A Particular Circumstance (2 page)

‘I quite understand. You will just have to disregard it as I do myself. Pointed remarks always abound when my mother is about. I can assure you, I have no intentions of thinking about matrimony yet.’

It was now Charlotte’s turn to walk to the window and gaze out over the garden. There was the faintest moaning of the wind in the trees and large drops of rain began to fall heavily on to the terrace under the window. She fully
understood
Matthew’s reluctance to be leg shackled before he was ready, but she felt a slight sense of hurt still. Charlotte was not 
sure about ‘in love’, but the fondness and affection which existed between herself and Matthew seemed an excellent basis for a married life together. If he needed more time to be sure of his feelings, well, that was perfectly acceptable to Charlotte Grayson. He could have all the time he wanted.

She continued to look out of the window, silent now and still somewhat puzzled by the behaviour of the young man she thought she knew very well. The rain turned gradually from slow, heavy drops into a torrential downpour, as the storm cloud settled immediately over Westbury Hall and the whole landscape looked drenched and soddened with rain.

When Adam Brown came back into the darkened room with Jane Grayson, he rubbed his hands as though feeling the sudden chill and said, ‘Here comes the storm, Matthew. I shall not yet be able to ride back to King’s Lynn, although I suppose, you may make a dash for it to Primrose Cottage. No doubt your aunt will be anxious about you.’

‘No. Please do not go out in this storm,’ Jane Grayson said. ‘The thunder seems so much nearer to home now. I am sure there is a lot more rain to come. You will be utterly soaked if you attempt a dash for it now. And what will your dear Aunt Lavinia think of me then? I cannot allow you to risk it, dear Matthew.

‘Oh, here is Kitty. Let us ring for more tea and try to finish Mrs Palmer’s excellent cake. The weather is so dismal, it is more like November than August. I shall get Phoebe to put a light to the sticks and we may soon have a cheerful fire.’

Kitty came in with her sewing and Matthew went back to his chair. Soon they were all settled down again, but the crashing of the thunder and the jagged flashes of lightning illuminating the angry sky did nothing to make the
conversation
easy.

Westbury Hall was not a comfortable residence. It had been utterly neglected for years and no amount of cleaning,
dusting
and flower arranging seemed to dispel the dark musty 
atmosphere. It was a house which had grown gradually over more than three centuries and had been lived in by
generations
of the Westbury family and their successors. The south front had been built in the 1620s on the foundations of a Tudor house which had been acquired by Thomas Westbury in the fifteenth century. He had died childless and left the estate to his cousin, Sir John Westbury, whose coat of arms and that of his wife could still be seen above the front door along with the words ‘GLORIA DEO IN EXCELSIS’
prominently
acknowledging God’s help in their enterprise. Successive Westburys had added a new west wing, a service wing and stables, with an orangery and a gate house which had been added in 1700. Each new addition had made the hall more substantial and the different architectural styles served as an interesting contrast to the original Jacobean front.

One notable feature had been the old staircase, dating from the 1680s and which had been much criticized by a prominent neighbour of the Westburys, because of its alarming
steepness
. It had since been replaced by a much more shallow flight, protected by a balustrade of beautiful wrought iron, custom made by a London blacksmith, which added a
graceful
touch to the old stair hall.

Like all old houses, it had its share of secret hidey holes and it was rumoured that there was an underground tunnel
leading
from Felbrook woods to the library, which had once been the great chamber of the Jacobean house. So far, though, no one had discovered the underground passage or learned the secret of opening the panelled wall.

As for Jane Grayson, when she’d heard of the so-called secret tunnel from the all-knowing Mrs Palmer, she’d declared herself to be not interested in such tomfoolery and expressed the hope that her darlings would not listen to such idle tales of priests’ holes and such. Mrs Palmer had taken umbrage at this and had expressed the hope that Mrs Grayson would not live to regret her scepticism.

