The Girl at Rosewood Hall (A Lady Jane Mystery)

by Annis Bell

  Jane looked out over the park, which was slowly disappearing in the twilight. With the growing darkness, the enormous ancient trees transformed into bizarre, shadowy forms . . . that sometimes spat out dying girls, thought Jane, and shuddered. “Mary,” she murmured. “I have to find you. But how?”

  Cold wind streamed in through the window, which stood ajar, and Jane felt a chill. “Mary, who are you? Where did your friend leave you? Or was she your sister?”

  “So, time for a cup of fine English tea.” The rattle of the teacup betrayed Hettie’s return. Jane heard the maid pull up short for a moment before coming to the window. “You ought not to sit there, ma’am. It’s still too cold.”

  Jane took the cup and raised it to her lips. The tea was strong, hot, and sweet, and instantly revived her spirits. “Thank you, Hettie.”

  The maid took the fashion magazine from a stool and opened it. “So many beautiful dresses. I don’t think this one with the puffy top is very nice, but this one—”

  “Hettie, I don’t need a wedding dress.”

  “What?” Shocked, Hettie snapped the magazine closed.

  “The wedding will take place tomorrow, if I understand my uncle correctly.” Wescott was on his way. Why all the hurry otherwise?

  “But that can’t be! There’s the engagement and the announcement and . . . ,” began Hettie, who had been looking forward to a huge celebration and a new dress for herself.

  Jane set down the cup and watched one of the servants lighting the torches down on the terrace. Without a doubt, Rosewood Hall was one of the most beautiful mansions in the country. And soon a new man would rule over this land and the people on it, a man who had never loved this place as his father had, and whose only interest was in having it for himself.

  “Captain Wescott is expected for breakfast tomorrow, Hettie. Could you get out the lavender dress for me? White gloves, white shoes, and my mother’s pearls.”

  “Lady Alison will be sorely disappointed,” said Hettie as she put the magazine down on a chest of drawers.

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute. But I would rather weather her disappointment than my uncle’s. It is his wish, his . . .” Jane’s voice failed her.

  “I understand, ma’am. What will become of us? Where will we go then?” Hettie asked, the practical nature of a girl from a plainer background prevailing.

  “I will discuss that with Captain Wescott.” Just saying that sentence cost Jane all her self-control. In front of her loomed a new phase of her life, and it looked to her like a walk through a moor: you never knew what awaited you, and stepping off the path might mean sinking into the bog. It was the kind of walk that sounded like an adventure at the outset, but when the time came to actually go, fear and uncertainty were your constant companions.

  “Ma’am?” Hettie had apparently asked her a question.

  “Yes?”

  “The lavender dress is not pretty enough. If you ask me, it’s a color more suitable for old women. The light green is beautiful. You shine when you wear it. But that is just my opinion.” She pulled the curtain flat across the window.

  Jane sighed. “I don’t mind. But the pearls don’t go with the green. Oh, I’ll decide in the morning.”

  When Doctor Paterson arrived at Rosewood Hall in the early evening and disappeared into Lord Henry’s bedroom, there could be no more doubt about the seriousness of her uncle’s condition. The doctor later informed her that he had ordered strict bed rest and a sleeping powder for his patient. Without the presence of Samuel Jones, Jane would not have gone down for the evening meal, but the lawyer did his best to entertain her with amusing anecdotes from his eventful life. After eating, Matthew and the lawyer retired to the smoking room, and Bridget took the opportunity to block Jane’s retreat upstairs.

  “The old man’s time has come, Jane. Have you packed your bags yet? I’ll be sure to check that you take nothing away that does not belong to you.” Bridget’s cheeks were red, and her forehead shone greasily. She glared at Jane through eyes narrowed to slits. It seemed she had been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

  “Let me pass, Bridget. You’re a vicious, vindictive person. Remember that what you inflict on others will come back to haunt you.” Jane pushed past the pregnant woman and continued up the stairs.

  “I have nothing to be ashamed of. Absolutely nothing! All I’m doing is making sure my husband gets what he’s entitled to! You pushed your way between him and his father. It’s your fault that Lord Henry loves his son less than he loves you!” Puffing, Bridget tried to keep up with Jane.

