Deadly Inheritance (47 page)

The footman had secured Daisy beside Pocahontas and was tying Hector up outside the stall.

‘Is the lass all right, Miss Grandison?’

‘As far as I can judge, yes. Do you know if a fire can be lit in the cottage?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘Please come and light it, and bring that holdall with you.’

The footman brought the bag into the cottage. ‘Is she really all right, miss?’ he asked as another loud snore shook the air.

‘I think she is under the influence of alcohol, John. Which is why we need a fire. I have to try and bring her back to consciousness, then dress her.’ She shook out clothes drawn from her own wardrobe. ‘Then we need to sober her up before it’s safe to put her back on Pocahontas.’

There appeared to be a generous stack of wood by the empty fireplace. John found a box of firelighters in a cupboard and soon had a warming blaze going.

‘Thank you, that’s very comforting. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to go outside and stay there until I call you.’

‘No matter, miss,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I brought some oats with us for the horses. I’ll go and feed them.’ He left, carefully balancing the door back in place on its damaged hinges.

The business of trying to bring the drunken Belle back to consciousness was not easy and Ursula combined her efforts with managing to remove the corset, then pulling a petticoat over her lolling body. She half carried, half pulled the groaning girl onto a chair. She managed to button her into a shirt, bring a skirt down over her head, then force her to stand like a sagging, human-sized doll while she did up sufficient fastenings to keep the clothes in place.

‘Belle,’ she said forcefully several times during this process. ‘Wake up!’ The only result was groans and grunts.

Ursula sat her back on the chair and managed to slip a stocking on each bare foot, making a roll at the bottom of the legs, then she added a pair of too-large shoes, lacing them as tightly as possible.

Belle was lolling dangerously on the chair. Holding her in place, Ursula looked around the little room. On the wall opposite the door was what looked like a very basic kitchen. A shelf above a draining board held a collection of plates and mugs together with a utilitarian, metal coffee pot. Below the shelf was a small collection of comestibles, including a tin marked ‘coffee’.

Ursula called the footman back into the cottage. He came in with an air of helpful efficiency. ‘Could you, do you think, manage to make some coffee while I support Belle?’

‘Of course, Miss Grandison.’

‘I’ve found,’ said Ursula, ‘that if you heat water in the pot, then add grounds – four tablespoons should be sufficient for that pot – and stir it well, a tolerable result can be obtained.’

There was a trivet by the fire and soon the coffee pot was sitting on it over glowing wood. John also found several candlesticks and candles. ‘That’s better,’ he said, placing them so they provided a goodly light.

Ursula thanked him and said, ‘I think we must try and get Miss Seldon moving. You take one side and I’ll support her on the other.’

As with the dressing of the girl, it was a difficult task. Only half conscious, she was unwilling to make any effort. Ursula slapped her face then splashed cold water on it. Alternately encouraging and badgering, Ursula forced her to take unsteady steps. Belle responded with more groans and protests. Gradually, though, she seemed to be returning to a semblance of consciousness.

When the coffee was ready, they returned Belle to the chair and John supported her while Ursula used spoonfuls of cold water to settle the grounds. Then she poured the coffee into a mug and persuaded Belle to drink.

With Ursula supporting the girl again, John went and found a large bowl. He was rewarded with a smile. ‘I appreciate your forethought,’ Ursula said. ‘You have obviously had some practise in dealing with the sobering of those who have overindulged.’

‘As do you, if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Grandison.’

She acknowledged this with a slight smile but said nothing. She had no intention of telling the footman about the sordid and messy times she had coped with after her husband had come home from the mining saloons.

Soon the bowl had to be utilised. Shortly after that, John suggested that fresh air might assist the sobering process. Ignoring Belle’s protests, they took her outside. It did not take long for the girl to come to.

‘Oh, Ursula, has anything happened?’ The words were almost wailed. ‘Didier said gin always works.’

‘Hush, Belle. You have not suffered any injury apart from being vilely drunk. Until you are sober, we cannot return to Mountstanton.’

The girl gave a great sob. ‘I’m cold – I want to go inside.’

Ursula had given Belle her own jacket and her knitted wrap but the linen skirt she had dressed her in was not very warm and in the chill of night she herself was shivering badly. ‘A little longer, Belle, then you will feel much better.’

