It Takes a Scandal

Chapter 7

Abigail had thought no one could be more brazen than Penelope, but she was proven wrong at her mother’s picnic. Among the guests was a young lady named Lucy Walgrave, who quickly proved herself a gossip extraordinaire. She seemed almost as fascinated by Sebastian Vane as Abigail herself was—although in a much more macabre way.

“Do you know your neighbor Sebastian Vane?” Miss Walgrave asked, her eyes sparkling. The young ladies had a table to themselves, a little removed from Mama and the older guests. “Have you heard much of him?”

“Lucy,” said Lady Samantha in quiet reproof.

Her friend patted her arm. “I know, but they live so near to him! They’re bound to hear everything eventually.” Lady Samantha looked away with a troubled expression, and Lucy turned expectantly to Penelope.

“Er—slightly,” said Penelope with a fleeting glance at Abigail. “My sister met him, as have my mother and brother.”

“Only briefly,” Abigail added.

Lucy leaned forward eagerly. “That’s more than many can say! I’ve lived here six years and only crossed his path twice. People call him the Misanthrope of Montrose Hill. He hardly speaks to anyone, just walks his grounds with that enormous black dog. No one ever saw that dog before his father disappeared; some people wonder if it might be a familiar.”

“A witch’s spirit?” asked Penelope, shocked. “Ridiculous!”

Lucy flipped one hand. “Oh, I don’t believe it! It’s just a coincidence, most likely. Still, he’s a very fearsome-looking man, don’t you think? He might be handsome if he smiled, but he never smiles, at least not that anyone’s seen.”

“I’ve seen him smile,” said Lady Samantha softly.

“Oh yes.” Lucy made a pious face. “I always forget you knew him before.”

“Before what?” Penelope asked what Abigail was thinking.

“Before the war.” Lady Samantha was rather pale, but her voice was even and clear. “He was once a very dashing and eligible young man, but he was wounded at Waterloo, and—and things went rather badly for him after that.”

“His father went mad,” said Lucy with an air of confiding some horrible secret. “Barking, raving mad. He ran naked through the streets of Richmond, screaming curses and ranting about the devil pursuing him. He assaulted people and had to be restrained before he could kill them.”

Abigail exchanged a look with her sister; Penelope looked as surprised as she felt. So that hadn’t been exaggeration. “Is that why some people in town seem to shun Mr. Vane the son?”

“Partly,” said Lucy. “When he first came back from the war, he appeared to go a bit mad, too. He threatened several people, and then when his father disappeared . . .” She shook her head, although not with any apparent sorrow. “Well, it just seemed he was following in his father’s footsteps. Mrs. Fairfax swears she felt a chill when he passed her once!”

“Mrs. Fairfax fancies she feels a chill every hour,” said Lady Samantha. “Lucy, you’re being unfair.”

“Everything I said is true,” her friend protested. “I haven’t repeated the most salacious rumors.”

“But only because I’m sitting here,” replied Lady Samantha wryly. She turned to Abigail and Penelope. “Mr. Vane was once my brother’s friend, and was often at Stratford Court. It was a very long time ago—nearly ten years by now—but I still hate to hear people speak ill of him.”

“Then what is the truth?” Abigail knew this was her chance to ask. “I heard all manner of things: madness, ruin, thievery . . .” She hesitated, but Penelope gave her an encouraging nod. “Even that he killed his father.”

“See?” murmured Lucy. “You knew they’d hear it all anyway.”

Lady Samantha’s eyes flashed. “It’s a lie that he killed his father. Old Mr. Vane wasn’t well at the end, but his son would never have done anything to harm him. He took such devoted care of his father, once he came home. The worst happened while he was away in the army.” She mustered a smile. “I’m sure you have nothing to fear from him.”

“I don’t,” said Abigail. “It was just a shock to see a reserved man of property almost given the cut direct in Richmond.”

Lucy leaned forward. “You saw him in town?”

“At the bookshop,” Penelope answered. “He seemed mysterious and intriguing to me, but his behavior was ordinary.”

“And yet Mrs. Driscoll was almost rude to him,” added Abigail. “It was striking, for he was very civil to her.”

Lucy nodded in a knowing way. “When Mad Michael—that’s what they called old Mr. Vane—when he was in one of his fits, he tore off his clothes, right in the middle of Richmond, and attacked Mrs. Driscoll, shouting that she was the devil’s own handmaiden and was trying to lure him into hell. It took three men to drag him away from her, and she was quite bruised as a result. I don’t wonder that she avoids the son as well.”

This time the look Penelope gave her wasn’t merely startled, but a little alarmed. Abigail ignored it. “That would be quite frightening,” she allowed, “but surely the younger Mr. Vane wasn’t party to it?”

“Oh, it was before he’d returned from the war.”

Penelope frowned. “Then why avoid him and treat him so coldly?”

Lucy darted a glance at Lady Samantha. “He wasn’t so reserved when he first came home. He threatened to beat Sir Richard Arnold, and nearly did come to blows with other gentlemen.”

