To Susan with thanks for all your
support, encouragement and help over the years
and for your wonderful friendship.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to the Writers’ Group: Shelley, Gay, Georgie, Helena, and Maggie, who we miss so much. Without their always-constructive criticism, advice, friendship and support, this book would never have seen publication. Thanks also to Sir Anthony Dewey, Bt, for instruction in the use of shotguns; Dr Michael Dingle for medical advice; Dr Dorothy Gennard, Visiting Senior Research Fellow, School of Life Sciences, University of Lincoln, for forensic advice regarding the immersion of bodies; and Michael Thomas for reading and advising on the ms. Lastly, many thanks to my agent, Jane Conway-Gordon, whose expertise found a publisher for Deadly Inheritance, and to my editor, Matilda Richards, for her excellent eye for detail. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, can only be coincidence and all mistakes or inaccuracies are mine.
Contents
Title
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
About the Author
Copyright
Chapter One
April 1903
The boat train from Liverpool was crowded with passengers newly arrived from America.
The trip had been rough. Looking pale, a pretty girl of some seventeen years occupied a corner seat in a First Class carriage. She smoothed her smart, pink linen travelling suit with a careful hand. Her straw boater was set neatly on long, blonde hair. Her eyes were large and pale blue.
Opposite, sitting with her back to the engine, was a woman ten or so years older, who showed no sign of having suffered mal de mer. Where the girl was dressed in the height of fashion and displayed all the polish that money could achieve, her travelling companion’s costume was restrained and serviceable. Chestnut hair was drawn back in a plain knot, under a hat that would never catch anyone’s eye. Her gloves were cotton and her boots very ordinary. Her face, though, was rather fine, with classic features and a pair of exceptional grey eyes. She wore an expression of amused tolerance. After the porter had organised their heavy luggage and she had supervised the stowage of hand luggage onto the racks above the seats, she asked the girl, ‘Belle, dear, will you need a magazine or a book to read on the train?’
‘No, Ursula, how can you think such a thing? It would make me seasick all over again. Anyway, we are in England, on our way to London. How can I read when there will be so much to see?’
There came a whistle from the stationmaster followed by a louder, longer one from the train. The coal-fired steam engine began a slow and noisy progress, rather like a huge, lumbering elephant that required time to achieve momentum. Ursula Grandison, the girl’s companion, found their gradual increase of speed thrilling.
‘May I?’ asked a middle-aged man, taking hold of the leather strap that operated the door window. ‘It’s the smuts.’
He pulled up the window, secured the strap, and sat down again next to a well-dressed woman who Ursula took to be his wife. On her lap sat a King Charles spaniel.
‘Oh!’ said Belle with a charming smile. ‘What a cute little dog. May I stroke him?’
Ursula watched. Children and dogs, she thought, are a passport to instant friendship.
Soon Mrs Wright had exchanged names with Belle Seldon and they were in lively conversation.
‘Are you planning a long stay in England, Miss Seldon?’ asked Mrs Wright, sounding very English to Ursula’s ears.
‘I’m visiting my sister,’ Belle said, caressing the little dog’s long, silky ears. ‘She’s been married for over seven years but this is the first time I’ve come to England.’
‘Over seven years, is that so? You will be longing to see her again.’
‘Oh, yes! Though she and the Earl have visited us in New York.’
It was too late for Ursula to intervene and she watched the information Belle had so naively offered take root and blossom.
‘Your brother-in-law is an Earl?’ Mrs Wright strove to sound as though this was an everyday occurrence. ‘Then … then your sister must be a Countess?’
‘She is,’ beamed Belle. ‘And I am to become one too.’
‘You are? Which Earl are you to marry?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Helen only knows titled people, or so it seems from her letters, and she is to find me a husband.’
Mrs Wright did not appear to find this at all incredible. ‘And shall you like to be a Countess?’
‘Oh, yes! To have a title and have everyone look up to you and live in a beautiful house must be great.’
‘Belle,’ said Ursula gently. ‘Mrs Wright cannot be interested in your prattle.’
Belle smiled happily. ‘I do go on,’ she said to her neighbour. ‘Papa is always saying I should talk less and listen more. But I like to talk.’ She gave an extravagant caress to the dog. ‘Why don’t I take your little doggie for a walk down the corridor? I am sure he would like some exercise.’
‘If you are careful with him,’ said Mrs Wright.
‘Oh, I’ll be careful,’ laughed Belle. She took the little dog’s lead. One of the other passengers opened the door into the corridor.
‘She is a delightful girl,’ Mrs Wright said to Ursula. ‘Would you be another sister?’
‘I am her companion,’ Ursula said briefly.
Mrs Wright could not contain herself. ‘Is her sister really a Countess?’
‘The Countess of Mountstanton,’ Ursula said; her voice did not invite further comment.
‘Good heavens,’ breathed Mrs Wright. ‘And you are going to stay with her and the Earl?’
Ursula nodded.
Mr Wright cleared his throat. ‘I think, my love, we should consider whether we wish to take luncheon on the train.’
