Charlotte and Kitty knew that she was not just referring to the unfortunate body in the cupboard, but to the death of their own dear papa, a gentle erudite clergyman, who had died just over a year before and had left a gap in their lives out of all proportion to his unassuming personality and habitual goodness.
They sat on chatting in the drawing-room, gradually relaxing, at ease with each other and coming to terms with the implications of their terrible discovery until Mrs Palmer entered unannounced and informed them that dinner would be served in twenty minutes.
She obviously expected more reaction from the young ladies and their mama, but Jane Grayson merely said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Palmer. That gives us a little time to tidy up,’ and she calmly folded up her sewing and left the room.
As she did so, there was a commotion outside the front door and when Robert opened it, Jane heard the distinctive huffing and puffing of her brother-in-law, Bertram Grayson, who was petulantly berating his coachman for not handling the luggage, letting down the steps and seeing to the horses all at the same time. Uncle Bertram himself merely concentrated on easing himself down the steps of the coach and walking up to the front door.
‘Jane! How are you?’ he exclaimed heartily at the sight of his sister-in-law. ‘And what is that wonderful smell? One of Mrs Palmer’s delicious dinners, no doubt. I seem to be just in time, thank goodness. Drat that stupid Robert. Why cannot he send for the stable lad to see to the horses?’
As the smell of Mrs Palmer’s delicious dinner wafted ever closer towards his nostrils, he called impatiently to Robert. ‘Good Lord! Stop dithering like this, you stupid fellow. I tell you, Jane, he deserves to be dismissed for his tardiness.’
Jane Grayson stepped forward and offered her hand to her brother-in-law, saying comfortably, ‘How are you, Bertram? You are indeed in time for one of Mrs Palmer’s delicious dinners and you are most welcome. Leave Robert alone to see to everything. Come in. Come in. How was your journey?’
‘Tolerable, my dear Jane. The journey from Lincoln was tedious in the extreme. So many country carts and loaded hay wains clogging up the road. I am glad to be able to stop for the evening here and not have to put up with bad food and sour wine at some costly inn. I disapprove of extravagance, as you know, and am impatient of any excess.’ He broke off to yell, ‘Get a move on, man! The housekeeper is about to serve my supper.’
Jane smiled at this. Uncle Bertram was on his way to stay with friends in King’s Lynn and had predictably arrived in time to be invited for dinner, which pleased him greatly. He might disapprove of her extravagance, but she knew that he was delighted to be receiving a good meal and refreshment for his horses, at no cost to himself.
As for Jane, she had a soft spot for her late husband’s younger brother, maddening though he was. There was twenty years’ difference in the ages of the two men and while Jane’s husband was alive, Bertram visited rarely, and had been something of a Jack-the-lad, frequenting gaming houses and constantly at the races. He had often referred to the Reverend Grayson as a ‘dull stick’, while he himself was a bit of a gay dog, being handsome, reckless and an accomplished flirt. Now that his only brother was dead, Jane knew that Bertram often found himself alone. He had never quite managed to grow up and establish a long-term relationship with any of the young women he had charmed, and they had of course gone on to make worthwhile marriages, leaving him to his fate. He seemed destined to be a lonely bachelor.
She sighed and signalled to Phoebe to take his coat and driving gloves and then she ushered him into the drawing-room, where Charlotte and Kitty greeted him politely.
He seemed to have forgotten his earlier bad temper and said jovially, ‘And how are my favourite nieces? Well, I trust? Both of you are in fine bloom, my dears, as is your dear mama, of course.’
Jane was pleased that both girls answered pleasantly and as soon as Phoebe came to say that Mrs Palmer was ready to serve dinner, took his arm and allowed him to lead her into the dining-room.
It was different when they had been young children, she thought, observing the mature good manners of both her daughters. When they were children, Bertram always spoiled them with unsuitable presents, risqué jokes and all manner of dangerous games, some of which involved swinging them round and round until they were in a frenzy of over-excitement. After a visit from Uncle Bertram, it took all Jane Grayson’s self-control and patience to calm the girls before bedtime and only his brother Henry’s Christian forbearance prevented a family rift.
