This plan was decided upon and Agnes loped across the village green after breakfast, armed with an apron, a writing tablet and a pencil, as well as Charlotte’s promise to follow when she had paid her morning visit to the ailing vicar.
‘Good morning, Uncle Henry,’ Charlotte said in a breezy tone as she put her head round his door. ‘How are you today? Sitting up, that’s splendid. We’ll soon have you up and about.’
Experience had shown her that however little Henry Heavitree appeared to appreciate her constant stream of chatter and banter, he definitely sulked if she refrained, so today she told him about the plans for Agnes’s wedding and the surprise she herself had received on hearing she was to be offered ox eyes for breakfast. To an unaccustomed ear Henry’s grunts and gobbles would have meant nothing but by now Charlotte was attuned to them and knew that her uncle was expressing disapproval of feminine frippery. Besides, as she had told Agnes, Henry’s speech was improving daily, if only to her own ear.
‘What’s this?’ She bent to retrieve a fallen pillow and picked up a sheet of notepaper, half covered in vigorous black handwriting. As she went to hand it to Henry, her eye caught the signature: Jas Fitzgibbon, Colonel, and the name of Frampton’s regiment. ‘Uncle Henry? Why in the world is Colonel Fitzgibbon writing to you?’
She frowned and cast a further, reluctant, look at the piece of paper.
‘It isn’t to you, is it? I don’t think I should read this but I’m going to, nevertheless.’
The written lines obviously closed a letter, the bulk of which was not on the floor, nor on the invalid’s bed. Charlotte sat down and read the note with mounting disbelief.
‘… and so, madam, I reiterate my previous words. In view of the sudden death of your son, the authorities at the War Office have agreed that no good can come out of the disclosure that Major Richmond betrayed his country – and even worse, his own men – by leading them into an ambush, an act for which he had been paid a Judas fee. To make public his earlier gross misconduct and his subsequent cowardice in escaping from India, would serve no purpose. Therefore, madam, you may rest assured that no further action will be taken.
I am, madam, yrs faithfully, etc….’
A sudden movement made Charlotte look up. In the doorway to Henry Heavitree’s bedroom stood Mrs Richmond, on her face an expression of cold fury, in her arms her brother’s gun, pointed at Charlotte.
‘You meddlesome girl,’ she hissed in a furious undertone. ‘I forbade you to continue with your poking and your prying and your foolish questions. Now I shall have to deal with you.’
Charlotte sat in frozen astonishment, Henry mumbling and gulping beside her, as Fanny Richmond manoeuvred herself awkwardly into the room, limping with an ugly, halting step, then hanging on to the doorpost to steady herself.
‘Luckily I realized I must have dropped part of my letter in here when I read it out to Henry earlier this morning.’ Mrs Richmond’s conversational tone chilled Charlotte to the core as she listened in horror. ‘I heard you talking to him so I went back to my room and left the chair there.’ She flashed her teeth in a semblance of a smile. ‘Do not raise your hopes, my dear. Old Nurse has gone into the village and the rest of the servants are about their duties downstairs. There is nobody to hear.’ She shifted her position, keeping the gun pointed at Charlotte. ‘Did you know I could walk? Did your meddling and prying reveal that? Look at me. Do you wonder that I choose to conceal the fact, I, whose sporting prowess was legendary; to show myself in public limping like an ugly crab?’
Anguish was plain to read on her face but she shook her head and cast a mocking glance at Charlotte.
‘You did not realize that I had relieved Henry of this weapon? The wardrobe was scarcely the ideal hiding place, I am sure you agree.’
‘You killed Frampton.’ Charlotte spoke barely above a whisper.
‘I had to.’ For a moment Mrs Richmond’s face was ravaged with grief. ‘What else could I do? That wretched colonel insisted on telling me everything. I, a poor, unprotected female, to be forced to listen to such dreadful charges. I refused to believe his cruel accusations at first but he swore that he was telling the truth. He thrust affidavits under my nose, told me of disgusting practices, threatened me with exposure for my son, until I had to believe him.’
‘But Frampton … You killed your own son?’