  “Does he really believe that? Poor Matthew! I haven’t pushed my way in anywhere. My uncle took me in because I’m his brother’s daughter. How could I ever take anything away from Matthew? I’m a woman. Have you forgotten that, Bridget? I am just a woman!”

  Bridget was sweating, and her eyes were filled with wrath. “You never believed you were just a woman, Jane. You never played by the rules. You’re different. You always were, and you think you’re better for it, but you’re not!”

  “If you were not expecting, I would slap you,” said Jane, but she understood that deep down Bridget envied her. What Bridget could not or would not say was that she begrudged Jane her strength and her irrepressible will. “But thank you, Bridget. I’ll take that as a compliment. Good night.”

  10.

  Mulberry Park, Cornwall, March 1860

  The intense odor of seaweed and the ocean swept in with the spray from the waves crashing below the cliffs. Jane could hear the sea roaring against the rocks, and the mist rose as high as where she stood. Seagulls cried and a dog barked.

  “Rufus!” Jane called. Since her arrival at Mulberry Park, she had gone on endless walks, exploring her new home and at the same time trying to find a way through the loss of her uncle.

  The Great Dane came galloping over the green hill, giving Jane a dim sense of familiarity. It had all happened too fast. The events of the past weeks had swept her away and washed her up here on Cornwall’s wild coast. Wescott had arrived that night at Rosewood Hall and spent a long time speaking with Samuel Jones and her uncle. Contracts were signed, her marriage contract among them. Her uncle had gone to great lengths to see that she was well provided for.

  Jane stroked Rufus’s fur, for the dog now trotted beside her, unhurried. “Matthew wanted to ban you to the stables . . .”

  Rufus grunted.

  Wescott had kept his word. At the end of the simple wedding ceremony in the village church, he had kissed her, but it was no more than the lightest brush of his lips against hers. He had taken her arm politely and led her to the coach. Inside, in privacy, he had asked her if she wanted to have their agreement about their life together set down in writing. But Jane had offered him her hand and said that his word was good enough for her. A handshake sealed the affair.

  Because the wedding had been moved forward, Wescott said he would have to make his apologies and leave for his unfinished house in London. He had only recently moved into a respectable place in Seymour Street, but it was nothing luxurious and still required extensive work both inside and out before the house could meet their requirements, at least to some extent. He did not need to say any more for Jane to understand that he didn’t want her in London, and Jane herself had suggested that she look after the necessary repairs at Mulberry Park. Wescott seemed relieved, and the rest of their journey back to Rosewood passed in an oppressive silence.

  Wescott wanted to return to London the following morning, and Jane hoped to be able to spend a few more weeks with her uncle in Rosewood. But on the night of the wedding, Matthew got drunk and caused a scene with his father, accusing him of never loving him as much as he had Jane. That same evening, Lord Henry suffered a heart attack and passed away. In this terrible situation, Wescott proved himself an attentive husband, rigorously shielding Jane from any malice from Bridget or Matthew. He ensure
d that, with the help of Hettie and Floyd, her possessions were packed and transported to Mulberry Park. Only when he was certain that everything important to Jane was safely stowed did he ride beside her coach along the way that led from Rosewood out to the main road.

  Floyd and Hettie sat with her in the coach. Bridget had forbidden the servants to wave good-bye, so no one was standing on the courtyard in front of Rosewood Hall when Jane left her home. When they reached the crossing where the road led west toward Cornwall and east to London, Captain Wescott stopped the coach and asked Jane to step out.

  He took her by the arm and walked a few steps alone with her. “I had the greatest respect for your uncle, Jane. Give me a little time to get my affairs in order. Then I’ll come to visit you in Mulberry Park, or you can come to London. But please don’t hang back from contacting me should any problems arise. Of whatever nature! Promise me that, will you?”

  She no longer remembered what she had said in reply, but she had not forgotten the look of concern in his dark eyes. David Wescott had shown himself to be a man of deep sympathy, and she admired him for that.

