Deadly Inheritance (18 page)

Ursula noted that he had neglected to mention Polly by name. To refer to your dead nursemaid merely as ‘the body’ seemed to her callous in the extreme.

‘Thank you,’ she said, feeling he expected her to be grateful. On behalf of the two older women, she was grateful. For herself, she would have found it interesting to visit the local constable to have her statement taken.

She looked across at the Colonel, half expecting him to grin at her in a way that signalled he understood her reaction. Instead, she found his gaze fastened on his sister-in-law as she drew her needle through the fine linen, anchoring drawn thread-work into place with something of the aura of a fairy princess.

Ursula felt shock as she recognised a yearning in his expression. After an unexpectedly difficult struggle, she managed to put her emotions aside. Then found that a piece of the puzzle slid into place with the smoothness of expertly fashioned machinery.

In the gloomy dining room that evening Belle shone.

Ursula watched as her charge chattered gaily, entertaining the entire table. Was she, against all protocol, allowed to do so because only Belle was uninvolved with the nursemaid’s death and the imminent inquest? Or because there were no outside guests that night?

‘You were able to entertain yourself this afternoon?’ asked Helen as Belle finished describing an amusing incident involving a ride in New York’s Central Park, a runaway bicycle and a dashing young man.

‘William took me round the family portraits. It was so interesting.’

Ursula noticed for the first time that she was wearing one of her best dresses, a pale blue silk from Paris that was supposed to have been reserved for her London debut.

‘There are some very fine portraits there, Miss Seldon,’ said the Dowager. ‘Was there one that particularly caught your attention?’

‘Oh,’ said Belle roguishly, ‘I liked best the ones of the various Earls.’ She turned to Richard. ‘Isn’t it amazing how you all look the same?’

‘Do we?’ he drawled. ‘I have never noticed it.’

‘Oh, yes, it is very marked. And I went and had a good look at Harry after my tour and it is quite clear that he is a Mountstanton.’

It was as though the oxygen had suddenly been sucked from the room.

‘It’s the nose,’ said the Dowager after a moment. ‘How very perceptive of you, Miss Seldon. There is a very definite Mountstanton nose.’

Belle looked across the table at the Colonel. ‘You don’t have the nose though, Charles, do you?’

He smiled gently at her. ‘I take after my Mama,’ he said, raising his glass to the Dowager.

‘But you have the chin,’ his mother said with what, for her, was warmth.

‘Show me your profile, Charles,’ Belle demanded. ‘And you, Richard.’

‘Belle, this is not good manners,’ said Helen.

But the brothers complied. Ursula followed Belle in comparing their silhouettes.

It was true, the Earl’s nose was slightly hooked where the Colonel’s was straight. But they both had the same square, slightly pugnacious jaw.

The Colonel held up his left hand. ‘Here’s another Mountstanton feature,’ he said and wiggled his little finger. Ursula could see that it was slightly crooked. ‘Did you notice that Harry has inherited this as well?’

‘I suppose your features are all part of belonging to an ancient dynasty,’ Belle said. ‘We don’t have that in America, do we, Ursula?’

‘The Indians do. They belong to tribes who guard their inheritance jealously.’

‘Oh, Indians,’ Belle said carelessly. ‘I cannot count them.’

‘All your nation needs is time, Miss Seldon,’ said the Colonel. ‘You must remember we have had hundreds of years of careful breeding.’ He shot a look at his brother that was unreadable.

‘I trust you appreciated the beauty of the Countesses,’ the Earl said to Belle. He raised his glass to his wife at the bottom of the table. ‘There is a particularly lovely one of Helen by Sargent, done just after we were married.’

It was almost the longest speech Ursula had heard him make, and certainly the first compliment to Helen.

Ursula turned to Mr Warburton. ‘Is there a particular feature that runs in your family?’ she asked.

He gave her a wide smile. ‘Big ears.’ He demonstrated that his were indeed large and slightly stuck out. Somehow they did not detract from his looks. ‘My eldest brother, the heir, managed to avoid them though.’

‘All this talk of personal appearance is exceedingly bad form, particularly at the dinner table,’ said the Dowager repressively. She turned to the Earl. ‘Have I told you that the son of one of our oldest friends has been appointed Ambassador to Peru?’

