Obsession (29 page)

Hastings hesitated before continuing quietly, ‘I know it’s just downstairs gossip, sir, but both Albert and the parlourmaid have remarked that Mrs Goodall didn’t seem to mind the times when they opened the drawing-room door and saw her standing right close to you. They say she’s a comely woman and the men ser-vants say they understand you wanting her, ’specially as you no longer share madam’s bedroom.’

He heard Brook’s sharp intake of breath as he listened to Hastings relating such a shocking account of what was being said in the servants’ quarters. Seeing the expression on his master’s face, Hastings now expected to be dismissed immediately, but having started to say what had been on his mind for so long, he would not now be stopped.

‘It isn’t just Bessie and me as is sorry for madam,’ he said. ‘None of the staff can understand how you’ve turned against young Master Charlie. There isn’t one of us as isn’t fond of him – always smiling, laughing and singing, lovely little voice he has. You can hear him singing to himself those Irish songs young Maire taught him. “A ray of sunshine!” Cook calls him. Only time he hasn’t got a smile on his face is when you come upon him and turn your back. He can’t understand it, and …’

‘You can stop there, Hastings!’ Brook interrupted sharply. ‘You know damn well he isn’t my child. How in God’s name do you think I feel? It cuts me to the quick every time I hear him call “Papa” when he sees me
. He isn’t my son – the son I wanted, and never
will be!
’

There was such pain in his voice that Hastings felt a moment of pity for him. Then he said quietly, ‘I’m a lucky man then, aren’t I, sir? If your father hadn’t taken pity on me when I was newborn, I’d have been in an orphanage same as those unhappy children in Mr Dickens’ books. That’s where Master Charlie would be if’n madam hadn’t taken pity on him.’

For a brief moment, Brook’s expression was one of uncertainty, but then he said harshly, ‘It’s none of your damn business, Hastings, but it isn’t just the boy – it’s that I can’t forgive my wife for deceiving me! How could I ever trust her again? For nearly
three whole years
she let me believe a lie …’ He broke off, his throat too constricted to continue.

Hastings sighed. ‘And if madam had told you, sir? Can you say on your oath that you would have said, yes, we will keep him and bring him up as our own? I dare say none of this would have happened if madam had had children of her own, but she’d just lost one – another one, and women need children.’

He broke off once more, Brook’s unexpected silence unnerving him. Then, gathering the remnants of his courage, he said, ‘Bessie and I think Mrs Goodall is determined to be part of your life, sir. If that’s the way you want it, and you divorced madam, then I’m sorry I spoke.’

‘Of course I don’t want that,’ Brook said sharply, ‘and Mrs Goodall is aware I will never go to such lengths.’

Hastings shook his head as he said urgently, ‘Don’t you see then, sir, that that is the reason Mrs Goodall wants madam out of the way? That is why she wants to kill her.’

‘
Kill her?
’ Brook shouted. ‘You are out of your mind, Hastings!’

‘I fear not, sir,’ Hastings said quietly, ‘and before you tell me again that it is impossible, I must repeat what Bessie told me, that madam always complains of pain in her stomach after eating the fruit and sweetmeats Mrs Goodall gave her; that madam has lost a lot of weight and looks far from well.’

Try as Brook wished to ignore Hastings’ ridiculous accusations, he could not quite do so. It wasn’t so much that he thought them absurd but that Hastings, his trusted valet, should dare even to suggest such things. Had any other servant said a fraction as much he’d have dismissed him on the spot. No matter what he might think, Hastings obviously believed what he was saying.

It struck him suddenly that Harriet indeed did not look well: there were dark shadows under her eyes, and she was often to be seen walking strangely, as if in discomfort. His coffee had grown cold. And the pounding in his head was even more painful than before. He wanted to be left alone in the darkness to sleep off his hangover. He’d had far, far too much wine – so much that he simply couldn’t remember anything about the last few hours he had spent with Felicity at Melton Court. Nor did he recall how he had managed to climb into the cabriolet and allow the horse to find its way home. He did recall Felicity begging him to make love to her, insisting no one would know and he remembered, too, reminding her that he was a married man; that despite his estrangement from his wife, he wished to remain true to the vows he had made at his wedding. He vaguely remembered Felicity laughing as if she didn’t believe him. He remembered, too, holding her in his arms, her perfumed, seductive body soft and inviting in his embrace, but there his recall became hopelessly confused. He’d wanted to give way to the temptation to possess her, but had he actually done so?