Bertram was now tucking in to a plump roasted guinea fowl and glanced across at her to say appreciatively, ‘Very fine, my dear Jane. And how goes the world with you? What news have you, since I saw you last?’
Observing his pleasant expression and obvious enjoyment of the meal, Jane returned his smile and offered him more wine sauce. Bertram was no longer the careless rake he had been when the girls were small. Still handsome, he was now inclined to be rather fleshy and as head of the family, a little more serious.
Charlotte and Kitty were eager to tell him about the thunderstorm and the collapse of the chimney and all through dinner, he was regaled with descriptions and speculation by all the family.
‘So you see, my dear Bertram, our stay in Sir Benjamin’s house has not been without incident,’ said Jane.
Sitting back in his chair, replete but censorious, Bertram decided to give his sister-in-law the benefit of his considered opinion on the whole situation.
He was now much given to pomposity and as different from Henry Grayson as it was possible to be. He was relentlessly critical of every aspect of Jane’s actions and of the upbringing of her children and frequently bemoaned the fact that his brother had been so unwise as to marry a woman as strong as Jane Grayson and had been so unworldly as to take Holy Orders late in life, when he could have been comfortable as a country gentleman.
‘My dear Jane, none of this distressing experience would have happened had you taken notice of my advice and sought out a smaller and more modest residence, more becoming to the widow of a clergyman. I cannot think what possessed you to enter into the leasehold of such an expensive, gloomy pile as this. Poor Henry must be turning in his grave at your excesses.’
None of this cut any ice whatsoever with Jane. She had always had money and Henry was not a younger son. He had also been wealthy and the living a good one. He had felt he had a vocation and she had encouraged him to follow his heart’s desire to preach the Gospel and to do good works. She knew that Bertram treated this sort of attitude with the utmost contempt.
‘After all,’ he argued, ‘what had it profited Henry to devote his life to God and die in his early fifties only to leave his widow wasting money in such a profligate way?’
He sipped his red wine appreciatively while continuing to pontificate about the discovery at Westbury Hall and Jane’s folly in renting the property from Sir Benjamin in the first place.
Bertram was listened to politely by Jane, who was nevertheless on tenterhooks at the reactions of her daughters, especially Charlotte, who did not suffer prosy fools gladly and was never to be trusted to keep a still tongue. She looked covertly at her as Bertram began to drone on about the folly of purchasing Felbrook Manor, which again would be bound to be too big for her, especially after the girls had married and left home.
‘Throwing good money after bad, my dear,’ he boomed.
A mutual antipathy existed between her daughters and their uncle, but in spite of this, Charlotte and Kitty both behaved with complaisance and civility towards him. After all, he was Papa’s brother and now that dear Papa had passed away, Bertram had assumed the role of head of the family and their mama had always stressed the importance of politeness and respect for elders. Jane was pleased and relieved at the maturity of their behaviour and felt that no argument or disagreement could now spoil the evening.
Dinner being over, the weather had turned cool. Bertram stood with his back to the fire in the drawing-room and addressed his captive audience. He dismissed
the strange discovery of the skeleton with a few words. ‘I trust Adam Brown has requested the Watch to remove the bones you found and has reported everything to the magistrate in King’s Lynn.’ Then he went straight on with no preamble, back to the topic nearest to his heart. ‘I am at a loss, ma’am, to guess why you can possibly wish to purchase Felbrook when other more suitable, modestly priced houses are well within your means.’
Jane Grayson was calm but firm and replied evenly, ‘I have always had that intention, brother-in-law, ever since dear Henry’s untimely death. As you know, we had to leave the vicarage in Lincoln to make way for the next incumbent. That was only right and proper, as you will agree. And I was pleased and grateful to Sir Benjamin Westbury to allow us a year’s lease on the Hall. We have been tolerably comfortable here and of course I have had the girls for company. Now a new chapter is about to begin and in two short weeks, we shall at last move into our own home, where you will always be welcome, dear Bertram.’
