Deadly Inheritance

by Janet Laurence

Ursula was fascinated. ‘I would very much like to hear more about Mountstanton, Mrs Parsons, when you have time.’

  They started up a further flight of stairs.

  ‘It would be an honour, Miss Grandison. And I shall hope to hear from you what America is like.’

  The higher in the house they went, the more the grandeur dropped away. By the time Ursula was led along a corridor there were no ornate balustrades, no great oil paintings on the walls, few pieces of furniture, and the floor covering was no more than serviceable.

  A door opened as they passed and Mrs Comfort stood there, looking apprehensive. Then her expression lightened. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, miss, I’m sure. I thought …’

  Ursula realised she must have thought it was the Earl come to discipline his son and heir. She smiled at the nanny. ‘Has the young Viscount recovered from the unfortunate incident in the drawing room?’

  ‘Unfortunate is the word, Miss Grandison. I never knew such goings on. I’ll be pleased when a new nursemaid has been engaged. ’Tis too much on my own, Mrs Parsons, as you well knows. I can’t manage the boy and his washing and ironing and everything else.’

  ‘Quite, Mrs Comfort.’

  The nanny gave the sort of nod that said she hoped due note had been taken of her words and closed the door.

  Where, wondered Ursula, as Mrs Parsons continued along the corridor, did the nanny figure in the accommodation hierarchy? No doubt above the position of the ordinary servant but well below the status of family or honoured guest. Well, that surely summed herself up as well.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Mrs Parsons and threw open a door. ‘I hope you will be comfortable.’

  Remembering how lacking in charm the room she had been shown into on arrival was, Ursula did not expect much in the way of décor or furniture, and she was not disappointed. There was an iron bedstead covered with a cotton spread, a washstand, an upright chair, a simple chest of drawers, a small table and a deal wardrobe. A mirror hung on the wall above the table. There was also a text: ‘Be thou thrifty and the Lord will provide’, and a badly foxed print of a small child kneeling beside a bed to say her prayers, eyes closed and a deep frill round her otherwise plain nightgown. Ursula’s trunk had been placed against one wall.

  Mrs Parsons ran a hand over the surface of the chest of drawers, as though checking that dust had been satisfactorily removed. ‘Do you require assistance to unpack?’ Her voice was distant; it was as though she was removing herself from the decision to award this inadequate room to Ursula.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Parsons, but I am well able to undertake that task myself.’ Ursula grinned inwardly as she thought how seldom she had had the luxury of a personal servant in recent years. ‘May I enquire if the maid the Countess informed Mr Seldon would be provided for her sister is looking after the unpacking of her luggage?’

  Mrs Parsons nodded. ‘Didier, as she has informed us she is to be called, is in the process of doing that right now.’ Her voice was noncommittal but Ursula received the distinct impression that the maid had not endeared herself to the housekeeper. ‘You will no doubt require a gown to be pressed for dinner this evening. I will send Sarah up to collect it shortly.’

  Left on her own at last, Ursula sank onto the bed. The mattress was thin and supported by a hard, unsprung base. It did not matter. At least she could close her eyes and try for five minutes or so to blank out everything that had taken place since her arrival at Mountstanton.

  After a little while she remembered that Sarah was to collect a gown for pressing. As she unlocked the trunk and picked out a dark grey silk gown, the door was flung open and Belle entered.

  ‘At last I have found you!’

  Ursula rose and found herself wrapped in urgent arms.

  ‘Oh, Ursula, this is a horrid place. I was so looking forward to being with Helen again. My big sister who always cared for me. And now all she can do is tell me I must do this and I must do that and I mustn’t do the other.’ Belle burst into tears.

  Ursula sat her down on the bed and found a handkerchief.

  ‘Hush, hush,’ she said gently and stroked the distraught girl’s hair. ‘Helen has a great position to maintain. She has a child to raise and this enormous house to run; she is no longer a carefree girl with all her choices in front of her, she has chosen her role and now has to make it work. Think how complicated her life must be, particularly with the Dowager Countess for mother-in-law.’

