City of Darkness

Chapter ONE

September 9, 1888

2:14 PM





“Grandfather certainly picked an inconvenient time to die,” Cecil muttered, gazing out the carriage window into the shimmering heat of late summer. “The Wentworths are having their ball on Friday and I – “

“Will be home well before then,“ William said sharply. “How long can it take to read a will? It won’t be like last week with the funeral arrangements and all those bloody scientists coming in from all over the continent. This is just the family.”

Ah yes, just the family, Tom Bainbridge thought, glancing from one of his brothers to the other. Just the blessed family. Cecil and William had been dreaming of this day for years. The one when William would at long last inherit, and although they’d been on the road to his grandfather’s estate for more than an hour, William’s hands still gripped his cane with palpable tension. Tom’s mother and his sister Leanna sat across from the three men, their faces obscured by their mourning veils. Tom suspected there were many unspoken advantages to being female, and one of them was the privilege of hiding one’s thoughts behind a curtain of lace. Leanna had been weeping for a week, and she now sat slumped silently against the shabby blue velvet of the carriage wall, as if she no longer had the strength to even cry.

“Do you think you could manage to show a little more respect?” their mother asked icily. She was the calmest of the lot, perhaps because Leonard Bainbridge had been a father-in-law and not a father, but more likely because the events of her life had taught Gwynette the virtue of patience. She was the only one in the carriage who was traveling to Rosemoral with neither grief nor hope. “Those scientists were Leonard’s colleagues and they’d come from great distance, at great inconvenience I would imagine, to pay tribute to what he had done with his life.”

“Gad, mother, what was that?” Cecil said, hitting Leanna’s knee as he shook a fly off his top hat. “Taking an estate like Rosemoral and turning it into some sort of ridiculous laboratory with ape skeletons lying about the place? The last time I was there he had a full scale model of the….the digestive tract of a pig sitting on the French tea cart the Prince of Wales gave Grandmama.”

“It was his tea cart, not yours,” Tom snapped. “And if that’s truly the last thing you remember, it only shows how rarely you visited him. He hasn’t done digestive experiments for years.”

The carriage gave a sudden lurch. It had been some time since the family had been able to afford a matched team, so for this long and heavy journey to Rosemoral, a short-legged pony had been yoked to an aging horse, resulting in a remarkably uneven ride. Just one more indignity in a series of indignities, Cecil thought, shifting towards his younger brother, who’d nearly been unseated by this most recent bounce. “Naturally, you and Leanna would defend anything Grandfather chose to do in his dotage, even if it did involve displaying the remains of farm animals on priceless antiques.”

“This is neither the time nor place for this discussion,” Gwynette said, pulling aside her veil to reveal eyes of such a supernaturally pale blue that they never failed to elicit comments from anyone meeting her for the first time. Gwynette had been a beautiful woman when she married Dale Bainbridge – the portrait in the upper hall attested to that – but thirty subsequent years of struggle had left their mark. Her beauty was not the kind to age well, and, since her husband had finally drunk himself to death five years earlier, her eyes had seemed to get lighter and lighter, giving Tom the uneasy impression that his mother was fading away. “I won’t have this squabbling,” she said. “Especially now, when we’re coming to the end.” Whether she meant the end of the family’s genteel poverty or merely the end this particularly unpleasant carriage ride wasn’t clear, but none of her children requested further illumination, and for a moment the group fell into silence.

“A lovely speech, Mother,” Cecil finally said, yawning and stretching out his legs. He was the only one who looked at all like her, the only one to have inherited her unusual eyes. “But cast a glance around. Bainbridge blood in every vein and yet here we sit in a broken down carriage I’d be ashamed to haul hay in. It’s being pulled by a borrowed pony and a horse that should have been shot a decade ago, and all this time we’ve struggled, Grandfather has lived in an estate fit for a duke. You can’t honestly say you aren’t relieved that the day is finally here when William is going to inherit.”

“We’ve managed to support ourselves at Winter Garden well enough.”

“Managed to hold on, isn’t that more like it? Creditors are at the door every week and they’d have closed in by now if they hadn’t known that grandfather would surely oblige us all by dying sooner or later.”

