Deadly Inheritance (28 page)

‘Belle, dear,’ she said.

‘Oh, don’t you start.’ The girl abandoned the piano, her face petulant. ‘All anyone ever does these days is scold me. Papa said that everything would be done to entertain me: visits to the races, theatres, and Helen would take me to London, to Paris, to Monte Carlo.’ She gazed disconsolately at Ursula. ‘All I do is meet boring, boring people. There’s far too much talking. Why can’t we have another dance? I love dancing.’

Belle held up her arms to an invisible partner and swayed gracefully round the room for a moment, then burst out. ‘Oh, Ursula, can’t you talk to Helen? It’s no good me saying anything, she just tells me I’m a spoilt brat, and she’s introducing me to lots of girls and young men who will invite me to all sorts of events once we reach London and I make my debut. But it’s
now
I want to have fun. And William hasn’t sent me so much as a note. It’s as though he’s vanished down a hole like Alice in Wonderland. How could he desert me like that?’ Belle plumped herself down in a chair beside the gently dying fire and gazed resentfully at Ursula. ‘Why can’t we just go to London and have some fun? No wonder that odd Colonel has gone.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t refer to him in that way.’ Ursula immediately regretted her words.

‘Why not? He is odd. Don’t you see how he looks at Helen? Why you all want me to marry him, I can’t imagine.’

‘I’ve never said I wanted you and he to marry.’ Ursula put down her knitting and tried to think of a way to send Belle off to bed in a better humour.

‘That’s probably because you want to marry him yourself.’ Belle darted a sly look at her. ‘You were always having little chats with him and since he’s gone to London you have quite lost your sparkle.’

Ursula couldn’t help laughing. ‘Sparkle? Honestly, Belle, what on earth have you been reading?’

‘Well, I shouldn’t get any hopes up because I think he’s the one who pushed that nursemaid into the river.’

‘What a dreadful thing to suggest, Belle,’ Ursula said coldly. Her knitting lay forgotten in her lap. ‘Apart from the fact that you know of no motive for such a thing, the Colonel was not even at Mountstanton when Polly disappeared.’

‘How do you know he didn’t come here, push her into the river and then go off again? And how do you know he didn’t have a motive? Sarah told me that Polly was in a delicate condition. And she told me that the Colonel spent a lot of time in Harry’s nursery talking to Polly when he was last here.’

‘You should not gossip with servants. Anyway, that was a long time ago, after he came home injured from the fighting in South Africa.’

‘See, you know about it too!’ Belle sounded triumphant. ‘So it must be true. Maybe he met her in secret afterwards?’

‘But he went back there.’ Ursula felt hysteria rising; she had to convince Belle she was talking nonsense. The very thought that she might repeat any of this to anyone else was appalling.

‘Oh, Ursula, you are so simple! I thought you were intelligent, yet you just accept whatever that man says. Helen is the same.’ Belle leant forward and narrowed her eyes. ‘The war ended last year and nobody knows why he has left the army. If he is such a wonderful soldier, why doesn’t he stay on and become a General? I think he’s done something shifty and he’s been asked to leave. And that’s why they all want me to marry him, because he needs money to make another life. Which is why he can’t be interested in you, because you haven’t got any.’ She stood up and shook the skirt of her pink silk dress into place. ‘Well, they can whistle but I won’t dance to their tune. And Papa won’t expect me to. I’m going to write to him and say what a boring time I’m having and can he please arrange for you to take me to Paris. He’s bound to know someone who can give us a good time there. Loads of Americans spend months and months in Paris and Monte Carlo.’

Ursula was speechless for several moments.

‘Belle, I can’t imagine what sort of rubbishy romantic novels you read,’ she managed finally. ‘It’s been a long time since I heard such a farrago, such a hotchpotch, such a load of nonsense. Please, please do not repeat any of that to anyone else, particularly any of your sister’s staff. She would be mortified.’

‘Ho hum, Ursula! No, I won’t repeat any of it. Not until it becomes obvious to you all. But you think about it. And I shall certainly write to Papa about Paris. Goodnight.’

She flounced out of the room.

It took a long time that night for Ursula to get to sleep and when she did, her dreams were confused and unhappy.