The girl couldn’t seem to summon up the energy to protest further.

The footman took off his jacket and draped it round Ursula’s shoulders. It smelled earthy, of man, and a faint aromatic odour that she did not have the time or space to identify. She was just grateful for the warmth.

After a little while longer of walking up and down the grassy path, Belle started to gulp the fresh air and her expression grew more lively. ‘I know where we are,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s the Hansel and Gretel cottage.’

‘It was the woodman’s,’ said John firmly and unexpectedly.

‘What happened to the woodman?’ asked Ursula.

The footman shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think he died. The old Earl, he bought this wood. That were many years ago.’

Ursula decided not to ask more questions. ‘I think we can go inside now, Belle.’

She sat the girl back on the chair and wrapped the soft blanket round her shoulders while John added more wood to the fire. She returned his jacket with thanks. ‘I think you should ride back to Mountstanton and tell them that Miss Seldon is safe but is a little faint and I am staying with her until she is well enough to ride. It should not be long. I think you need not mention anything else.’ She eyed the empty bottle she’d placed on the draining board without further comment.

‘I understand, Miss Grandison.’ He looked at Belle. ‘Poor girl, not fair is it?’

Ursula looked keenly at the footman. He was extremely handsome and she had seen Belle, more than once, sending him a laughing glance when asking for something or other. But there seemed nothing inappropriate in his expression, only sympathy and concern.

‘I’ll be off then.’

Ursula was left alone with Belle. Huddled in the blanket, her eyes closed, head leaning against the chair back, she looked shrunken and bereft. Ursula collected the wet clothes scattered round the room and placed them next to the fire, together with the sodden riding boots. They would all take several hours to dry.

‘I feel awful,’ Belle groaned. ‘I’ve never felt this awful in my life before.’

‘It’s the alcohol, I’m afraid, darling. This is what it does. I will make some fresh coffee and maybe that will make you feel a little better. And I brought some food from Mountstanton. I begged it from the kitchen because I was sure that you would be hungry. You can’t have had anything to eat since lunchtime.’

Ursula dug out a roll with chicken, some cheese and a piece of fruitcake from her holdall. She found a plate and placed the food next to Belle on the cottage’s little round table. ‘Do try and eat something, it will make you feel better, I promise.’

Belle opened her eyes. ‘I never want to eat again. Have you ever felt like this?’

Ursula laughed. ‘You mean, have I ever drunk too much alcohol? Yes, Belle, I have. In my wild young days, several times I felt as you do now.’

The big blue eyes widened. ‘Really, Ursula? Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ She hesitated for a moment then said, ‘My husband wanted a wife who could drink along with him. It took me a little time to realise how stupid that was.’ She smiled a small, painful smile. ‘I’m afraid men are often not very sensible.’

‘What happened to your husband?’

‘He died.’

‘Oh, Ursula, how sad! I am so sorry.’

Ursula said briskly, ‘Life can be difficult. And very rarely is alcohol an answer.’ She thought how prim and governess-like she sounded.

‘And it hasn’t worked,’ Belle wailed. ‘Didier said riding hard and gin would do it. There would be a lot of blood but then I would be all right.’

Where on earth had Helen found that French maid? How could Didier risk her mistress’s life in this way? And only confess the half of it to the Dowager? On their return to Mountstanton, Ursula would see that she was immediately dismissed.

‘Darling, it was a dreadful thing you tried to do. And to be all on your own! What were you going to do if you started bleeding? Out here, no one knowing where you were, no one to care for you, no one to make sure you were all right.’ Ursula could not bear the thought of what might have happened. ‘Why did you not come and talk to me?’

‘I tried,’ Belle started to cry. ‘I wanted to tell you about my condition but I was so scared.’

‘Scared of me?’

‘Papa told me you would be able to let him know all about my life at Mountstanton.’

‘Oh, Belle, I was not sent to spy on you.’

‘And I knew you would not respect me anymore and I could not bear that. Oh, my head!’ Belle buried it in her hands.

Ursula put a gentle hand round her shoulders. ‘Darling, I will always love and respect you. Don’t ever again feel you cannot talk to me whenever you are in need. Now, please eat something and I will make some fresh coffee. I promise you that your situation is not hopeless.’