Bertram looked round him disparagingly. There were abundant signs littered over the table and even on the floor that the ladies had retired to the drawing-room to do their hemming and embroidery, but neither of the girls or their mama was in fact doing any sewing. They were giving Uncle Bertram their undivided attention.
Jane knew that Charlotte Grayson was angry and impatient with her self-important uncle and could barely restrain herself from giving him a set-down. She also knew that Kitty was still slightly nervous of him, but at Jane’s warning look, both had schooled themselves to express the utmost decorum and politeness towards him and to listen quietly without interrupting, even though he seemed determined to dominate the conversation.
Mrs Grayson was grateful that her daughters were being so forbearing and gracefully brought the proceedings to an end by rising from her chair and curtsying to him. ‘Dear Bertram, I am conscious of how concerned you are, but Henry never made huge inroads into his fortune, you know, even though he was always such a good-living man and never let anyone in need pass by without helping them. As for himself, his life was always restrained and modest and his material needs were few. My own parents left me a comfortable portion so I am well able to afford Felbrook Manor and to see that my own daughters have a decent dowry when the time comes.’
Bertram Grayson, torn between admiration for this foresight in providing for his nieces to make good marriages and his excessively disapproving mind, merely humphed at her and finally took his leave.
While Jane Grayson took up her neglected embroidery again, Charlotte and Kitty playfully reminisced about days gone by when Uncle Bertram used to perform conjuring tricks, or balanced a glass of water on his head while he danced for them.
‘Do you remember when Uncle Bertram bought us that Jack Russell puppy, Mama, and it nipped Grandmama’s ankle?’ Kitty said.
Jane smiled. ‘Yes, I do, my dear. But he was very young, barely twenty, and Papa found the little dog a good home with one of his parishioners.’
Charlotte recalled when she had been ten years old and Uncle Bertram had secretly given her an inordinate number of sweetmeats until she was horribly ill and had to be put to bed by Nanny Bull.
Jane sighed. ‘Yes, there were always tears before bedtime, when dear Bertram was here, but your uncle likes children and was always so jolly. It is such a pity that he has no little children of his own. He would make a wonderful papa to some lucky boys and girls.’
She sighed again and to break the mood, Charlotte decided that she and Kitty would perform some duets on the pianoforte, giggling a little and making their mother smile by their devastating imitations of the style and content of some of the young ladies of their acquaintance. ‘Miss Aurelia Casterton has graciously consented to perform an air by George Frideric Handel,’ Kitty announced and Charlotte gave a burlesque performance of Miss Casterton’s rendering of the piece, complete with flamboyant arm movements and exaggerated use of pedals until Jane Grayson was obliged to smile at their fun and high spirits. Then it was Kitty’s turn and she imitated the style of Ann West, who played and sang in a fashion so quiet it was almost inaudible.
‘From The Marriage of Figaro, Cherubino,’ she whispered and launched into ‘Ye who can measure, love’s loss or gain,’ in such an accurate rendering of Miss West’s small refined voice that Jane laughed out loud and immediately ordered them to go to bed.
‘I need a little peace and quiet after such an eventful day,’ she said. ‘And you two drive me to distraction with your jokes and japes. Come now, both of you, give your mama a kiss and get off to bed. It is late.’
Still giggling, they obeyed. They shared a bedroom on the second landing and were so tired themselves that they didn’t even spend time talking, but snuffed the candles promptly as soon as Phoebe had departed.
The next morning revealed a shining countryside, washed by further overnight rain, making leaves and blades of grass sparkle with jewelled raindrops. After a dull start, the weather was once more sunny and Charlotte pulled on some old half boots and set off for a walk with Phoebe in attendance. In single file, they went along a narrow muddy footpath which joined two more substantial tracks leading to the village church of St Paul.
