Restless Nights

by Catherine George

  ‘I don’t blame her. It’s a gem. But vast for one elderly lady—just imagine the upkeep on a place like this.’

  ‘A factor which drove her to accept the developer’s offer.’ Adam got out of the car and spoke into the intercom set in the pillars flanking magnificent wrought-iron gates which opened for him to drive through and skirt the circle of velvet lawn beyond.

  ‘I wish you’d told me about this. I could have brought chocolates, or flowers,’ said Gabriel regretfully as he parked near the main door.

  ‘I’ve seen to that. Miss Scudamore likes her sherry.’ Adam took a gift-wrapped package from the back seat. ‘You can give her this.’

  ‘You think of everything! Are you always this organised?’

  ‘Always,’ he assured her, smiling, and took her arm. ‘Come on. We sign ourselves in.’

  An austere young woman let them into the hall when Adam rang. She introduced herself as Mrs Palmer, the housekeeper, told them Miss Scudamore was expecting them, directed them to a handsome desk to sign the visitors’ book, then allowed them to find their own way up the shallow, thickly carpeted stairs to the first floor.

  Adam tapped on a door, and after an interval it was opened by a small figure leaning on a cane. Dressed in a lavender silk blouse and linen skirt, pearls at her throat, every shining white hair in place, Henrietta Scudamore beamed in welcome and held out her free hand.

  ‘Come in, come in, young man. Introduce your friend.’

  ‘Good afternoon.’ Adam kissed the hand with innate grace, and straightened, smiling. ‘Allow me to present Miss Gabriel Brett,’ he said with formality. ‘Gabriel, this is Miss Henrietta Scudamore of Pembridge Manor.’

  ‘How do you do?’ said Gabriel, smiling. ‘It was very kind of you to invite me, Miss Scudamore. Would you accept this?’

  Miss Scudamore crowed in delight as she took the package. ‘How kind! Thank you, my dear. I don’t get many presents these days. Come and admire my view.’ She led them across a large room furnished with tables and cabinets gleaming with years of loving attention, the walls hung with paintings Gabriel longed to see more closely. Afternoon sunlight gilded Miss Scudamore’s hair as she limped to a tapestry-covered chair drawn up to a huge window embrasure and sat down, waving them to a sofa nearby. ‘What do you think of my vista out there? Due to my tiresome hip I was urged to choose rooms on the ground floor, but I refused. If modern lifts were to be installed why shouldn’t I reserve the best view in the house for myself?’

  ‘But the best one of all is over here,’ Adam said, beckoning Gabriel to a side window to look down on a vast, reed-fringed pond which reflected the sky.

  ‘How lovely to have a change of scene available whenever you feel like it,’ she said, gazing down in delight. ‘Though I can’t imagine you ever tire of either view, Miss Scudamore.’

  ‘No, indeed,’ said the old lady, smiling with eyes which, seen now in full sunlight, quickened Gabriel’s pulse as she sat down nearby on the sofa. Faded a little they might be, but Henrietta Scudamore’s eyes were of a distinctive, and familiar, shade of violet.

  ‘Gabriel is restoring the painting I told you about, Miss Scudamore,’ said Adam.

  ‘Ah, yes, the famous lost painting.’ Her fingers struggled with the package. ‘Could you do this for me, Adam?’

  So he was Adam already, thought Gabriel, amused but not surprised, since he was treating Miss Scudamore like a very appealing contemporary, and she was responding in a way which made it plain she’d been used to such attentions in the past. Henrietta Scudamore still retained traces of the beauty which must have been dazzling in her youth.

  Adam removed the last of the paper, then took the bottle from its box and offered it to Miss Scudamore with a flourish.

  ‘Extra dry—what a treat!’ she said, beaming. ‘Thank you, my dear. Here they dish out the sweet stuff considered suitable for the aged and crumbling, so hide it in the cabinet in the corner. With the single malt.’ The mischievous eyes twinkled.

  When Mrs Palmer came in a moment later with a tray, Henrietta thanked the young woman with great charm.

  ‘Miss Brett will pour,’ she said, smiling in unmistakable dismissal, and the moment the door closed behind the straight back blew out her cheeks in relief. ‘Nice enough creature, but so prim and proper!’

