The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (35 page)

Thirty minutes later she was back at the museum. She checked her watch. Just five minutes over her allotted lunch hour. ‘Sorry, Roger. I’ll make it up.’

‘No problem, Gemma,’ he replied.

She smiled. ‘Will you come for a drink with me and Ben this evening? At the Men At Arms, to celebrate our re-engagement?’

To her astonishment he blushed. ‘Erm, yes. I would like that. But would you mind if I, erm, if I brought someone else along as well?’

‘Not at all! The more the merrier, I say. Who is it?’

‘Erm, a lady friend. Called Bryony.’ He was red to his hairline now.

‘A date?’ She hoped so. Another new person to meet this evening!

‘Erm, I suppose so. Right then, Men At Arms this evening. Back to work, now. Ahem.’ He straightened his tie, which hadn’t needed straightening, and left her to her work. Her first task was to call Ben.

‘Nat has decided to emigrate. She leaves tomorrow. For Australia,’ she said.

‘Blimey! That was a bit sudden. Was that your doing?’ he replied.

‘Shall we say, I persuaded her to go?’

‘Persuaded? I dread to think how…but you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to. Well, that’s a result. Still think we should have gone to the police.’

‘We don’t need to, now. We can put it all behind us.’

She spent the afternoon typing up a display board to go alongside the ruby pistols in a new exhibit, as per her proposal to Roger. Time passed quickly and soon it was time to shut down her laptop. Roger closed the museum and as they left, Ben was waiting outside. So was another woman – a studious looking redhead in a lacy cardigan. Roger blushed furiously and introduced her as Bryony. Gemma felt sure she’d seen her somewhere before – yes, she’d come to the museum and asked Roger about the exhibits. That must have been the start of the romance. There was someone for everyone, out there. Gemma surprised herself by finding herself hoping Nat would find some Australian hunk – a gentle giant, perhaps, tanned and muscled, someone who would adore Nat and help ground her.

Anna and Jake arrived at the pub soon after, invited by Ben. And Don wasn’t far behind, accompanied by a tall, fair-haired man who was every bit as good-looking as Don himself. Don introduced him as Peter, and Gemma introduced everyone else, while Ben went to the bar and bought a couple of bottles of champagne.

‘We’re celebrating,’ she said to everyone. ‘Ben and I got engaged again. And this time it’ll last.’

‘Woohoo, I’m so pleased!’ said Anna, reaching over the table to give Gemma a hug and a kiss. ‘We’ll get to be sisters after all! So my stupid little brother came to his senses. Thank goodness for that!’

‘Great news, Gemma!’ said Don. ‘I hope it means you’ll still have time to write up the history of Red Hill Hall, though. I mean, you began it as a way to take your mind off things, but now you’ve a wedding to plan…’

Gemma laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep going, of course I will. It’s far too fascinating to put aside.’

‘I need that history,’ Don continued, with a sideways glance at Peter. ‘You see, you’re not the only one getting married. Peter and I plan to, soon. At Red Hill Hall, of course.’

‘I asked him to find a suitable wedding venue for us while I was away,’ Peter said. ‘Didn’t mean for him to buy one outright. Hiring is good enough for most people!’

‘I liked it so much I bought the company,’ drawled Don in a parody of the old Remington adverts. ‘But there’s another reason I bought Red Hill Hall and not any of the other hotels that were up for sale.’

‘Go on,’ said Gemma. She had always thought there was some deeper reason why Don was so keen to know the hall’s history.

‘Peter’s researched his family tree,’ Don said. ‘I should tell you – his surname is de Witt.’

Gemma gasped. So did Ben. Bryony, Anna and Jake looked confused, and Roger frowned as though trying to recall the details of Gemma’s research.

Peter grinned. ‘I’ve gone as far back as the early 1800s, and I know my four-greats grandmother was born at Red Hill Hall.’

‘You must be descended from Rebecca and Charles, then?’ Gemma couldn’t believe it. Here was a living, breathing descendant of the people she’d spent the last few weeks researching.

‘Yep, I certainly am!’

‘OK, enough, enough,’ said Anna, holding up her hands. ‘Sorry to be rude, but what on earth are you all talking about? Who are Rebecca and Charles? And what’s it all got to do with Gemma and Red Hill Hall?’