“Over what?”

Again Lucy hesitated. It was Lady Samantha who answered. “Old Mr. Vane sold off a great deal of his land. His son was rudely surprised when he came home.” She seemed about to say something else, but instead paused, and when she went on, seemed to choose her words with care. “I daresay any man would have felt the same, let alone a man who’d been gravely wounded and come home to find his father so unwell.”


That fit with the picture forming in Abigail’s head. He’d been gone, unable to keep his father from hurting anyone or selling his land. Coming home wounded, only to be confronted by a parent sinking into madness and an estate suddenly gone . . . Surely it would make anyone lose his temper.

Lady Samantha pushed back her chair. “You must excuse me, I need to stretch my legs a bit after that excellent picnic.”

“Shall I walk with you?” Abigail started to rise, but Lady Samantha shook her head.

“No, I’ll be back in a few minutes. I never miss the dessert course.” She headed up the lawn toward the house.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Lucy leaned forward. “Now that she’s gone, I can tell you the rest of what I know about Sebastian Vane.” Abigail’s stomach clenched in apprehension. “She doesn’t like to hear an ill word about him, but she’s the only one in her family. Mr. Vane used to be quite welcome at Stratford Court, but now his name is never spoken there. It’s true that old Mr. Vane sold off all his property; he positively beggared the estate. People suspect his son did away with him to put a stop to it before everything was gone.”

“What really happened to Mr. Vane the elder?” Abigail asked.

“No one knows!” Lucy nodded somberly at Abigail’s surprise. “He disappeared. No body was ever found, but the only people in the house were the housekeeper and her husband, and Mr. Vane the son. The son tried to have him declared dead, but since there was no body . . .” She shrugged. “All too easy to push a man into the river.”

“But why?”

“To get rid of a lunatic, of course, and to inherit.” She grimaced. “It must be so horrifying to have a madman in the family.”

“If the father can’t be proven dead, the son wouldn’t be able to inherit,” Abigail pointed out.

Lucy paused. “I suppose that’s true. Perhaps that’s why Mr. Vane turned to thievery.”

“What?” exclaimed Penelope.

Their guest nodded. “Soon after the father disappeared, a large sum of money went missing from Stratford Court. Well, Sebastian Vane had been heard having a loud argument with Lord Stratford just a few weeks earlier, during which he threatened to ‘make the earl pay.’ Those were his words. And then, when the money vanished . . .”

Abigail frowned. “Was Mr. Vane arrested?”

Lucy craned her neck, peering in the direction Lady Samantha had gone, then lowered her voice even more. “He was never arrested, and it was because of Samantha. You heard her say Mr. Vane used to be her brother’s friend. What she won’t tell is that he was also mad in love with her, before the war and all the trouble with his family. And she loved him, although it was a great secret because she was so young and he was only a gentleman while her father is an earl. Well, when he came home, I heard he went to Stratford Court and asked—demanded!—to marry her. Her dowry would have solved all his problems, don’t you see? But Lord Stratford refused, for obvious reasons, and that was why they quarreled so bitterly. It left Vane in desperate need of money, so he stole several thousand guineas from the earl. And he wasn’t arrested,” she added as Penelope opened her mouth to speak, “only because her brother Lord Atherton, who was once Vane’s friend, persuaded his father not to, for her sake.”

Abigail regarded her doubtfully. “It seems very difficult to break into a house, steal a large sum of money, and escape without being caught, all with a shot-up knee.”

Lucy waved this aside. “But because he was so often there, he would have known exactly how to get in and find what he wanted. I think it’s very likely he did it.”

“If he stole a lot of money,” asked Penelope, “why is he still bankrupt?”

“I don’t know,” exclaimed Lucy. “Maybe he’s not, but just told people he is. It would add proof to the rumor, wouldn’t it, if he suddenly had plenty of money? Or maybe he was just too wily to spend it all at once. He might have it buried in his garden for all we know, and only digs up a few guineas when he needs them.”

Penelope still looked unconvinced. “The Earl of Stratford must be a very devoted father, to overlook such a loss and allow the thief to freely walk the same streets as his daughter.”

“Well, everyone believes he stole it,” said Lucy, almost defensively. “No one will extend him credit. I daresay no one thinks he’s likely to kill anyone else, but a thief will keep stealing. And I know this for a fact: Lord Atherton hasn’t spoken to Sebastian Vane since then. I heard they had a bitter falling out over Vane’s romance with Lady Samantha. Lord Stratford is an important man around here, and his favor matters. None of his family will even say Vane’s name.”

Abigail cleared her throat. “Lady Samantha just did, and she was rather kind to him.”

The other girl gave her a faintly pitying look. “Isn’t it obvious? She’s still in love with him. I daresay he’s still in love with her, too, and that’s why he never goes out. Could you imagine how cruel it would be to live so near your heart’s desire and know you were doomed never to have it? And she, of course, is forbidden to see him or speak to him, which must be why she’s never married even though she’s at least a year older than I am.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “Well,” said Penelope at last. “How melodramatic.”

