Deadly Inheritance (19 page)

Had she indeed!

A bell pull was tugged and Ursula waved towards a chair that proved more comfortable than it looked.

‘I was very sorry to hear of your injury,’ the Dowager said, seating herself. ‘Most unfortunate. Is it very painful still?’

Ursula stretched out the damaged ankle and tried not to grimace at the pain. ‘It is making progress,’ she said lightly.

‘Exercise can expedite the healing, as I found when I suffered a similar injury.’

‘Indeed, what sort of exercise, my lady?’

The Dowager rose, placed her weight on one foot and rocked it back and forth. She indicated that Ursula should imitate her.

Ursula swallowed hard as pain shot through her ankle. ‘It does seem to help,’ she said in some surprise after a few minutes. ‘Thank you, my lady. I will persevere.’

A footman entered with a tray of coffee, served both ladies, then disappeared. Ursula sipped her coffee and wondered exactly what was coming.

‘Now, Miss Grandison, I hope you have managed to settle into Mountstanton and that the tragedy you uncovered has not completely ruined your visit.’

Ursula put down her cup. ‘The discovery of the body was a great shock. Since, though, I had never met the poor girl, I was spared the pain of loss.’

‘I hope you will not find testifying at the inquest too stressful. Nothing like this has happened in Mountstanton before; you are probably aware that we are all finding it very upsetting.’

‘Our English history lessons suggested the aristocracy frequently suffered scandals of various sorts,’ Ursula could not resist saying.

‘But not Mountstanton.’

‘Ah, of course not.’

The Dowager smiled. ‘I can understand that you find us unusual, Miss Grandison. America is such a new, raw and thrusting country, we must seem indolent beside many of your fellow countrymen. But we do not like bustle or money-grabbing ways. Of course, the upkeep of houses such as this one can be a heavy burden. The fifth Earl, my husband, fought a constant battle against dry rot, rising damp, roofs that leaked, tenants who couldn’t pay their rent, and tax inspectors who insisted on far more than a pound of flesh.’

‘Tax men are a universal enemy.’

‘My husband’s death was a great shock. To contract such a wasting disease at sixty is a tragedy, especially when the victim had always been so full of life. Anyone around here will tell you what a charismatic person he was.’

‘I wish I could have known him.’

‘His death has thrust great responsibilities onto Richard and Helen at a time when they should be enjoying their young family and a carefree social life.’

Was the Dowager hinting that the nursery should contain more than one child?

‘And the death duties are a great burden.’ Silence fell while Ursula tried to think of something to say that would lead the conversation into safer areas.

‘I understand you were at school with my daughter-in-law in Paris, Miss Grandison?’

Ursula inclined her head. ‘She was a very good friend to me.’

‘Until I met Helen I had no notion that American girls could be educated at continental establishments.’

‘Most of Europe seems to expect us to have no manners, live in log cabins and be hardly able to read,’ Ursula commented mildly.

‘That’s a little harsh on us. We merely compare the centuries-old civilisation here with the pioneering spirit on your side of the Atlantic. We are not censorious; indeed we admire what I think is called your “get-up-and-go” spirit. And I find it most interesting that Americans can esteem our educational values. Tell me, was it mainly American girls who were enrolled at your Parisian establishment?’

‘No, we were a mixture.’

‘Indeed? And I suppose learning French and various social requirements were your main activities?’

Ursula smiled as she remembered the long school days that had started in the early morning and ended in the late afternoon, with more hours spent in the evening on preparation for the next day. ‘It was not a finishing school, as I think you would understand the term, Countess. We underwent a rigorous academic programme. But we were also schooled in every aspect of the social scene. Plus the requirements of running a large establishment, handling staff, fulfilling social obligations, and so on. Everything an embryonic Duchess or Marchese might require.’

‘So Helen fulfilled her destiny when she married my son?’ The Dowager’s tone was ironic.

Ursula decided she was enjoying this conversation. ‘Helen has always been a romantic. Marriage for her meant union with a man she loved rather than social status.’ That had to be true where Jack Dyke, the man she had accused Ursula of stealing, was concerned. Yet had not Helen longed to be on the prestigious Vanderbilt and Astor invitation lists?

