Deadly Inheritance (13 page)

‘There’d be the devil to pay if I were to say,’ said Mr Snell. ‘But I’m not. There’s some matters as should be left alone.’ He sounded horribly sanctimonious.

‘Which means you have no idea who she met,’ said Mrs Sutton decisively. ‘You shouldn’t go round spreading rumours, Mr Snell. Rumours are the work of the devil. Now, Mr Partridge, if you please, and if you have finished serving Miss Grandison here, Lady Frances is needing eggs. Our lot’s gone broody on us.’ She sounded confident of a certain status as housekeeper to a titled lady.

‘Of course, Mrs Sutton, in just a moment. Here are knitting needles, Miss Grandison.’ The shopkeeper placed a selection on the counter. ‘What colour wool was you interested in?’

Ursula had no idea what she wanted; knitting had only occurred to her as she entered the shop. ‘Please, serve Mrs Sutton while I think.’

‘Kind of you, I’m sure,’ said the woman graciously. ‘Two dozen eggs, if you please, Mr Partridge.’

She handed over her basket and the shopkeeper started to place creamy-white eggs carefully in paper bags before arranging them in the carrier.

Glancing around at the other women, Ursula became aware that she was the only one wearing a knitted wrap. She had not expected Helen to possess such a mundane article, but did not countrywomen knit themselves warmth and comfort?

Suddenly Ursula wanted to make herself something fragile and feminine instead of her fiercely practical dark brown shawl. However, its very plebeian status may have given her a certain anonymity amongst them. And tied about her in the mountain cold, it had provided welcome warmth.

Mrs Sutton left. No one else seemed in a hurry to place an order. They stood fingering items on shelves: tins of preserved vegetables and fruits, bars of soap, mops and brushes, dusters, books from the circulating library shelves. Conversation had ceased. Ursula felt everyone’s attention fixed on herself.

When the shopkeeper turned back and asked if she had come to a decision on the shade of wool she required, she said, ‘Cream,’ as though she had been nourishing the idea for some time. She picked up a pair of thick needles. ‘A fine wool, if you have one, Mr Partridge, it’s to be a lacy wrap.’

Skeins of a fine cream wool were placed beside the needles.

‘I don’t suppose you would have a pattern, Mr Partridge?’

He shook his head. ‘Patterns here be copied down from knitter to knitter. Baby shawls be most popular and everyone has a pattern for them.’

‘I’m right sorry, Mr Partridge, to have troubled you over such a thing. I’ll take this wool and these needles. Could you please wrap them for me?’

Miss Ranner said, ‘I have a pattern for a lacy wrap as might suit, Miss Grandison, if you would be interested. I would be most willing to lend it to you.’

Ursula looked at the steady hazel eyes in the soft face. ‘Why, Miss Ranner, you are most kind. I would surely be grateful for the loan. How many of these skeins do you think I’ll need? And would these be the right size needles?’

Soon the needles and the wool were parcelled up and Mr Partridge offered to send them up to Mountstanton House.

‘Too much trouble,’ Ursula said briskly. ‘I’ll take them with me. They can sit in the Colonel’s trap. Mr Partridge, what do I owe you?’

She paid the shopkeeper and took the parcel.

‘Shall you come with me to see the shawl and its pattern?’ Miss Ranner looked up at Ursula hopefully.

‘I’d be delighted. I’ll wait for you to finish your shopping.’

‘Oh no, I can do that any time.’

‘Then lead the way. Perhaps, Mr Partridge, if Colonel Stanhope arrives to collect me before I return, you can tell him where to find me?’

As Ursula left the shop with Miss Ranner, she could feel the gaze of everyone else following her. She wondered if she imagined the long drawn out sigh that came as the doorbell rang on her departure.

Her companion lived a few doors down from the store, in a little cottage no more than one room wide. A narrow staircase led upstairs and there appeared to be another room at the back. One glance, though, was enough to tell Ursula that, for Miss Ranner, life was lived in the room that gave straight onto the street. A fire was laid in a gleaming black grate. On the mantelshelf above stood a pair of small china houses, roses climbing round the doors; windows and chimney picked out with colour. A round table in the centre of the room held an assortment of needlework, books and letters. Beside the unlit fire was a comfortable chair. A wooden armchair with a round back and spindle supports was drawn up to the table.

