The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (27 page)

‘Why don’t you ring her?’ Mrs Heller was standing in the doorway, her arms folded. Beyond her, Gemma glimpsed a movement as though someone was lurking in the hallway, listening. Could it be Nat?

‘I need to see her face to face. It’s important. Do you know where she might be?’

‘Her home? Her work? I don’t keep tabs on her.’

‘I’ve looked everywhere. Please, Mrs Heller, if you have any ideas…’

Suddenly Nat’s mother stood aside. ‘For fuck’s sake, I can’t be bothered with these silly games. She’s here. Come in and talk to her. I’m off out for some fags.’

Behind her, Nat was standing with her hand over her mouth. ‘Mum, I told you…’ she began, but Mrs Heller had grabbed her purse from a small table just inside the flat and pushed past Gemma towards the stairs.

Gemma went inside. The flat smelt of rotting vegetables and there was thick dust on every surface. Nat had turned her back and walked down the hallway into the living room, so Gemma followed her. There was a good view over Bridhampton. Gemma could make out the town hall clock tower and beside it, the museum.

‘What do you want?’ Nat said, her words echoing her mother’s.

‘I think you can probably guess, can’t you? Why, Nat? That letter to my parents, what you said to Ben to make him break up with me, and the stuff you bought and charged to my credit card. I mean, I could go to the police with that last one. But I thought I’d give you a chance to explain yourself first.’

‘I don’t need to explain myself to you. You deserve it all.’ Nat turned away from Gemma to stare out of the grubby window.

‘I deserve it? How? Why? Come on, Nat. We were so close for so long. You owe me an explanation.’ Please, Nat, Gemma thought. Give me an explanation, a reason to forgive you. She wanted to keep Nat in her life, but whether she could or not all depended on what Nat said next.

Nat stood in silence, her back to Gemma, for a minute. When she spoke again her voice was tight as though she was trying to control her tears. ‘You have always had it so easy, Gemma. You have no fucking idea what it’s like to live in the real world. Nothing bad has ever happened to you, has it? No. You sailed through school, teacher’s pet, everybody’s darling. Your parents had your back at every step of the way. You went off to university then came home to your dream job in your home town. Then you found a lovely bloke who adored you. I wanted all that, too. I could have gone to college, if I’d had even just a tiny bit of support and encouragement from my useless mother. I wanted to be a nurse, not a fucking manicurist. And I’d love to have found a genuinely good man like Ben. You had no idea how lucky you were.’

‘I did, Nat, I
did
know how lucky I was with Ben!’

‘No, you really didn’t. You have never had to fight for anything, Gemma. It’s all just landed on your lap.’ Nat spat the last words out and spun round to face Gemma. Her eyes were brimming with angry tears.

‘So, what, you thought you’d undermine everything I had? I was so happy when Ben proposed, and it broke my heart when he ended it. That’s what you wanted, is it, my heart to be broken?’

‘Why not? Mine has been on so many occasions. Remember Mike, who dumped me two weeks after asking me to move in with him? Chucked all my clothes out on the street, didn’t he, and changed the locks, while I was at work at that shitty bar job I used to have. Then there was Alex, who strung me along for three months before telling me about his wife and four kids. And Simon, gorgeous, handsome Simon, who I thought I was totally in love with, until he sent me a text saying, ‘Bye, thanks for the shags, see you around,’ and then disappeared off the face of the earth. Oh yes, I’ve had my heart broken often enough. About time you grew up and found out what it was like. I suppose Ben told you, then, that it was me who warned him off? I wasn’t lying though – I do believe your marriage wouldn’t have lasted. I’ve done you both a big favour.’

It was on the tip of Gemma’s tongue to tell Nat that she and Ben were reconciled but she decided against it. Who knew what Nat would do next if she thought she’d failed in splitting them up. ‘What about that evil letter to my parents? That’s fraud. Dad’s stopped the cheque.’

‘Your parents have always bailed you out, haven’t they? They paid your university fees. They loaned you the deposit for your flat. I’ve never been able to afford anything more than rubbishy rented bedsits. Your parents have got more than enough. Your mum told me once I was like a second daughter to them. So why shouldn’t I have some of their money?’

‘Jesus, Nat. If you needed money and you’d asked them for a loan they’d probably have said yes. But lying to them about me like that, trying to make them doubt me… It’s disgusting.’