Gemma laughed, and told them the story, from finding the ruby pistols in the museum storeroom right through to what she’d found out by reading through the letters and Sarah’s diary.

‘Did you ever find out who shot those girls?’ Roger asked.

‘Sort of. I have a theory.’ This was slightly awkward, now that she was sitting opposite Rebecca’s descendent. How do you break the news to someone that their ancestor probably killed someone? But Peter, Don and the rest of them were waiting expectantly, so she had to tell them what she’d worked out to be the only possible explanation, playing up the idea that Rebecca almost certainly shot at Sarah in self-defence.

‘Wow. What a story. I like that my ancestor stood up for herself in the end. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here now,’ Peter said.

‘And the latest news is that I tracked down Rebecca and Charles in a couple of censuses. They were living at Carlstone Hall in Leicestershire by then. I expect too many bad things had happened at Red Hill Hall for them to want to stay there.’

‘Good that they had a happy ending, after all that went on,’ Anna said.

‘Yes. They had five children, in all, including two sons – Peter must be descended from one of them. But their first child was a girl, and you know what? They called her Sarah.’

‘Aw! As though Rebecca had somehow forgiven Sarah for everything she’d done,’ said Don. ‘And if you’re right about the shooting, perhaps it showed she regretted it.’

‘Perhaps. I guess we’ll never know,’ Gemma said. ‘But I like to think she was happy, in the end, even if she did mourn the loss of her sister.’ She picked up her glass. ‘Well, here’s to happy endings. Cheers!’ She caught Ben’s eye. He was the only one who knew she was not just talking about Rebecca’s happy ending.

She looked around the table at her friends. All there except Nat. She pulled out her phone and on an impulse, sent Nat a brief text. ‘Enjoy your flight. Best wishes. Miss you xx.’

And then she deleted Nat’s contact details from her phone.

If you loved
The Daughters of Red Hill Hall
, turn the page for an exclusive extract from Kathleen McGurl’s
The Pearl Locket
.

Chapter One

July–August 2014

‘So, this is it,’ Ali said, gazing up at the house. ‘It’s smaller than I remember. But I was just a child when I was last here.’ She had only vague memories of being here before—muddled images of an imposing, double-fronted art-deco-style house, with bay windows, a large garden and, best of all, the beach just a couple of minutes’ walk away. It had been her spinster great-aunt’s house, and the childless Betty had left it to Ali in her will.

‘Smaller?’ said her husband, Pete. ‘It’s huge! Well, compared with everywhere else we’ve ever lived.’

Ali nodded. She couldn’t argue with that. But the size didn’t matter, as she was going to put the house on the market immediately. They had no intention of living in it. ‘I suppose we should have a look round inside, now that we’re here.’

‘Well, that
was
the point of the visit,’ Pete said, smiling. He took Ali’s hand and led her to the front door. She was grateful for the gesture of support. It was strange being here. Although the house now belonged to her, it didn’t feel like it did. She’d never owned a house before; they’d always rented. She felt like an intruder. The front door was stiff—Betty had spent the last couple of years of her life in a nursing home, and apparently very few people had entered the house in that time. A pile of junk mail lay on the doormat. Ali gathered it up and placed it on a dusty sideboard in the hallway. She glanced around.

‘What a state. I guess we’ll have to clear everything out before we can sell it. What’ll we do with all the furniture? I suppose we might want to keep a few pieces but not much.’ She opened a drawer in the sideboard. It was full of pens, coins, elastic bands, buttons, old receipts and other odds and ends. ‘And we’ll have to sort all the contents out as well. Gran might want to keep a few things. It’s going to be a huge job.’

Pete had peeked into a room on the left—the sitting room as far as Ali recalled—and was now crossing to the room on the right, the dining room. He turned back to Ali with shining eyes. ‘Fantastic rooms, those two. Great proportions. They’d look amazing if they were done up. Come and see the kitchen.’ He pulled her to the back of the house where they entered a large but very dated kitchen. Probably last fitted out some time back in the sixties, Ali thought, wrinkling her nose at the musty, unlived-in smell. ‘Imagine it, Ali, with a run of units along that wall, an island there, an American-style fridge-freezer there, granite worktops and Shaker-style cupboard doors. This house could really be something special.’

