The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (13 page)

He left and she sighed. She’d almost managed to tell someone without crying. Almost. She put her head in her hands.

‘Oh, coffee?’ Roger was back again.

‘Yes, please. Would love one.’ She forced herself to lift her head and smile at him.

‘Right then. I’ll be back, as the Terminator says.’ Roger chuckled at his little joke and once more left the room.

Two hours later Gemma had completed cataloguing the contents of two boxes as she’d promised. At last it was time to get back to the mystery of the pistols. She hoped it would take her mind off her woes. She decided to go back to searching the newspaper archives around the possible date of the shooting. She still had a list of questions to resolve. What was the relationship between the two girls who’d been shot? Had either or both of them died? And of course, who had shot them? Was he ever caught? She played around with different search terms and read each article in detail, saving any she didn’t already have. She was beginning to build up a fascinating story of events at Red Hill Hall towards the end of the 1830s.

One article mentioned a new name, in passing – a man described as having been a frequent visitor to Red Hill Hall prior to the shooting. His name was Charles de Witt, and it seemed he was the owner of another large house, Carlstone Hall, in the county of Leicestershire, but resident for the time being in Bridhampton. Gemma noted the name, and wondered where in Bridhampton he’d lived. She began searching for more about Carlstone Hall and Charles de Witt. The hall was no longer in existence. A brief mention on a Leicestershire history website said it had been pulled down in the 1920s and a golf course built in its grounds. But the newspaper archive threw up some fascinating details about poor Charles de Witt.

‘Good grief, another tragedy!’ Gemma muttered to herself as she skim-read through the articles she’d found about Charles.
The County Herald
newspaper had the best report:

Body found in well believed to be that of missing Leicestershire landowner, Charles de Witt.
The partially decomposed body recently hauled from a well on the Red Hill Hall estate has been identified as that of Mr Charles de Witt, of Carlstone Hall, Leicestershire, who had not been seen at his Bridhampton lodgings for over a month. Mr de Witt had been engaged to be married to Miss Rebecca Winton of Red Hill Hall, Dorset. It is unknown how he came to be in the well, but it seems likely that he fell into it, in a tragic accident, as there are apparently no witnesses and no evidence to the contrary
.

So, Mrs Winton had fallen down the stairs, Mr Winton had died ‘of a broken heart’ according to
County Tall Tales
, then Rebecca Winton’s fiancé had met his end by tumbling into a well on the estate, and finally Rebecca herself, along with Sarah Cooper had been shot. Gemma was beginning to believe that
County Tall Tales
was right in saying Red Hill Hall was cursed. There had been far too many accidents in a short space of time. Obviously the shooting was no accident, but what of the other tragedies? Could the same person who shot the girls also have had something to do with Charles’s death? Falling into a well seemed very unlikely to be an accident. Perhaps some distant relative would stand to inherit Red Hill Hall, once the Wintons were out of the way. But why also kill Charles? Gemma’s mind was buzzing with possibilities. ‘I should have been a novelist,’ she muttered to herself. ‘This would make a fantastic story. What would I call it?
The Suspicions of Gemma Rowling? The Mystery of The Ruby Pistols
?’

‘How about
Confessions of a Museum Curator
? How’s it going, Gemma?’ Roger had snuck up on her.

‘Oh, hi, boss. It’s going well. Seems the fiancé of one of the girls who was shot with our pistols met a sticky end as well, not long before the shooting.’

‘Wow. It was all happening in that neck of the woods, wasn’t it? Actually I came to see if you were all right, I mean, after your shock this weekend. Do you need to take any time off or anything? Or if you need to talk to someone… I mean… I’m always, well, there for you, if you want me. Or need me. Or whatever.’ He coughed slightly, adjusted his tie and left the room.

Gemma smiled. He really was the sweetest boss to work for. Well, her work had certainly helped take her mind off her problems. But each mention of Red Hill Hall reminded her that next weekend it was Anna and Jake’s wedding, and even though she’d split up with Ben she still needed to go. Jake had been her brother’s friend, and it was she who’d introduced him to Anna, when they’d all bumped into him in the pub one evening. She couldn’t not go, although it would be hard to be there with Ben, and yet not
with
Ben. She wondered whether the seating arrangements had been changed to separate them, or whether she’d have to sit beside him throughout the dinner. That would be too painful for words.