“Enough, Cecil,” Tom said. “Leanna’s here. Have you taken leave of your senses?” The whole family turned their chins slightly toward the silent figure in black, but the girl still didn’t move. She was normally the family chatterbox, so her refusal to speak had the odd effect of dominating the conversation.

Her grief is so damn ostentatious, William thought, as Tom and Cecil fell into another pointless debate. Of course, she loved Grandfather and probably spent more time at Rosemoral than any of us, but all the same... Ever since the telegram had come announcing that Leonard Bainbridge’s heart had at long last given way, William had indulged a private fear. Was it possible his grandfather would have ignored primogeniture and divided the estate among them all? Such a stunt wouldn’t have been unprecedented in Bainbridge family history, for Leonard’s own father had settled a startling amount on his daughter Geraldine. Not just enough to allow the girl to marry well, which was prudent, but enough to allow her to not marry at all, which was lunacy. The woman had spent her life tearing about the world from India to Chile, throwing family money into any number of crackpot causes, and Leonard – far from being upset that his own inheritance was diluted – had always seemed amused by his sister’s exploits. William knew his grandfather would leave Leanna money, and undoubtedly funds would be set aside for shrewd baby Tom, who had paid the old man the ultimate compliment of following his footsteps straight to medical school. A share for Cecil on general principle, enough for his mother to make the much-needed repairs to Winter Garden….

But he wasn’t liberal enough to cut the estate into quarters, was he? The question had been tormenting William for the past eight days. Estates passed to first born males for a logical reason, to hold family fortunes intact rather than allow them to be frittered away across generations, and on one hand, Leonard Bainbridge had been nothing if not logical. He respected the traditions that had preserved Rosemoral for centuries, ever since it had been granted to a Lancaster loyalist during the War of the Roses, and he would not likely make any decisions that would put it into jeopardy now. William loved the property too, and was prepared to devote his life to being a fit custodian for the land. He and he alone understood the smell of the dirt, the calm of the trees, the silence of the upper rooms, the patina on the leather chairs in the library. Leonard must have known that William was the one who would protect Rosemoral with his last breath.

But, on the other hand - and this is what had kept William from a week of good sleep - Leonard had occasionally looked up from his scientific experiments to express interest in the same sort of political causes that consumed his sister. Socialism. Decolonization. Even women’s rights, a subject William held to be on an equal par with experiments on the digestive tracks of farm animals. William stared at the limp form of his sister. Surely Leonard would not have left her a full share, knowing that a twenty-year-old girl would likely take any inheritance into a marriage and thus out of the family. Leanna or Rosemoral? His grandfather loved them both. Which was he thinking of at the end?

“Besides,” Tom was saying to Cecil, his voice rising to a pitch that pulled William from his thoughts. “You could have sought some sort of profession other than the social circuit. And what of William? He’s twenty-eight and hasn’t turned his hand to anything.”

“Professions aren’t for eldest sons,” William said, relaxing his grip on his cane, and feeling suddenly sure of himself. “Professions are for youngest sons, like yourself.”

Tom wasn’t going to let it go. “Grandfather was an eldest son, and an heir, and he still did something useful with his life.”

“Please, dear Tom, we’ve spent a week hearing Grandfather eulogized to the skies,” Cecil said. “No further accolades are necessary, or we’ll have to send to Rome posthaste to have the man canonized. It’s certainly bloody hot in here, isn’t it?”

Leanna jerked a gloved hand from the folds of her skirt and pushed open the carriage window. Cooler air rushed in, bringing the road dust and flies with it, but the rest of the carriage occupants didn’t protest. They merely sat staring at Leanna as she settled back into her motionless state.

“So if elder sons inherit and younger sons find professions, what happens to middle sons?” Tom asked.

“They marry well,” Cecil said promptly. “What about it, William? Hours from now when you’re firmly in the money, will you remember me? Enough at least for a new suit of clothes and a decent carriage so I can win the hand of Hannah Wentworth? So far I’ve been able to offer her nothing but charm, which I luckily have in abundant supply, but we all know that if I actually propose marriage, her father is going to expect to see more than a winning smile. I overheard him at the track saying I was all blue but no green.”