A farmer led a herd of cows up the nearby cart track as they walked along enjoying the fine August weather. The sun was strong, even though the air had an almost autumnal coolness, and the animals’ breath was steamy as they plodded patiently along with the herdsman. Once they’d rounded the corner and were out of sight, it seemed to Charlotte that steam was now issuing from the hedgerow and billowing along on top of it. Lost in her own thoughts, she was startled when, as the lane seemed to sink lower between the hedges, it began to twist and turn and became very slippery. Many of the stones had washed loose and she began to walk more carefully, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked for the well-known landmarks of St Paul’s and the ancient signpost pointing to Felbrook village.
Suddenly, she heard the loud drumming of hoofs very close by and almost at once a huge black horse and rider leapt the hedge to her right and landed in front of her right across the foopath. Both Charlotte and Phoebe were thrown sideways and caught off balance by the suddenness of it all. Charlotte fell towards a bank where spindly twigs and yellowing wild flowers were still hidden among the coarse grass. She got up quickly and just in time prevented herself from straightening her bonnet and pushing back her curls with muddied gloves. Her pelisse and the bottom of her gown were equally spattered with the mud and stones thrown up by the rider’s horse and she felt damp and uncomfortable. She had stumbled on to one knee against the bank and had a patch of wet earth stuck to her dress. Phoebe fared somewhat better and as she appeared unhurt and only a little flustered, Charlotte turned her attention to the horseman.
He was tall and sat very straight on the huge black hunter and as she looked straight up at him, she could see his eyes were deep blue, fringed by coal-black lashes. He was looking down at her with the utmost disdain. Then he transferred both his whip and the reins to his left hand and for a moment Charlotte thought he was about to dismount and apologize for his churlish and inconsiderate behaviour, but she quickly recognized that this was very far from his mind. Although he was hatless, his riding outfit and countrified nankeen jacket were faultless and of the very best quality. As she continued to look up into his handsome face, she thought him even more attractive for not appearing embarrassed or apologetic. It was she who was embarrassed. She now quite forgot the state of her gloves and straightened her bonnet, leaving a smudge of mud on her face. She was furious at the way his blue eyes, under their black brows, were appraising her coldly and with no hint of polite apology.
The handsome, arrogant stare did not soften in the least as Charlotte burst out impulsively, ‘Sir, that was a very foolhardy action to leap in front of us like that. You could have been the cause of a serious accident.’
‘And it was a very foolhardy action on your own part, madam, for you and your companion to be meandering along slippery muddy lane
s on a day like today. Any accident would have been entirely your own fault.’
He turned a powerful shoulder away from her and gathered the reins as though about to ride away. Charlotte was almost speechless with rage and chagrin. She was totally unused to such ungentlemanly behaviour. She was all the more angry because what he said had a grain of truth even though she was not about to acknowledge it. She frowned at him, taking in the glossy, fashionably cut black hair, the finely shaped lips and square, masculine chin. Her own chin came up and her fine grey eyes were like chips of granite as she glared up at him.
‘Furthermore,’ he continued relentlessly, ‘you and your companion are trespassing.’
‘Oh? And who says so, pray?’
‘I say so, madam. I am Hugo Westbury, Sir Benjamin’s estate manager. This land belongs to my great-uncle. You have no right to be here. Much as I regret your near accident, you should not be on Westbury land at all. I would count it a courtesy, therefore, if you and your companion would take yourselves off.’
‘T-t-t-ake yourselves…?’ Charlotte had to try and control herself now because she realized that she was almost spluttering with rage. ‘I will have you know, sir, we are leasing Westbury Hall from Sir Benjamin and are entitled to walk in the fresh air if we so wish, without seeking permission from … from such as yourself.’ She tried to infuse her tone with the righteous superiority of a ladylike legal tenant over a mere estate manager and failed signally in the attempt.
He merely scowled silently at this and then began to manoeuvre the huge stallion, in order to turn it along the path towards the nearest cart track. It was difficult. The horse was nervous and fidgety but he did it skilfully, in spite of the fact that Charlotte felt in danger of being flung into the bank once more and glowered at him all the while.
With a curt ‘Good day’, he trotted off along the footpath and out of sight, leaving Charlotte and Phoebe to turn back the way they had come and pick their way back to the Hall through the treacherous mud of the country footpath.
A Particular Circumstance Page 3