  ‘And that’s another thing,’ Belle screwed the sodden handkerchief into a tight ball and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you knew Helen?’ She gazed at Ursula, all tears now gone. ‘She says I am not to trust you. She is going to try and send you away, I know it!’ Belle flung her arms around Ursula again. ‘I don’t want you to leave, I need you. I hate this house. If you leave, I’ll leave too. I’ll go home to Papa.’

  Ursula held Belle tight. ‘Shhh, shhh, I am staying here with you. And you know how much your father wanted you to come here and enjoy a London season.’

  ‘But why didn’t you tell me you knew Helen?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ Ursula said slowly. ‘Helen and I were at school together, first in New York and then in Paris.’

  Belle looked at her with wide eyes. ‘In Paris?’

  Ursula nodded. ‘You were probably too small to remember but I often used to visit with you in New York during the holiday. So did my father. You called him Uncle Ogden.’

  ‘Uncle Ogden?’ Belle stared at Ursula. ‘I remember him. He was very tall and had a loud laugh.’

  Ursula smiled. ‘That was my father.’

  ‘He used to give me liquorice ropes, and pinched my cheek. What happened to him?’

  ‘I’m afraid he died.’

  Belle placed a soft hand on Ursula’s knee. ‘I’m so sorry. You must miss him very much.’

  Ursula blinked rapidly. ‘Just as you miss your mother.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘She died when I was born. I never knew her.’

  ‘How sad.’

  Ursula took Belle’s hand. They sat together in silence for a moment then Ursula faced the young girl. ‘Darling, we are in a foreign country and things are very different here from at home.’

  ‘I thought we were all the same. I mean, we talk the same language and we, well, we came from England originally, didn’t we?’

  Ursula grinned at her. ‘You may have done. My father’s grandfather was Norwegian. My mother came from Poland with her parents when she was a little girl. Americans are a stew-pot of different nationalities.’

  ‘And are proud of it,’ said Belle passionately.

  ‘And are proud of it,’ agreed Ursula. ‘And you and your sister are showing this ancient nation that a new one can be just as good and behave just as well.’

  ‘I don’t think these English behave at all well.’

  ‘We all behave badly at times,’ Ursula said mildly. ‘Don’t be too hard on them. And you like little Harry.’

  ‘I love Harry.’

  ‘I think he loves you, too. And what about Mr Warburton, didn’t you like him?’

  Belle flushed. ‘I asked Helen if he would be at dinner, and she almost flew at me. I wasn’t to give him a second thought, she said, he was not for me. And then … and then, oh, Ursula, I couldn’t believe it but she said something about my future husband having been chosen for me and it wasn’t Mr Warburton.’

  Chapter Four

  Max Russell winced as he fastened the stud in his wing collar, then he released the tender piece of skin it had caught and took the bow tie from his valet.

  Holding up his chin and working blind, he secured it, then checked his appearance in the mirror. ‘Will it do, Jenkins?’

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ said the servant, tidying away riding clothes.

  ‘You might at least make a pretence of looking at me.’

  ‘If I thought anything I said would make a difference, I would.’ Jenkins closed the wardrobe door, went over to the tallboy, picke
d up a watch and chain and handed them over. ‘You’ll do.’

  ‘Jenkins, do I get the impression you have something on your mind? Something other than my appearance?’

  The man shifted his feet uneasily then looked straight at Max. ‘I’ve had an offer, sir.’

  Max halted the act of anchoring his watch chain across his waistcoat. His expression went blank. ‘“Sir” is it, Jenkins? The offer must have been good.’

  ‘It is, sir.’

  ‘And you are minded to accept.’ It was not a question.

  ‘It’s a matter of circumstances, sir.’

  Max jammed the watch into his waistcoat pocket. He should have seen this coming. ‘I know, I haven’t paid you for several months. Is the offer from anyone I know?’

  Jenkins’ face was without expression. ‘No, sir.’