  ‘Something tells me,’ said Adam, sitting beside Gabriel, ‘that description has never applied to you, Miss Henrietta.’

  ‘No, indeed. When I came out I was the toast of the county. For all the good it did me,’ she added, sighing. ‘The women of my family are seldom lucky with relationships, but that’s another story.’

  ‘I’d love to hear it,’ said Gabriel, pouring tea.

  ‘If you visit me another day you shall—which is outrageous blackmail, of course, but I do so love having visitors.’

  Miss Scudamore urged her visitors to scones and sandwiches, but ate little herself, and over her second cup of tea smiled indulgently at Adam.

  ‘You’ve been very patient, my dear. Now you shall have your reward. Go to the bookcase over there and take down the ledger from the top shelf.’

  The big ledger was leather-bound and mouthwateringly ancient. ‘I should wear gloves to look at this,’ Adam said reverently.

  ‘It’s not that precious, my dear. Just household accounts.’ Miss Scudamore smiled philosophically. ‘When the contents of my home went up for auction I kept a few things for myself, naturally. Paintings, furniture, books, some porcelain and silver. But also the entire contents of the muniment room. When I die they can go to any local museum who wants them, but I couldn’t let the family archives go under the hammer.’

  Adam took great care as he turned pages filled with copperplate handwriting which recorded the minutiae of daily life at Pembridge Manor early in the nineteenth century.

  ‘It took me a while to find what you wanted, but go to 1821, towards the end of the year,’ said Miss Scudamore.

  Gabriel leaned over Adam’s shoulder to run her eye down the expenditure of the household during that period. Among the more routine purchases she found a new carriage for the squire, several ells of silk for his ladies, and an Arab hunter for the heir. Then she sucked in her breath in excitement when they found an entry recording payment to Mr Singleton for the double portrait of Henrietta and Letitia.

  Colour flared along Adam’s prominent cheekbones as he looked up at Miss Scudamore.

  ‘Is that what you were looking for?’ she asked, smiling roguishly.

  ‘It certainly is,’ he assured her, and smiled back in triumph. ‘I do believe I’m about to make you a lot of money, Miss Henrietta.’

  She stared at him in surprise. ‘Certainly not.’

  Gabriel frowned. ‘But if this is a genuine Singleton portrait I’m restoring, Miss Scudamore—and by now we’re sure it is—Adam can sell it for thousands for you.’

  ‘My dear child,’ said the other woman indulgently. ‘The painting is now Adam’s property, not mine. It was always believed that the portrait was destroyed soon after it was painted. Which I suppose it was, in a way. If Adam has the skill to recognise something valuable under the paint and dirt he described you know perfectly well that he’s entitled to anything he can get for it.’

  ‘But I couldn’t do that—’ began Adam.

  ‘Of course you can. Otherwise I would be receiving payment twice for the same item.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Finders keepers, my boy. I’m sure you can find something to do with the money. Which may not be very much, anyway. I’ve never heard of this Singleton before.’

  ‘His name is well known in art circles. And once Gabriel’s worked her magic I expect a good price for him,’ Adam assured her.

  ‘Then you keep it. And pay well for this young lady’s skills.’ She slanted a sly look at Gabriel. ‘Or are you doing the work for love, my dear?’

  Gabriel grinned. ‘No way, Miss Scudamore. I’m charging him top whack!’

  ‘Good for you.’ The old lady waved a hand at Adam. ‘You
were too polite to ask yesterday, but I know you were longing to look at my paintings. Go on, both of you. Give me your expert opinion.’

  Gabriel crossed the room with Adam to examine a pair of dramatic watercolours by John Piper, a Sickert interior, an Italianate oil of glowing flowers and fruit against a dark background, and in pole position over the fireplace a semi-draped maiden in classical pose, painted by the sensuous, perfectionist brush of Lord Leighton.

  ‘What a treasure trove, Miss Henrietta,’ said Adam huskily, tearing his eyes away from the seductive nymph. ‘I wanted to look at everything yesterday, but it seemed rude to run round like a child in a sweetie shop.’

  ‘I thought you behaved with admirable restraint once you told me what you did for a living,’ said the old lady, chuckling. ‘But when you asked to come back with Gabriel I decided to keep the best until today. Now we have a chaperon, young man, I shall take you into my bedroom. Open the adjoining door, please.’