He looked up at Hastings, the valet who had been his faithful, caring servant for over twenty years. Inappropriate as it might be, he had treated Hastings almost as a confidant, if not a friend. Never once had Hastings taken advantage of this relationship, and now he, Brook, was having difficulty reconciling himself to the fact that Hastings was not only questioning his behaviour, but even more outrageously, accusing Felicity, who had become both a companion and a friend, of trying to murder his wife!

‘Dammit, man, you are not making any sense,’ he said harshly. ‘I thought better of you, Hastings, than to be heeding the servants’ ridiculous gossip. No one could have been more caring or more attentive to the mistress than Mrs Goodall has been. I find it unbelievable that you are standing there accusing her of trying to poison my wife. Have you completely lost your senses?’

Hastings shook his head. ‘No, sir, I wish I had done so.’ And he repeated Bessie’s tale of the kid’s illness.

Anger now cleared Brook’s mind sufficiently for him to say, ‘Pull yourself together, Hastings! It’s not like you to be so … so fanciful … letting Bessie put such ridiculous ideas into your head. What exactly are you expecting me to do? Jump on my horse, ride over to Melton Court and tell Mrs Goodall she is to stop trying to murder my wife! Pull yourself together, man!’ he repeated, ‘and take this damn tray away – yourself, too.’

His voice softened a little at the expression on Hastings’ face. ‘I’m sure you mean well but I don’t want to hear another word on the subject. I mean it, Hastings! Mrs Goodall is not only a good friend to the mistress, she has proved a great comfort to me since … since our estrangement. We enjoy many activities together – hunting, backgammon and so on, so kindly keep your silly notions to yourself in future and tell Bessie to do likewise. I will do my best to forget this whole ridiculous discussion. Away now, before I change my mind.’

Quietly, Hastings approached the bedside and removed the untouched breakfast tray, his heart full of misgivings. He was certain that his master was being drawn into a terrible tragedy, and that it might soon be too late to avoid it.

Taking the tray down to the kitchen, he resolved to discuss the matter once more with Bessie in the hope that she might have a further suggestion as to what might be possible for them to do for the two people they loved.

P
aul Denning was worried. There was something about his sister’s behaviour which he could not define. He was aware that she enjoyed entertaining and had welcomed with enthusiasm the opportunity to arrange his engagement party, but her present euphoria seemed quite out of proportion judging by the amount of time she was devoting to it. There would be no more than two hundred guests and possibly eight house guests. Simkins, the family butler, was unconcerned about the numbers. With the extra staff employed for the weekend, he’d assured Paul, it should all run smoothly.

Felicity, however, had insisted that Brook Edgerton should be involved in the planning. Paul did not dislike Edgerton. On the contrary, they enjoyed each other’s company, sharing interests not only in shooting but in the new industrial technology and, of course, the railways. However, Felicity’s insistence that Brook Edgerton should be present on such an occasion did seem unnecessary.

There was something indefinable in Felicity’s behaviour when Edgerton was around which concerned Paul – a heightened vivacity, perhaps, or a change of her tone of voice. Her manner with Brook had always bordered on flirtatious, but harmlessly so. Now he found himself wondering if her changed behaviour did not disguise something a great deal more serious than he’d supposed.

On one of his recent evenings with Felicity she had told him that the Edgertons had quarrelled and were barely talking to each other: that the quarrel had to do with their child. Paul was astonished. No couple he had ever met had seemed as devoted as Edgerton and his wife. In fact, he had actually delayed his own proposal of marriage to his future bride, uncertain as he had been that they were as close in spirit as the Edgertons were.

He put such speculations to the back of his mind as he made his way to his father’s study, and gave his attention to the list of guests he wished to invite to his engagement party.

After Matthew Denning’s death his personal effects had been sorted, and his study was locked up and remained unused. Felicity had her own writing desk in her dressing room and, other than for a yearly spring cleaning, the study remained unoccupied.

