Deadly Inheritance (11 page)

‘Just them.’ Belle sat down in a manner that said she was not prepared to wait long for her breakfast.

The maid gave a little bob and disappeared.

‘I never knew dollar pancakes could hold such attraction,’ said Ursula mildly. ‘I found the devilled kidneys and scrambled eggs extremely tasty.

‘I don’t see why I shouldn’t have what I want.’

Ursula decided that it was Mr Warburton’s absence that was upsetting Belle, rapidly reviewed possible comments, rejected them all and said, ‘You obviously intend horseback riding this morning. I wish I could join you, the weather looks wonderful, another sunny day.’

Belle said nothing, her eyes still on the empty place at the breakfast table.

The door opened and in came Mr Warburton.

‘William!’ Belle exclaimed, clapping her hands together. ‘I am so glad to have you join us; I was afraid you had breakfasted.’

‘Little Liberty Belle,’ he said, seating himself in the third place. ‘What a delight to find both you ladies here.’ He gave a gracious tilt of his head to Ursula then immediately returned his attention to Belle, smiling at her with warmth.

In response, she glowed. There was no other word for it, thought Ursula. It was as though a candle had been lit inside her.

‘Where are we to ride, William? Do let’s have a real good gallop somewhere.’

He held her gaze with his for an intimate moment; it was as though they were alone in the room, and a dreadful thought occurred to Ursula. She tried to dismiss it as absurd; they would surely not have had the opportunity. Yet Belle was an enterprising and determined girl. Anything she set her mind on, she usually achieved.

Mr Warburton rose and started lifting lids.

Ursula saw that he was dressed in a country suit.

‘I’m afraid, Belle, that our ride will have to be postponed. Your sister has other plans for this morning.’ He piled kedgeree on his plate, and came back to his place.

Mutiny crossed Belle’s face.

‘Another boring visit to another of her boring friends? Well, I won’t go. I am having no fun at all.’

The Countess entered the breakfast room in time to hear Belle’s remarks, and took in the situation with one comprehensive glance.

‘Belle, darling, I am sorry about your ride but there will soon be another opportunity. Please change into that elegant yellow muslin dress of yours and be ready to leave with me in half an hour. Lady Paxton has all three of her extremely handsome sons eager to make your acquaintance. One has recently visited New York and wants to know more about life there.’

‘I am waiting for my breakfast.’

‘Ah, yes, breakfast. I am afraid, my dear, that dollar pancakes are not part of Chef’s current repertoire. He will research and produce some for breakfast tomorrow. You should know, Belle, that if we ride in the mornings, we do so much earlier than this. Richard and Charles have already returned from their exercise. I will arrange for coffee and rolls to be brought to your room so you can eat while you change. Julian Paxton really is extraordinarily attractive,’ she added in a throw-away voice.

Belle looked at Mr Warburton. He had risen on the entrance of the Countess and stood, holding his napkin, his face expressing no more than mild interest in what was being said.

Ursula saw the rapid flicking of Belle’s gaze from him to her sister and back again.

With a sulky flounce of her head, Belle rose. ‘I will be ready in thirty minutes, your ladyship,’ she said, giving a bitter emphasis to the last two words.

‘I think I need a cup of coffee,’ said Helen as the door banged shut.

The secretary helped her into a seat then poured her a cup. He was all attentiveness.

Helen glanced at Ursula.

‘My dear, I should have enquired how you are feeling this morning. How is your poor ankle?’

‘I am fine, thank you, Helen.’ Ursula went back to her toast and allowed Mr Warburton to refill her coffee cup.

Helen tapped her fingers irritably on the tablecloth. ‘Did you encourage Belle to think you were to take her riding this morning, William?’

He shrugged. ‘Something may have been mentioned last night when it seemed as if you were to be involved in this ghastly business over Polly. However, when you told me of your intention to visit the Paxtons with your sister …’ A graceful wave of his hand indicated that the riding suggestion had instantly been dropped.

Helen’s eyes narrowed.

‘
I
am not “involved in this ghastly business”, as you put it, and I would prefer that Belle was not encouraged to believe you will dance attendance on her every whim.’

William Warburton sat down with a little assenting dip of his head.

Helen drank more of her coffee. ‘Perhaps tomorrow morning we can all ride together, William?’