“Meaning exactly what?” Gynnette asked testily. At one time gossip had obsessed her and she still maintained a certain reflexive interest in the social standing of her family, even if she was powerless to stop its slow decline. The remarks she had overheard during the last few years were rarely pleasant, but she catalogued every snicker and sarcastic comment, rolling them over in her mind the way a tongue compulsively prods a sore tooth.

“Meaning we’re all of the right class, hence the blue blood, but we haven’t any cash, hence the deplorable absence of green,” Cecil said. “Meaning, to be a bit more blunt, that we’re acceptable enough to ask to tea but not suitable to marry the daughter of the house. Is that clear enough?”

“Yes,” she said shortly, and dropped her veil back over her face.

“But now,” Cecil said, “I have the next best thing to money, which is a brother with money. So William, you’ve never answered. Can I count on you for enough cash to court Miss Wentworth and reassure her father?”

“Of course,” said William. “It would be a smart move to align with the Wentworths, even though I can’t see why you’re so determined to marry that girl. She has a face like that horse you keep threatening to shoot.”

“True enough,” Cecil said agreeably. “But second sons have to take care of themselves. “

“Not like this,” Gynnette said. “As long as we still have that blue blood you find so amusing, I won’t have you sully the family name by chasing wealth.” Her hand fluttered nervously to the opal and diamond brooch on her chest. It was the only thing left from the early years with her husband, the good years, and with the mention of the Wentworth fortune, her mood must have shifted, because Gwynette tended to fiddle with the brooch whenever she was anxious. It’s her talisman, Tom thought, something she touches whenever she needs to bring back a bit of her old power. “I remember when Silas Wentworth was nothing more than a dairy farmer. And why do you insist on going to that racetrack? It’s what killed your father.”

“Is it my imagination,” Cecil said, “or is this an exceptionally tedious conversation?” He settled back into the cushions and closed his eyes.

Tom leaned back too and wondered if it would be possible to sleep, to clear his mind for the ordeal ahead. Cecil, for all his crudity, was quite right. Older sons inherit, second brothers marry well, and youngest brothers seek professions. William would be master of Rosemoral by sunset today and Tom only hoped that his grandfather had left an adequate allowance for his final years of medical school. Leonard had been proud that at least one of his grandchildren inherited his love of science and had been more than happy to pay Tom’s tuition, just as he had paid for Leanna to continue at boarding school after their father was killed. Otherwise, Tom suspected Leanna would have been shipped back to Winter Garden the minute their mother had grasped the true enormity of her late husband’s debts.

Leonard Bainbridge had always made it clear that Tom and Leanna were his favorites and had been extraordinarily generous with them both. But a single term at Cambridge had taught Tom that academic men were often disastrous judges of human character, unable to accept that not everyone was similarly ruled by logic. Tom knew his grandfather’s motives were pure, but he only prayed that provisions for him and Leanna had been spelled out specifically in the will and that their grandfather hadn’t left them dependent upon William’s unsteady sense of justice. Grandfather wasn’t a fool, Tom thought, as he began to drowse. He would have left Leanna a significant dowry, certainly, probably enough to help her form a good alliance when the time came. Otherwise, it would fall to her brothers to arrange her marriage, and Tom cringed at the thought of what William and Cecil might consider a suitable match for their sister.



3:26 PM



Within another hour they were at the gates of Rosemoral, and as Leanna peered out at the familiar entrance, her spirits lifted. Her mother had pushed aside her veil too, but seemed oblivious to the beauty. Leonard, who’d dabbled in botany as well as zoology, had taken pride in the fact his gardens had color from April through November, a not insignificant accomplishment for England. Leanna turned in her seat, leaning her face out of the window and relaxing for the first time in days. There had been so many times in the past she had impatiently ridden past these gates, had bounded from the carriage and run squealing through the foyer and into her grandfather’s study, certain of the welcome she would find there.