* * *

With the improvement of her sprained ankle, Ursula had developed the habit of an early morning ride. Occasionally she persuaded Belle to join her, but the morning after Belle’s extraordinary words on the Colonel, Ursula went riding on her own. For the moment she felt out of sympathy with the girl.

She explored a new area of countryside and came upon another river; very different from the one so close to Mountstanton. Narrow, it ran chuckling and busy beneath trees; sun shone through the leaves, dappling both the water and the low banks. So attractive was the prospect, Ursula stopped and enjoyed a few minutes taking in the view.

After a little, her eyes adjusted to the half-light and she saw that, a little lower down the river, there was a fisherman. There was something familiar about the figure sitting on a small stool, a woven basket at his feet, rod held steady over the water. Approaching, she saw it was Mr Russell.

She was almost upon him before he realised he was no longer alone and looked up. Immediately he rose to his feet.

‘Miss Grandison, what a pleasure to see you. What brings you to these parts?’

‘A desire to experience a little more of this beautiful countryside. What do you fish?’

‘Trout.’ He looked at the rod still held in his hand. ‘I have not had much luck but it is a pleasant way to pass the time and sort through one’s thoughts.’

‘I was so sorry to hear the sad news concerning Lady Frances. Losing a parent is a bitter blow that takes some adjusting to; you have my deepest sympathy.’

He turned his gaze towards the river. His face was drawn and he looked as though sleep was a stranger to him. ‘I knew she was slipping away and that soon I would be an orphan but, somehow, I still can’t quite believe it. It is not helped, perhaps, by my imminent departure forcing me to sort out possessions. Luckily they are few and I have now almost completed the task.’

They remained for a few moments without speaking, Ursula on her mount, Mr Russell standing beside her. Then he gave her a lopsided smile. ‘Can I persuade you to join me in contemplating the river for a while? I am afraid I do not have another rod but, if you care to fish, you are welcome to borrow mine.’

Ursula thought the idea sounded delightful and was interested to hear his plans for the future. Before she could respond though, Mr Russell’s rod almost sprang out of his hand.

‘Ah, a bite!’

‘Please, do whatever it is fishermen do, Mr Russell. I shall enjoy watching you in action.’

With a smile he started to play the fish on the end of his line, walking to and fro, reeling in and letting out. Ursula noted the tautness of the line and how its pull bent the slender top of the rod, and realised the trout he had on the end of it must be a big one. It could, she thought, be some considerable time before the fish was exhausted enough to be landed and her horse was getting restive.

She gave a wave, wished Mr Russell luck with the fish, and moved away from the river. The chat would have to wait.

Ursula headed back towards Mountstanton. She had not gone far before she saw, across the fields, another rider going towards the river. The grey horse identified him as the Earl.

Once again the facts as far as she knew them concerning Polly’s death nagged away at Ursula’s mind. All at once she thought of a course of action she could follow.

Five o’clock in the morning. The cockerel announced a new day and the dog stirred in his kennel.

Slumped in his chair beside the cold ashes of last night’s fire, Adam Gray opened bleary eyes and cursed. He flung the empty brandy bottle against the wall; the noise of the shattering glass threatened to break open his aching brain. Wrenching off jacket and shirt, he stumbled out of the house and thrust his head beneath the pump in the backyard, then drank gratefully of the icy water.

Adam pushed back his wet hair and stood for a moment, taking in the morning. Summer was almost here. Mist softened every outline and promised heat later in the day. All was fresh and new. Beyond the stables, a gentle hill rose, white sheep embroidering the green of the meadows. Over by the river, cattle grazed; rich brown Jerseys, their udders bulging with creamy milk. In the distance, the green shoots of wheat were decorating earthy furrows.

The futility of last night’s drinking session hit him hard. When did alcohol ever solve problems? He shook his gradually clearing head. What had his life become? Since the day of the inquest, it had slid into a dark hole.

The day after, the Earl had caught him as he rode back from a meeting with one of the tenant farmers, a matter of some worn-out pig sties on one of the tenant farms and where the money to replace them was to be found.

‘What’s this I hear about you and Polly?’ he had demanded.

Richard Stanhope had never been known for ease of manner. He had inherited none of his father’s famous charm. Instead, there was his mother’s pride and cold authority.