‘So it was merely chance that brought an English aristocrat within her orbit?’

Ursula put her coffee cup down again. ‘I am afraid when Helen met your son, I was already on the other side of America. I do not know who or what brought them together.’

‘It was unfortunate that Helen and Belle lost their mother. I should like to have met her. You must have known her?’ The question was put with a certain negligence that set Ursula on her guard.

‘Mrs Seldon was delightful.’

‘I have not liked to ask Helen about her; it seems a subject she finds painful.’

‘Losing a parent
is
painful.’

‘Does Belle resemble her father or her mother?’

Ursula smiled. ‘Both Belle and Helen look like their mother. Mrs Seldon was very attractive but not a classical beauty; so much of her charm was in her expression, the way she used her eyes, the musicality of her voice.’ Ursula stopped abruptly as a vision of Clara Seldon rose before her.

‘She sounds charming indeed. She died in a train crash, I understand?’

‘Helen and I were completing our last term in Paris; it was a very sad homecoming.’

‘It must have quite spoiled Helen’s plans for her New York debut.’

Ursula strove to keep her hands steady in her lap.

‘If you spent so much time with Helen and her family, Miss Grandison, you must have lost your own parents?’

Ursula wondered how much Helen had revealed of her old school friend’s background.

‘My mother died at my birth. My father was in business with Helen’s father until he, too, died.’ The firm had originally been known as Grandison and Seldon. ‘The Seldons have all been very kind to me.’

The Dowager refilled their cups. ‘So you had no hesitation in agreeing when it was suggested you accompanied Belle over here?’ she said, handing Ursula hers.

‘The opportunity to catch up with my old school friend, not to mention visiting one of the grandest houses in England, was irresistible.’

‘I can imagine it must have been.’ The Dowager was at her driest. She ran a finger round the edge of her saucer. ‘I hope you feel able to report favourably to Mr Seldon?’

Ursula felt a sudden chill. Had Benson been reporting on her letters?

‘He was very disappointed not to have been able to accept the Countess’s invitation to visit alongside Belle, but the pressures of business were inescapable. I promised to let him know how Belle was settling down; he thought she was unlikely to prove an informative correspondent,’ Ursula said smoothly and gave the Dowager a frank smile. ‘I have told him how excited Belle has been at meeting her sister again and how much she is enjoying the social scene Helen has arranged for her.’ She paused before adding, ‘I felt I also had to inform him of my discovery, though I am sure Helen has done so also.’

‘Of course.’

The Dowager put down her coffee cup. ‘I shall watch Belle’s London debut with great interest. No doubt she is hoping to capture an English husband and so be able to stay close to her sister?’

No mention of the plan to marry Belle off to her second son, Ursula noted. Nor the fact that, like Helen, she would be quite a catch, both in looks and dowry, .

Ursula shrugged. ‘As to that, I think Belle is merely excited about attending dances and such events as the Ascot races and Henley.’

‘You know about such matters, Miss Grandison?’

Ursula stared gravely at the Dowager. ‘I may have spent some years roughing it, as you might call it, in California, but I have not forgotten my education, your ladyship.’

The Dowager returned her look with a steady one of her own. ‘I do not think there is much you would forget, Miss Grandison. Some time I am sure we would all be most interested to hear of your Californian adventures.’ After the smallest of pauses, the Dowager continued, ‘I imagine Mr Seldon has plans for a generous settlement should Belle find someone over here she wishes to marry?’

Ursula drew in a sharp breath, shocked at this open curiosity. Then, quite suddenly, she understood the reason for this conversation. The Dowager Countess was as curious as Mr Seldon about what had happened to Helen’s dowry.

The Earl entered. He seemed not to notice Ursula.

‘Mama, it’s as we feared. That damned rogue, Snell, has asked to give evidence at the inquest.’

After a night of troubled sleep, Matilda Parsons finally threw back her bedclothes and struggled up.

For a minute or two she sat on the edge of her mattress, looking at the legs that poked out of her white cotton nightgown. Every day the pain from the gnarled blue veins seemed to grow worse. She tried to remember when they were shapely and Walter had loved to slip his hand round one of her ankles.

