At any rate, Win didn’t have time to ponder the love of beautiful girls he didn’t deserve. There was a book to finish and the duchess was once again uncooperative. They were back to her old sidewinders and geese.
In some ways it wasn’t as bad as before. She had admitted to being the duchess after all. Yet in other ways it was far worse because of what they’d already gone through. They were in the middle of the story. Too far to turn back but with ungodly lengths to go. Middles were daunting, insurmountable. Middles were the very reason Win Seton had yet to finish a book.
“Mrs. Spencer,” Win said one night as they sat in his room, dining on codfish. “I want to hear more about your marriage to Sunny.”
“What do you want to know? It was properly awful.”
“I’m sure there were some good times. What about the sixtieth-birthday party you threw for him? I have a quote from one of Blenheim’s neighbors.”
Win flipped open his notebook and flicked through the pages.
“Ah! Here it is!” he said. “‘The Blenheim dinner and dance was most amusing. They had got H. G. Wells of all people, and the duchess made him dance, a most comic business.’”
Mrs. Spencer giggled.
“Sunny was acting like an utter bear that night,” she said. “But Wells did lighten the mood. ‘We all have our time machines, don’t we. Those that take us back are memories … and those that carry us forward, are dreams.’”
“A Wells quote?” Win asked to Mrs. Spencer’s pleased nod. “Sounds like a memorable night.”
He did not mention other reports from the festivities, including Evelyn Waugh’s view of the partygoers: “about forty hard-faced middle-aged peers and peeresses.” Mrs. Spencer herself was described as “very battered with fine diamonds.” The night was supposed to be grand, over the top, but the consensus was that it smelled of desperation and last-ditch efforts. Already their marriage was frayed.
“We had some fun,” Mrs. Spencer conceded. She pulled her lips into a tight and distant smile. “But it was such a confusing night.”
“Tell me more,” Win pressed. “Tell me everything about the guests. The decorations. The food. It must’ve been marvelous.”
“I’ve said all I want to on the subject.”
“Mrs. Spencer…”
Pru shot him a look. As much as she cared for him, as much as her heart squeezed at every one of his rakish, crinkled grins, the man had learned little in their weeks at the Grange. For one, he still had the appalling propensity to push when it was very clear Mrs. Spencer needed to be pulled.
“I think the young lady wants me to back off,” Win said, locking eyes with Pru.
“The old lady, too,” Mrs. Spencer said. “By the by, you should know there’s been a mix-up in town. They claim I stole a can of gooseberry pie filling and some drinking chocolate from the market.”
“So we can expect another visit from—”
Suddenly thuds and crashes erupted throughout the house, as though someone were trying to roll a bookcase down a flight of stairs.
“What in the world?” Win said and stood. “The police again?”
Mrs. Spencer flew to the window.
“Who is that?” she said. “What’s out there?”
“Probably a cat,” Pru said, pulse screaming. “Or a dog.”
“Helluva cat,” Win said.
“They’re coming for me! They’re here! I saw them.”
“Who?” Win asked. “The coppers? Perhaps if you stopped instigating calamities in town…”
“Not the police, you clown!” Mrs. Spencer said, slightly out of breath. She took to pacing by the window. “Yesterday a man showed up at the door.”
“Someone was here?” Pru said. “At the Grange?”
“Yes. And he drilled me with all kinds of questions about my health, my welfare, and even about you.”
“ME!”
“You answered the door?” Win said. “Without firing any shots? This is an interesting turn of events. Do I need to fish some poor bloke’s body from the pond?”
“No dead bodies. This time. And I didn’t shoot the intruder because he was holding a bitch.”
“He picked you up?” Win said. “All the way off the ground? Why, the nerve! But please don’t speak so harshly of yourself.”
Mrs. Spencer glared at him, the corners of her mouth quivering as she tried to keep away a smile.
Meanwhile, Pru began to fidget and pace. Had this man really been asking about her? Mrs. Spencer had been “acting up” lately and the last time she regularly vexed authorities the family hired Pru. Maybe this time they’d hired someone who could actually keep Mrs. Spencer in check.
“Bitch,” Mrs. Seton said. “So very droll, Seton. Alas, of every living creature in this house, including the dogs, you are the bitchiest. For your information, I allowed the stranger on the premises because he looked familiar and I thought he was a spaniel showman. I’ve been in the market for another.”
“More dogs?” Pru yawped.