The conversation was successfully turned.

At the other end of the table, Helen asked the Colonel for details of the political situation in South Africa and Ursula pressed Mr Warburton for details of his home.

She received the impression of an open and fun-loving family. How different from this cold and unemotional house. ‘Do you miss your brothers and sisters very much?’ she asked impulsively.

He flashed a glance up at Belle, left marooned by talk of people she knew nothing about, then dropped his gaze as she beamed a warm smile at him. ‘They are very kind to me, here,’ he muttered.

Ursula had caught the exchange of glances. She felt deep unease.

Helen now brought the secretary into her conversation with the Colonel.

While duck plates were cleared and roast beef was brought in, Ursula studied Belle across the table.

Quite apart from the Paris gown, the girl had something about her that evening. It was almost as though she had drunk too much wine. Though she sat quietly while the Earl listened to his mother’s talk of neighbours, longing looks from beneath demurely lowered eyelashes were sent down the table towards William. How long before Helen noticed?

The meal seemed interminable. Charlotte Russe followed the beef. Ursula forced herself to make conversation with the Dowager and achieved a minor triumph by discovering that they shared a love of music.

‘It has been a great sorrow to me that I can no longer play the piano,’ the Dowager told her, displaying hands twisted by arthritis. ‘Do you play, Miss Grandison?’

Ursula confessed that she had been delighted to be able to practise that morning on Helen’s superb piano.

The Dowager’s eyes lightened. ‘Ah, yes, the Steinbeck. It arrived with Helen and I envied her that instrument.’ The admission following on the revelation of her physical disability somehow made the Dowager more human.

After anchovy fritters, Helen took the ladies to the drawing room but the men did not linger long over their port. Soon after they rejoined the party, the Dowager asked her daughter-in-law if she would play to them. ‘It is a very long time since I have heard you, my dear.’

‘Please do,’ Ursula pressed. ‘I remember so well your recitals in Paris.’

Helen did not look pleased. ‘I am out of practise.’

‘In South Africa, out on the veldt under the stars, I remembered your playing Chopin and hoped the fighting would soon be over so I could hear it again,’ said the Colonel quietly.

‘You have to excuse me,’ said the Earl. ‘I need to check on details for the inquest.’

Helen opened up the piano, sat down, gazed at the keys for a few moments then began playing Chopin études.

Ursula had a clear view of Belle sitting in a chair not too far from Mr Warburton. Her hand hung down over the arm, as though she wished him to take it. The secretary’s gaze was firmly fixed on the pianist and he held his coffee cup in both hands.

Ursula had heard Helen play better and quite soon the piano was closed again.

Ursula picked up her crutches and excused herself. The Colonel held open the door for her. ‘Thank you for your company today,’ he said. For an instant a rapport flashed between them.

Upstairs Ursula wondered whether she should write another letter to Mr Seldon. Not only, though, did she lack the energy, there was too much that confused her. Something had been going on over the dinner table beyond the obvious; what, exactly, had it been?

Ursula blew out her candle and tried to sleep, aware that part of her difficulties lay with emotions within herself that she did not wish to acknowledge.

* * *

The breakfast room next morning was empty. ‘They’re all riding,’ the maid told her. ‘His lordship and the Colonel went out early and her ladyship, Miss Seldon and Mr Warburton left half an hour ago.’

Ursula looked out of the window. It was a fine morning at the moment but clouds were gathering. Servants were everywhere performing cleaning duties, but there was no sign of the housekeeper.

Exploring the back regions, Ursula came across a big, buxom maid carrying a large container of cleaning items and with a smear of soot along her forehead. She gave Ursula a happy grin.

‘Was there something, miss? I’m Susan,’ she added.

Ursula did not hesitate. ‘Perhaps you can help, Susan. I’m just wondering what the system is with dirty washing. My underclothes have disappeared and …’

‘And you was wondering when they’d be back, I expects.’

Ursula nodded apologetically. Someone, probably Sarah, cleared the linen basket in her room daily but so far nothing had been returned. Did she need to explain that her supply of underwear was more limited than Helen or Belle’s?

‘Thing is, with Maggie away, laundry has had a bit of a pile up. Now she’s back, though, should soon be sorted. If you want to ask if your stuff’s ready, laundry’s across the yard.’