‘My, Tilly, they beat the fetlocks off all the horses in the stables.’

He’d not give them a second look now. So much of the position of head housekeeper depended on your legs. Inspecting the work of the maids; inspecting the condition of furniture, linen, carpets. So many windows to be washed, so many floors to be polished, so many surfaces to be dusted, pails to be placed under leaks in the roof whenever it rained.

If only there were money to be spent on replacement of worn-out upholstery, curtains, sheets and tablecloths – and so much else.

What had happened to the dowry the Countess was supposed to have brought with her from America?

Matilda hauled herself to her feet and drew back the thin curtains, handling the fraying material with care. The light outside was grey, a veil between the window and the outlines of trees. She could just make out the wood that covered the hill; the wood through which the path ran to Hinton Parva.

Matilda retreated to her bed, drew the covers up over her cold feet and lay fighting a desire to bury her head beneath the blankets and pretend she did not have to face the day. Yesterday she had had to make her statement to that policeman. The day before, the Earl and Countess had interviewed her. The same questions, the same answers. And last night she had tossed and turned knowing that she had not told them everything.

She felt so guilty. She should have said something at the time; done something. But instead she had hugged the knowledge to herself, feeling triumphant that she had been right about Polly Brown all along. It was only later that she began to feel that just knowing was not enough.

Where was Alice with her morning cup of tea?

Yesterday afternoon, after her statement had been taken, she had been summoned by the Dowager Countess. It was as though the last few years had rolled back and the Dowager was once again Mountstanton’s chatelaine. Touching the small cameo brooch she always wore at the collar of her black bombazine dress, Matilda had fought frustration. Why could the Dowager not have retired to a house on the estate?

‘Parsons.’ The tone was sharp; the formidable figure sat sternly upright.

Matilda’s eyes automatically checked that no speck of dust was evident on any surface, and that the fire was correctly laid in the grate.

‘Parsons, I want to hear what you will say to the coroner tomorrow.’

Matilda drew a deep breath.

The Earl and Countess had asked if she knew of any liaison between Polly and another member of staff. The Countess had done the talking, her eyes intently focused on Matilda, her body tense. The Earl had stood by the window, his hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers, his manner wary. It had been he who had brought up the matter of
exactly
what she was to say at the inquest. Now it seemed she had to go through it all again.

‘I am to tell the coroner that Polly was a girl of good character; that she was satisfactory in her conduct, and that I was not aware she was with child. Also, if asked, that when her condition became apparent, it would have been necessary to dismiss her, your ladyship, being as how we cannot tolerate such things here.’

The Dowager looked at her steadily. ‘That and no more?’

‘No, your ladyship.’

Fingers beat a restless rhythm on the chair’s arms. ‘How many years have you been at Mountstanton, Parsons?’

‘Thirty-eight, your ladyship.’

Matilda had started as an under-maid at the age of fourteen. Her mother had been a maid here before her marriage to the local butcher.

‘Work hard,’ she’d said. ‘And work at your letters and figures. You’re a bright girl, you could become assistant housekeeper. Just mind your manners, do everything that’s expected, and watch what goes on.’

And Matilda had. It had been the fourth Earl in those days: George, the present Earl’s grandfather. What a tartar! They had all feared his temper. His Countess, though, had been the loveliest woman. Their son, Simon, had inherited all her charm – together with his father’s autocratic ways. He too, though, had feared his father.

‘Ah, yes, I remember,’ said the Dowager. ‘You were here when I arrived.’

All the staff, lined up in order of seniority, their uniforms clean, their expressions respectful, had gathered to welcome the new bride, all eager to know who it was their greatly loved Viscount Hinton – always known to them as Lord Simon – had been forced by his father to marry.

For Matilda had been told by Walter, the under-groom with the blond corkscrew curls and gentle hands who looked for every opportunity to spend time with her, that this was no love match.

‘His lordship told ’im ’e’d gone too far this time,’ Walter had said with awe. ‘Servants was one thing, married women were acceptable, respectable misses was something else. ’E must get married, then per’aps ’e’d keep … well, be’ave ’imself,’ Walter had finished hurriedly.