‘Of course we will take luncheon,’ his wife said in surprise, then coloured slightly. ‘I’d be grateful if you could reach up for my bag, James; I want my book,’ she added, a little belligerently.
Her wish was instantly gratified.
Allowed to retreat into her own company, Ursula studied the countryside as the train passed through. She failed to take in any of its features.
The mention of Mountstanton House had reminded her of the task she had been given. It was one she found daunting.
* * *
At London, a change of trains provided Ursula and Belle with a carriage to themselves.
As they racketed along towards Somerset, Belle exclaimed over the neatness of the countryside. ‘Everything is … is, wel
l, so nicely arranged. It’s as though it’s all waiting to be painted. There are so many hedges, so many tiny roads; the people should be small too but they seem a normal size.’ She seemed totally recovered now from the effects of their voyage.
Ursula smiled at Belle’s enthusiasm and hoped it would last until they arrived at their destination.
By the time they pulled into a small station decorated with tubs of wallflowers, the sun that had sparkled all the way from London had disappeared behind dark clouds. Ursula shivered slightly as she stepped down onto the platform, where a smartly uniformed stationmaster and a neatly dressed porter were the only signs of life. Where, she wondered, was Belle’s sister?
No other passengers left the train so the porter had only their baggage to unload. Ursula pointed out their belongings and he started on the task with no sense of urgency.
‘Where is Helen?’ asked Belle. ‘She promised to meet me.’
At that moment a large carriage drew up outside the station. A dashingly liveried footman jumped off and opened the door. Without waiting for the steps to be let down, a young man leapt to the ground and hurried onto the platform.
‘My dear Miss Seldon, a thousand apologies. Your sister has been forced to remain at Mountstanton. Her mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess,’ his face twisted in comic distress, ‘has returned unexpectedly. So I have come to welcome you instead.’ He swept off his hat, chucked it onto a bench, took Belle’s hands in his and smiled down at her. ‘Do say that you are not too desperately disappointed.’
Belle looked anything but disappointed.
Ursula studied the young man. He was extremely attractive. Looking to be in his mid-twenties, he was tall with hair carefully greased to repress a tendency to curl, eyes of a sparkling blue, a straight nose, and a mouth curved in a happy smile under a bold moustache.
‘The Countess told me that you are the prettiest girl in the world. I did not believe her but it is true.’ Another of those charming smiles.
Belle seemed unable either to remove her hands from the young man’s grasp or to utter a word.
‘It is very kind of you to meet us,’ Ursula said serenely. ‘Perhaps we could introduce ourselves? Miss Seldon’s name you know and I am Ursula Grandison, her companion. Whom have we the pleasure of addressing?’
He released Belle’s hands and with one of his fists hit his forehead. ‘My wits have been sent scattering by Miss Seldon’s beauty. William Warburton, at your service, ladies.’ He gave them a graceful bow. Now, let us see about your bags.’ He looked down the platform at the pile of luggage that was being assembled. ‘Porter, don’t hang about, bring that stuff over here.’ His voice was curt and authoritative. He snapped his fingers at the two liveried servants who had appeared. ‘Help him or we will be here all day.’ He turned back to Belle and Ursula. ‘Ladies, may I escort you to the carriage?’
Belle happily laid her hand on the arm that was offered to her.
Ursula said, ‘Mr Warburton, I think I should check that all the luggage has been retrieved from the baggage compartment. If you will allow, I will join you in a moment.’
He gave her a brief nod, retrieved his hat, and escorted Belle in the direction of the carriage.
* * *
Ursula never forgot her first glimpse of Mountstanton.
The journey had been no more than some twenty minutes through neatly ordered farmland. Then the carriage swept through a matching pair of stone lodges set either side of massive wrought-iron gates that stood open in welcome, before following a long drive through parkland where deer cropped grass beneath mature specimen trees. Finally, in the distance appeared the house.
Ursula had expected grandeur but could not suppress a gasp of surprise at Mountstanton’s size and majesty. As they drew closer, the house grew more and more imposing; the impressive façade with its rows and rows of windows, lightened a little by the way the frontage had been broken into three sections, with wings stretching back on either side in perfect symmetry. She found the total effect of the building and everything it represented overwhelming. Then, bending down sideways to see through the carriage window, she noticed a small domed and pillared pavilion sitting atop the central portion of the house with an almost frivolous grace. It was so delightful, her spirits rose. Maybe what awaited them would, after all, be a pleasant experience.
‘Ladies, welcome to Mountstanton,’ Mr Warburton said with a grand flourish as the carriage drew up on a gravelled area.
An elaborate and pillared stone portico shielded a heavy front door.
As the steps of the carriage were let down, the Countess of Mountstanton emerged.
‘Belle, darling, I’m so sorry I could not meet you at the station.’
Belle tumbled into her sister’s arms with incoherent cries.
The Countess searched her sister’s face as though she was seeing it for the first time, then she kissed Belle again. ‘I am so pleased you are here at last. You have grown even prettier. You will take Society by storm.’
