Deadly Inheritance (32 page)

Having read what she had written, she picked up the pen again:

From what I have told you, I think you will agree that the question of Polly’s parentage has been answered. What is not clear is how many others are aware of the identity of her father, or whether it played any part in her death. Still a mystery is the identity of the man who fathered her unborn child. It is possible that the coroner was correct, that Polly did commit suicide. Her death could have been an accident, but the more information that comes to light, the less probable it seems. I am extremely reluctant to come to the conclusion that she was killed, but as time passes I feel it more and more likely. At Mountstanton, every effort is being made to put everything connected with her in the past. She has been buried and that should be that, is what the family seem to be saying.

This household is not a happy one. As you have heard, there are currents and cross-currents. Belle is unhappy and, much as it distresses me, I have to confess that Helen seems to be contributing to that unhappiness. Though I have not been able to discover what she has done with her dowry, I have seen enough of her marriage to the Earl to be certain that there is something very wrong between them. The Dowager Countess attempts to exercise her authority over her sons, particularly the Earl, not always successfully. She also seems far too concerned with what I term ‘the honour of the family’.

Once again, she paused and reread what she had written. After a little hesitation, she picked up the pen and continued:

There is the matter of the death of Mr Snell. How long before Miss Ranner tells someone else what she says she saw that night is impossible to say. I am certain she told me because she believed I would ensure the information was acted upon. But in what way?

Mr Seldon, do you remember talking to me one day about your purchase of a motor vehicle? I recollect vividly the frustration you expressed over the time it took to arrive. This has alerted me to an upsetting possibility, which I will investigate before reporting on it to you.

I do feel, sir, that if your business could possibly allow, you should come over and see for yourself the situation with both your daughters. I do not feel competent to assess exactly what has been happening here and I am very afraid that some other tragedy could be in the making.

I am, sir, your devoted servant,

Ursula signed her name and, without further rereading, placed the pages within a large envelope and sealed but did not address it. She would not put it out for Benson to send; tomorrow morning she would ride down to Hinton Parva and post it herself.

* * *

The weather for the Dowager Countess’s birthday fête was cloudless, sunny and warm.

There had been old friends of hers at dinner the previous evening and, to Ursula, it seemed the claustrophobic atmosphere at Mountstanton slightly lifted, until she realised that the Earl scarcely spoke and Helen’s conversation was too bright. Belle looked pretty but pale and gazed hopelessly across the table at William Warburton. However, she quite properly confined her conversation to the two elderly gentlemen she was seated between. Each appeared enchanted by her and, as the meal progressed, Belle cheered a little.

When the gentlemen joined the ladies for coffee, the Earl was not among them. The Colonel, as Ursula had feared, made straight for her.

‘I have this strange feeling that you are avoiding me,’ he said. His eyes were clear and frank as they studied her face.

Ursula smiled in a polite way; she could think of nothing to say.

He frowned. ‘What has happened, Miss Grandison? I know something has.’

‘Nothing has happened, Colonel Stanhope. Tell me, how did you occupy yourself in London? Are there interesting exhibitions to be seen?’

He gave a slight exclamation of annoyance and said, ‘Do you really want a polite conversation about nothing at all?’

Ursula felt a flush come to her face. ‘Colonel, I …’

‘Charles, such a delight to see you; it must be at least twelve years since we have met. Such a shame you were seated at the other end of the table.’ A woman of some fifty years of age appeared by the Colonel’s side.

He turned to her. ‘My lady, what a pleasure to meet you again.’

Ursula moved away.

Helen stretched out an arm towards her and suggested she play to them. ‘Something light and soft,’ she said.

Ursula launched into some Debussy. Not as light as Helen would have liked, she was sure, but she needed to play a piece that would tax her. As she finished the piece, the Colonel came to stand beside the piano.

The evening was coming to an end. The Earl had reappeared with apologies for the business he had been forced to attend to and guests were leaving.

‘I don’t know what that was but I enjoyed it,’ he said as she closed the piano lid. ‘You have a way of playing that brings music to life.’

‘Thank you, Colonel Stanhope. If you will forgive me, I am very tired.’