He looked up eagerly.

‘I have missed our early morning rides; there seems to have been so little time since Belle’s arrival,’ Helen continued.

A slight flush coloured his face. ‘I would like that,’ he said quietly.

‘A pity you cannot join us, Ursula. I hope in a few days your ankle will be recovered sufficiently to make riding possible.’

Ursula refrained from pointing out that she had managed to ride back to Mountstanton after she had damaged her ankle.

‘I hope so too.’

Helen managed a slight smile. ‘I did not realise just what a task you must have had in chaperoning my sister from New York to here.’

‘She was little trouble, Helen. The fact that I was not family must have helped.’

Another slight smile in acknowledgement. ‘I know what you mean. Ursula, if you were able to advise my chef this morning on how dollar pancakes are cooked, I would be greatly in your debt.’

‘I shall be delighted,’ Ursula said cheerfully. ‘I wonder if after that, Helen, I might be permitted to practise on your drawing room piano? My playing skills, such as they are, are so rusty.’

‘Of course.’ Helen rose. ‘Until luncheon, William?’

He nodded, half rising in his seat. ‘I shall be there, Helen.’

After the Countess had left the room, Ursula said, ‘Did you know the nursemaid well, Mr Warburton?’

‘What, Polly? No, of course not, Miss Grandison. What on earth makes you think I might have done?’

‘I apologise. It was just the way you referred to her, that is all.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, I knew her, of course.’ He helped himself to a piece of toast, placed butter and marmalade on his plate and thought for a moment. ‘I would have seen her with Harry, taking him for a walk, or bringing him down to tea.’

‘Was she pretty?’

William Warburton broke a piece off his slice of toast, smeared it with butter, added some marmalade and ate it while considering his answer. ‘I can’t say I thought much about the matter. Comely, I suppose. Certainly she was not ugly.’

‘No, I suppose you would have noticed that.’

The young man looked at her suspiciously and Ursula chided herself for her tone. ‘I’ve noticed that men are always aware of ugliness in a female. It’s as though they distrust the owner of such an appearance, though why it should be, I cannot understand. No one chooses to be ugly. On the contrary, everyone, I think, would prefer to be pleasant to look at.’

Immediately he brightened. ‘I agree! A pleasing appearance in a woman, or a man – or indeed a piece of furniture – is to be valued.’

‘And yet,’ Ursula said reflectively, ‘there are other qualities that could be equally valued, if not more. Kindness, for example, or honesty.’

‘Oh, quite,’ said William Warburton quickly, buttering another piece of his toast. ‘I do see what you mean, Miss Grandison, and, if you will allow me to say so, it does you a great deal of credit. However, may I be allowed to hold that all those virtues of character are more appreciated in someone who is agreeable to look upon?’

He smiled ingratiatingly at her.

Oh, poor Belle, thought Ursula. She smiled back at the young man. ‘You are not from these parts, I understand, Mr Warburton?’

‘No. My family is from the Midlands; Derbyshire to be precise.’

‘Ah, was that not where Mr Darcy was from?’

‘Darcy? I don’t recognise the name. My uncle is the Marquis of Buxton.’

Ursula laughed. ‘Easy to see that you are not a fan of Miss Austen, Mr Warburton. Mr Darcy is the hero of
Pride and Prejudice
, one of her novels.’

‘Oh, a novel. I am afraid I am not a great reader.
Sporting Life
is what I study. Amazing range of information.’

‘How interesting,’ Ursula murmured.

Mr Warburton swallowed the last of his coffee, muttered something about ‘getting on with things’ and hoped Miss Grandison would excuse him.

Ursula sat for a moment alone at the table and wondered precisely what the young man’s function in the Mountstanton household was.

* * *

Ursula had listened to the superb sound of the Mountstanton piano on the night of the dinner party and envied Helen its possession. Once they had vied with each other to receive applause for their performances. Over the last few years, though, her playing had been confined to popular songs on ramshackle instruments.

Propelling herself along on crutches was tiring and Ursula found it a relief to hop onto the piano stool.

