitions of her paintings as well as other notable dates during her education when her parents might have attended. They did not, and they certainly ignored her during holiday periods!

As a result, Edith grew up to be a cold, calculating woman with little or no love in her; she became haughty and unapproachable.

Her beauty was the one facet of her attributes that remained constant.

When Edith was not painting, she usually had her head in a book and often remained in her bedroom for days.

In the end, the Barringtons had no room for manoeuvre. They conceded that they had largely contributed to their daughter’s character and were powerless to affect forthcoming events in her life.

But things were about to change, and with disturbing results…

Chapter Two: THE SUITOR

April 30th, 1895.

It was a blustery, wintry day with not the slightest suggestion of Spring.

All manner of detritus seemed to be swept along the gravelled pathway that led up to the entrance of Marstorm Mansion.

The Landau carriage gained extra speed as its pace was enhanced by the following wind and the two black stallions in front seemed to react to the whistling breeze.

In Victorian days, a Landau was regarded as something of a status symbol: the mark of a successful man. This model was adaptable to all weather conditions. Whilst it was glass-fronted and fully enclosed, it could be quickly adapted so that its roof folded down and the glass lowered to give a complete open-top facility.

But not in this weather.

The carriage slowed to a halt outside the steps that led up to an ornate balustrade surrounding the large marble patio that fronted the mansion.

The coachman climbed down from the carriage and walked up the steps to the large oak door. He banged several times, using the large brass knocker, which was carved in the shape of a lion’s head, and waited.

Presently, Hornsby, the butler, answered the summons.

Yes, he said, may I help you?

Sorry to intrude, said the coachman, whose name was Jacobs, but my lord and I are somewhat lost. We are seeking Tremmington Hall, which we believe is nearby.

Yes, it is. However, I’m not sure of the best route you should take. Who, pray, is your passenger?

It is Lord Cavendish of Hampshire. He has just purchased Tremmington and urgently seeks a visitation.

The butler bowed politely and responded, Won’t you please ask his lordship whether he would grace us with his presence whilst I inform my master, Sir Jonathan Barrington, of your presence?

The coachman did as he was directed.

Lord Cavendish alighted from the Landau and brushed himself down. He wore a grey coat with covered buttons and a matching waistcoat, dark trousers, short turnover collar and a floppy bow tie. As he lifted his John Bull top hat to avoid knocking it off when he climbed out of the coach, it revealed that his blond hair was short, which complemented his neat and pointed beard. He was in his mid thirties and knew himself to be a handsome fellow.

The butler waited until Cavendish had reached the entrance before inviting him in. Jacobs had been instructed to wait by the Landau until his lordship returned.

The peer was introduced into a plush waiting room while the butler sought out his master. Looking about him, he could see that the family who owned this mansion were clearly well-to-do. Nothing had been spared on the decoration or fixtures and fittings. Chesterfield furniture was in evidence, as was that of Garing and Willow, not to mention the odd painting by Turner and Constable…

His thoughts were interrupted by the butler announcing Sir Jonathan Barrington.

The two men shook hands.

Lord Cavendish, it’s a pleasure. I don’t believe we’ve met. Would you like some tea?

No thank you, Sir Jonathan. I must press on. I was rather hoping you could give me directions to Tremmington Hall, which I’ve recently acquired.

Barrington, who was now in his sixties and looking rather withered, smiled at him and replied, Have you indeed? Old Fetherington’s place. That’s quite a splendid piece of real estate, if I may say so.

So you know it well? Splendid.

The two men remained standing as they swapped niceties.

Taking on a more serious aspect, the mansion owner proceeded to direct Cavendish towards his intended destination.

If you go back down the drive and take a left this will lead you onto Goldthorpe Avenue. At the next junction take another left, which is Stooping’s Road, so named after Lord Stooping the famous parliamentarian. After two miles or so you will see Tremmington Hall signposted to your right. Quite conveniently, this road is aptly named Tremmington Way – and that will lead you directly to your new abode.

I’m obliged, Sir Jonathan, for your time. No doubt we shall meet again.

Most certainly, returned Barrington, now that we’ve made each other’s acquaintance. Safe trip, Lord Cavendish.

* * * * *

Barrington was not slow to hunt down his wife. He found her in her boudoir, indulging in a favourite pastime of hers – embroidery.

Guess who arrived at the manor unannounced just a few minutes ago, my love?