‘I’ve been doubted by my own parents all my life. I was always just a hindrance to Mum – something that cost money that could have been spent on booze. Hardly know my Dad. He got out while he could, sensible man, and went as far away as possible. I’d join him in Australia if I could.’ Nat sniffed and wiped her forearm across her nose.

‘Why don’t you?’ Gemma asked.

‘You don’t get it, do you? I’ve lost my job and can’t pay the rent on my flat so I’ve had to move into this dump. I can’t afford a trip to Australia. I know
you
could. Oh, you’d just stick it on your credit card and pay it off with your next pay cheque. Or ask Mummy and Daddy to fund you. I can’t even
get
a credit card.’

Gemma felt a pang of sadness for Nat. Things must be bad if she’d had to move in with her mother. And yes, she had to agree that life had been easier for her than for Nat. But it was no excuse for the way Nat had behaved. ‘So you thought you’d use my credit card? That dress you wore to Anna and Jake’s wedding?’

‘What do you want me to say? I’m not admitting to it. I’ll deny it. You can’t prove it.’

‘My card was used in
La Belle Femme
and they’ll have the transaction details showing that dress was bought, presumably by phone or via their website. And there are photos of you wearing it. There’s proof enough, if I decide to go to the police. I could also show them the letter you sent Mum and Dad. You’d be charged with fraud.’

‘Yeah, but you won’t do it, will you, Gemma? It’d all be too unpleasant, and you don’t like unpleasantness. You like everything to stay rosy in your little world. Nothing nasty can happen. I’ve done you a favour. I’ve helped you grow up a little and see what life’s like for the rest of us. Call it a valuable life lesson. You should be thankful. And you’ve not lost anything. Except Ben, who you didn’t deserve anyway. He’ll be happier without you.’

Gemma had heard enough. She’d given Nat her chance. It was obvious she was not going to apologise at all. She needed to go away, discuss everything with Ben and decide what to do next. She turned away. ‘Keep out of my life from now on, please, Nat. You’ve done enough damage. I’ll see myself out.’

‘Yeah. Fuck off back to your boring, cosy little existence,’ Nat called after her.

It was only when Gemma was safely back in her car that she burst into huge, sobbing, convulsing tears. She hated Nat for what she’d done. But somehow, despite it all, she still loved her too. She’d lost her – she could see that now. There was no way back from this. Nat’s jealousy of what Gemma had seemed to have consumed her. She was no longer the fun, supportive friend she used to be. It was a full ten minutes before Gemma could compose herself enough to drive home. Thank goodness Ben would be round in a couple of hours. She had never needed him more.

Chapter 24

September 1838

As soon as Constable Barnsworth had left, Rebecca rushed straight upstairs to her room, to continue reading Sarah’s letters and diary. She was tired, and her shoulder ached. She knew she should rest but having learned that Sarah had been blackmailing Papa by threatening to reveal that he was her father, Rebecca was desperate to know what other secrets might be uncovered. She also needed to write to Mr Neville, disclosing what she had found so far. He would keep the confidence, she knew. But it could mean she would inherit Red Hill Hall and her future would be secure. Assuming no will of Sarah’s was found.

Rebecca took out Sarah’s diary and settled herself in the chair by the window. The evenings were beginning to draw in but there would be another couple of hours of daylight before dinner and she intended to make full use of them.

The journal began two years earlier. Rebecca skimmed through those first entries. They recounted days out riding across the estate, mornings trapped inside when it was raining, playing games of Patience, afternoons spent walking the grounds with Rebecca. She smiled at the memories. Those had been good days – when both Mama and Papa were alive and she and Sarah were best friends without a care in the world. But as the journal entries progressed Rebecca began to notice a change in tone. Instead of the excited, girlish earlier scribblings, the language became more measured, more introspective and reflective. A bitter tone crept in.
Why did Mama have to die?
Sarah had written.
If she had still been here, perhaps she could have prevailed upon Papa to treat me as an equal to R. Mama would not have wanted me to have a future merely as R’s companion. She would have insisted that I be launched into society at the same time as R, and have equal chance at finding a husband. I miss Mama
.

Rebecca turned a few pages more, to the entries from just over a year ago.
It is not fair. R has both a mother, and a father who acknowledges her. I have no one. I cannot bring Mama back, but perhaps I can even things up in some other way
.