Adam sat on Barney, his stolid chestnut horse, and gazed unblinking at his employer, resentful of his language, resentful of his authority, resentful of all the Mountstanton family had done to bring down his beloved Polly.

‘Gray!’

‘My lord?’

‘I’ve been told Mrs Parsons caught you and the nursemaid in a compromising position.’

Adam felt a familiar fury build within him. He wanted so much to strike the man. He wanted to bring him down off his horse and trample him into the ground, use his whip to slash that proud face.

With enormous effort he controlled himself. ‘It was not compromising, my lord. I merely put an arm around the girl. She was very upset.’ He hesitated, then decided that he might as well say everything he was prepared to admit to rather than have it screwed out of him.

He took a deep breath. ‘Polly had trusted a man who betrayed her. She suspected she was with child. She had no one to turn to but me, her friend. I told her to keep her counsel while I tried to work out what could be done.’

The Earl sat very still, holding his reins tightly. ‘You mean she revealed the identity of the man responsible for her condition?’

If only she had! ‘No, my lord. She refused to say.’ Adam bared his teeth in an uncontrollable grimace. ‘She feared that I would do the man some damage.’

A tic twitched in the Earl’s right eyelid. ‘Yes, we know your reputation, Gray.’

Adam didn’t flinch. He was known as a man not to cross in an alehouse; easy to anger, quick to use his fists and with a strong right arm that could launch a punishing blow. He was, though, judged a fair fighter.

‘So you have no idea who Polly was walking out with?’

‘No, my lord.’

Was that an infinitesimal relaxation in the Earl’s shoulders? ‘The jury’s verdict was just,’ the Earl said. ‘She could not live with the shame.’

Another little piece of Adam died at this.

The Earl lifted his whip in a semblance of farewell, dug his heels into his horse and was gone.

Since then, Adam had tried to forget the encounter. For once, he was relieved that his employer showed so little interest in his estate.

The evenings were the worst. When his disabled wife, Deirdre, had been helped to bed and his sister, Adele, had retired, there were too many hours before Adam could bring himself to take to his bed, knowing that sleep was unlikely to come. That was when Adam made alcohol his companion.

Now he stood in the yard and found a stone to discourage the cockerel’s hoarse claiming of his territory.

It was too early for their housekeeper to be up, so Adam riddled the stove. When the blaze was going well, he made coffee and fried himself bacon and eggs.

‘Lord bless us,’ said Jenny, his housekeeper, as she entered, tying on her apron, ‘but you’re up before times. Nothing wrong with madam, is there?’

Adam shook his head. ‘I hope she and my sister are still asleep.’

The process of getting a woman up who had no use of her legs was long and tedious, even when Adam was there to help. While he was away, Deirdre chose to remain in her bed rather than call on outside help to lift and carry her downstairs to the invalid carriage she used during the day.

When he was there, the first part of Adam’s day was spent aiding Adele to bathe and dress his wife, then carrying her downstairs. Only after that could Adam turn his attention to his job as Mountstanton agent. There were mornings when her joints were in agony and the process was slow and desperate; Deirdre’s courage never failed to cut through Adam as though a knife stabbed him.

Jenny took a broom and swept up the broken bottle without comment.

Later, with Deirdre settled downstairs, he prepared to go out. ‘I’ll be back around midday, so count me in for luncheon,’ he said, running a soothing finger along her right eyebrow.

Just as he was leaving to go to the stables, a horse and rider cantered in and he recognised the woman who had found Polly’s body.

‘Miss Grandison,’ he said, coming reluctantly towards her. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’

She sat on her horse, a docile mare belonging to the Mountstanton stable, and looked down at him with clear grey eyes. She was not beautiful, not like the Countess, but her face was attractive: strong cheekbones, a generous but firm mouth and wide-set eyes that gave her a very honest look. Her dark green habit had style, and she sported a jaunty little tricorne hat. Her expression was serious.

‘Mr Gray, I wonder if you would speak to me about Polly.’

He was taken aback. ‘Why?’

‘Because I am not happy with the verdict of suicide.’

‘But what is it to do with you?’

She looked intently at him for a moment then said, ‘I do not think we can converse like this. Will you help me dismount, please?’