The lady was used to her husband’s high level of excitement about all things that she considered were unexciting.

What is it, Jon?

Lord Cavendish has been at our door, seeking directions to his new home at Tremmington Hall.

This did cause Hannah to look up from her needlework.

Really? she queried. And how did he seem to you?

He’s a handsome fellow, I’ll give him that. Not too presupposing, well-mannered, quite charming really.

He seems to have bewitched you, my darling, all in the space of a few minutes.

I wouldn’t say that exactly, but he did have a certain way with him…

I know where this is leading, don’t I, Jon?

You do, Hannah? And where would that be, my sweet?

Don’t try and flannel me, darling. Yet again you think you may have come across a possible suitor for Edith.

Can you blame me? She’s just turned thirty, don’t you know?

Yes, I do know, Jon. What are you thinking of doing about it?

I thought we might invite him over for afternoon tea. We could introduce him to Edith at the same time and – who knows? – they might hit it off.

And pigs might fly. Hannah waved a dismissive hand at him. Oh… do what you like…

* * * * *

Cavendish was feeling pleased with himself when he first cast eyes on Tremmington Hall. It was exactly as Statton, Hellings and Rubery had described it. He had bought it ‘blind’ while he had been holidaying in America when the details regarding the sale of the stately home had been telegraphed to him by the agents.

It was during the second half of the reign of Elizabeth the First and her successor, James the First, that the first architect-designed mansions appeared. At the start of the 18th century many were in the Palladian style in various forms, interrupted briefly by the Baroque, until the second half of the 18th when, influenced by ancient Greek styles, it gradually evolved into the Neoclassicism.

However, the vast majority of lesser known English country houses were and are an evolution of one or more styles, with facades and wings in various designs, in a mixture of high architecture, often interpreted as much as not by the whims of architectural taste favoured by the architect who had been gainfully employed by the landlord involved.

Tremmington Hall, on the other hand, was a one-off. Designed by the famous 18th century architect, Robert Adam, it featured part Palladian, part Greek and part contemporary design as dreamt up by Adam himself.

As he entered the large hallway, Cavendish gazed with admiration at the long spiral staircase to his left, which led to the other three floors in the building. It was wide and luxuriously carpeted, the banisters comprising of expensive mahogany.

The door in front of him led to a large banqueting hall, off which was a glorious ballroom and function room.

The chandeliers were of cut glass, and the ceiling was moulded in top quality decorative plaster. The whole place was breathtaking, and his lordship knew he had made an excellent purchase.

It took him best part of the day to examine the entire country residence and to make notes on how he wanted the place redecorated and furnished.

His next job was to advertise for the staff that he would need in order to run the place effectively. It was a task he relished, and he had the determination to be hands-on in order to oversee the whole transition with his professional eye.

* * * * *

Ha! Barrington announced out loud. He’s coming!

Who is, dear? queried his wife at the breakfast table.

Lord Cavendish. He’s accepted my invitation to afternoon tea.

That’s very nice for you, dear.

"Us you mean, Hannah. Us! I must tell Edith. Where is she?"

Where do you think? In her room, of course. Where she always is. Oh, do sit down, Jonathan, and have your breakfast. She’ll be down in a minute. She isn’t going to starve herself.

Letting out a forlorn sigh, Barrington sat down at the head of the table where a tomato juice lay waiting as a serving maid poured him out a cup of tea.

Where’s the damned paper? he complained aloud.

They’re late this morning, replied his wife. I expect it was to do with that awful storm we had last night.

What storm? I heard no storm, commented the manor owner.

I’m not surprised, replied Hannah, when one considers how much brandy you had last night.

I was feeling in a good mood, said Barrington, defensively.

Yes, well, don’t get into a good mood too often, will you? said his wife with feeling.

* * * * *

Thursday, May 16th 1895.

2.20 p.m.

The Landau carriage pulled up to the steps of Marstorm Manor, and the coachman climbed down from his elevated seat to open the door for Lord Cavendish to alight.

Wearing a tan topcoat over a grey suit, his lordship walked purposefully to the front door of the manor and waited patiently while his coachman used the brass knocker to announce their presence.

As before, Hornsby, the butler, opened the door to them.

Good afternoon, sir, greeted the manservant, dutifully servile in manner. Sir Barrington is expecting you. Please follow me.

