Deadly Inheritance

by Janet Laurence

  The room Ursula was shown into was undistinguished. A brass bedstead was covered in a chintz spread; a tired brocade armchair stood in one corner, and a washstand in another. Only two good watercolours offered any sense of style.

  ‘You will have had a long journey today. Is there anything from your luggage you require immediately, Miss Grandison?’ The enquiry was courteous but without warmth.

  ‘There are two dressing cases. The crocodile one belongs to Miss Seldon, the plain leather one is mine. We would both find them very helpful.’

  ‘Of course; I will see that they are delivered immediately. Tea is shortly to be served in the Blue Drawing Room.’ The housekeeper hovered for an uncertain moment. ‘We all hope Miss Seldon and yourself will be very happy with us,’ she added, without conviction.

  A few minutes later a maid knocked, entered and placed a jug of hot water on the washstand. ‘Will there be anything else, miss?’

  Ursula shook her head and asked the maid her name.

  ‘Sarah, miss.’ The girl was tall, with a plain face lit by lively eyes. Soft brown hair escaped from a mobcap.

  There were a hundred things Ursula would have liked to ask but knew it was too soon. ‘Thank you, Sarah. It is a great pleasure to be here.’

  The girl grinned. ‘Quite a place, isn’t it?’

  At last a servant who appeared normal.

  Another knock at the door announced the arrival of Ursula’s dressing case. Sarah took it from the footman and laid it carefully on a luggage stand. ‘There’s a bell if you need anything else, miss.’ She indicated a silk rope hanging beside the bed.

  Ursula thanked her again.

  * * *

  Hat discarded, travel grime removed, hair brushed into place, Ursula descended the stairs.

  She should, she supposed, be feeling nervous. Helen had shown every sign of being as difficult as Ursula had anticipated. Was she planning to accommodate her in the stables? Or would she try to dismiss her? Perhaps she was sending a cable to her father at that very moment.

  The stairs were shallow, offering easy passage. On the walls hung huge oil paintings, their subjects half hidden by over a century of candle smoke.

  Ursula was not nervous. On the contrary, she found herself pleasantly excited by the prospect of battle – and of discovering what the exact situation was in this extraordinary house.

  The waxwork footman came to a semblance of life when Ursula asked him for directions, and led her down a corridor lined with marble columns as discoloured as the oil paintings.

  The Blue Drawing Room was as gloomy as the entrance hall. Curtains insufficiently drawn back prevented a clear view of its décor. Ursula longed to grab the lengths of velvet and yank them clear of the glass so that light could flood the room and illuminate the dark blue flock wallpaper. Almost immediately, though, she realised that that would only expose the shabbiness of the furniture.

  Sitting rigidly upright in a large wing chair that would have dwarfed someone less powerfully aware of her own identity, was a figure dressed entirely in heavy black silk. A row of jet buttons enlivened the bodice; an elaborate silk fringe edged the skirt.

  Behind Ursula, Helen entered with Belle. They could not have spent much time in the privacy of the bedroom catching up on their different lives. Belle looked bewildered. Her shoulders were rigidly held back, her chin lifted in a manner that betrayed nervousness.

  ‘Mama, may I present my sister, Belle Seldon? Darling, this is the Dowager Countess of Mountstanton, my mother-in-law.’

  Belle dipped the curtsey Ursula had made her practise.

  The Dowager lifted a lorgnette and studied the newcomer, then snapped the hinged spectacles shut. ‘Come closer, girl.’

  Belle advanced a couple of steps, her chin rising even higher.

  ‘Speak to me.’

  Belle gazed at the Dowager Countess, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  ‘And don’t stare. Speak, I said. I am sure you can utter since I would have been told if you were a mute.’

  ‘Mama, Belle is a little shy,’ Helen said hurriedly.

  Belle glanced at Ursula, who gave her the tiniest of nods and a smile of encouragement. She felt a moment of triumph that the girl had looked to her rather than Helen.

  ‘Your … your ladyship, I am very happy to see my sister and to visit England.’ Belle’s voice, after the initial stumble over the correct form of address, was steady.