He placed a hand on her arm. ‘Miss Grandison, I need to talk to you. Dare I ask that you spare me a little time tomorrow morning?’

She stood up and looked squarely at him. ‘We should indeed talk, Colonel. Now, I must go.’ She said goodnight to Helen then left the room. Slowly mounting the stairs, she cursed herself for handling the situation so badly. It was unfair not to allow the Colonel to explain himself. But not yet. She needed to be absolutely clear in her mind exactly what she suspected him of.

* * *

In the morning, Ursula sent a message to the stables to saddle Daisy, the mare she usually rode. By the time she presented herself, the horse was all ready and snickered in a welcoming way.

The fresh air and warm sunshine were a benison. As she rode, Ursula began to feel lighter in spirit. On reaching the village, she tied Daisy up outside the shop, which also did duty as a post office.

‘America, did you say?’ asked Mr Partridge, weighing her envelope. ‘You will need an address before it can be sent.’

‘Oh,’ Ursula said, affecting surprise. ‘How stupid of me. Perhaps you will be good enough to provide sufficient postage and I will add the recipient’s address.’

She took back the stamped envelope and, using the pen and ink supplied on the counter, wrote Mr Seldon’s address on the envelope. Then she hurried from the shop.

Outside, she was accosted by a man in a bowler hat, not particularly tall, and dressed like a clerk. ‘I believe I have the fortune of addressing Miss Grandison?’ he said.

His accent was slightly nasal and clipped, very different from the slow, broad way of speaking Ursula had become used to in this part of the country. Had the man been a local, she would not have queried the identification, but that this stranger should address her by name was odd. ‘How did you know me?’ she asked.

‘You have been described to me, Miss Grandison, in a manner quite unmistakeable.’ He had bright, enquiring eyes, and appeared to be some forty years of age. ‘I’m Thomas Jackman.’

He said it in a way that suggested his name was one she should recognise.

‘Mr Jackman, I am pleased to meet you. Now, you will oblige me by allowing me to reach my horse.’

For a moment he looked puzzled, then it was as though a shutter came down over his face. ‘Of course, miss,’ he said and stepped aside. ‘Sorry to inconvenience you.’

Grateful for the mounting block outside the village store, Ursula hoisted herself into the saddle, lifted her whip in acknowledgement to Mr Jackman, and put the horse into a gentle trot, wondering about the little encounter.

Miss Ranner was outside her house, talking to a neighbour. As Ursula rode towards her, she waved and hurried across. ‘Miss Grandison, good morning! I hope you are well. So nice to see you riding. Your ankle is much better?’

Ursula assured her it was and said she soon hoped to be mobile enough to visit with Miss Ranner.

‘I hope you don’t mind my mentioning it, Miss Grandison, but I saw you talking with that funny little man. Who is he?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘He has been hanging around the village all morning. He stayed last night at the Lion and Lamb and apparently the landlord says he has booked himself in for a week. This morning he was in the village shop making himself very pleasant to Mr Partridge and asking all sorts of questions.’

‘Questions, Miss Ranner?’ Ursula’s sense of unease communicated itself to her horse, who gave a slight sidestep and tossed her head. Ursula tightened the reins.

‘Nothing in particular, you understand, Miss Grandison. Merely what sort of village Hinton Parva is, the extent it covers, how very pleasant the villagers seem and is the weather going to continue so fine, that sort of thing. We all think, though, that there is something very odd about him. What is he doing here for a week?’

What was he doing here at all? Ursula wondered. ‘He looks like some sort of clerk,’ she said. ‘Maybe he is taking a holiday.’

Miss Ranner’s face cleared. ‘Of course, that must be it. I must not keep you, Miss Grandison. I’m sure up at Mountstanton there must be a great to-do going on.’

Having ascertained that Miss Ranner was invited to the fête, Ursula took her leave and rode to the postbox she had noticed at the edge of the village.

The heavy letter slipped inside the bright red box and landed with a thud. Ursula wondered if she was being foolish taking such precautionary measures. What did it matter who knew she was writing to Mr Seldon?

* * *

Back at Mountstanton, there was indeed a great to-do. A marquee had been erected on the main lawn to one side of the house. Long tables were being laid with damask cloths and piles of plates and cutlery. Folding chairs had been placed on the lawn. A small band was practising.

