Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter (20 page)

‘No, Charlwood will be very pleasant.'

‘In that case, I should be de lighted to take you. In fact, there are aspects of the house on which I still need a feminine point of view, but I find it difficult at the moment to discuss them with…with Miss Winbolt. Indeed, until certain matters are…are resolved between us, I do not know what will happen. So, dare I ask if you would be good enough to give me your advice? Or is that too much to expect?'

William could see that Maria Fenton was finding it difficult to hide her eagerness. True, she hesitated, but before long she said graciously, ‘As I have said, I am not one to bear a grudge, Sir William. And you know how much Charlwood fascinates me. Yes, I think I could help you. When do you suggest we go?'

‘There are still some hours of daylight left. What is wrong with today?' asked William boldly.

N
ot a great deal was said on the journey to Charlwood. William's mind was busy with what advice he could possibly want from Maria Fenton, and his passenger, too, seemed to be occupied with her own thoughts. But as they drove past the ruins of the Dower House she roused herself to utter an exclamation of horror, put a hand on William's arm and say with an appearance of sympathy, ‘My poor friend! What a loss! A truly dreadful affair. But why would anyone do such a thing?'

Since William had every reason to believe that the lady knew full well who had started the fire and why, this piece of arrant hypocrisy put to flight any scruples he might have had about deceiving her. But he nodded and said heavily, ‘It is indeed a loss, and I fear they might never catch the arsonist who planned it. But it has had one compensation.'

‘What is that?'

‘It has given me the chance to rethink my plans for the future. Perhaps you under stand?' He smiled at her. She laughed prettily and wagged her finger. ‘No, nor
will I ask what you mean by it, sir. You are too bold! But I shall be pleased to give you my advice about the house. And this time you must show me all of it!'

‘May I first show you the salon again?'

He took her into the salon where she exclaimed over the changes, but after a cursory glance at the walls she quickly seemed to lose interest. She stopped at the window and spent some time looking out at the fountain court. ‘Someone has been doing a lot of digging,' she said complacently. The look of malicious enjoyment on her face con firmed something William had already suspected. Maria Fenton knew all about the Valleron jewels and was playing her own game in the matter. She knew who was looking for them and had quite possibly pointed them in the wrong direction herself. She
knew
that the fountain outside had been a false trail.

‘Do you mean the work we've been doing recently?' he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her. ‘You should have seen it before we started, ma'am. The fountain had been wilfully damaged and the area round it thoroughly churned up. I can only think it was the work of vandals. Who else would do such a thing?'

And perhaps only because he was listening for it did William hear the note of mockery in her voice as she said, ‘Some people are idiotic enough to do anything, Sir William. And for the most absurd reasons.' With a small secret smile, she turned and asked, ‘But what other renovations have you been working on?'

With his new insight William took her round the house, now quite sure that her enthusiasm to see Charlwood had a specific purpose. But to one set of rooms he did not take her. The master suite was left out of the tour. The thought of Maria Fenton walking through rooms he had pictured Emily in was intolerable. Instead
he gave her a brief excuse to the effect that they were completely bare and in a state of renovation, and took her into Laura's room, where he had already hung up a few pictures. She looked at every one of them, and, as he had half-guessed she would, she examined one in particular with great care.

‘You are interested in pictures, ma'am?' he asked eventually.

‘What? Oh, no! No, I was just admiring this water colour. Is it of the garden here?'

‘I'm afraid I brought that back from South America. My niece particularly likes it, which is why I put it in this room. If you are interested in watercolours, I have one of Kingston Harbour in my nephew's room. Or…does the subject interest you more? In which case there is a collection of paintings of Charlwood's garden down stairs, but they are of a very poor quality. I hardly like to show them to anyone, particularly to a connoisseur such as yourself.'

He had her undivided interest. ‘You flatter me, Sir William! I should love to see them.'

William gave way to his weakness for teasing. He was now pretty sure he knew exactly what she was looking for, and if he was right, the lady was due for a disappointment, for she wouldn't find it anywhere in Charlwood. But he had no wish to en lighten her. On the contrary, he was help fully innocent. ‘Are you sure?' he said hesitantly. ‘It's getting rather late and the light is fading. Would it be better to come back another day?'