At the rear of Mountstanton was a collection of outbuildings designed in keeping with the main house. The one that housed the laundry was indicated by the sheets, which could be seen through the windows, hanging in serried rows.

Ursula limped over and managed, with difficulty, to open the heavy door.

Immediately inside she was faced with rows of washing lines, hung almost to the floor with wet sheets and tablecloths. The air was heavy with the smell of boiling coppers and its humidity would challenge a Turkish bath. For a moment Ursula stood, fascinated by the number and variety of the hanging items. Many of the sheets were heavily trimmed with lace, unlike those on her bed.

Then she heard voices.

‘Why didn’t you keep her safe? She trusted you. What happened to her?’

‘Now, Maggie, you know nothing about Polly.’

‘I do! I do! We was best friends. She told me everything.’

There was a sudden silence.

“What did she tell you?’ The voice was wary, suspicious.

‘She told me that you was sweet on her. Then that something had happened. You’re a bastard, John, a bastard.’

There was a sound that might have been Maggie hammering at the man’s chest.

‘Hey, easy, Maggie.’

Sounds of a brief struggle. Then sobs.

‘Listen, Maggie. Polly wasn’t the little angel you think her. She, well, she could be a right little tease.’

‘I don’t believe you!’ More hammerings.

Ursula opened and closed the outside door with a bang and called out: ‘Anyone here?’

Stock silence for a moment. Then the footman’s voice. ‘You’ll get that tablecloth ready for Mr Benson, then, Maggie?’

‘Right, John, it’ll be done, be sure of that.’ Maggie’s voice started quavery but gained strength.

The footman, face blank, marched round the lines of hanging linen, gave Ursula a nod, and left.

‘Miss Grandison! Can I help?’ Maggie appeared, carefully skirting the clean washing lines, reddened hands smoothing down the huge apron that swamped her slight figure. Her eyes were red.

‘I see you’re back into your job,’ Ursula said easily. ‘I understand you have been much missed.’

Maggie waved hopelessly at the wet washing. ‘Never seen a pile like it, miss,’ she blurted out, her voice wobbling. ‘Don’t know what they’ve been doing last two weeks but it ’ain’t been much washing.’

* * *

The interview with the police went smoothly but Ursula was driven almost mad by the slowness of the process. The constable took her statement with stolid competence, sorting through her account and repeating everything back to her as he slowly wrote it down.

After she had read the statement through and signed her name, inwardly sighing at the plodding quality of the language, the constable thanked her with solemn sincerity for her patience and help. Finally, gathering up all the paperwork, the policeman asked, ‘Is there anything you wish to add, Miss Grandison?’

Ursula thought back to the snatched piece of conversation she had overheard in the laundry. Could it be classed as evidence?

‘No, Constable, I think the statement covers my discovery of the body fully. Thank you for your assistance.’

As Ursula emerged from the library a peremptory voice said, ‘Miss Grandison, it is time we got to know each other. Come and take coffee with me in my drawing room.’

‘It would be a pleasure, your ladyship,’ said Ursula, reaching down to pat Honey, frisking around her legs.

The Dowager Countess lived in a separate apartment in the west wing of the house. She was independent and yet able to join the family whenever she wished, which appeared to be most of the time. It seemed to Ursula a splendid arrangement for the Dowager and one that could be very difficult for Helen.

They travelled the long corridor that ran past Belle’s room and the apartments belonging to the Earl and Countess. Finally the Dowager turned a corner and opened a door into her private quarters, which were as grand and spacious as the main house.

The drawing room was furnished in an elegant style. Grey brocade covered the Louis Seize chairs and settee. A set of porcelain birds lining the shelves of a display cabinet added colourful notes, as did crimson damask curtains that looked considerably newer than any Ursula had so far seen.

‘This is my sanctuary,’ the Dowager said. ‘When the fifth Earl, Richard’s father, died, these rooms were turned over for my exclusive use.’

‘How very attractive you’ve made it,’ said Ursula. There was a French window that led out to the garden. A large lawn was edged with herbaceous borders and, in the distance, was a stone pavilion.

The Dowager laid a hand on the sumptuous curtains and gave a satisfied smile. ‘I wanted a break with the past.’