‘My son?’ The brown eyes blazed with anger. ‘My son? My son was the man I mourned most sincerely, the lost hero, the gallant officer. That poltroon you nursed so assiduously, that was not my son – a coward, a thief, a traitor and worse. Oh yes, the colonel took great delight, I could see that, in making me only too aware of the vile escapades that had taken place, what kind of man I had nurtured and on whom I had lavished my love.’
She dashed flecks of spittle from her mouth and tightened her lips into a thin, straight line before continuing.
‘The Richmonds have been glorious! The line from the first Geoffroi de Richmond, and even earlier, from the Saxon family whose land he seized and whose daughter he ravished and then married. For a thousand years and more my family has been a byword for honour and now – what should I have done? Allowed that gloating soldier to shatter our lives? To sully that hallowed reputation? Colonel Fitzgibbon!’ As she spat the name, Charlotte became aware of a fleeting shadow at the door but dropped her eyes to offer no clue to the raging, ranting virago before her.
‘Colonel Fitzgibbon? What is he to me, or his regiment? Nothing, I say, less than the dust, but I could not allow him to tell what he knew. He went away when I would not allow him to see Frampton but I knew he would return and insist upon an interview. I put laudanum in a glass of wine and told Old Nurse to make sure Frampton drank it, to help him to sleep, I told her; then when the house was quiet I crept into the room and smothered him.’
‘But how could you?’ Charlotte’s inveterate curiosity overcame her fear for a moment. ‘You have been confined to a wheelchair for three years. You cannot be strong enough.’
‘What? You fool, I have propelled myself about this house for all that time, by my own hand. Can you not imagine the strength I have in my arms and shoulders? I picked up that gaudy shawl of yours and thrust it down over his mouth and I felt nothing, nothing at all, except a desperate desire to protect my family’s name. He was no longer my son.’
‘Did Henry see you?’ Still afraid for her life, Charlotte sought the truth. If I am to die, she told herself, I will know everything.
‘Yes, of course he did. I told him to get downstairs and not dare to speak of what he had seen and of course he has never done so.’ She shot a chill, warning glance at the man in the bed. ‘And he never will,’ she said in a minatory tone.
‘You put my shawl on the stairs to trip me,’ Charlotte stated baldly, with an accusing stare. ‘And you put something in my drink – what was it? Laudanum again? That was just a warning, wasn’t it, but I don’t suppose you would have cared if I had died. But now, if you kill me’ – Charlotte strove to keep her voice level – ‘how will you explain that?’
‘Quite simply,’ came the reply in an almost casual tone. ‘Henry obviously managed to reach the gun he had concealed in his room and shot you in a tragic accident. His mind has quite gone, poor soul. I heard the shot and by a miracle managed to rise from my chair and walk again!’
She frowned and stared at Charlotte, speaking in a casual, conversational tone. ‘However, I should prefer not to have to make such an explanation, so I won’t shoot you if you give me your word, as a gentlewoman, that you will never reveal what I have told you here today.’
‘My word as a gentlewoman?’ Charlotte raised her eyebrow, concealing the amusement she felt in spite of her perilous situation. She was about to agree wholeheartedly to the bargain when Mrs Richmond’s mood changed again and she levelled the gun at Charlotte.
‘No.’ She frowned. ‘It’s not safe. You might change your mind and betray me. I shall have to kill you after all.’
CHAPTER 12
Charlotte had scarcely drawn a horrified breath when the door opened silently behind Fanny Richmond, and Kit Knightley reached in to take the gun from her hands.
‘I’ll take the gun, Mrs Richmond, he said gently, thrusting it behind him into the trmbling hands of the butler. ‘No . . ‘– as the lady of the manor opened her mouth to speak – ‘I heard you threaten Charlotte and so did Hoxton here. Were you about to protest it was a joke? A mistake? That you would never do such a thing?’ The woman before him shut her mouth in a tight, angry line and stayed silent, her eyes glinting in frustration.