“Your hair,” Gwynette murmured, smoothing back her own. Although they both were blonde, Leanna did not have the delicate beauty of her mother, but rather the rosy, vibrant coloring of the Bainbridges. Normally it would have been difficult for her to sit still during a two-hour carriage ride, but behind the wall of her veil she had realized that invisibility granted a certain freedom; since they couldn’t see her face, her family had quite bizarrely seemed to conclude that she didn’t exist, or at least that she gone deaf. They had talked about subjects she was normally not privy to hearing, and Leanna had held herself immobile, pretending to sleep, but really mulling over the implications of the conversations, and the deeper implications of her brothers’ anger.

This is what Tom has been trying to warn me about, she thought, when he says the money is passing into less benevolent hands. The power will go straight to William’s head, that’s a given. And things appear to be far worse than Mother knows. Cecil’s been gambling – daily and probably heavily, and probably with that man they call Edmund Solmes. He’s been cornered enough to consider marriage to a woman he doesn’t love, and Tom’s terrified too, frightened that William won’t see him through medical school. But the biggest shock of all had been the realization that William simply wasn’t as smart as the rest of them. He seemed to think every problem in the world could be solved with money, an opinion Leanna knew was only held by the most foolish of men.

As a child she had always looked up to her eldest brother. They had wandered the halls of Rosemoral together and she had let him press her into service in any number of tasks. She’d been his lieutenant in arms, a princess in a tower, his nurse, his valet, his pupil, his adversary in a duel fought with willow branches. Leanna had played whatever role William had wished her to play, happily, and with pride that he would notice a younger sister, that he would single her out – even if he was singling her out to die an ignoble death in their grandfather’s flower gardens.

But a new and uncomfortable truth was beginning to dawn. William may not be the quickest in wit, but, due to the fluke of birth order, he would shortly be lord of them all. Cecil would try to weedle, Tom would try to argue, and her mother would pretend they were the Bainbridges of fifty years ago and not sad remnants of an unraveling family cloth. And meanwhile she, Leanna, was both young and female and thus the most vulnerable of all. Once her grandfather had taken her out on horseback and they had ridden the perimeters of the estate. He’d talked about how the house and grounds were large, and how it took a great deal of money to sustain them. Looking back, she supposed it was Leonard’s attempt to explain the difference between genteel wealth and cash in hand. She had been no more than fourteen. She had not grasped the full implications of his lecture.

Now she did. Rosemoral, while impressive to the eye, did not necessarily provide the sort of endless income that an outsider might imagine. Leonard had been trying to explain why the estate could not be cut up as easily as a pie at dinner, why he had not bailed his own son out from his debts, why William might not be able to rescue Cecil, why what seemed like family coldness was sometimes family survival.

Her grandfather had been warning her that, appearances aside, there might not be enough to go around.

An elderly man was waiting for them under the portico of the south wing and as the carriage rolled to a stop, he stepped forward, peering up with an anxious squint. Leanna recognized him as Charles Galloway, her grandfather’s barrister, and she smiled as he lifted a shaky hand to help her down the steps.

“Mr. Galloway, I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid you’d send one of your aides.”

“For the reading of Leonard Bainbridge’s will? You wound me, child. Your grandfather was my dearest friend. Tom, William, it’s a fine thing to see you both again. I wish it could be under better circumstances, of course, and last week at the funeral I tried to… Ah, and you of course are….” As the rest of the family climbed out of the carriage, the barrister fumbled for a moment, despite the fact he must have prepared for this meeting. Tom finished the introductions. Galloway had obviously never met Cecil, proof of how rarely Leonard’s middle grandson had visited Rosemoral, and he seemed utterly flummoxed by Gwynette who, even in mourning, could still stop a man in his tracks.

William brushed by the old man, as if determined to be the first to enter the house. He and Galloway would have regular dealings from now on, Tom thought. Presuming, of course, William had no plans for throwing Leonard’s best friend aside in favor of a barrister his own age.

“Um, yes, yes, let’s step in,” Galloway said, following William into the main hall where a young maid collected the canes, hats, and gloves. “Tillie here can bring tea to Leonard’s study and I thought that afterwards – “

“We can hear the will now, in my opinion,” Cecil said. “We only brought bags for one evening and our plan is to be underway early tomorrow morning. I have pressing social engagements and I don’t think any of us see the point in dragging things out.”