The coachman then retreated to the Landau where he would wait until his master’s return.

Cavendish was introduced into a day room, where a round table had been prepared with all manner of appetising offerings, including the obligatory cucumber sandwiches.

Barrington shook his hand as he entered and his wife Hannah, as she was introduced, curtsied and held out her hand for his caress.

I’m glad you could come, said the host. I was hoping to make your acquaintance formally.

You’re very kind, replied Cavendish as he was encouraged to sit down in one of the Chesterfield chairs. His hosts then followed suit.

Our daughter will be gracing us with her presence shortly, Lord Cavendish. I trust that will be agreeable to you.

Agreeable? queried their guest. "Why should it not be? I’m sure that the company of any member of your family will be most agreeable."

They laughed politely at one another, while the butler poured out tea from a large silver teapot that was housed on a large counter at the back of the room.

Hornsby then proceeded to offer their guest a libation of the same, served on a silver salver.

Cavendish thanked the butler as he passed more tea to Barrington and his wife.

The trio were then offered the treats from the table.

And, suddenly, she was there.

Entering with a flourish and waving an oriental fan in front of her face, she immediately brought her father to his feet and Cavendish rose equally rapidly.

My Lord Cavendish, do allow me to introduce my daughter, Edith.

Charmed, I’m sure, he responded, kissing her outstretched hand.

The two men waited until Edith had made herself comfortable in one of the vacant chairs before going back to theirs.

Each of the four adults who were being waited upon had a small table by their side upon which to rest their cups of tea and cake and sandwiches.

How are you settling in to your new home, Lord Cavendish? enquired Barrington, in the hope of starting up a pleasant afternoon’s conversation between all of them.

Very well, Jonathan – and please call me Harry. It’s quite an edifice, as I’m sure you know. Slowly but surely, I’m getting there. I have first-class decorators in, cheering up the place, and I’m being advised by Sir Leslie Hermitage of London about appropriate furnishings.

How long do you think it will take to complete the project, Harry? asked Hannah. She was not at all over-awed by Cavendish’s presence.

Another month should see it through, responded the peer. My biggest problem seems to be engaging suitable staff.

Ah! exclaimed Barrington. I can help you out there. Baron Goldstein has just died. He lives in the next hamlet in a grand old country house. In fact, it’s more of a castle, if one is being truthful. His son and heir abhors the place and has put Chasington Hall up for sale. As a result, a lot of his staff are being laid off. I suggest you speak to the agents and solicitors who are handing the sale. They should be able to recommend some of the staff to you.

Excellent. Thank you for enlightening me.

Not at all. How do you intend spending your time in this splendid part of the country, Harry?

Shooting and fishing in the main. That’s how I like passing my time – that, and some horse riding from time to time. Of course, a lot of my time is spent in the House of Lords.

Naturally. You must be very busy at the present time. So it was nice of you to give up some of your time to pay us the honour of a visit.

You flatter me too much, Jonathan. I was pleased to take a break from all that house-arranging. Bye the bye, you must be kept on your toes now that you’ve retired by this beautiful daughter of yours. I suspect she knows what she wants out of this world.

Edith’s lips parted in a thin smile. It was noticeable that her gaze was piercing, yet she did not have the need to blink her long eyelashes.

Edith, said Barrington, is there anything you wish to say to Lord Cavendish on your first acquaintance of him?

I think not, papa. I am sure that my Lord has far more interesting things to say than I should have, living this sheltered life of mine.

Cavendish took the bait too easily. In fishing terms, one might as well have reached for the gaff.

Do you choose to lead a sheltered life, Edith? he queried. Or is it just that you do not have an escort ready to hand to accompany you to forthcoming events?

I find your question slightly intrusive, Lord Cavendish, she replied. We have only been just acquainted, yet here you are quizzing me about my social life.

Edith… blurted out Barrington.

Cavendish put up a hand to prevent his host from saying another word. No, he said. The lady is quite right. That was rather presumptuous of me. I do apologise, Edith. The question was merely born out of natural interest I had in your welfare.

She smiled faintly at him. In that case, Lord Cavendish, I shall answer your question. I find most of the men father has introduced me to, to be rather boring. They are like manikins in expensive attire. When one digs below the surface, there is nothing there. I would not demean myself to have such persons as escorts of mine.

Barrington looked as though he was going to protest or apologise once more when, again, Cavendish beat him to the punch.