Lucy shook her head with a sad sigh. “Isn’t it? And she’s such a lovely girl and so sweet. It’s so dreadful to hear such tragic scandals connected to her name.”

“But not too dreadful to repeat them,” said Penelope under her breath as she jumped to her feet. Fortunately their guest didn’t appear to hear. “Enough of that gloomy topic. Miss Walgrave, would you care to see the Fragrant Walk?”

Lucy looked a little disappointed that the gossip was over. “I don’t want to trouble you . . .”

“It would be no trouble at all.” Penelope summoned a gracious smile. “Come, you’ll adore it. My brother declares he’s never seen a more romantic spot in his life.”

Miss Walgrave brightened. “Does he? Why, I must see it, then.”

Abigail shot a grateful look at her sister as their guest gathered her shawl. She knew very well Penelope was luring the other girl away to give her time to digest that last shocking tidbit in peace. Her sister merely smiled and linked arms with Miss Walgrave, baldly lying about Jamie’s interest in the Fragrant Walk, which Abigail had never once heard him mention. It would serve him right if Penelope set every young lady in town on him; Jamie had refused to attend any of Mama’s entertainments, which had somehow only made him more appealing in the eyes of the local unmarried ladies.

But it seemed Mr. Vane might have a different reason for avoiding social occasions. Good heavens; murder and thieving and a broken heart. Could he really be so in love with Lady Samantha after so many years that he couldn’t bear to see her? Abigail tried to consider it analytically and suppress any sort of unpleasant feeling. It was possible, she decided, although not very likely. If Mr. Vane really couldn’t bear the thought of seeing Lady Samantha even in passing on the street, he would do much better to sell his house and live somewhere else. It didn’t seem as though he had many friends in Richmond to exert any hold on him. And seven years was a long time to shut one’s self away from all society. Abigail allowed that she might be more passionate in her feelings than some, but she couldn’t imagine any unrequited infatuation being enough nourishment for her soul over the course of one year, let alone seven.


The rest was much more serious, of course. Could he have killed his father? She didn’t want to believe that. Perhaps it had been an accident . . . She didn’t know what to make of the stolen money, but she had noticed that Miss Walgrave’s telling of that portion was couched more as supposition than fact. There must be more to the story, and she hated to convict a man based on gossip, especially from such an enthusiast as Miss Walgrave. She thought of the way Mr. Vane threw the charges in her face the other day. Surely only a man of ice-cold blood and iron nerve could bring up his crimes in that way.

She stood and headed toward the house, taking her time. Even if Miss Walgrave had been exaggerating, there was something in Lady Samantha’s demeanor that made Abigail think part of the story might have a germ of truth. Lady Samantha did grow pale every time Mr. Vane was mentioned. She defended him when everyone else seemed quite happy to malign him or ignore him. And there had been that look her sister, Lady Turley, gave her when Penelope first mentioned Mr. Vane at the Westons’ ball. It had been concern, as if Lady Turley feared for Lady Samantha’s well-being. For a moment Abigail wished she could see Lady Samantha and Mr. Vane together, to judge any attachment, and then she decided she didn’t actually want to see that.

She was so deep in her thoughts, she almost missed Lady Samantha. The earl’s daughter stood on the very edge of the terrace, her back to the river. Above the roof of Hart House, over the trees, Montrose Hill House was clearly visible in the distance. In the warm sunlight, the faded brick was a soft pink, the regular rows of windows gleaming like silver among the vines that climbed one side. From here it looked gracious and comfortable, the quintessential English house.

Almost as soon as Abigail spied her, Lady Samantha abandoned her study and resumed walking toward the picnic. She caught sight of Abigail and stopped, a faintly rueful smile on her face. “Miss Weston. I didn’t realize Montrose Hill was so near to Hart House.”

“It’s not, really. My father paid a call and said it must be nearly two miles. The hill makes it look closer.”

“Ah. I’m glad your father called on Mr. Vane.” Lady Samantha bit her lip. “You must have noticed that Lucy’s chatter was . . .”

“A bit gleeful in its scandalousness?”

“Yes.” The other girl’s eyes darkened. “I wish she wouldn’t repeat every shocking little thing she hears.”

“It smacks of unfairness,” Abigail agreed. “Whatever Mr. Vane’s family troubles, it’s horrible to whisper of murder about him.”

“He used to be a very eligible young man. He still would be, most likely, if only . . .” Lady Samantha stopped and forced a smile. “If only idle neighbors like us would stop talking about him! I’m no better than Lucy, am I?”

“You are far kinder to Mr. Vane,” said Abigail quietly. “And since you were acquainted with him at one time, I credit your words much more than Miss Walgrave’s.”

Lady Samantha hesitated. “I knew Mr. Vane a very long time ago,” she said at last. “Even I wouldn’t suppose I know what sort of man he is today, and I shouldn’t talk of him as if I do. Perhaps you’ll form an entirely different opinion.”

“Perhaps,” Abigail agreed.

She certainly intended to try.