“Ah yes,” said Galloway. “Yes, we must send a boy for your things. The rooms have been prepared, of course, but I thought perhaps…” He broke off, as if he were unaccountably disappointed they wouldn’t be staying longer, and nervously fingered the leather portfolio in his hand.

Leanna reached over to grab the maid’s arm as she sped by. “Tillie,” she whispered. “If it’s no trouble, can I have the pink room with the French doors?”

“Of course, Miss, just as it’s planned. Mr. Leonard always called that ‘Miss Leanna’s room.’” She bobbed an uncertain curtsey and it occurred to Leanna that this must be hard for the staff as well, the death of a much-loved master and an abrupt change of the guard. William watched this exchange silently, then turned to Galloway.

“I agree with my brother,” he said. “Let’s get on with it. I can’t imagine it’s a particularly complex document.”

“No,” Galloway said evenly, pushing open the double doors of Leonard’s study. “Mr. Bainbridge had only one child, who predeceased him, so the people in this room represent his entire issue. Are you sure you won’t take tea?”

“It’s almost four,” William said, a slow flush of anger beginning at his neck. How dare the man offer him tea in his own house? “I presume some sort of dinner has been arranged, so we’ll be eating soon enough. We’ve had an exhausting journey, and just as Cecil said, we’ll be going home tomorrow to begin the arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” questioned Galloway.

“Arrangements to move,” said Cecil.

“Move?”

“Move from Winter Garden to Rosemoral,” William said, in complete exasperation, thinking he’d send this old fool packing as soon as he could. “As you said, the eldest son of the only son is in this room.”

“I believe I said the issue – “

“Quite. So let’s begin. As you can see, my mother is exhausted.”

Gwynette had already settled into a chair and she looked anything but exhausted. When she turned her gaze on Galloway, he flinched, thinking that her eyes were so light that the blue looked eerie, otherworldy. He wondered why only minutes ago he had thought of her as beautiful.

“I believe I would like tea,” Gwynette said, and Tillie went scrambling toward the door.

Galloway took his position behind the desk. Leanna was hit with a painful wave of nostalgia, remembering how many times she had seen her grandfather in that very chair, pouring over his journals. No, she thought, pressing her eyes closed, I won’t cry again. She was relieved when Tillie promptly returned with the tea tray and they were all able to busy themselves with the familiar rituals of napkins and cups. She was not the only one upset, she saw, for Tom’s hand trembled as he took a saucer and, for once in his life, William refused food.

“There’s a good deal of talk in the opening about sound mind and all that,” Galloway began. “And I can assure you Leonard was of sound mind. The will was witnessed by four barristers and one of his doctors who had just performed a most through examination.” Galloway grunted and picked up his spectacles. “He begins by leaving bequests to his household staff and to his alma mater, Cambridge. He also leaves the university his scientific papers and any proceeds which might be realized from the publication of these papers. I could spell out the particulars, if you – “

“Spare us,” William said. “The dons can come tomorrow and cart out every skeleton and test tube in the place for all I care. Tell them to do so, in fact. Anything that’s left when we move in will go directly to the trash heap.”

“Indeed” said Galloway, thinking that genetics was a funny business. Neither Leonard’s son nor his two eldest grandsons had shared his love of learning. The peculiarities of the will were now beginning to make more sense. He’d tried to dissuade Leonard from the arrangement himself, fearing the terms would be contested, but Leonard had gone to great lengths to render the document unbreakable. Now, looking at the solemn faces of Tom and Leanna, Galloway understood for the first time why his friend had been so tenacious.

“Indeed,” he said again, turning back to the papers and beginning to read aloud. “I leave a thousand pounds in trust for the medical school expenses of my grandson Thomas. If my grandsons William and Cecil should decide to attend university in view of obtaining professional status in any field, a like amount shall be drawn from the general coffers and put in trust for them.” William and Cecil both frowned, but remained silent and after a pause, Galloway continued. “Four hundred pounds a year will be transferred from the general coffers into a fund for the maintenance of Rosemoral. This will allow all presently employed servants to keep their positions, whether or not the house is occupied.”