As Ursula emerged from the carriage, the Countess held out her hand in a limp gesture.
‘I regret that Papa failed to give me your name. His last message merely said that Belle would be travelling with a companion.’
Ursula supposed she should dip a curtsey. She remained standing.
Belle slipped an arm through hers. ‘This is my dear friend, Ursula Grandison,’ she said cheerfully to her sister.
The Countess’s face froze. ‘You!’ she said.
Chapter Two
For a moment there was an ugly silence.
Helen stared at Ursula with baffled rage while Belle looked from one to the other in bewilderment. Then William Warburton said jovially, ‘I have never seen two more beautiful sisters, or two who looked more alike.’
Belle laughed and the moment was broken. ‘That’s not true. Helen is more beautiful; she is taller, her hair is more golden, and her eyes are green, not blue like mine – and her nose is straight.’ They all looked at Belle’s own nose; small, retrousé and quite charming.
The Countess smiled at her sister. ‘My mother-in-law is waiting to meet you, she has returned from her visit to Yorkshire especially.’ There seemed to be a note of warning in her voice.
A distinguished figure in a black tailcoat and striped trousers stepped forward. ‘Miss Seldon, welcome to Mountstanton.’
‘Thank you.’ Belle gave a quick, uncertain look at Helen.
‘This is Benson, our butler.’
‘If there is anything you need at any time, Miss Seldon, please let me know.’ The butler inclined his sculptured head with a practised movement that combined courtesy with a consciousness of his own standing.
A middle-aged woman with a stern face, dressed in unobtrusive black, a heavy ring of keys hanging from her waist, emerged from the shadows behind the butler. ‘I am Mrs Parsons, the housekeeper. I, too, welcome you to Mountstanton, Miss Seldon,’ she said.
As the sisters were about to enter the house, the Countess glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Come along, William.’
Mr Warburton threw a quizzical glance at Ursula, then hurried to follow.
Ursula Grandison stood for a moment on the gravel. She had told Mr Seldon how it would be.
‘You girls,’ he’d said lightly. ‘All that nonsense was years ago. I doubt if Helen remembers any of it.’ He looked at Ursula. ‘Belle needs someone to accompany her and business keeps me here. Anyway, I need both Helen and that husband of hers, that Earl, to be off their guard. They wouldn’t be if I was there.’
Chauncey Seldon commanded attention wherever he went. Over six foot, with the broad neck and powerful back of a fighter, his small dark eyes were astute and his face, with its razor-shell cheekbones, full of an intelligence that warned no one should attempt to double-deal him.
‘But no one is going to notice me, is that it?’
‘Don’t be bitter, Ursula, it doesn’t suit you. It’s not Helen’s fault things turned out the way they did.’
<
br /> Ursula had taken a deep breath. They were in Mr Seldon’s panelled study, the engine room of the gothic house he had recently commissioned on Fifth Avenue. Everywhere in the mansion was evidence of the vast wealth he had accumulated. It was a world that once she had inhabited by right. Now she must remember that he was offering her a lifeline.
‘It will not be easy,’ she said slowly. ‘But if what you suspect is true, Helen will need help. I am already very fond of Belle and I think I could be of use to her. And,’ she gave him a brilliant smile, ‘I would love to go to England.’
‘Good! I know you will not disappoint me. Or Helen. Send regular reports. If they’re urgent, do not hesitate to cable.’ Mr Seldon rose, went over to a side table and picked up an ornate silver goblet. ‘Have I shown you my latest purchase? It’s Italian, sixteenth century, belonged to a Medici.’ His large hands with their carefully manicured nails caressed the decoration lovingly, before passing it over to Ursula for her appreciation.
She admired the workmanship and asked pertinent questions on its history, but she did not envy its new owner. It was, after all, only a goblet. Chauncey Seldon valued the past for its treasures; she for its memories. He seemed to think it possible to dismiss them. She knew he was wrong.
Ursula sighed and entered Mountstanton. Heavy panelling and murky tapestries seemed hungry for daylight, despite the size of the windows. Huge pieces of well-polished furniture stood on a flagstoned floor inadequately covered with Turkish rugs.
The Countess was in whispered conference with the housekeeper.
Belle moved towards Ursula. ‘What has happened to Mr Warburton?’ she murmured.
The young man who had met them had vanished.
‘No doubt he has matters to attend to.’
‘Now, Belle, we will find your room.’ Helen took her sister’s hand.
‘What about Ursula?’
‘Mrs Parsons will look after her.’
With a lost little look, Belle allowed herself to be led out of the hall and down a long corridor.
‘I am afraid I am unable to show you to your accommodation quite yet, Miss Grandison,’ Mrs Parsons said smoothly. ‘Allow me to take you somewhere you can refresh yourself after your journey.’ She flicked a finger at a footman standing at the side of the hall with all the animation of a waxwork figure. He approached, received her low-voiced instructions, gave an expressionless nod and disappeared. The housekeeper turned an unsmiling face to Ursula and took her up an imposing flight of stairs.
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