It could; she could see that. Someone else with money and the time and energy for an awful lot of DIY would have a lot of fun with this house. She just wanted her hands on the money they’d get from selling it. With Pete’s redundancy money fast running out and their landlord about to put up the rent, they could certainly do with it. She was already working full time, and as yet Pete had had no luck finding another job since Harrison’s had laid him off.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ Pete said, again reaching for her hand. She followed him up. The stairs turned on a half landing, a grand newel post supporting the oak-panelled banisters. There was a cold draught as they turned the corner. Ali shivered. ‘There’s a crack in that window,’ Pete said, nodding at the bowed and leaded window on the half landing.

Upstairs were four double bedrooms, a box room and a bathroom. As a child Ali had never been up here. She’d only ever paid a few duty visits to her great-aunt, with her father, so many years ago.

As they gazed out of the front bedroom window, from where you could just about get a glimpse of the sea, Pete turned to Ali. ‘What if,’ he said, with a glint in his eye, ‘we didn’t sell up? What if we cleared it out, then moved in?’

‘Pete, it’s in a horrible state! And we need the money from the sale. You know we do.’

‘We could use the rest of my redundancy money to do it up. And if we didn’t have to pay rent, we could easily live off your salary for a while. Think about it, Ali! If this place was modernised and redecorated, it’d be worth twice as much. Then we could sell it, if we still needed the money, and buy somewhere smaller. But with luck I’d get a job then, and we could just stay here.’

Ali opened and closed her mouth a few times. So many thoughts were racing around her head she didn’t know which one to articulate first. ‘But, Pete, the risk! What if the property market goes downhill and we can’t sell it? What if we run out of money before we’ve finished doing it? What if you get offered a job but it’s away from here and we need to move to another town?’

Pete smiled at her and shook his head. ‘Don’t just look at the negatives. There are loads of positives. The kids would love this house. Ryan could kick a football around in that garden. And look how close we are to the beach—Kelly would adore that! But at least you didn’t say no. Does that mean you’ll consider it?’

Ali sat down on the bed. It had a pink candlewick bedspread neatly placed across it. A puff of dust rose up around her and she flapped it away. ‘The safe option is to sell. Some property developer would probably snap it up quickly, at the right price. And then we could buy a smaller, cheaper house, perhaps a little further from the sea. We’d be rent and mortgage free, and wouldn’t have a big mess of a house to do up. And we’d have a big pot of money in the bank to add to what’s left of your redundancy. Then you could concentrate on finding another job.’

‘You’re right.’ Pete sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. Ali was surprised he was giving in so quickly. Usually once he had an idea in his head he’d keep at it, trying endless different angles, until she either gave in and agreed or threatened to cut up his prize Munster Rugby shirt signed by the entire team of 2008 if he mentioned it even one more time. ‘That would indeed be the safe option. And the boring option. Ali, you only live once! This would be a fabulous house to live in, even if it’s only for a year or two while we do it up. And we could make a fortune on it. If we sell it as it is, we’d barely have enough to buy another place big enough for the four of us. There’d certainly be none left over. But if we do it up and
then
sell it, we could buy a smaller place and have stacks of money spare for holidays or cars or a new handbag for you or whatever you’d want. Or—’ he looked sideways at her ‘—to help finance the kids through university.’

Ali smiled wryly. He always knew which buttons to press. The thought that they might not be able to help first Kelly and then Ryan with their university living expenses had always tormented her, especially since Pete had been made redundant. They’d never had enough to be able to put some by for that purpose, but she was determined that the kids would go to university if they wanted to. Even if she had to ask her parents, who’d retired to Spain, for financial help. Great-aunt Betty’s will had meant they’d be financially secure, buying a house and living off Ali’s salary until Pete found a job. But now, this plan meant that in a year or two there could be a lot more money on top. Did they dare take the risk? Another thought struck her. ‘But Pete, who’d do the work? This house would need so much doing and we’d be living in a building site for months.’

‘I’d do it. Except for the electrics—I’d get a professional in for that. But I’m quite handy, you know. And we could go room by room, so some of it is liveable while we do up other rooms. I’d do some of it, the really disruptive stuff like the kitchen, before we move in. We’ve got to give a month’s notice to the landlord anyway. And as probate’s complete and this house is yours already, there’s no reason I can’t start tomorrow. If you agree, of course. It’s your house…’