The day of the wedding dawned clear and sunny, but with a cool breeze. The perfect weather for getting hitched, Gemma thought, as she looked out of her window that morning. There was bound to be some beautiful vista at Red Hill Hall, which would make an amazing backdrop to the wedding photos. If she and Ben had still been together, she’d have been making notes on whether it was the type of wedding venue she’d have wanted. She sighed. It wasn’t to be. No point stressing over it. Today was a day for joyfulness, to celebrate Jake and Anna’s wedding. They were a perfect match. Gemma was so happy for them.

She pulled on the turquoise silk dress she’d eventually bought, and put on some make-up. Rare for her to wear any but this was a special occasion. She’d found some flesh-coloured shoes, with just enough heel to look elegant but not so much she couldn’t walk, and a patterned wrap to drape around her shoulders if it was cool. Add a small flesh-coloured bag and a long string of fake pearls, and she felt she looked exactly right for a summer wedding. ‘Eat your heart out, Ben,’ she muttered, as she inspected her appearance in her wardrobe mirror. ‘See what you’ve lost.’ She raised her chin defiantly. She would not be beaten. At the last minute before leaving her flat she tucked a small pack of tissues into her bag. Well, everyone cried at weddings, didn’t they?

It was about five miles to Red Hill Hall – Gemma drove out of Bridhampton, along the bypass a little way, then followed a network of lanes winding their way amongst the Dorset hills until she found the turn-off to the hall. A gravel drive led between ornate gate posts, each topped with a battered stone lion, past a small lodge and then between two rows of poplar trees up a slight hill towards the hall itself. The grounds were beautiful. Obviously at some point in the past the park had been professionally landscaped. Huge spreading beech trees were dotted around, a stream ran through the lowest point of the park into a small lake ringed by ancient willows, and a pretty little bridge crossed the stream just above the lake, where peacocks strutted, displaying magnificent tail feathers. Gemma tried to imagine Rebecca Winton and her fiancé Charles de Witt strolling arm in arm around the grounds. She found herself hoping they’d had at least a few moments of happiness together before the horrendous events that had ended their lives occurred.

Eventually the drive rounded a bend and Gemma had her first view of the hall itself. It was a magnificent Palladian mansion, built at some point in the mid 1700s. It was made of a pale grey-white stone, possibly local from Purbeck, she thought. There was a grand central doorway, with a columned and ornate portico. On either side of the door were three tall windows, and a row of similar windows at first floor level with smaller ones above that. Signs pointed the way to the car park, which was tucked around the back and side of the hall, beyond a row of low buildings, which had presumably once formed the stables block. She parked her car and made her way over to the house and in through that beautiful doorway.

Inside, the huge hallway housed a receptionist’s desk, and signs pointed the way to the various function rooms. Gemma had a single bedroom booked for the night, so she checked in and took her small overnight bag up to her room – on the top floor, and presumably once a servant’s room. Its window looked out over the neat Italianate gardens at the back of the house. Back downstairs she followed signs to Anna and Jake’s wedding, which was to be held in a modern extension at the side of the house. She felt disappointed it wasn’t in one of the old rooms, but supposed none were quite big enough. At least the bar, breakfast restaurant and residents’ lounge were in the old parts of the house. She’d get a chance to explore in the morning. For now, guests were beginning to arrive for the wedding and it was time to claim her seat for the ceremony.

Gemma took a deep breath before entering the wedding room. She knew Ben had been asked to be an usher. Sure enough, he was just inside the doorway, handing out the orders of service. Gemma kept to the other side of the entrance and took her order of service from another usher – a friend of Jake’s. She was careful not to catch Ben’s eye, although she could feel his gaze on her back. It was ridiculous. A few weeks ago they’d been each other’s best mate, as well as lovers. And now they couldn’t even look at each other. She felt tears prickling and blinked in an attempt to stop them falling, then took a seat on the groom’s side of the hall. She glanced around the room. It had been beautifully decorated, with huge arrangements of white flowers on stands around the edges of the room. The chairs were all covered with white linen covers, tied with silk bows at their backs. Gemma was impressed by the obvious attention to detail. Even the order of service had a narrow white ribbon tying the pages together.

A few minutes later, Nat arrived and sat beside her.

‘Hey, girl, looking good!’ She fingered Gemma’s sleeve. ‘Nice dress. Seen Ben?’