  Miss Scudamore’s bedroom was smaller than her sitting room, with silver-framed photographs on ev ery available surface, but her visitors’ eyes went straight to the portrait on the wall facing the foot of the bed. The old lady gestured at it with gleeful drama. ‘My namesake,’ she said with a flourish. ‘Miss Henrietta Scudamore, painted by Sir Thomas Lawrence himself.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE girl in the portrait was young, with all the sparkle and glitter of Lawrence’s mastery in the bloom of her complexion, the luminous violet eyes, the sheen of the black hair drawn back in ringlets above her ears.

  ‘No wonder you were so blasé about the Singleton, Miss Henrietta,’ breathed Adam reverently, and shook his head. ‘I’m amazed the proprietors let you keep this here. They must have nightmares about security.’

  ‘I insisted on keeping her with me,’ said Miss Scudamore, shrugging. ‘Anyway, these days I’m not the only one here with the odd valuable or two. Pembridge is like Fort Knox now. No one can get in or out unlawfully without bells and alarms going off everywhere. It drove me mad when they were testing the security system.’ She smiled fondly at the portrait. ‘I’ve shared a room with Henrietta all my adult life, and fully intend to do so for what’s left of it. Why should I shut her up in some vault while I can take pleasure in looking at her every day?’

  ‘No reason at all,’ said Gabriel, her eyes on the painting. ‘She’s breathtaking.’

  ‘So now you can see why I’m not concerned about your find, young man,’ said Miss Scudamore. ‘I shall be interested to know what it fetches, of course, but I have more than enough money to last out my time. And in the unlikely event that I ever need cash I can always sell one of the paintings out there.’ She smiled. ‘The still life I bought in Florence years ago simply because I like it. I can’t imagine it’s worth very much. But the Sickert would do well, and John Piper should fetch a good price now he’s been dead a while. But I’d put my money on the Leighton. Such a risqué style for a man of Victoria’s reign. Mrs Palmer averts her eyes every time she comes in the room.’

  The three of them were still chuckling when they returned to sit at the window, and Miss Scudamore, patently enjoying herself, pressed them to stay a little longer.

  ‘If you’re sure we aren’t tiring you out,’ Gabriel said quickly.

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ declared the old lady. ‘Besides, you must want to hear Henrietta’s story.’

  ‘We certainly do,’ Adam assured her. ‘Now both faces are revealed we’d like to know why Letitia’s was blacked out so viciously.’

  ‘Then fetch the sherry, Adam, and I shall begin.’

  The Henrietta of the portrait, she told them, had been betrothed to the son of a neighbouring baronet, and another portrait commissioned to mark the occasion. But with a view to the forthcoming expense of the wedding, Sir George Scudamore, known for his thrift, had economised by hiring a less expensive artist than Sir Thomas Lawrence, and had ordered Singleton to include Letitia instead of painting two separate portraits. And Benjamin Wallis, the fiancé, had begged permission to watch while the sisters posed.’

  ‘Which accounts for Henrietta’s radiance,’ said Gabriel, nodding. ‘She was in love with her Benjamin.’

  ‘Unfortunately for her, poor girl,’ said Miss Scudamore dryly. ‘Because the paint can’t have been dry on the canvas when Benjamin Wallis eloped with Letty, which transformed Henrietta into an embittered spinster overnight, according to Scudamore legend. She went on living here when her brother inherited, of course, but died relatively young.’

  ‘Of a broken heart?’ said Gabriel.

  ‘Nothing so romantic, dear—pneumonia.’

  ‘What happened to Letty?’ asked Adam.

  ‘She got her just desserts, some would say.’ Miss Scudamore chuckled evilly. ‘Banished from Pembridge Manor for life without a dowry, she bore Benjamin a passel of brats, lost her looks and became so fat he sought consolation with a string of mistresses and gambled away a fortune at the gaming table.’

  ‘Sounds as if Henrietta was well shot of him,’ commented Gabriel. ‘I suppose she was the one who did the paint job on Letty?’

  ‘No doubt about it. She was an amateur artist herself, and would have had the materials at hand.’