‘Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea?’ Miss Ranner took off her bonnet and adjusted the set of her hair. ‘There may be some coffee,’ she added doubtfully.

‘Tea would be very pleasant, ma’am.’

Her hostess gave a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘I like the way you talk, Miss Grandison. It’s more interesting than the Countess, if you don’t mind my saying so. Though you can, of course, tell that she is not English.’

Ursula laughed. ‘Her ladyship hasn’t spent time in the far West of America. We were at school together but my life has been more rough and ready than hers.’

‘Goodness, you don’t say!’ Miss Ranner gave another, smothered laugh. ‘Do, please, sit down and rest that ankle. I’ll ask Ellie to bring us tea.’ She disappeared into the room at the back.

Ursula loosened the ends of the unfashionable wrap she had tied around her waist, then inspected a couple of framed samplers displayed on one of the walls. Judging from the dates, and the fact that the name on each was the same, it would seem that her hostess was called Amelia.

‘Are these your work?’ she asked when Miss Ranner reappeared.

‘Oh, dear, they are.’ Miss Ranner peered closely at one of the samplers and her index finger traced the line of patterned cross-stitch that framed the sampler’s rows of different stitches. ‘Now, I’ll just pop upstairs and find that shawl.’

She was soon back with a cobweb-fine wrap.

Ursula expressed her delight with the intricate garment then watched as Miss Ranner dug out a large box from the bottom drawer of a dresser and found a couple of much-fingered pages covered with neat knitting notations.

Rather as she had with the sampler, Miss Ranner ran a hand over the first page. ‘My dear Mama copied this from one in the possession of her mama. She was a vicar’s daughter in the North of England, you know?’

Ursula expressed interest.

‘She met my Papa when he was on a walking holiday. He was a curate; so suitable.’

‘So, she became a vicar’s wife as well as daughter?’

‘Why, yes, and brought up a large family as well as giving succour to the parish. She used to say that, poor as we were, we had much, much more than others.’

‘It must have been a tough life for your mama; forgive me,’ Ursula gave a little laugh. ‘That’s my far Western vocabulary speaking. I mean it must have been difficult for her.’

‘She managed. Ah, here is Ellie with our tea.’

A small and very nervous maid brought in a tray with a brown teapot and two porcelain cups and saucers and placed it on the table, Miss Ranner clearing a space.

Ursula was pressed to take the upholstered seat.

‘Are you comfortable at Mountstanton House?’ Miss Ranner asked as she supplied her guest with a cup of the tea. ‘I am afraid, though, that the unfortunate discovery yesterday must have upset you.’

Ursula admired the skilful innocence with which Miss Ranner had introduced the subject.

‘Did you know the girl, Polly Brown?’ Ursula allowed herself to be as direct as her hostess.

‘Why, yes. All the Mountstanton servants visit Hinton Parva when they have free time. Or are on an errand for someone.’ Miss Ranner sat down, her pleasant countenance very sad. ‘Polly was full of life. Always ready to chat.’

‘About Mountstanton?’ Ursula drank a little of her tea. It was hot and strong. She was coming to like this English obsession.

‘Not about the Earl and Countess, dear me, no. But she would always tell us tales of young Lord Harry. Adored that boy, she did. And then there would be comments about some of the other servants. Because she was in the nursery, Polly gave herself a few airs; she thought herself better than most of the other young ones.’

‘How about Mrs Parsons and Benson?’

‘Full of respect for them she was. She had to be.’

‘Was she pretty?’

‘Very pretty! She had blue eyes that were so large. Such a pleasure to look at, she was. And her nose was small and straight. She held her head up as though she knew she looked as good as anyone and better than most. Bit of a saucy air about her.’ Miss Ranner stopped for a moment and gave an apologetic smile, ‘How I do go on.’

‘Please, Miss Ranner, I’d so like to put a face to that poor body.’

‘Oh, Miss Grandison. How terrible it must have been.’ Miss Ranner looked as though she might burst into tears.

‘Tell me more so I can picture her alive.’

Miss Ranner thought for a moment. ‘Full mouth she had. “Made for kissing” is what someone told me once.’ She gave a deprecating little laugh.

‘Would that have been Mr Snell?’

‘Goodness, no. That man never says a kind word about anyone.’

‘He seems to have noticed Polly in a very particular sort of way.’