‘Ursula!’ Belle called, running towards her. ‘At last I have caught you on your own. I need to speak with you.’ Belle caught hold of her arm and gave her a pleading look.

‘Of course, dear. It is too long since we had a proper talk. Shall we go to your room?’

Belle made a face. ‘That busy-miss French maid will interrupt us. Let’s go to yours.’

Upstairs Ursula settled Belle on her bed and sat beside her. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘tell me what it is that is worrying you. Is it Mr Warburton?’

The response was instant. Belle collapsed in a torrent of tears. ‘I thought he loved me, Ursula,’ she wailed. ‘He acted as though he did. He made me think he did!’

‘Men are notoriously unreliable,’ said Ursula compassionately. ‘I am afraid, Belle, you will have your heart broken a good many more times before you find the man of your dreams.’ She stroked the girl’s hair. After a moment she added, ‘Have you spoken to your sister about your feelings?’

Belle choked back her tears and sat up. ‘I cannot speak to Helen about this.’ She spat the words out, her face turning from that of an upset kitten to a vengeful cat. ‘She wants William for herself.’

‘And do you think Mr Warburton responds?’ Ursula realised she had skipped over the step of protesting that Helen was a respectable married woman.

‘I expect he wants us both!’ The crying started again.

Ursula tried to soothe her while she considered the situation. There had been the odd incident, which suggested that Helen had a
tendresse
for the handsome young secretary, but could she be serious about him? And was William Warburton really going to ignore all the benefits that a match with Belle could bring?

‘Have you had any private conversation with Mr Warburton since his return to Mountstanton yesterday?’

Belle raised a tear-stained face. ‘No, Ursula! I’ve tried so hard but he slips away whenever I approach him. If only he would speak to me.’ She burst into loud sobs.

Ursula took the girl in her arms and rocked her until she quietened.

‘Darling Belle, I know how painful this must be for you. We feel everything so sharply when we’re young.’ Not only then, she thought. ‘I don’t suppose it is any use my saying that Mr Warburton is not worth your tears?’

It took a long time for Ursula to calm Belle but finally the sobs abated.

‘You know, darling,’ she said when only the odd hiccup signalled the girl’s distress. ‘One of the reasons girls are not supposed to be too informal with young men, or spend time alone in their company, is that the men have to prove worthy of your trust in them. Far too many men take advantage of loving and open girls.’

Belle bowed her head and fiddled with the handkerchief Ursula had supplied her with, now soaked right through.

‘But I fell in love the moment I met him, and … and he said it was the same for him!’ Belle wailed afresh.

Ursula wished William Warburton at the bottom of some ocean.

‘I thought when he returned from visiting his mother that we would become engaged. We could be married and I could make my debut, but it would be as a married woman and all the other girls would be so jealous of me. Oh, Ursula, what am I going to do?’

Ursula could not help feeling sorry for this foolish, headstrong girl.

* * *

The fête was a triumphant success. The weather could not have behaved better. The Dowager Countess looked superb in black ribbed silk and appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself, passing amongst her guests, being gracious to villagers and staff. When Ursula appeared with Belle, she beckoned them over.

‘Your presence was missed at luncheon. Where were you both?’

‘Belle was helping me make myself look presentable for your birthday celebrations, and we had something on a tray,’ said Ursula easily. ‘May I wish you a very happy day, my lady.’

‘How kind.’ A penetrating gaze took in the plain, pearl-grey muslin gown Ursula was wearing and appeared to approve. Then she assessed Belle’s white, broderie anglaise dress and gave a nod. ‘Belle, my dear, the japanned box you gave me is exquisite. I thank you most sincerely.’

‘I am glad you like it, your ladyship.’ Belle bobbed a little curtsey.

‘And I have to thank you, Miss Grandison, for your gift. It was well chosen, I enjoy Mr James’s works.’

With a twirl of her parasol, the Dowager moved on.

‘Who is Mr James?’ Belle asked.

‘He is an author. When I accompanied yourself and Helen to Salisbury the other day, I was able to purchase his latest work in the bookshop there.’