  ‘I can just see her doing it, too,’ said Gabriel, eyes gleaming. ‘Cursing her sister as she slashed paint over her face, then taking the picture up to the attic and hiding it where no one ever saw it again.’

  Gabriel could talk of nothing else on the way back. Utterly charmed by Henrietta Scudamore and her story, and still reeling from the discovery of a Lawrence portrait in private hands, she lost every last remnant of constraint with Adam.

  ‘So my gambit was a success. You enjoyed the afternoon,’ he said, with smug satisfaction.

  ‘I enjoyed lunch, too. And this.’ Gabriel gestured at the scenery unfolding before them. ‘It’s good to have time to appreciate the view. Most people drive too fast.’

  ‘Including the pavement-lover?’

  ‘Jeremy’s actually a very nice man!’

  ‘I’m sure he is,’ said Adam without enthusiasm, and glanced at his watch. ‘Let me take you straight to the hospital. I’ll wait while you visit your father, and drive you home afterwards.’

  ‘But I can’t let you do that—’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ve taken up a lot of your time already today.’

  ‘Not nearly enough to suit me,’ he assured her. ‘Besides, I’d quite like to see Harry myself, if you don’t mind sharing him for a while.’

  Gabriel no longer minded at all, and felt amused, rather than resentful, when Harry Brett looked so pleased to see her with Adam Dysart. They spent a lively half-hour talking with him about the discoveries they’d made, then Adam left to give Gabriel time alone with her father.

  ‘You seem quite good friends with Adam now,’ commented Harry.

  ‘I suppose we are,’ admitted Gabriel. ‘Now I’ve actually met your paragon at last I like him more than I expected to.’

  ‘You should certainly have enough in common with him.’

  ‘When are they letting you out?’ asked Gabriel, changing the subject.

  ‘Wednesday. Laura rang today to say she’s coming to pick me up in the afternoon. We’ll spend the night at Haywards with you, then we’re going down to Wales next morning.’ Harry gave her a wry little smile. ‘Something I still find hard to believe.’

  ‘That’s a pensive look,’ said Adam, when Gabriel joined him in the car park.

  ‘Dad’s obviously got qualms about this holiday with Mother. Which is worrying, when the whole point of the exercise is a stress-free convalescence,’ said Gabriel, sliding into the passenger seat.

  Adam’s lips twitched. ‘Look, if it doesn’t work out we can always rush off to his rescue.’

  Gabriel laughed. ‘I don’t know why I’m worrying. My mother shares most of Dad’s interests, and she’s a spectacular cook.’

  ‘Then Harry’s in good hands.’ Adam glanced at his watch. �
��The night is yet young, Miss Brett. Are you in a tearing hurry to get home?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Then have supper with me.’

  ‘Only if you’ll let me pay this time—’ she began, but Adam shook his head.

  ‘Come over to Stavely. I’ll show you round Friars Wood, then knock something up in my kitchen in the Stables.’

  Gabriel stared at him in surprise.

  ‘Give me your answer fairly soon,’ he ordered, ‘otherwise we’ll be heading in the wrong direction.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said quickly. ‘I’d like that very much.’

  Friars Wood was farther away from Pennington than Gabriel had expected, and when Adam finally turned up the steep, winding drive which led to his home she looked at him accusingly. ‘The other night, when you called in at Haywards, you said you were just passing.’

  ‘I lied. I drove over just to see you, Gabriel.’

  ‘To persuade me to do your restoration,’ she said, resigned, when they drew up in front of a house less grand than she’d expected, but which in a different way appealed to her as strongly as Pembridge Manor had earlier. Friars Wood possessed a character all its own, with groups of chimneys with barely sugar twists, a series of small-paned windows which reflected the evening light, and a wistaria, the purple blossom over now, wreathing its leaves along a verandah which formed a balcony for the upper floor. ‘Lovely—how old is it?’

  ‘Built at the end of the nineteenth century, with a few alterations along the way since to modernise it.’

  Gabriel glanced at him. ‘And you’re the heir to it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adam sombrely. ‘With all the responsibilities that go with it.’

  ‘What about your sisters?’

  ‘That’s where the responsibilities come in.’ He got out of the car, holding out his hand to her. ‘Come on. I’ll take you on a quick tour of the house, then I’ll feed you over there.’ He gestured towards the stable block set a little apart from the house.