  Well, at least his servant had not been pinched by any of his acquaintances; he’d hardly call any of them ‘friends’. The man must have approached an agency. He had known there was no point in asking for a rise. Well, the timing could be fortuitous.

  ‘I will miss you, Jenkins. You have served me well.’ Which he had, apart from a certain surliness every now and then which, given the fact that he was often forced to go without his wages, was forgivable.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘When do you wish to leave?’

  ‘I am asked for in one month’s time, which is the length of notice I am bound to give.’ The valet handed over Max’s loose change.

  Max gave him a nod, ‘I have no objection.’ He adjusted his cufflinks then slipped his arms into the sleeves of the jacket the valet held ready for him. He did not bother to check its set. ‘I just ask that you do not let Lady Frances know you are leaving.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘Good night, Jenkins. Don’t wait up.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Max left the valet picking up the shaving bowl and towel and strode along the corridor. He paused outside his mother’s room, summoned up a warm smile, knocked and entered.

  ‘Mama, how do you feel this evening?’ he asked, his voice low and gentle.

  Lady Frances Russell, daughter of an Earl, relict of the Very Reverend Russell, an austere but charitable dean who had died some eight years previously, smiled at her only child. ‘I am well, thank you my darling.’

  Max looked closely at her pale face and pain-laden eyes. The thin hand that lay on the coverlet looked almost transparent.

  ‘I saw Doctor Mason after his visit to you this morning, Mama. He said he’d given you something to ease your suffering.’

  The doctor had been blunt. ‘There’s nothing I can do for her, Mr Russell, the disease has advanced beyond medical aid. Even my strongest opiates cannot rid her of pain but I hope what I’ve left will help.’ He’d looked compassionately at Max. ‘She’s a brave woman.’

  ‘How much longer?’

  The doctor shrugged. ‘I would say no more than a few weeks. But I have found we doctors are not arbiters in these matters; they are decided by a higher authority.’

  ‘Have you time to sit with me for a moment, Max?’ Her breathing was harsh, her speech laboured.

  He sat down beside the bed, brought her thin hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. He turned his head away from her and closed his eyes for a moment.

  ‘You look so smart, my darling. Is it for Mountstanton?’

  He nodded. ‘I’d rather be with you. Shall I cancel and stay here? Would you like that?’

  She shook her head and struggled to sit a little more upright.

  He helped her, rearranging the pillows, smoothing them and then carefully settling the lacy wool comforter round her shoulders. Her bones felt so frail it was agonising.

  His mother smiled at him. ‘Leave an empty place at the table? The Countess would never forgive you.’

  Max sat down again, taking her hand in his. ‘That would be nothing compared to your comfort.’

  She smiled. ‘I like to think of you there.’

  They sat for a moment in silence.

  ‘Can you ever forgive me, darling?’

  ‘What for, Mama?’

  ‘Giving birth to you.’

  He drew a quick breath. ‘There is nothing to forgive. All my life you have given me such love. I am much, much luckier than – well, than many men I know.’

  ‘Thank you for staying here. Without me, I know you would have left the country.’

  Before he could protest, she started to cough and he had to pour some of the medicine Doctor Mason had left, then hold her close as the racking threatened to tear her chest apart.

  Ann came in and took her mistress from him. ‘Go, sir. It’s for the best. She’ll be all right later. Tomorrow she’ll want to know how everything went.’

  Safe, stolid Ann, who knew exactly how to care for his mother. She had always been part of his life. He placed a brief hand on her shoulder as she laid her mistress back on the pillows, the poor lungs gasping for air.

  Outside, the horse and trap were waiting. He thanked Jethro, the groom, and told him not to wait up. ‘I can stable Cobbley,’ he said.

  When the Very Reverend Russell died, Max and his mother had moved from the large rectory back to her father’s estate, into a small but pretty house several miles from Mountstanton. Max’s uncle had inherited the Viscountcy and Max had expressed his gratitude.