‘Certainly not!' she said impatiently. ‘I would
love
to see pictures of your garden. I think you know already that I am quite passionate about gardens. Where did you say they were?'

Right again! William was enjoying himself. ‘They're
in the small parlour. As a matter of fact, the parlour is exactly what I wanted to consult you about. I plan to turn it into a dining room and would like to know…' As they went down stairs, he expounded his ideas at tedious length, undeterred by the marked lack of interest on the part of his com pan ion. She stopped even pre tending to listen once they were in the room, but he kept firm hold of her elbow and guided her very slowly round each wall in turn. By the time they ended up at the pictures, he could tell that she was very nearly screaming with impatience. He regarded her blandly and said, ‘So what do you think, ma'am?'

Maria Fenton's eyes were fixed on the line of pictures, straining to see them more clearly. ‘What?' she said.

‘What should I do about this fireplace? Should I leave it as it is?'

‘The fireplace… Oh, the fireplace! I really don't know, Sir William.' She disengaged her elbow and walked along the wall, looking at the paintings. ‘But what did you mean when you said these pictures were poor? I think they are delightful.'

The light coming through the small leaded windows was very dim. William con tem plated the pictures. It was not at all obvious that one of the set was missing. If Laura had not counted them, he would never have noticed it himself. Not, that is, until Emily had pointed out that James's treasured picture of the fountain must be the twelfth of the set.

Maria Fenton was still moving along the row, peering at them in the dim light.

‘Mrs Fenton…ma'am! They are really not worth so much of your attention,' said William, grasping her arm
as if to take her away. She pulled herself free with a jerk and carried on with her search.

‘Oh, but they are! Such.. such an exhilaratingly primitive sense of colour, and…and line. I find them absolutely fascinating!'

I'll wager you do, thought William, but not for their merit as works of art. ‘Are they
all
here?' she asked, sounding very disappointed as she reached the end of the line.

‘I'm not sure,' said William, his fertile imagination at work. ‘You see, we found all but two scattered over the floor and some were damaged, as you can see. The workmen probably threw the worst ones on the dust heap without even consulting me. They would think they were rubbish.' He gave a jolly laugh. ‘And they are!'

‘Oh, no!' Her cry of horrified dismay was the first perfectly genuine sign of emotion of the afternoon. ‘They can't have thrown it away! They mustn't!'

‘What?'

‘The picture—' She stopped and looked at him. ‘I mean…any of them. I think they are lovely. Let me look at them once more…' She went back to the beginning of the row and peered frantically at each one again. But it was hardly surprising that she came to the end without success. The picture she wanted was safely in James's room at Shearings. William decided he had had enough. It was time to end the charade.

‘Mrs Fenton, would you mind telling me what you are really looking for in my house?' he asked in a very different tone from the one he had been using all afternoon.

She was startled. ‘I…I'm not sure what you mean,' she said.

‘You offered to help me, but you don't seem to be as interested in my plans as I had hoped.' She looked at him blankly without speaking, but he guessed that her mind was racing behind those china-blue eyes.

‘Shall we…shall we go outside?' she said at last. He held the door open for her in silence. They went along the hall and out into the drive, where they stopped. She faced him boldly enough, and he wondered what she had decided to say. It was a little late for an innocent denial, so what would be her excuse?

She began with a little laugh, a charming gesture with the hands and a delightful shrug of her shoulders. ‘I see you are not to be deceived, Sir William. I was foolish to try. But I value your good opinion, you see, and I was afraid you would think me a sentimental idiot.'

‘I assure you, Mrs Fenton, that I would never think anything of the sort. Not of you,' said William.

She looked at him un certainly, not sure what to make of that, but then began, ‘The fact is, I was looking for something.'

‘And that was?'

‘A picture. A very precious picture.' She shook her head and gave a small sigh. ‘I was very fond of Edric, my late husband, you know, and in his last hours he talked to me a great deal about the past. I think that is what we do when we are in pain and perhaps drugged, don't you agree? We remember the happy days of our child hood. Poor Edric. Poor, poor Edric!' She took out a wisp of lace handkerchief and held it briefly to her eyes.

‘And?' asked William, doing his best to sound sympathetic rather than sceptical.

She went on, ‘He talked about a summer he spent
at Charlwood. Did you know that many years ago his uncle lived here?'