The storm, which gave no sign of abating, had caused the 
dusk to arrive prematurely and once the candles were lit, Jane Grayson was already planning in her mind to invite the two guests to stay for dinner, rather than send them out to brave the elements on horseback. Having finished the second lot of tea and cake, conversation seemed to have petered out and they were all, it seemed, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Kitty was still busy sewing and Adam Brown was glancing idly at an out-of-date copy of
The Times
, while Charlotte and Matthew chatted quietly about a riding party they were both going to attend the following week. Aurelia Casterton and her bosom friend, Ann West, were together hosting a picnic in the grounds of the Castertons’ country home for various of their young friends and it promised to be an interesting excursion. Except for the spectacular noise of the storm, it was just another pleasant family evening.

Quite suddenly, there was an exceptionally deafening thunderclap and a flash of lightning, which lit up the whole of the countryside for several miles and made the candles flicker and go pale.

This was followed by a terrific crash and then an ominous silence.

There was a muffled shriek and a distant scream and Mrs Palmer burst into the room without knocking, so great was her panic. She was followed closely by a distraught Phoebe, who held her apron over her head and promptly gave way to a bout of hysterics.

Jane Grayson found this irritating. ‘Oh dear! What a
tiresome
girl. Stop that at once, Phoebe. Mrs Palmer,
sal volatile
, if you please. I have no time to spend cosseting silly girls. Come now, let us see what has happened. The noise seemed to come from the library.’

They all trooped out of the drawing-room along the stone corridor and through the stair hall to the library. Mrs Palmer, afraid of missing something, set off in hot pursuit and Phoebe, finding herself alone and her hysterics ignored, threw down the
sal volatile
in disgust and hurried after them.

There was another mighty crack and a rumble of falling masonry as a sizeable piece of the south front collapsed and slid noisily to the ground, destroying part of the fireplace wall in the library and leaving a heap of rubble in the stair hall, just outside the door. The dust rose up like a grey fog and obscured the extent of the damage for several minutes.

Both the men had to put their shoulders to the library door, it being jammed by fallen bricks and splintered panelling, and held their handkerchiefs to their mouths because of the
choking
dust. When Adam and Matthew had opened it, the ladies lifted their skirts and held them close to their legs as they picked their way into the room.

Adam Brown was the first to reach the old stone fireplace, which appeared to have caved in when the chimney collapsed. This also appeared to have unsettled the wall to the side of the fireplace and more than four feet of the beautifully carved oak panelling had been displaced.

What was revealed behind the panelling was almost too gruesome to be looked on. As Adam bent over the gap in the wall, he exclaimed, ‘By all that’s holy! Askeleton, Matthew. A skeleton in a cupboard, no less!’

Removing his immaculate handkerchief from his mouth, Matthew could only echo what his guide and mentor, Mr Brown, had said. ‘Yes. Good God! A skeleton, Mr Brown, sir. What … what on earth can have happened?’

The three ladies were now also in the room and able to view what was revealed by the cracking open of the priest hole. Jane Grayson spoke first. ‘Mrs Palmer, please take Phoebe back to the kitchen and make her some tea. I shall come to see her directly, but this is not a sight for Phoebe’s young eyes. Charlotte, Kitty, I am persuaded that this is not something either of you would want to look at. Should you wish to return to the drawing-room you may do so now.’

Both Charlotte and Kitty professed themselves desirous of staying where they were. Neither of them was willing to miss any of the excitement of finding an actual skeleton in the 
proverbial family cupboard.

‘Whoever he is, poor soul. He has obviously been here a long time,’ Adam Brown said at last.

‘He?’ Kitty questioned. ‘How do we know it is
he
?’

‘Well, he has silver buttons on his coat and the remains of leather boots,’ Adam said gently. ‘Although, to be sure, the boots are crumbled almost into dust. I expect the rats have done their work over the years.

‘Perhaps he was a traveller, then,’ Charlotte surmised. ‘But where could he have been going and how did he meet his end?’

‘The answer to your last question is very violently,’ Adam said, still speaking quietly in the presence of what was, after all, a deceased person. ‘See, this large black stain which has spread all over the floor. That must be a blood stain, unless I am very much mistaken.’

All the ladies shuddered, but Charlotte, steelier than the other two, said, ‘What manner of man do you think he was, then, Mr Brown? There are no papers, no jewels, no money; nothing to identify him.’