Miss Ranner looked her straight in the eyes. ‘I do not like to speak ill of others, but Mr Snell is not a nice man.’ She took a quick breath. ‘I was the local schoolteacher, Miss Grandison. I taught Polly and others from the orphanage. Polly was a bright girl who liked to be helpful. I had hopes for her. When she came down to the village, she sometimes used to spend a little time with me.’

‘Mr Snell seemed to suggest she was involved with a man, indeed, perhaps with more than one. Did she confide in you?’ Ursula asked gently. She had been sure that Miss Ranner had wanted to talk to her about Polly rather than show her a shawl.

Miss Ranner gazed into her teacup as though it would yield up what she should say. Finally, as though she had made some decision, she looked up and said, ‘I saw her once walking with one of the Mountstanton footmen. Laughing they were, and very close with one another.’

‘Do you know which footman?’

‘He’s called John. I teased her, said she looked as though she was in love. But she laughed it off, said it was nothing. It did not, though, look like nothing to me.’

Ursula thought of the footman: his handsome features, his elegant figure, the knowing way he could look.

‘Did she say she was interested in anyone else? Forgive me for being so curious but discovering her body makes me want to know everything about her.’

‘I think I understand, Miss Grandison. But there’s nothing much else I can tell you. Except when I heard she’d left, I thought how strange she had not come to say goodbye to me. Then, yesterday, when the news came that she was dead, I cried. She was such a little piece of sunshine. And when I hear her called a hussy,’ her voice suddenly strengthened, ‘I cannot bear it. Jealous, that’s what they were.’

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Miss Ranner looked round. ‘Now, who can that be? Ellie, someone’s called!’

The little maid appeared and opened the front door.

There stood Colonel Stanhope.

He removed his cap. ‘Good morning. Is Miss Ranner at home? I believe she has Miss Grandison with her.’

His formality surprised Ursula; he could not help but see both of them sitting there. But it was pleasant how he respected the conventions in this little village he knew so well; that here, at least, he forgot his abrupt army ways.

Miss Ranner rose. ‘Colonel Charles, please, do come in. Can I offer you a cup of tea?’

Belle walked with quick, angry steps towards her bedroom. On her way she encountered one of the footmen.

‘John, tell my maid to come immediately.’

He looked at her with that familiar twinkle. ‘Of course, Miss Seldon. At once.’

There was just a trace of something in his voice. It could not be called cheek but Belle was conscious she had not been as courteous as she had been taught. Ursula would have said, ‘Please and thank you cost nothing, Belle, and they ease our transactions with those less privileged than ourselves.’

‘Thank you, John,’ Belle said, trying to sound gracious.

The twinkle became a little more pronounced. ‘Think nothing of it, Miss Seldon.’

The fellow was flirting with her! Belle gave him a sidelong glance and her mouth curved in a small smile before she continued on her way, her steps not quite so angry.

She felt guilty. It was not Ursula’s fault the morning had gone so badly wrong. Belle gave a bad-tempered shove to her bedroom door.

On rising, when she had told her maid that she would be riding and to bring her habit, Didier had pursed her lips and asked in that high and mighty French way of hers if her ladyship knew she was to ride. As if the woman had the right to question her!

Casting herself onto the room’s small sofa, Belle gnawed on a finger. Helen seemed determined to prevent William spending any time with her. Didn’t she want Belle to enjoy herself? Helen was unkind, overbearing, never considered her needs, did not respect her wishes, treated her like a doll to be ordered about. It was too bad!

A breakfast tray arrived. Belle listlessly poured herself a cup of coffee and buttered a roll.

Then her maid entered. ‘Mam’selle requires me?’

Didier was another source of Belle’s bitterness with her sister. Middle-aged and severe, Didier was no fun. Look at her now! No smile, she seemed almost grumpy. After all, the whole point of her being at Mountstanton was to serve Belle, so why couldn’t she be pleasant to her?

‘I am not going riding; the Countess and I are to pay a call and I need my yellow muslin.’

‘
Bien sur, mam’selle.
’ At least there was no hint of triumph.

Didier went and found the gown. ‘
C’est ravissante, mam’selle.
’

‘Speak English.’

The maid reverently laid the garment on the bed. ‘I said, it is pretty.’

Didier started to undo the fastenings of her habit.

‘Madame, La Comtesse, ’er French is so good. But you, mam’selle, you do not seem to speak French at all. ’Ow is this? You are sisters, no?’ She laid the riding jacket neatly on the sofa.