Belle ignored the plate of food. But the tears stopped and she leant her head against the chair back.

Ursula built up the fire and prepared another pot of coffee.

With the coffee infusing on the trivet, she pulled up the other chair and peered into the shadows around the room, trying to read the story of the little cottage. Apart from the soft blankets and linen sheets on the low, rustic bed, no effort had been made to spruce it up. A religious tract on a wall was the only decoration. The utensils were the simplest. Yet the coffee was fresh and wood had been carefully stacked by the fireplace in readiness – for what? For whom?

‘How did you know about this place?’ Ursula asked gently.

‘I found it one day; the day I borrowed Pocahontas. I thought it just like the one Hansel and Gretel found in the forest.’ The tiniest hint of a smile entered her eyes. ‘I did wonder if it was used for assignations. I found a button of Helen’s on the floor. Later, after I realised why she did not want me to become close with William, I was sure she met him here.’ She closed her eyes for a moment as though the thought was unbearably painful. ‘But shortly after I started home, Richard caught up with me and we rode back together. So then I thought perhaps he was the one who had assignations here. I did not mean to come this evening,’ she whispered, ‘but when I thought I’d galloped long enough, I recognised where I was and I was wet through so I thought if I came in here I could take off my wet clothes and while I drank the gin they would get dry.’

Ursula almost smiled at Belle’s ignorance of how long it took a wet habit to dry even under the best conditions.

‘So I undressed, but I couldn’t manage to undo my stays. Then I got into the bed. After I’d drunk half the gin, I was so cold I tried to get up again to see if I could light the fire, but everything swam. I couldn’t manage to stand.’ She sounded as though that was a total surprise. ‘Everything was going round and round.’

‘Did you hear John knocking at the door?’

Belle looked shamefaced. ‘I couldn’t let him see me as I was. I needed you! Then he went away and I thought I should drink the rest of the gin. I hoped it would all happen and that you would come.’ She burst into more tears.

‘Hush, hush. I am here now and everything is going to be all right.’

Ursula waited until Belle wiped her eyes and seemed a little more rational.

‘Is this where you have been meeting Mr Warburton, Belle?’

‘William and me here?’ She clutched her make-do shawl more closely round her shoulders. ‘Of course not.’

There seemed no ‘of course not’ about it to Ursula. ‘Where
did
you meet?’

Belle fiddled with the satin-bound edge of the blanket. After a long pause she whispered, ‘He took me up onto the roof of the house. There’s a sort of pavilion there, over the entrance. You can see it from the drive as you come up.’

‘How many times did you go there?’

Her face flushed. ‘It was only that one time.’ After a moment’s hesitation she said in a rush. ‘I wanted us to go there again. I asked him … several times,’ the flush deepened, ‘but he … he made some excuse. But I knew he wanted to, Ursula,’ she added eagerly. ‘It was just that he had correspondences to handle for the Earl, or he had to do something for him. Like go to Salisbury on business.’ She trailed to a stop and gazed into the fire. Then in a whisper she said, ‘I suppose you are going to tell me I have been foolish, aren’t you, Ursula?’

‘We are all foolish at some time in life, darling.’

‘Like Mama and your papa, you mean?’

The connection startled Ursula.

‘How much do you know of what happened, Belle?’

‘Why, that Mama ran off with your papa. You and Helen weren’t there for me!’ The cry of an abandoned child.

‘We were in school, in Paris,’ Ursula murmured. ‘Did Helen ever tell you they visited us?’

Belle nodded, the tears starting again.

‘They were on their way to Italy,’ Ursula said. ‘They hoped to live quietly and cheaply there.’ It had been such a painful meeting; Helen distraught and aggressive, Ursula herself heartbroken, the runaway lovers trying to contain their happiness and ask for a forgiveness that was not forthcoming.

‘Papa said we were never to speak of Mama again.’

‘He was very hurt,’ Ursula said quietly. It had been a double betrayal for Chauncey Seldon; both his wife and his business partner. He could not forgive either. He made sure that Ogden Grandison was financially ruined. He had not understood that it was his neglect of his wife that had made her turn to the kind and sympathetic man who was so often present in the Seldon household.