  ‘No nasal twang; I am relieved. And you really are very pretty and quite suitably dressed. If you allow yourself to be instructed by your sister, you will do very well.’

  The lorgnette was once again opened and raised. ‘And who is this?’

  Ursula took a step forward. ‘I am Ursula Grandison, Miss Seldon’s companion, your ladyship.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Cold eyes surveyed her. ‘Necessary for the time being, I suppose. Your appearance is acceptable and you, too, lack that particularly ugly vocal characteristic so many of your fellow Americans display.’ She gave a small shudder of distaste.

  Ursula wished she had adopted a Brooklyn accent, then reflected that it would only have upset Belle and done nothing to repair relations with Helen.

  ‘Here is tea, Mama,’ Helen said with a note of relief as a procession of footmen arrived.

  The bustle of service allowed seats to be found and something approaching a sense of ease to come over the little group.

  ‘Where is Richard?’ The Dowager Countess had refused the cucumber sandwiches and sat holding her porcelain cup with unstudied dignity. Her voice was sharp.

  ‘Out riding somewhere, Mama,’ Helen said negligently. ‘None of us expected you to arrive back today.’

  ‘I do not understand why not when it was common knowledge your sister was to arrive this afternoon.’

  A small boy ran into the room, fair hair curling round his face, bright blue eyes alight with excitement. He was followed by a comfortable-looking woman wearing a grey work dress enveloped in a large white apron. She dipped a curtsey, saw her charge was safely inside the room and then withdrew.

  ‘Mama! Mama!’ the boy cried.

  Helen opened her arms to him. ‘Darling Harry.’

  ‘You should not allow that child so much licence.’ The Dowager’s mouth set into a grim line.

  Harry leaned against his mother’s knee and looked resentfully at his grandmother. A little nudge at his back propelled him in her direction.

  Reluctantly he approached. ‘Good afternoon, Grandmama,’ he said and, feet placed together, one hand held across his front and one behind, gave her a bow.

  ‘Good afternoon, Harry. What have you learned since I last took tea with you?’

  ‘I can recite the Kings and Queens of England, Grandmama.’

  ‘Excellent. Tomorrow I will ask you to do so. Now, you must greet your Aunt Belle. Belle, this is the Viscount Hinton, your nephew.’

  Belle gave him a brilliant smile and held out a hand. ‘Come and show me this book, Harry, it looks so interesting.’ She indicated a large volume of architectural sketches lying on a table near the window. ‘And I would love to talk and get to know you. Have you been to New York? It is such an exciting city. Do you know its buildings almost reach the sky?’

  Ursula saw that Belle knew just how to interest children.

  ‘It is most neglectful of Richard not to attend a family tea.’

  Ursula had chosen a seat a little apart. She watched as Helen tried to parry her mother-in-law’s increasingly acid comments on her son’s general lack of respect, ending with, ‘It’s not what is expected of a Mountstanton.’

  Over by the window, Belle teased and played with her nephew, encouraging him in a game of hide-and-seek with a floor-length chenille cloth covering a round table.

  Little shrieks of delight drew a frown from the Dowager.

  ‘Harry,’ she said sharply as the boy climbed on the window seat. ‘Stop that.’

  Helen advanced, saying, ‘Darling, come down …’

  But
she was too late. He jumped off with a cry of ‘Look at me,’ stumbled on landing and caught at the tablecloth.

  A large porcelain bowl fell off the table and broke, shards scattering over a wide area. As Helen rushed to pick up her son, he broke into shrieks of distress.

  Belle stood aghast.

  The Dowager Countess rose. ‘Harry,’ she said in an awful voice.

  Harry fell silent.

  ‘You should know better at five than to behave like a hooligan. I have warned you before about the necessity to control your excessively high spirits. You will be beaten and sent to bed without supper.’

  ‘Mama!’ protested Helen, hugging her son.

  Belle looked at the Dowager, her eyes wide with horror. ‘He mustn’t be beaten!’ she said passionately. ‘It wasn’t his fault. He’s only little.’