Kit frowned. ‘Even if you swore on the Bible, I’m afraid I shouldn’t believe you. If you were foolish enough to allow such a thing, and supposing Charlotte agreed to say nothing of this’ – he nodded to Charlotte with a smile – ‘who is to say that you might not change your mind the next time Charlotte disagreed with you? It could be next week, or next year, or even in ten years, but I cannot risk such a thing. Hoxton, send in some tea and cake, and some Madeira, to the library. Is Mr Barnard there? At the farm? Very well, when you have done that, I wish you to send immediately for Mrs Richmond’s lawyer and his clerk. Tell them Mrs Richmond has urgent instructions for them.’
With a darting, fearful glance at his seething mistress, Hoxton withdrew at speed. Kit handed Charlotte the gun.
‘Here, Charlotte, be sure she stays where she is. I’ll make certain there is nobody about.’
There was no time for anything but compliance although Charlotte was trying desperately hard not to sit plump down on the floor and have screaming hysterics, or at the very least, she thought, I am entitled to a small fit of the vapours. Instead she did as she was told and followed Kit as he carried Mrs Richmond, silent and sullen, down to the library, the wheeled chair remaining upstairs out of her reach. He waited while Hoxton himself served the refreshments, murmuring that the message had been sent to the lawyer, then Kit addressed the lady of the house, who was regarding him with loathing.
‘I am a magistrate, Mrs Richmond, and I cannot overlook the fact that I heard you threaten a young woman with murder. However, I am a neighbour and Barnard’s friend, so I cannot allow you to be given in charge to the police. I offer you an alternative.’
He cocked his head and waited but no reply was forthcoming so he continued.
‘You will instruct your lawyer to make over your property immediately to your son Barnard,’ he told her. ‘And in return for an agreed income you will go abroad, taking your brother with you. The reason given out will be that you wish to try the cure for the vicar as well as for yourself. It will be assumed that your absence will be for a stay of some months only but it will be announced after a reasonable period that you have benefited so much that you intend to make your permanent residence on the continent.’
He turned to Charlotte. ‘Does Mrs Richmond have a relative, or friend, do you know, who would agree to travel with her as companion and, in some degree, nurse?’
She nodded. ‘I believe Agnes has mentioned one such, a middle-aged second cousin who lives in straightened circumstances in Putney. Barnard would furnish you with the address, or Hoxton.’
‘Thank you. I’ll telegraph when I have interviewed the lawyer.’
A difficult silence fell and neither Charlotte nor Kit Knightley seemed inclined to break it. The woman at the centre of the situation did not speak either then or when Hoxton nervously ushered in the lawyer and his clerk. Kit, informing them that he was speaking for his neighbour and her son, his friend, Barnard, outlined the proposals he had already made to Mrs Richmond.
The lawyer gaped anxiously at his client but, receiving no assistance from her, made haste to comply with Mr Knightley’s instructions, knowing him to be a man of the utmost probity.
In less time than Charlotte would have believed it possible, the document was written out, signed and witnessed, Mrs Richmond appearing to have yielded to the inevitable. Kit Knightley then issued instructions that his hostess be taken to her room and that a maid should begin her packing.
‘Just enough for a day or two,’ he added to Hoxton. ‘The rest can be boxed up and sent after her.’ He turned to speak, not unkindly, to Fanny Richmond, who had still uttered not a single word though her baleful gaze spoke for her. ‘If you have no preference when it comes to choosing a spa,’ he said. ‘I should suggest you try Carlsbad, in Bohemia. My wife and I visited the town some five years ago and found it charming; the waters spring up out of the ground all along the valley floor and are said to be beneficial to many different ailments. It also boasts a large contingent of English people so there is plenty of opportunity for pleasant society. I’m sure you would speedily feel at home there.’
Charlotte took a bowl of soup in her room for luncheon, feeling herself quite unequal to the task of making polite conversation. Kit had hastened first to telegraph then back to Knightley Hall to pack a bag as he proposed to accompany Mrs Richmond to London, accompanied on the journey by Betty, the young maid who would relinquish her charge to the attendant Kit had recommended the obliging cousin engage.
At half past three he reappeared at Finchbourne and asked to see Barnard in private, suggesting, however, that Charlotte might be included in the interview. She had wondered how much he intended to reveal to the estimable Barnard, whose character was as admirable as his brain was slow, but she need have had no fear – Kit’s explanation was lucid and brief.