Well, that’s told me in no uncertain fashion, he grinned. I shall have myself tested to ensure I don’t behave like a manikin. He then addressed Hannah Barrington, and said, Delightful cucumber sandwiches, ma’am.

* * * * *

There was an almighty row in the Barrington household after Lord Cavendish had departed.

What got into you, Edith? her father demanded. You positively insulted the poor man.

I most certainly did not. I just put him in his place, responded his daughter. If I hadn’t, it was quite clear he was prepared to flirt with me.

And what if he had?! bellowed Barrington. The man is stinking rich and a widower. His wife died of typhoid last year, and he is not the sort to remain a bachelor.

So… so…? reacted Edith, swishing her red crinoline dress as she stood up and turned her back on her father. No man flirts with me unless I have given him the signal. I gave Lord Cavendish no such signal.

* * * * *

That girl doesn’t know what she wants, bemoaned Barrington to his wife after his daughter had stormed off. She’s going to die a spinster.

His wife gripped his arm. "If that’s the way it must be, my love, then that’s the way it shall be. There’s nothing you can do about it."

Isn’t there? Barrington challenged her. We’ll see about that. Lord Cavendish would make an ideal suitor for Edith.

Chapter Three: A BRIEF COURTSHIP

Cavendish found himself besotted with Edith.

From the moment he first saw her, his heart was captured. Her beauty, her poise… the way she looked at one… he dissolved in her presence.

Memories of his late wife seemed to vanish in the air when his thoughts turned to Edith.

But what to do? She must be his.

He determined that he must take positive action to win her over.

An idea began to form in his mind. Why not hold a banquet at Tremmington Hall when the house was in good order? He could invite all his influential friends who would put in a good word for him when they had the opportunity to speak to Edith at a ball he would organise afterwards. Yes, he was sure that would be an ideal platform to encourage her to warm to him.

A month elapsed before the renovation, refurbishment and redecoration of Tremmington Hall were complete.

He had approached the agents and solicitors acting for the late Baron Goldstein, resulting in a full complement of staff being engaged to manage the house and the country estate.

Thus, the stage was set. The date for the banquet and ball had been set for Saturday, June 29th 1895. Invitations had gone out and Cavendish was pleased to see that the Barringtons had replied in positive vein.

At Marstorm Mansion excitement abounded – except from one corner.

Edith was aware that she was being set up: if not by her parents then certainly by Lord Cavendish. She could tell from their first meeting that he had been beguiled by her. She recognised the look. She had seen it in the eyes of other prospective suitors.

It was a look of lechery.

Men always desired with a passion those things they could not have. And Edith always ensured she would be elusive and unattainable. It was as though it was a punishment she was determined to mete out to all men, as a statement in respect of her parents’ disappointment that she had not been born a boy.

It amused her to see grown men grovel for her attention, and to be able to reject their advances with just a wave of the hand.

I must see my tailor, announced Barrington to his wife. I think a special suit of clothing is called for to match the occasion, do you not think so, my love?

I cannot see why, reproved Hannah. Such unnecessary expense for such an occasion is unjustifiable. You have a perfectly adequate wardrobe.

Do you think so? I thought perhaps something more up to date…?

Nonsense. I will select something from that vast array of clothing at your disposal. You have very little dress sense, Jonathan.

And so the debate continued.

Edith was well out of it.

* * * * *

The big day had come.

Edith had dressed down, much to the chagrin of her parents.

That ball gown is rather plain, don’t you think, darling? observed her mother when her daughter made an appearance.

It’s quite adequate when one considers the sort of people we’re going to meet, replied Edith with disdain.

Hannah knew there was no point in arguing with her. She merely gave out a sigh of resignation as she followed her husband to the waiting coach outside.

It was an hour ride to Tremmington and the road was bumpy all the way, which made the journey uncomfortable for the occupants of the horse-drawn vehicle. They were thankful when the trip was over, but they were not looking forward to the journey back.

The party was greeted at the door by Cavendish himself, while an attendant stood by to take their coats and hats.

I’m glad to see you could come, greeted their host. Carter will show you into the assembly hall where we are serving aperitifs.

The servant referred to was dressed in red livery with black stockings and a white powdered wig. He bowed courteously, and directed the Barringtons to follow him.