  The gorgon stare switched from the small boy to young Belle. ‘You dare to question my authority, girl?’

  Holding her son in her arms, Helen joined battle with her mother-in-law. ‘Mama, he realises how badly he has behaved.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ Belle said. ‘If the bowl was valuable, my father will replace it.’

  ‘The bowl is not the issue.’

  Harry was now sobbing, quietly but relentlessly.

  Ursula knew there was no point in saying anything, but she came and stood beside Belle in an effort to lend her support.

  The Dowager narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath as the door opened to admit a tall man dressed for riding.

  ‘Mama, I apologise for not being here earlier,’ he said smoothly.

  Ursula gazed in fascination at the Earl of Mountstanton. He had inherited the chill of his mother’s eyes. Like those of a fish, there seemed nothing behind them. His features were unmemorable. His figure was too thin for true elegance but he moved with a certain ease.

  A kiss was dropped on the Dowager Countess’s cheek, then, ignoring his wife and crying son, the Earl turned to Belle. ‘Why,’ he drawled, ‘it’s my little sister-in-law. Welcome to Mountstanton, Liberty Belle.’

  Chapter Three

  Little dimples appeared on either side of Belle’s mouth as she smiled shyly up at the Earl.

  ‘I’m so happy to see you again, my lord,’ she said.

  ‘Come, come! Not “my lord” please. My name is Richard and I am delighted you have at long last paid us a visit.’

  ‘Belle has only just left school, Richard; it would have been inappropriate before,’ Helen said, her tone sharp.

  ‘Of course.’ The Earl gave Belle the sort of look that, in Ursula’s experience, belonged to a man assessing the points of a horse.

  ‘I think with a little tuition, Miss Seldon could possibly be an asset to the Mountstanton name, Richard,’ said the Dowager.

  Belle flushed and looked towards her sister. The Countess said with a hauteur of her own, ‘Belle is already an asset to the Seldon name.’

  There was a flash of something indecipherable in the Earl’s eyes. ‘Quite,’ he said and looked around the room. ‘Warburton not here?’

  ‘Apparently you had letters requiring his attention.’ Helen picked up her cup of tea and sipped at it.

  The Earl looked at his son, now leaning against his mother, biting on his thumb. ‘Harry, you stand to attention when I come into the room.’ He looked at his wife. ‘I hope the boy is not going to grow up a disgrace to his name.’

  ‘Harry is not waiting to grow up.’ The Dowager Countess waved an imperious hand towards the shards of porcelain littering the carpet.

  ‘How now, what’s this?’

  Harry shrank against his mother’s side and tears began to well up in his eyes.

  ‘We were playing a game and … and there was an accident,’ Belle’s words tumbled out. ‘I will replace the bowl. Please do not beat Harry – or send him to bed without any supper.’ No angel could have pleaded more prettily.

  ‘And has this punishment been suggested?’ There was little more than polite enquiry in the Earl’s voice.

  ‘It is no more than the boy should expect.’ The Dowager sounded implacable.

  ‘Ah, but he is not your boy,’ the Earl said softly.

  ‘He is a Mountstanton.’

  ‘Quite. So I am the one to dictate his punishment.’

  Harry trembled and his tears spilled over. His mother put her arm around him. Neither said anything.

  Belle grabbed the Earl’s hand. ‘Please, don’t be so cruel as to beat him.’

  He detached his hand from her grasp. ‘Harry, stand up straight. Look at me.’

  The boy reluctantly unglued himself from his mother’s side and fixed a fearful gaze on the tall, unyielding figure before him.

  ‘You will go upstairs now and remain in the nursery. You will have no supper and I will be up later to demonstrate exactly how displeased I am with you. Helen, send for Mrs Comfort.’

  Ursula had remained standing after the accident with the bowl, her whole body rigid with distaste. She hoped that the woman’s name reflected her nature.

  The Countess rose without expression and went to pull on the long silk cord that hung beside the fireplace.

  A footman appeared, received his instructions, and left.

  The Earl flicked his gaze round the silent room. It rested for a moment on his mother, then passed on until it fell on Ursula.