She started with scales and arpeggios and was soon lost in the rigour of the exercises. Stiff and clumsy to begin with, her fingers gradually began to loosen and acquire something of their old mastery. As her hands dedicated themselves to the mechanical movements, Ursula’s mind drifted to contemplation of what the coroner was reporting to the Earl and his brother. Would Richard be able to ensure that there would be no publicity surrounding this death? Would the Mountstanton influence stretch to a neat tidying away of the facts? Would the circumstance that Polly appeared to have no relatives be of assistance there?

The scales grew faster and faster; the arpeggios acquired more of a flourish.

Finally Ursula rose from the stool and, balancing herself on her good leg, raised the lid to find what was available inside.

A few moments later, a thick copy of Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations was on the piano’s music stand.

It had been a delight to find something she knew so well. Ursula had studied the variations with her Paris tutor, immediately attracted by their complexity, power and beauty. It had been so long, though, since she had played the pieces. She struggled with the first variations, working on difficult passages over and over again.

She had lost track of time when the drawing room door burst open.

‘There you are!’ said the Colonel. ‘Come on, I’m taking you for a drive.’

Startled, deep in Beethoven’s subtleties, for a moment Ursula could only stare at him.

Dressed in a light brown tweed suit with a similar belted jacket to the one he had worn the day before, the Colonel hit his leg with a pair of gloves.

‘I’ve got to get away from this place,’ he said irritably. ‘I’ve ordered the trap to be harnessed.’

As Ursula continued to stare at him, his expression changed.

‘Can you manage?’ He came forward and picked up the crutches.

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

‘Sorry, for a moment I forgot you’re not one of my men,’ he said with an apologetic grin. ‘Would you, please, come with me? Can I fetch you a wrap?’ he added.

Resentment at being ordered about dissolved into amusement. Ursula abandoned Beethoven. ‘It’s a lovely day but maybe one would be sensible for driving in a trap.’

The Colonel strode over to the fireplace and rang the bell. Then he held the crutches out to Ursula.

‘Good girl.’ He watched as she rose, positioned them beneath her arms and started to walk slowly but confidently towards the door.

As she reached it, the butler entered.

‘You rang, sir?’

‘Yes, Benson. Be so good as to send someone to collect a wrap for Miss Grandison from her bedroom. Do you know where it would be?’ he asked Ursula.

‘In the middle drawer of the chest, knitted, with a fringe. And perhaps whoever fetches it could also bring the hat and bag that are sitting on top of the chest?’

‘Of course, madam. It shall be done.’

‘It’s very good of you, Benson.’

‘Not at all, madam.’

‘And, Benson,’ the Colonel continued, ‘get Chef to put up some cold meat with rolls and butter and a bottle of wine. Nothing fancy, I need it in double-quick time. Miss Grandison and I are going for a drive. We shall not be back before this afternoon.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Get it sent out to the stables, we’ll pick up the trap there.’

‘Indeed, sir. Will that be all, sir?’

‘Yes, thank you, Benson.’

The butler gave the smallest of bows and melted through the door.

‘That man is a marvel,’ said Ursula. ‘Your family is very lucky to have him.’

‘Benson has been a Mountstanton fixture ever since I can remember.’

The Colonel held open the door for Ursula.

As they proceeded along the corridor, there was a flurry of red and white fur and Honey flung herself at Ursula with small squeals of excitement.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said to the dog. ‘I can’t get down to stroke you but I’m very pleased to see you again.’ She looked around, expecting to see the Dowager Countess.

Instead a footman hurried towards them. ‘Sorry, Miss Grandison. She got out before I knew what was happening.’

‘Got out from where, John?’ asked the Colonel.

‘She was shut in the pantry, till someone had time to take her for a walk, sir. The Dowager is out visiting.’

‘Poor thing! Colonel, can we take her with us?’

‘If you’re content to sit whilst I walk her, I don’t see why not. As long as nothing else delays us.’ The Colonel snapped his fingers at Honey, and Ursula hid a smile as she instantly came to heel. John produced a lead; Ursula’s wrap, hat and bag were brought to her by one of the maids, and they were ready to set off.

Soon Ursula was seated in the trap, a wicker basket of comestibles in the back, Honey, all panting eagerness, placed between her and the Colonel.

Having taken one look at her companion’s grim face, Ursula said nothing for some time. Instead, she enjoyed their progress through rolling farmland, the Beethoven phrases still resonating in her head, one hand on Honey’s warm back, occasionally caressing her silky ears.