There were already a considerable number of guests who had arrived, and the Barringtons were forced to introduce themselves to the people they engaged in conversation. This rather put them out. They had expected to be formally announced as they arrived, but clearly Cavendish had decided to dispense with such formality.

Eventually he joined them, and quickly introduced the Barringtons to his close circle of friends. The men had no hesitation in engaging Edith in conversation.

One of them – Lord Cartwith – bent her ear more than she wanted him to, and she found herself forced to listen to his endorsement of their host. It went on and on….

Cavendish eventually rescued her.

I apologise for Cartwith, he said. He does go on a bit, doesn’t he?

Edith merely nodded at him as she covered part of her face with her fan.

Do you like riding? asked her host.

Now and then, she responded coldly. I do not make a habit of it.

Perhaps I could call on you one day and we could go for a ride in the country?

Perhaps, was all she would say.

It was clear to Cavendish that his advances were not being well received. He would have to work harder at it.

His efforts were curtailed by the toastmaster who announced to the assembled that ‘dinner is served’.

The guests trooped into the waiting room where a number of designated staff steered the diners to the places allocated to them.

Cavendish had ensured that the Barringtons sat opposite him, with some of his closest chums on either side of him.

Edith found the subsequent conversation boring, although it must be admitted she contributed very little herself by way of lifting the interest level.

After they had dined on prawns and lobster salad, followed by venison in season and blueberry pie and cream, the toastmaster announced:

Pray silence for our host for this evening, Sir Charles Holby-Fenton, Lord Cavendish.

Barrington was somewhat bemused. He remembered when the peer had called on them for afternoon tea. Call me Harry, he had said. Now where did the ‘Harry’ bit come from?

He would have to stew over that for a while. Now he was duty-bound to listen to Cavendish’s forthcoming speech.

Impressively – as was noted by many, including Edith – the speaker had no need to refer to notes, but was comfortable enough to address his audience without hesitation and without any unnecessary pauses in order to gather his thoughts.

My Lords, Ladies and gentlemen, began Cavendish, welcome to Tremmington Hall!

At this point, loud cheers went up, followed by spontaneous applause. When it had died down, his lordship continued with:

I purchased this impressive residence with a certain amount of misgiving and trepidation. In short, I bought it blind. But, as you can see, it was a purchase I was gratified to make. Tremmington has a long history, and was designed by one of this country’s foremost architects, Robert Adam. My duties in the House of Lords will mean I shall be spending a lot of my time in London, but when time permits I shall always look forward to returning to Tremmington, which I now regard as my home.

At this point another cheer went up.

I was pleased to see all my invitations for tonight’s event were accepted, and I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to see you all, my dear friends, and to celebrate this housewarming celebration with everyone.

This last statement was greeted by a long applause.

Continuing, Cavendish went on:

As you will know, I lost my dear wife recently with typhoid. She contracted it while we were touring India, and she has been a great loss to me.

This was the only pause he was to make in the speech. It was deliberate, and done for effect. His audience suddenly fell silent.

After a few seconds – which seemed much longer – he added:

I have no wish to be morbid, but Helen, as she lay dying, urged that I did not grieve too long for her. Life is for the living, she said. Don’t be alone. Promise me you’ll find another to marry. Someone who will look after you and love you, as I have done.

The tears were evident in his eyes when he spoke those last words.

So my friends, I would ask you to raise your glass to my late wife. To Helen.

They rose as one and toasted Cavendish’s late wife. Helen, they said in one voice. It was as if it had all been rehearsed – but it had not been.

Now, on to brighter things, said Cavendish. Let me tell you what plans I have for this place…

* * * * *

After his speech, the guests were encouraged to go into the ballroom where a thirteen piece orchestra was assembled under the direction of Sir Henry Stanley, the conductor.

Cavendish immediately approached Edith for a dance, which she reluctantly accepted.

As they swept along the floor in a waltz, he whispered in her ear. You are very beautiful, Edith.

She whispered back, You are kind enough to say so, Lord Cavendish…

Won’t you call me Harry? he pleaded.

That would be too familiar, she objected. We hardly know one another. I would much prefer to keep things on a more formal footing.

Cavendish was somewhat disappointed. His good looks and flattery did not seem to be working. It would be no easy task to win over this beauty…

During the course of the evening, Cavendish managed to secure several dances with the reluctant Edith, and attempted several ‘chat-up’ lines with mixed responses from the lady concerned.