Paul now decided to make use of his father’s old mahogany cylinder desk. He rang the bell for the butler and asked him to bring him the key. Apparently it was in Felicity’s possession, Simkins told him, but he believed there was a spare one in the housemaids’ pantry. He left the room to see if he could find it and returned shortly after, bringing the key with him.

Paul now unlocked the study and sat down at his father’s desk. He found some writing paper, slightly discoloured with age, in one of the drawers, and then, as he closed it, his eye was caught by something shiny. It was a small bottle with a label on it which he read with a look of utter astonishment on his face. ARSENIC. CAUTION.

The words jumped in front of his eyes and questions flooded his mind. What possible use had his father had for such an unpleasant poison? And why he not seen it when he’d disposed of all his father’s papers after his death?

Quite suddenly, another question came into his mind. Did Felicity know the poison was here? Was that the possible reason she had the other key, as Simkins had told him? The only place where arsenic was kept that he could recall from his youth was in the padlocked gardener’s shed used by the old man for killing vermin. As children he and Felicity had been warned never, ever to touch it if they found the shed door open because it could cause death …

He picked up the bottle a second time and unscrewed the top. It was by no means empty. Quite suddenly, a frightening memory flashed into his mind – how his young sister had attempted to poison the governess she disliked with poisonous berries. Only a little older than Felicity, he had heard his father and the doctor’s raised voices, and disbelieved what they were saying.

He pushed the bottle hurriedly back into the drawer, as if putting it out of sight would put it out of mind, and telling himself it was he, not his sister, Felicity, who was deranged; that he must be insane even allowing himself to wonder – still less suspect – that his sister might now be trying to kill someone … Edgerton’s wife.

Paul felt sickened by the way his mind was working – Felicity, a widow, doting on Edgerton …? It was a horrible possibility.

He wanted to get up and leave the room, shut the door and forget he had ever gone in there, but he could not even raise himself out of his chair. Memories were returning to him like angry bees in his brain: all too clearly he could hear Felicity telling him that Harriet and several of her staff had recently been laid low with an unexplained sickness. She had related some time ago that Harriet, Edgerton’s wife, had deceived him and was not worthy of his devotion: how she was needed to keep the peace between the two and do her best to distract Brook from the unhappy state of his marriage. Paul had yet another memory – to add to Felicity’s heightened colour and her vivacity when Brook was in the room, Paul now recalled her insistence that he was needed to help organize the party when clearly he was not.

Paul glanced at his timepiece. It was twenty minutes to four o’clock. Felicity was out riding with Brook and they were due back at any minute for afternoon tea. He realized that he must leave the study and get back to the drawing room – and sanity – before they returned. Edgerton, he told himself, was a thoroughly decent chap: he would never cheat on his wife the way some husbands of his acquaintance did. His manner with Felicity seemed to be similar to his own – protective, jocular, teasing by turn, and solicitous, but never overly flirtatious.

As Paul settled himself in the drawing room, the writing of the guest lists forgotten – his heartbeat slowed and he started to see more clearly. It was utterly absurd, he reflected, even to have thought for a moment that it was Felicity who had hidden the arsenic in the study for some nefarious purpose. However unlikely, it could have been left there by a member of staff who had seen mice in the empty room.

Paul glanced once more at his watch. It was now half past the hour. Frowning, he rang the bell and told the footman that he would not wait for them and to bring him tea.

Whilst he awaited its arrival, his thoughts were still in turmoil as he continued to dwell on his sister. Despite the social life she had led ever since she had been out of mourning, Felicity had been quite lonely before the Edgertons had come to live in Hunters Hall. He had hoped then that she would meet a suitable man and marry again. She was an attractive woman, and men rather liked her somewhat masculine personality. She did not simper or titter or play the helpless little woman as some young women did. Nor did she have the vapours or flutter her eyelashes behind a fan. Yet for all that, she was still attractive to the opposite sex. Two of Paul’s unmarried friends who had met Felicity in London had demanded to be invited to Melton Court in order to get to know her better. That nothing had come of such encounters had been of her choosing, not theirs.