  The cold, fish-like eyes studied her for a moment. ‘And you are?’ he said in an indifferent voice.

  ‘Ursula Grandison, companion to Miss Seldon, sir.’ She deliberately did not give him his title nor dip a curtsey.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  She was silent and stood looking straight at him. Then he said, ‘So,’ and turned to his wife. ‘Do I see tea?’

  By now there were several servants in the room, brushing up the broken pieces of china and filling empty cups.

  ‘Come and sit by me, Richard,’ the Dowager Countess said to her son, indicating a chair set next to hers. ‘I have been waiting to hear what you have been up to while I’ve been away.’

  ‘Later, Mama. I wish to learn what Liberty Belle thinks of her first sight of England and Mountstanton.’

  Ignoring the flashes of red that flamed in the Dowager’s cheeks, the Earl settled himself next to Belle. ‘No doubt now you are so grown up, I shall have to call you Miss Seldon,’ he said pleasantly.

  * * *

  By the time it came for Ursula to be shown to her room by Mrs Parsons, she was exhausted. It was not the rigours of the travel; looking back on that morning’s train journey, it seemed positively tranquil compared with what had awaited at Mountstanton.

  The life of Ursula Grandison had been full of ups and downs. Using her wits, she had extricated herself from potentially disastrous situations. Tragedy had visited her and so had extreme happiness. She had learned to survive in situations that would have swamped girls less courageous than herself. Never, though, could she remember having to witness such powerful cross-currents of tension. With no part to play in the scene, Ursula had found the afternoon more challenging than the time she had found herself separating men seemingly determined on beating each other into extinction.

  Relief came when Ursula was handed over to the housekeeper to be shown her accommodation. And Helen’s announcement that dinner would be at seven o’clock, giving a clear indication that Ursula should not expect further contact with the family until then, was received thankfully.

  There was careful politeness in every line of Mrs Parson’s carriage as she led the way back along the corridor towards the great staircase. As she followed in her wake, Ursula realised that the housekeeper could well provide a key to much that happened at Mountstanton. Would she, though, be able to reach through the impregnable reserve displayed by so many of the servants? Maybe even achieve a cosy chat?

  ‘This seems a very ancient house,’ she said, a note of enquiry in her voice.

  ‘Indeed it is, Miss Grandison.’ Mrs Parsons sounded pleased at her interest. ‘The original house w
as built in the reign of Elizabeth but the classical front was added some hundred and fifty years later.’

  ‘There are so many interesting pictures and pieces of furniture.’

  The woman dipped her head in acknowledgement of this truth. ‘No doubt, America being such a new country, Miss Grandison, there will not be such houses there.’

  Ursula thought of the treasures in the Seldon New York mansion and in some of the others built in that city over the last few decades. After visiting them, you would not be blamed for thinking that there could hardly be an antique piece of furniture, sculpture, painting, panelling or ancient hall left in Europe, so much had been transported to the New World.

  ‘It is a great privilege to be allowed to stay in a house such as this,’ she said. ‘Would you, perhaps, be able to give me a tour one day?’

  ‘Why, Miss Grandison, I would be privileged. But I am sure that her ladyship will wish to do that.’

  ‘The Countess must have a great many calls on her time. As indeed, must you,’ Ursula added hurriedly. ‘But your knowledge of Mountstanton must be unrivalled. How many years have you been here?’

  ‘Nearly thirty.’ They had reached the stairs. ‘I started as a maid, as my mother did before me. And my grandmother had charge of the laundry.’

  Ursula looked at her in admiration as they moved upstairs. ‘Why, that could be called a dynasty! I do not believe we have any such tradition of service in America.’

  Mrs Parsons paused on the landing. She looked pleased. ‘There is a tradition in England called noblesse oblige. It means that titled families, indeed, any with great estates whether titled or not, have a duty to those who serve them. We at Mountstanton believe that those who serve also have a duty of loyalty and dedication to the Stanhope family. That is the family name of the Earls of Mountstanton,’ she added in a helpful manner.