She gasped. This had been written just a couple of weeks before Mama’s lethal fall down the stairs. A memory surfaced – Sarah, at the top of the stairs while Mama lay crumpled and broken at the foot. Her expression – it had struck her at the time but then she had forgotten it as she fussed around her poor mother’s lifeless body – had been one of triumph. No! Had Sarah…could she have…pushed Mama down the stairs? Just to ‘even things up’ as she’d written?

But the next entry, written the day after Mama’s death, was smudged as though tears had fallen on it. In it, Sarah lamented their loss, expressed profound sadness, and bemoaned the tragedy that had fallen on their household. It sounded genuine. Rebecca wondered if she’d ever know for sure. She wondered too if she really wanted to know. Sarah had shot at her – that was one thing – but to know for certain she’d had a hand in Mama’s death was unbearable.

She read on, flicking over a few pages past those dark days of last summer and through to spring of 1838, and the heady days of her engagement to Charles. What had Sarah written about that, she wondered?

Terrible day. C has proposed to R. She’s accepted, and is skipping around the house with the stupidest expression on her face. I want to smack it off her. Instead I have to pretend to be as delighted as Papa is. All those times I went riding with C, trying to make him see which of us was better suited to him as his life’s partner – all for nothing. He followed his dead parents’ wishes and picked R. He is obviously weaker than I realised. But weakness is good, and I can turn it to my advantage, if I am clever enough. And I
am
clever. Mama always told me I could do anything if I set my mind to it. So I shall set my mind to this. R shall not have him. I shall turn him away from her and towards me. She has so much – she shall not have him as well
.

Rebecca felt sick. She remembered Sarah’s careful expressions of delight when she’d told her Charles had proposed. Her reaction had been reserved but polite, and she’d hoped at the time it was genuine. And yet it was entirely put on. This journal entry had been written on the very day of the proposal, and was full of so much bitterness and – yes, and hate. Rebecca hesitated to use the word but hate was oozing out of Sarah’s written words, in spades.

She took a deep breath, and turned the page.

Despite writing to C the engagement continues. I must find a way to meet him in person. Perhaps if I tell him face to face what I have already written, he will believe it more
.

What had been in that letter? Rebecca wondered. She read the next entry.

I am exhausted this evening. I spent hours out riding today, trotting back and forth across the fields in the hope I might ‘accidentally’ bump into C. Finally it happened. We rode for ages together, and I steered the conversation skilfully around to his engagement. I told him R didn’t love him; that she had only agreed to the engagement out of a sense of duty; that theirs would be a bitter, unhappy marriage and the best thing he could do would be to break things off as soon as possible. I impressed upon him that he was a free, adult man, who did not need to follow his parents’ wishes. What they would wish most for him was for him to marry a woman who loved him and with whom he could be happy and content for ever. They would not want him to shackle himself to a woman who would make him miserable in time. I told him Papa would understand and would not hold him to any obligation; especially if the engagement was terminated swiftly before any wedding preparations were made
.

He owed it to her, I said. If he cared for her he would release her rather than force her to go ahead. I explained that she would protest, she would say she loved him and that she did truly want him, but that she had told me privately that she was devastated to find herself in such a difficult position. I made him swear not to tell her I had told him that last part, as she had told me in confidence
.

He believed me. Every word of it. We came back to the Hall after the long ride, and he saw her briefly but to my disappointment said nothing of any importance to her. I only hope and pray that he felt the need to sleep on it, to steel himself to do it, to decide on the best way to break the news. He is to come again tomorrow
.

Rebecca snapped the journal shut and threw it across the room. She did not need to read the next entry. She did not need to read Sarah’s joyful crowing that she’d got what she wanted. She’d hinted that what she really wanted was Charles, and although she’d managed to manipulate him into breaking off his engagement, she hadn’t managed to turn him towards her before he died. Had he thrown himself into the well heartbroken because he believed she, Rebecca, didn’t want him? Or, worse, had Sarah had something to do with Charles’s death? Perhaps he’d spurned her, and she could not take his refusal? If she had actually pushed Mama down the stairs, it would not be beyond imagination that she’d done the same to Charles. Had Sarah been evil through and through – a cold-hearted murderer? If so, then her own killing of Sarah may have saved other lives…