Still, as far as Cavendish was concerned, he had broken the ice.

The next step would be to get Edith on her own…

* * * * *

It was on a bright mid-summer afternoon they went riding. Cavendish had extended several invitations to her before one of them was accepted.

Lincolnshire in those days had plenty of bridle paths and open country in which to enjoy the pursuit they were currently engaged upon. After an hour or so exploration of the hinterland about them, they paused for a rest. Cavendish lifted Edith from her horse and they settled down for a rest under an old hollowed-out oak tree.

I wonder if this was where Charles the First hid from the Roundheads to avoid capture, said the peer, whimsically.

She laughed at him. No… surely it was nearer London.

It’s nice to hear you laugh, Cavendish stated with a passion.

Do I not laugh often? she teased him.

He shook his head. I wish you did. I would like to make you laugh often, Edith.

And how would you propose to do that?

By making you happy.

And how would you make me happy?

By caring for you, cherishing you… giving you all the love that is in my heart.

She was stunned by his sincerity. And before she knew it, he had kissed her…

* * * * *

I can’t believe it, said Barrington, when he heard the news. Our Edith is getting married. Carrington has proposed to her and Edith has accepted.

Hannah looked up from her embroidery.

Jonathan, she said. Have you been drinking?

No, my love. Lord Carrington has just called on me and asked for her hand.

His wife shook her head, disbelievingly. Huh – that was a short courtship. They’ve only known each other for a couple of months.

I know, dear, but…

Hannah rose from her stool in the boudoir.

Edith! she shouted. Where are you? Then she looked at her husband and said, A plague on the girl. How could she have kept this a secret from us?

Chapter Four: A MARRIAGE AND A DEATH

Edith did not want a big wedding.

She deliberately selected the church of St. Apollonius in Newton, a small village on the River Witham, that could only seat fifty parishioners. It was fifteen miles from Tremmington Hall and thirty miles from Marstorm Mansion.

Thus, Cavendish had to curtail quite severely the number of guests on his side. After all, he had no choice – not if he wanted to land the beautiful Edith.

The village of Newton boasted a population of just over five hundred and consisted of a main street that housed a pub, a general store, a newsagent/tobacconist and the church itself. There were a few minor streets that led off the High Street where most of the domestic housing was situated. Milk was provided, unpasteurised, from the local farm.

The couple dutifully turned up to hear their bans being read for three consecutive Sundays, and attended Evensong whenever they could.

On other occasions they were strangely apart. This was of Edith’s doing. She did not want the over-passionate Cavendish visiting her too often before their wedding date. His amorous advances, she gauged, could lead them into dangerous waters…

In truth, she did not know why she was marrying him. She did not love him, but he had turned out to be amusing company. He was five years older than she, and more worldly-wise, it would seem. He was confident, though self-centred; ebullient, yet nervous when she spoke to other men, athletic, but lazy.

He was certainly good-looking, she had to admit, and could turn other women’s heads, but he was no womaniser – and that was a good thing from her point of view.

When the day of destiny dawned, there was intense excitement in the Barrington household.

Saturday, August 31st, 1895.

Hannah was in her boudoir, fussing over what dress she should select for the occasion and whether she was wearing too much rouge. Jonathan was wondering what bow tie he should put on with the morning promenade suit he had elected to wear (via his wife). His shirt had a military stand-up collar and short, three-cornered turnovers. His black shoes had been brightly polished by one of the servants and left outside his bedroom door.

Edith, in the meantime, had been assisted by two of the maids in getting into her white wedding dress and making sure her tiara and a veil were just right.

The tradition of a white wedding is commonly attributed to Queen Victoria when she chose to wear white at her wedding to Prince Albert in 1840, and it was purported to be the symbol of woman’s chastity before marriage.

Edith certainly subscribed to that image, since she had allowed no man, barring Cavendish, to come near her.

So it was that at 1.30 p.m. precisely the Barrington party made their way to the church of St. Apollonius: Hannah Barrington and her sister Marjorie in a hansom cab, and Edith and her father in a specially designed white and gold carriage, totally enclosed, and only used for weddings involving the wealthy.

The Reverend Quincey Brownlove paced up and down outside the church in nervous anticipation. He was a man with not too much meat on the bone and whose dog collar was ill fitting. His bushy eyebrows seemed to be constantly bristling in feverish anticipation of what was to come. The poor man had never officiated