Deadly Inheritance (48 page)

‘And when I begged and pleaded with him to let me write to Mama so she would write to me, he told me she was dead!’

‘They died together, of typhoid in Florence.’

‘Helen said we must never, ever talk about it. As far as the world knew, she said, both Mama and your papa died in a railway crash on one of Papa’s trains in Colorado. Papa had escaped and he buried them there.’

Such a flimsy tale, with the lovers still alive then. Helen was always terrified that the truth would out and mean the end of the fragile hold she had on New York society. Even after typhoid had made the death part of the story true, the threat of exposure was always there. What would the Stanhopes have said if they had known about the scandal that had been so thoroughly suppressed?

‘I missed her so much,’ Belle cried. ‘And not even being able to talk about her … it was so awful. And I know Papa will never forgive me for bringing disgrace on him and Helen.’

‘You will not bring disgrace upon them,’ Ursula said firmly. ‘Something will be arranged.’

Belle started nibbling at the roll with its chicken stuffing. Ursula poured them both a mug of coffee.

‘Up in the Sierra Nevada, I lived in a shack not much larger than this.’ Ursula made an encompassing gesture.

‘Really?’

‘I got tired of living in a tent. It was freezing in the winter and there was no room for anything. I told Jack, my husband, that unless he built us a cabin, I would leave.’

Belle’s eyes widened. ‘Did you mean it?’

Ursula shrugged. ‘Who knows? Everything was such hard work; keeping clean was impossible and cooking meals tried all my ingenuity.’

‘And your husband, Jack, did he really build you a log cabin?’

‘No, darling,’ Ursula said, laughing. ‘If he had tried, it would never have been finished. He won it in a poker game.’

‘Oh, my! What did you do for money?’ The roll and the cheese had been eaten. Now Belle reached for the fruitcake.

‘Cooked at the local eatery, mended clothes for the miners, sewed dresses and curtains for women who could afford to pay someone. I never thought the sewing lessons at our Parisian
école
would come in so useful!’

Belle brushed away cake crumbs and said, ‘I like having things done for me. I’d never be able to cook a meal or sew curtains. I’d go out and buy them.’

Ursula smiled. ‘You look much better now, Belle, and I think a little sleep will help you regain enough strength to ride back home.’

‘Mountstanton isn’t home,’ Belle said miserably. But she allowed Ursula to remove her skirt and settle her in the simple bed. Almost immediately she fell into a natural sleep.

Ursula sat by the fire, nursing her coffee and trying to think of a way to solve Belle’s situation. Marriage to William Warburton did not seem a good idea, not with an accusation of murder levelled at him.

The time-honoured way for families to deal with such a problem was to send the girl abroad with a suitable aunt or other chaperone, living under a false name until the baby was born. It would then be adopted and the girl return home, having absorbed, as far as the world was concerned, some continental polish.

Would Belle consent to such a plan? Would Ursula be asked to accompany her? But she doubted that Chauncey Seldon would trust her again.

She took another look around the shadowy room. Was Belle right about her brother-in-law meeting some inamorata here? Is that why relations between him and Helen were so cool? Or had the assignations arisen as a result of the coolness?

It seemed much more likely that it was William Warburton and Helen who were making use of the cottage. Who, though, supplied the pristine sheets, the fresh coffee? Ursula could not see Helen doing it herself. She would organise a member of staff, swearing them to silence. Is that why the footman John knew so much about the place?

Then there were the questions surrounding Mr Warburton. Was he a murderer as well as a serial seducer?

In many ways he was like Jack. The same easy charm, the same inbuilt confidence, the same belief everything would turn out for the best. And the same irresponsibility, the same self-centredness; the same lack of principles.

The Colonel was everything they were not. Was that why she had been so attracted to him?

It had been a difficult day and she gradually realised she was exhausted and near to falling asleep.

She got up, put more wood on the fire, opened the broken door and went outside for a reviving breath of fresh air.

The sky had cleared but the encroaching trees prevented moonlight penetrating to the cottage. Only the grassy access path was lit by a pale glow. She wondered if John would return to guide them back home or if Helen would decide to come herself. In her place, Ursula certainly would. Best of all, of course, would be the Colonel, but, given the situation at Mountstanton, she thought it unlikely he could spare the time.