‘I have recently heard so, yes.'

‘Apparently, his uncle had a series of views of the gardens at Charlwood, and one in particular, a picture of the fountain court, was Edric's favourite. Remembering it so many years later, sick and in pain, he de scribed it to me. I can hear his poor, weak voice in my ears, as I speak. He told me that the figure in the middle of the fountain looked just like me. He called it the spirit of Charlwood. It meant so very much to him, that he even talked of it in his dying moments. I wanted to own it in his memory. If I had seen it today, I was going to ask you to sell it to me.' She gave him a misty smile, but perhaps something in his face suggested that he was less than completely convinced. She put her lace hand kerchief to her eyes again. ‘I should have told you all this at the beginning. I'm so sorry.'

Not bad at all, William thought. She thought all that up in three or four minutes, and if I didn't know better, I'd be taken in by it. His voice was full of regret as he said, ‘Now I under stand, of course. And, believe me, I feel for you. Are you sure your picture isn't in that room? If it isn't there, or in one of the other rooms you've been through today, then I'm afraid it has gone. There is nothing else of the kind in the rest of the house, I assure you.'

She bit her lip in vexation, but, after a moment's debate, evidently decided he was telling her the truth, for she put her handkerchief away, and asked him to take her home. She was as silent on the journey back from Charlwood as she had been on the way there. Whatever she was thinking of, it was not pleasant, for she sat frowning and biting her lip.

William used the time to think out his strategy. At present Maria and her friends had no idea that he knew anything about the Valleron business, and he wanted them to continue in ignorance. So, though he had originally planned to see Walter Fenton when they got back, to question him about the coat button, he decided he would leave it to some future time. At the moment, he had no wish to do anything to disturb the Fentons' peace of mind. So, when they arrived at Maria Fenton's house and she made no attempt to invite him in he merely looked disappointed and turned to go. ‘Goodbye, ma'am,' he said. ‘I was impressed by your sad story. If I do find a picture like the one you de scribed, I shall certainly not forget you.'

 

When William arrived back at Shearings he found Emily alone in the library. ‘Miss Anstey has taken the children to the Rectory for tea,' she said. ‘It seemed a good idea to let them go—there are children of their own age there to play with. And it meant I could spend the afternoon reading these papers.' She hesitated, then asked coolly, ‘You look pleased with yourself. Did you enjoy your afternoon with Mrs Fenton?'

‘Very much indeed! She's a fine woman.'

Emily bent over the papers again, turning them over rapidly one after the other. ‘She is certainly not at all plain,' she agreed. ‘And takes pains to appear very willing to please. I dare say gentlemen think her not at all strong-minded.'

William came over to the table and looked at her with amusement in his eyes. He shook his head and said, ‘Emily, Emily! I thought you promised us.'

‘Promised? Promised what? What did I promise? I am not in the slightest jealous of Mrs Fenton, if that is
what you mean. Though what you found to discuss for four or five hours…'

‘I took her to Charlwood.' He held her chin and made her look up at him as he said, ‘Emily, Maria Fenton has a hard line to her exquisite lips, calculation in those china-blue eyes, and a mind like an iron trap. I would rather have spent the afternoon with a tarantula spider. Or with you.'

Emily turned her head to remove her chin out of his grasp. She tried to stare coldly at him, but he carried on looking at her with such a quizzical look in his eye that her lips started to twitch and then she laughed. ‘What a choice! I'm not sure whether to feel flattered or insulted.'

‘But it was worth it.'

‘All those hours?'

‘No. To hear you laugh. But, yes, the afternoon was certainly worth it. Rosa said she thought her friend Maria wasn't telling all she knew about Edric Fenton's last words—remember? She was quite right. I think Maria Fenton has been leading her friends by the nose. There's at least one small detail she forgot to mention.'

‘Which was?'

‘The word “picture”, or possibly “painting”. But isn't that the children re turning? There isn't time to tell you any more, and besides, I'd like to tell Rosa and Philip at the same time. I assume they're out?'

‘They've gone to Temperley.'

‘We'll see them tonight. But for now I'd like to spend some time with the children before they go to bed. Will you help me? I want to convey to James, without worrying him, that he shouldn't talk of his “treasure
trove” outside this house. And for the moment I think we should take the picture into care, too.'