  “And now we’re alone, aren’t we, Rufus?” The wind picked up, and Jane pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Although temperature-wise, Cornwall was milder than the rest of the country, a cold, damp wind often blew in from the sea. Clothes absorbed the salty moisture and quickly became heavy and stiff. Jane rubbed her upper arms to keep them warm, and then she began to walk faster: the movement helped her circulation and warmed her limbs.

  A pathway wound along the coast and was used by hikers, locals, and visitors, who mainly came to the seaside in summer. Jane, on her walks, had met herdsmen and residents of the villages hereabouts, and once an artist out from London. The man had brought his easel in defiance of the wind and the rain and gone on rapturously about painting en plein air.

  She turned to face the wind and breathed in the salty air deeply. It was an unusual feeling to be the mistress of her own house, to do or not do whatever her fancy told her. Her newly gained freedom felt different than she had expected it to, and she was trying to find her feet in her new life.

  Hettie, on the other hand, was overjoyed to discover that her cousin Jeanette lived close by. Jeanette’s husband, Bob Piers, was a fisherman and had a small cottage outside Polperro. His boat was tied up in the harbor there.

  After a hectic first week with plenty to do, Jane had given Hettie the day off to spend with Jeanette. She had no social obligations, and no one out here cared about how she was dressed. Warm and dry, thought Jane, that’s the main thing, and she smiled.

  Rufus slowed his pace and growled softly. Jane had no fear of wandering alone out over the meadows and fields separated by stone walls and hedgerows. But she was also not imprudent, and stayed within sight of the house. After a moment, she, too, heard the hoofbeats and saw a rider trot out from behind a bend in the path. The man was well dressed, and the closer he came, the more clearly she saw the English Thoroughbred he was riding. Her sudden move and mourning for her uncle had taken over everything, to the extent that she had not yet given much thought to any of her neighbors. It was about time she paid some courtesy visits. On the other hand, considering her loss, anyone would grant her her self-imposed solitude.

  It wasn’t long before the rider, with an elegant turn, brought his horse to a standstill in front of her. Lord Hargrave. He bowed his head and smiled winningly. “Good day, my lady. What an unexpected pleasure!”

  Jane returned his smile and laid her hand on Rufus’s neck. She’d forgotten the man owned a country house not far away, Bromfield Manor.

  “Lord Hargrave, good day to you too.”

  “We are neighbors, my lady. Unfortunately, we were not formally introduced at your late uncle’s ball. My sincere condolences on your loss. Lord Henry was an honest and thoroughly respected man.”

  Jane swallowed. She still found it difficult to talk about her uncle. “Thank you,” she murmured, pulling herself together.

  Although the rules of society did not require it, she wore a black dress, in keeping with the state of her emotions. Her coat was dark green with a black collar, and her shawl was also black.

  The wind swept through Lord Hargrave’s hair, and he made a nonchalant gesture. “I lost my hat along the way.”

  “Who could blame you for that? I’m sorry, I should have . . .”

  “Oh, not to worry,” Hargrave reassured her quickly. He was having trouble keeping his skittish horse under control. “Now that we’ve met, may I invite you for afternoon tea tomorrow? My sister, Violet, is here, and the Duke of Rutland and his wife will also be with us. Perhaps Mr. Devereaux will also come, but he could not say with certainty because he’s tied up in London. Business.” He looked at her expectantly.

  “I, ah, that is very nice of you, but my husband is not here, and I . . . ,” Jane replied uncertainly.

  Hargrave smiled understandingly. “Unforgivable, leaving such a lovely young woman alone. I have no desire to embarrass you in any way, but my sister would certainly enjoy making your acquaintance. She lives in Bromfield Manor year-round, and is often there alone. The only variety she gets is through her charitable work with orphanages and whatnot.”

  His tone of voice was slightly deprecating, Jane felt. Even without knowing Hargrave’s sister, Jane automatically sided with her. “Thank you. I would enjoy meeting your sister very much.”

  “Wonderful, then. Until tomorrow, my lady!” He nodded to her, clucked his tongue, and let his horse, a chestnut stallion, feel the spurs.