The horses snickered, as if asking when they were to return home.

Ursula shivered in the clear, chilly air and turned to go inside, then was stopped by the sound of approaching horses. And not only horses. Along the path came an open cart. And driving it was the Colonel.

The cart rattled back towards Mountstanton. Belle lay on a mattress with her head in Ursula’s lap. She was half asleep, drowsily asking every now and then if they were nearly there.

Ursula soothed her, stroking the girl’s forehead, and murmuring words of comfort.

When she had seen the Colonel driving the cart, she had felt a profound sense of relief. It had taken all her control not to rush up and fling herself upon him in delight. Instead, she waited for him to draw up at the little cottage. The footman was riding behind.

The Colonel climbed down.

‘Thank you for coming,’ Ursula said with a fair attempt at composure.

‘As soon as John appeared with the news, Miss Grandison, I made the arrangements. I need hardly say how relieved we all were that Miss Seldon had been located. It was a surprise, though, to hear that you had been involved.’

Clouds covered the moon and meant she could not see his expression. He sounded reserved, as if he considered that Ursula had somehow been presumptuous, riding off in that way. She told herself it was the result of her having confessed to her doubts about him.

‘It seemed more important to go to Belle than try and find you first,’ she said.

‘You were right to do so, of course,’ he said in a warmer voice. ‘And I am so glad Miss Seldon had you to look after her. John told me everything.’

Ursula sighed. The Colonel would be as skilled at extracting the last drop of information from men as his mother was from maids. How could she have thought the footman would be able to keep the gruesome details of Belle’s adventure secret?

The jerky motion of the cart over rough ground disturbed Belle and Ursula stroked the girl’s forehead until she went back to sleep.

John was riding Pocahontas and leading his mount. The Colonel had said Helen’s precious mare was likely to be too skittish if she was led. Ursula admired the footman’s riding skills; he had Pocahontas completely under control. The moon, now bright in an almost clear sky, shone on his handsome face. Exactly what was his position in the Mountstanton household? The natural authority with which he had brought her to Belle’s aid suggested it was something more than merely a footman.

Ursula’s horse was tethered to the back of the cart and seemed happy to follow along. They at last left rough ground and began to move more smoothly along a well-used track. ‘How is she?’ the Colonel threw over his shoulder.

‘Asleep,’ Ursula said in a soft but clear voice. She longed to talk to the Colonel but the difficulty of conducting a conversation under the current conditions, plus the possibility of Belle overhearing, meant she remained silent, only speaking when Belle required reassuring.

Ursula studied the girl’s face in the moonlight. She seemed so pale and her blonde hair looked silver. Perhaps the moon bleached out colour and in a better light Belle would look healthier. Ursula could not repress a shudder as she thought of all the girl had gone through, remembering Mr Jackman saying how little he thought Polly had to live for: single, with child, unsupported by its father.

It was more than likely that the condition of both girls had been brought about by the same man. Mr Warburton would never have considered marriage to Polly. In Belle’s case, he might well be willing to accept her if she came accompanied by a fortune. In Ursula’s estimation, though, marriage to him would be a disaster, even if it could be proved he had nothing to do with Polly’s death. A disaster which she was sure Belle’s father would do almost anything to prevent.

How supportive of Belle was Helen going to be? Could she conjure into being a more suitable husband for her little sister than Mr Warburton? One willing to accept her condition?

Whatever lay ahead for Belle seemed potentially disastrous. Her young life blighted all because she gave way to momentary passion in the belief it was true love. At least Ursula hoped that this was what the girl had believed. She could not help remembering her mother, Mrs Seldon, the woman who had run away with Ursula’s father, and Helen’s outburst after the lovers had visited their daughters in Paris.

‘She’s nothing but a high class whore!’ Helen had said, flinging a school book across their bedroom with vicious force.

Ursula had been shocked and said so.