That’s odd, Leanna thought, looking up from her tea. Occupied or not? She tried to catch Tom’s eye but he was slumped his armchair, hand to his mouth, deep in thought.

“To my daughter-in-law, Gwynette Bainbridge, and to each of my three grandsons, William, Cecil, and Thomas, I leave a monthly allowance of fifty pounds, also to be drawn from the general coffers…”

Everyone was frowning now.

It isn’t what he’s saying, it’s what he isn’t saying, Tom thought. Where does Leanna come into all this?

“The Bainbridge family emeralds and the Gainsborough portrait of our mother, I entrust to my beloved sister Geraldine,” Galloway droned on. “Since she benefited from our father’s estate, I leave her no other funds and believe she will understand my reasoning …”

Suddenly an idea began to dawn in Tom’s head and he glanced quickly around the seated circle, trying to gauge if the same thought had occurred to anyone else. The reminder that his own father had left money to a daughter, the reminder of a family tradition of heiresses, Tom thought, his heart beginning to beat faster. The confident look had left William’s eyes and Cecil was bent forward, staring at a single flower on the Oriental rug.

“The estate of Rosemoral and all surrounding properties,” Galloway was reading, “along with the stocks, bonds, and monies on deposit at the Leeds Trust which constitute the general coffers….”

Galloway had everyone’s attention now. A clock struck in a distant hall and Tom jumped. One. Two. Three. Four. The chimes reverberated, trembling in the air. It’s four o’clock, Tom thought. Four o’clock and the end of the world.

“…I leave to my granddaughter, Leanna Bainbridge.”

In the weeks and months to come, Tom would lie in his dormitory room at Cambridge and try to reconstruct that moment, wondering whose face had borne the most appalled expression. Most nights he would decide it had been Leanna’s. She went absolutely white, as pale as the paper in Galloway’s hand, and beside her, both Cecil and William sat literally open-mouthed. Gywnette, a master at hiding her emotions after years of practice, gazed down into her tea cup as if she were trying to divine the future. Galloway rushed on to the last sentence of the document, nearly stammering as he read.

“My grandson Thomas is named executor of the estate.”

That said, he looked up, and wiped his brow. This final statement seemed to have stunned the listeners fully as much as the announcement of primary heir, for it was at least thirty seconds – measured by the tormenting beat of the clock – before William rose shakily to his feet.

“He was mad, obviously mad…”

Galloway gazed at the younger, stronger man with no expression. “He knew you would say as much, which is why he went to such pains to make sure the document is beyond reproach.”

“Beyond reproach, my –“

“We’ll fight it, you must know that,” Cecil said, moving to stand beside William. “To leave a fortune of this size to an nineteen-year-old girl –“

“Twenty.” The voice seemed to come from nowhere.

“I’m twenty,” Leanna repeated slowly, also rising to her feet.

“Well, I beg your pardon,” Cecil snapped. “That puts an entirely new face on everything. And naming this boy as the executor is surely the final joke of a man gone mad from inhaling too much formaldehyde.”

“I’m not a boy, and Grandfather named me executor for a reason,” Tom said. “He knew I’d protect Leanna, that I wouldn’t let you break the will…”

“Protect her?” Cecil flopped back into his seat with an ugly laugh. “Well I’m sure our sister will sleep better in her room tonight knowing that you’re her designated guardian. Oh, but they’re all your rooms now, aren’t they, darling? Tell me, can mother and William and I stay the evening, or do you plan to put us in the barn with the livestock?”

“You must know that I never…” Leanna stopped and tried to take a breath, struggling to inhale against the tight ribcage of her corset.

“Leanna?” Tom said, extending an arm. She was very pale.

“Perhaps you should rest, Miss Bainbridge,” Galloway said. “There’s a couch – “

Tom was moving towards her, but he was too late. Leanna made one last attempt to speak and then the floor rose up and slapped her in the face.