  Because she had been standing still, Jane now felt the cold even more than before, and she set off again at a brisk walk. “I don’t know what to make of the man yet, but his sister lives here the whole year. Maybe she’s nice.”

  Trotting beside her, Rufus seemed to snort in answer. As they drew near to the trout pond that lay at the extreme end of the Mulberry Park gardens, he raised his head in happy expectation.

  “No, Rufus, you don’t go getting any fish now, or Mr. Roche will shoot you!”

  The Great Dane barked and ran around the pond, but strutted back to Jane the second time she shouted “No!”

  Bert and Martha Roche had been in charge of looking after the property all these years, and had greeted their new mistress with undisguised reserve, if not hostility. Jane sighed and walked around the pond. The extensive gardens of Mulberry Park were barely a shadow of the garden at Rosewood Hall, and one could sense the neglect. Many hedges and bushes were in need of trimming, and the vegetable beds needed to be redone. The lawn was patchy and the paths overgrown with weeds. A number of the mulberry trees that had given the place its name had been felled.

  Mulberry Park itself was much smaller than Jane remembered it. The gray three-story manor house was functional and solid. Perched on a hilltop for a century, it had defied the storms that swept across the channel. It had not always been in Jane’s family, and had even housed prisoners of war and smugglers. Smuggling belonged to the Cornish coast like salt to a kipper, as the people thereabouts liked to say.

  Jane walked past the house’s herb garden and looked in at the kitchen window. The red face of the cook, a plump, taciturn woman from the nearby village of Lansallos, leaned over a bowl. A shadow flitted past in the background, probably one of the kitchen maids. Jane had not yet gone through the housekeeper’s books, nor had she spoken to all of the servants.

  An impalpably gloomy atmosphere clung to Mulberry Park. Jane blamed it on her own state of mind, but as she pushed open the front door and stepped into the dim hallway, she decided that it was not just her. She tugged on the bell pull just inside the door.

  A young footman rushed out frantically from behind the stairs, tugging his jacket straight. “Pardon, ma’am. You rang?”

  “Is my maid back? Where is Floyd, ah, Mr. Coleman?” She had appointed Floyd as her butler, which set him above every oth
er servant in the house. That, too, had come as a heavy blow to Mr. and Mrs. Roche in particular. “What was your name again?”

  “Stuart, ma’am. Your maid has not yet come back, and Mr. Coleman is upstairs, ma’am.” Stuart was of average height, had a nose that looked like it had been broken at some point, and one of his front teeth was missing, which indicated something of a tendency toward violence.

  Jane nodded and was about to move past Stuart to the stairs when she heard a suppressed cry accompanied by the sound of breaking dishes. She hesitated for a moment, but Stuart quickly positioned himself in front of the passage that led to the kitchen and the servants’ quarters.

  “It’s nothing, ma’am. The new kitchen hand is rather clumsy. Mrs. Roche will be taking care of that.” In his attempt at a smile, the gap in his teeth showed more prominently, giving his face a somewhat devious appearance.

  Jane immediately felt ashamed of her superficial judgment of the young man. After all, he could not help the way he looked. “I’m sure she will be. I would like to eat at seven this evening. And no fish.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned again, and this time his expression was unmistakably malicious.

  Since her arrival, she had eaten fish every single day. Smoked, fried, and boiled. Just the smell of it made her feel nauseous. She did not want to be impolite to the cook, but she’d had enough. Besides, the woman was not there just as some ornament of Jane’s status. Jane would have to have a serious word with Mrs. Roche. Soon, thought Jane, and made her way wearily upstairs. Rufus, who had stood looking around in the hallway, followed her and trotted into her bedroom.

  On the second floor there were two large bedrooms and a small one, connected by dressing rooms. A bathroom and a closet were located directly beside the stairs. The top floor was divided into five small rooms, of which two were occupied by two servant girls each. Jane had given Floyd the biggest room. Stuart and another servant slept in the attic. Mr. and Mrs. Roche lived in a small extension in the basement behind the kitchen.