‘So, Barnard,’ he concluded, frowning as his friend’s honest face shone with astonishment and incomprehension. ‘Do you understand? Your mother feels that she must have a period of complete rest, far away from the distressing memory of your brother’s death, and that she will be accompanied by the vicar, whose health should benefit from the spa treatment. She has also arranged to travel with her cousin, Miss Cornelia Richmond, who will be at the hotel in London to meet us.’ He made haste to explain himself. ‘I have taken it upon myself to offer my escort,’ he said solemnly, brushing off Barnard’s cries of gratitude. ‘My dear fellow, it’s the least I could do. You must not leave your wife at this time, you know. I beg your pardon but I had the news from my own wife and I congratulate you heartily. No, no, I beg you will say no more; it will be my pleasure.’
It was accomplished with so little ado and in so short a time that Agnes and Lily, as well as Lady Frampton, were given a scant ten minutes’ notice of the momentous departure. Such was the exclamation, lamentation and speculation that Charlotte was spared the rigours of a tender farewell with her mother-in-law, though when Agnes had been dragged weeping away from her mother, who uttered not a word throughout, Charlotte approached the carriage.
‘You will not believe me,’ she spoke in a low voice, ‘but I have always been most heartily grateful to you, Mrs Richmond, for offering me a home. I wish it had not turned out as it did, that you could have been left with your memory of Frampton as a gallant, fallen hero. I am most sincerely sorry about that.’
There was no response. She had anticipated none, and she fell back to allow Barnard to embrace his mother and uncle, with many a manly tear and a great trumpeting into his red spotted handkerchief. With a violent pumping of Kit Knightley’s hand, Barnard too stood back and the assembled family watched as the lady of Finchbourne left her ancestral home for ever, or so I devoutly hope, breathed Charlotte, before she put a comforting arm round Agnes’s heaving shoulders.
The next three days seemed strangely unreal.
‘It feels like it did when I came home from school,’ Barnard said reflectively, the day after his mother’s abrupt departure. He glanced down at Charlotte, who was standing beside him as he surveyed the stable yard. ‘You know, or at least, I suppose you don’t … Then, I kept expecting the beaks to jump out and bark orders at me – went on for a week before I got it into my head that I was rid of them. Well, same thing now. I keep thinking Mama’s going to wheel herself up behind me and tell me I’m doing it all wrong.’
He let out a loud guffaw, which he hastily covere
d with a guilty hand.
‘Ah, ought not to say that, d’you think? God knows what put it into her head that she should hand over the whole concern to me. What do you think, Char?’
Charlotte thrust her arm into his and gave him a reassuring smile.
‘You must allow for the effect of Frampton’s death,’ she reminded him gently. ‘Think what a shock it was to the rest of us, when he reappeared like that. You must remember how overjoyed your mother was, then to lose him so quickly, it must have been terrible for her. And don’t forget Uncle Henry. Agnes has told me how devoted Mrs Richmond is to her brother. I think you must just accept that everything suddenly became too much to bear, but don’t fret, they will be well looked after.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Barnard was comforted. ‘Kit Knightley said that Cousin Cornelia was overjoyed to be asked to travel with Mama and Uncle Henry and when she learned that she was to remain with them always, he said her transports were a sight to see.’ He chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t drive Uncle Henry into another seizure. Cousin Cornelia can be excitable. M’father always said she was an elixir to be taken only in small doses and only as a last resort.’
Charlotte smothered a grin and turned Barnard’s thoughts towards a more pleasant prospect – his proposed reforms and repairs. Kit had snatched a moment on his return, to confide that he had directed Miss Cornelia to an agent known to him, and to whom he had earlier covertly telegraphed instructions, and that the respectable middle-aged woman engaged as nurse and dresser to Mrs Richmond had spent some time as an attendant in an asylum for wayward women, a fact that had not been revealed to Mrs Richmond, her brother, her cousin or her son. I almost feel sorry for her, thought Charlotte. She also felt truly sorry for Henry but was reassured when she spoke to Kit.
Murder Most Welcome Page 23