‘You are such an innocent!’ Helen had flashed back. ‘But, then, perhaps you don’t know how often Mama was unavailable in the afternoons because she was receiving a male friend behind closed doors. I wouldn’t be allowed to enter, nor any servants.’ Helen had sat on her bed, chewing at a worn-down thumb nail. Suddenly she looked up at Ursula, her eyes bright and full of tears she was determined not to shed.

‘Do you think I am like Mama?’

‘You are just as beautiful.’

‘I have Papa’s patrician nose. My looks are going to bring me a successful marriage. My husband will be handsome and very rich. I shan’t throw everything away by indulging base desires for a lesser mortal.’

Ursula had laughed at the time. But how like Helen that had been; haughty and proud, thinking she understood lust and could control it.

Belle had also inherited her mother’s looks, including her nose, which turned up deliciously, giving a soft look to her face that was immensely appealing.

Back in that Paris bedroom, Ursula had not known what else to say. Helen had continued to sit on her bed, moodily gnawing at her thumb.

‘Do you know what I think?’ Helen had suddenly demanded. ‘I think Papa sent me away to school to remove me from Mama’s influence. And he arranged for you to come too because he thinks you are sensible and a good influence.

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it? Aren’t you always the sensible one?’ Helen made it sound an insult.

Now Ursula looked down at Belle’s sweet little nose and thought of Helen’s pride in having her father’s; she had felt the facial characteristic proclaimed her paternity. How ironic that Belle had identified a similar one amongst the Stanhopes.

The Colonel guided the cart onto the drive leading up to the big house. ‘Nearly home,’ he said with a note of relief.

No wonder, thought Ursula. It must be the small hours of the morning and he would have had little if any sleep the night before.

He brought the cart to a halt in front of the stately porch, untied Ursula’s mount and handed the reins to the footman. ‘Take the horses round to the stables, John.’

The front door opened, lights from the hall spreading a soft glow over the top step. Benson came hurrying down, his face lined with tiredness. He was followed by three footmen.

Ursula wondered how many of Mountstanton’s staff had remained on duty. Then she saw how informally they were dressed and realised they had been part of the search party, no doubt anxious to see that the girl was really safe. Their concern touched her.

‘Are we here?’ said Belle faintly.

‘Yes, darling, we are.’

The Colonel climbed into the cart, gently lifted Belle up and handed her over to one of the footmen. ‘Take her into the hall,’ he said. ‘Be careful.’ Then he helped Ursula to her feet. ‘You must be exhausted.’

‘No more so than you, Colonel.’

‘A soldier gets used to doing without sleep. But I think we both need rest now.’ He jumped down to the ground and held out a hand. Once Ursula was down, he scanned her face. ‘Can you manage the stairs?’

She smiled faintly, unable to summon the energy for a grin. ‘Indeed, but first I need to see that Belle is being taken care of.’

‘Shall I order some refreshment for you?’

‘No!’ she was almost scandalised. ‘Do all the English expect their servants to behave like automatons? Able to do without rest? We all need to retire now.’

He managed a lopsided smile. ‘What a commander of troops you would make.’

‘Do you mean that as a compliment?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then I will take it as such.’

Someone had taken charge of the cart, and the Colonel and Ursula went inside the hall. She turned to him. ‘I must thank you most sincerely, Colonel, for all your efforts on Belle’s behalf but particularly in coming to collect her.’

His smile was warm but very weary. ‘I could do no less. We shall meet tomorrow, Miss Grandison.’

She went to Belle’s bedroom, where she found Helen, wrapped in her red dragon kimono, kneeling at her sister’s bedside, holding her hand. Helen’s lovely face was very pale, her blue eyes huge. If she herself felt guilty for neglecting Belle, she thought, how much more so must her sister feel? Then she wondered if Helen was going to blame her for what had happened. She braced herself for harsh words.

Helen looked up at her. ‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.

Ursula smiled, dipped her head in acknowledgement and left the room for her own bed.

* * *

Ursula surprised herself by waking early. Drawing back the thin curtains, she saw the newly-risen sun not far above the horizon and long shadows on the garden below. No trace of yesterday afternoon’s clouds and rain. She sighed. Her body ached from all she had put it through the previous day. Aching far more, though, was her heart for Belle and what she was going through. Ursula went back to bed and tried – unsuccessfully – to sleep some more.