‘Only this,’ Adam said. Bending down, he picked up an old signet ring, the gold still gleaming brightly. ‘Likewise, this.’ He also retrieved a silver fob watch, with a fine chased case, tarnished and slightly dented, but still attached to its
handsome
silver chain. ‘Whoever he was, he seems to have been a gentleman. Any of his other possessions could easily have been removed after his death.’

‘Are you suggesting murder, Mr Brown?’

Jane Grayson was obviously surprised and alarmed at the idea of a murder victim on the premises that she’d been
renting
for a year.

‘It seems highly probable, ma’am.’

‘But … but, surely it could have been an accident or … or … even suicide, Mr Brown?’

‘I think not,’ he said quietly. ‘There is no weapon, you see. The deceased could not have killed himself with either his 
ring or this watch. What accident could have caused such a copious amount of blood in so small a space? Of course, we shall have to report this to the proper authorities, but it is my opinion the unfortunate man was murdered.’

‘Oh, how dreadful!’ Jane Grayson exclaimed. ‘Poor man and to think this body has been here all this time and none of us was even aware of it.’

‘Quite so,’ Adam Brown said. ‘I think, Matthew, that there is no point in any more fruitless speculation. And with your permission, ma’am, perhaps we could have the loan of a
blanket
or sheet, until the body can be removed.’

‘Of course,’ Jane agreed. ‘Come, girls, we shall return to the drawing-room and get Robert to cover the body decently.’

Jane’s household was very informal. Although she used the formal system of ringing a bell to summon the maid when they had company, she was just as likely to go to the kitchen herself and even do the baking if she was so inclined. She employed the young footman, Robert, as a cross between a butler and general factotum, a young man of many skills who was in her opinion ‘worth his weight in gold’.

They all went back to the drawing-room where Adam Brown asked diffidently if he could have the use of some of Robert’s silver polish and a soft cloth. While they all watched with interest, he polished up the silver watch and turned it over so that the engraving on the back of the case was revealed clearly. The owner’s initials were hand-engraved and clearly marked: C.W.

‘It seems he was one of the Westburys then. “C.W” – that could be Christopher or Charles….’

‘Yes, it could be either of those, Matthew, but the favoured family names are Benjamin, Hugo, Charles. This ring is also interesting,’ he went on. ‘See, a cunning little hinge just here. A locket ring, no less.’

Very carefully, he pulled up the little hinged fastening on the ring and opened it to reveal an exquisite miniature of a mother and child. It showed a beautiful young woman, with 
dark hair and deep blue eyes. The child was an adorable little cherub, fairer than his mother but with identical blue eyes. Below the portrait in very tiny writing, but easy to read, was the date 1760. There was a profound silence as the ring was carefully and reverently passed from hand to hand.

‘Who can they be?’ Jane Grayson asked. ‘If that pretty little baby has survived, he must be all of fifty-six years. Where can he be? What can have become of him?’

‘I do not rightly know,’ Adam said. ‘And after this lapse of time, it will be nigh on impossible to find out.’

‘But if the skeleton and the mother and baby were members of the Westbury family, would not Sir Benjamin know who they were?’

Charlotte spoke with some excitement. She’d always been interested in history and this corpse had excited her curiosity rather than horror or aversion. Adam looked at her with gentle approval.

‘Yes, undoubtedly, Miss Grayson, and back at the office in King’s Lynn there is a deed box relating to the whole family, complete with names and dates of birth. It may take time, but it should be possible to find out who the unfortunate young man was.

Outside, the storm had run its course and the sky had cleared, just ready for sunset. It promised to be a pleasant and tranquil evening, perfectly calm now, and he should be able to ride home comfortably.

Jane Grayson pressed the two lawyers to stay for dinner. ‘We have a good mutton pie, made with Mrs Palmer’s
delectable
pastry,’ she said. ‘And a nice big ham shank boiled with baby onions and she always makes a good fruit pudding when she knows gentlemen are staying for dinner.’

Adam Brown refused politely. ‘Another time, perhaps, Mrs Grayson, ma’am, but I must travel to King’s Lynn. I shall inform Sir Benjamin of this unhappy discovery and then I wish to get out my strong boxes and look up the Westbury family history. I shall send word to my housekeeper to delay
my supper for a couple of hours. But, thank you. It was a kind thought.’