‘Saw him, yes, but didn’t say anything. Wow, your dress!’ Nat was wearing the peacock dress she’d tried on in
La Belle Femme
on that ill-fated shopping trip. It seemed another lifetime ago – it was when she and Ben were still together.

‘Oh, yeah, well, I pushed the boat out and bought it in the end. Nothing else looked as good on me. Like it?’

Gemma nodded. ‘It’s gorgeous on you. I said that at the time. But wasn’t it really expensive?’

‘Erm, it was reduced when I bought it. So not quite as much as I thought. Anyway, shh, here comes the bride!’

Gemma turned to look, as Anna, wearing an elegantly draped off-the-shoulder ivory gown, walked down the aisle with Jake. ‘Isn’t she supposed to enter with her father?’ she whispered to Nat.

‘That’s a bit old-fashioned. Anna’s not some object to be passed from her father to her husband,’ Nat scoffed. ‘Much nicer this way – they’re approaching marriage together.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Gemma said. If her own wedding had gone ahead she’d assumed she and Ben would have done everything the traditional way. But this was lovely – Anna looked radiant and Jake looked immensely happy. Gemma was so pleased for them, although her heart was breaking at the thought that it would never be her and Ben standing up there, making promises to each other.

The ceremony passed in a haze for Gemma as she concentrated most on not crying. She was grateful to have Nat at her side, squeezing her hand and loaning her strength. Nat was the one person who fully understood how difficult this was for her. She was relieved when finally Anna and Jake were pronounced husband and wife, and kissed each other to a rousing cheer from the guests.

Later, Gemma found herself outside on the lawns in front of the hall, with a welcome glass of cold Prosecco, while the photographs were taken. She and Nat stayed to one side, well away from Ben who was hanging around with the other ushers. She’d congratulated the happy couple – Anna had given her an extra squeeze but had wisely made no comment. Jake had hugged her and whispered, ‘My new brother-in-law’s officially an idiot,’ into her ear. She’d somehow managed to avoid shaking hands with Ben and Anna’s parents.

The photographer called for all close relatives of the couple, and Gemma turned away as Ben put his hand up and yelled, ‘That’ll be me, then!’ and bounded over to join the group.

‘How can he be so cheerful?’ she said to Nat.

Nat put an arm around her. ‘Aw, he’ll be just putting it on for Anna’s sake, I’m sure.’

‘Or he’s just so happy now he’s finally free of me,’ Gemma replied. ‘I can’t watch this any more. I’m off to the bar. I’ll see you later at the dinner.’ Without waiting for an answer she went back inside.

The bar was housed in what had obviously once been the library. One wall was covered with bookcases, but Gemma was vaguely disappointed to see they were all modern paperbacks, probably bought in bulk from charity shops. Opposite this wall was the fireplace. The bar was at one end of the room opposite a bay window, which overlooked the Italian gardens, away from where the photos were being taken. It was a dark room – more suited to a winter’s evening than a summer’s day – but its sombre colours suited Gemma’s mood. She ordered a glass of wine and settled in a battered leather chair to one side of the empty fireplace. There was a stand holding a stock of leaflets on a side table, entitled ‘History of Red Hill Hall’. Gemma took one and read it with interest, but it mentioned nothing of the shooting or other tragedies. It was mostly concerned with when the hall had been built, and then what had become of it in the twentieth century, during which it had changed hands several times. The Winton family wasn’t mentioned at all.

The last paragraph was the most interesting. It gave the new owner’s name – Don Gorman – and mentioned there was a large archive of material to do with the house, that one day, when he had time, he planned to go through. Gemma smiled to herself. Now
there
was a project that had her name written all over it! She pulled out her phone and made a note of Don Gorman’s name.

Gemma sat next to Nat at the dinner, at a table near the back of the room, far from where Ben sat at the top table with the bride and groom. They were circular tables so Gemma chose a seat with her back to the room. Even so, she was glad when the meal was over. Just the evening party to get through. She was beginning to wonder why she’d come, and why she’d booked a room to stay the night. She could have just come for the ceremony then gone home. Jake and Anna would have understood. Ah well. She was here now, and had already drunk too much to be able to drive home. So she might as well make the most of it. But first she decided to have a bit of a rest. She went up to her room and lay on the bed for an hour.