  ‘Was always fond of my sister, Frances,’ his uncle, the Viscount of Broome, had said. ‘Thought my father behaved disgracefully towards her. It’s a small thing; sorry there’s no money to go with it; finances very dodgy, you know?’

  Yes, Max did know. The family circumstances had always been straitened. Still, he and his mother managed, just. It looked as though her capital would last just as long as herself. As for him …

  Max clicked the horse into action and set off. With his mother gone, there would be nothing left for him here. It was as well Jenkins had found other employment. His uncle would find something for Ann and for Mrs Sutton, their housekeeper. That would leave him completely free to go where he would.

  He pushed away the thought of what he would be leaving behind.

  * * *

  At Mountstanton, Max handed over the pony and trap to one of the waiting grooms and entered the house.

  The butler took his hat, driving cape and gloves. ‘Good to see you, sir,’ he said, sounding pleased.

  Max smiled. ‘Everything going well here, Benson?’

  ‘Indeed, sir. Miss Seldon, sister to the Countess, has arrived from America. The dinner tonight is in her honour. And, sir,’ Benson continued, leaning towards him with as much excitement as a butler might ever be allowed to express, ‘soon we expect Colonel Charles home.’

  That was the Earl’s brother, Colonel Stanhope. ‘On leave, is he?’

  ‘I believe he has resigned his commission.’

  Now why should such a successful soldier leave the army?

  More arrivals entered and Max moved on.

  Helen greeted him with the usual, slightly distant courtesy she always showed towards him in company.

  She seemed oddly tense and Max resisted the temptation to tease her. Instead he greeted the Earl, who clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good to see you, Max. Might like your advice on a filly I found the other day.’

  ‘Any time, Richard.’ Max hoped his equine expertise would earn him an income one of these days. In the meantime, he was happy to build his reputation for assessing a horse’s potential and revealing any unsuspected shortcomings.

  Helen took his arm. ‘I want to introduce you to Miss Grandison, my little sister’s companion. You will take her into dinner.’

  He winced inwardly. The companion rather than the heiress was to be his lot. No doubt she would be at least forty years of age.

  A servant approached. ‘My lady, the Dowager Countess wishes a word with you.’

  ‘Your mother-in-law has returned?’ Over the other side of the drawing room Max saw the Dowager, her face th
underous. As she caught his eye, she deliberately turned away. ‘I am amazed you did not send to cancel my invitation for tonight.’

  ‘I shall be allowed to have whom I choose to my own dinners.’ Helen’s voice was tightly controlled. ‘Ursula, may I present Mr Russell, one of our neighbours. Max, this is Miss Grandison.’

  And then she was gone.

  Max was pleasantly surprised to find that Ursula Grandison looked less than thirty and had a remarkably fine pair of grey eyes, now looking at him with startled interest, the reaction of so many around here.

  ‘If you are companion to Miss Seldon, may I assume you, too, are American?’

  ‘You may.’ Her voice was cool.

  ‘Our hostess has neglected to introduce me to her sister. May I ask which she is?’

  Helen’s deliberate discourtesy nagged at him. He regretted revealing his irritation to Miss Grandison but she appeared to have the good manners not to notice anything amiss.

  ‘She is in the pink silk gown with roses in her hair, over by the fireplace talking to Mr Warburton.’

  Max swallowed renewed irritation at finding William Warburton so firmly ensconced at Mountstanton and looked across the room.

  The girl was talking vivaciously, her blonde hair, with the roses, beautifully dressed. Max was no expert on women’s fashions but he could see she was perfectly turned out. Even at this distance, Max knew that there would be an aura of Parisian fragrance about her to match her gown. And yet her most noticeable feature was how naïve and innocent she looked.

  Dinner was announced and he offered his arm to Miss Grandison.

  As they waited for the more distinguished members of the party to pass onwards to the dining room, he mused over the news that Benson had given him. Why had Charles resigned his commission and when, exactly, would he be returning to Mountstanton?

  ‘I think we should follow,’ murmured Miss Grandison and Max saw that they were in danger of being left alone in the drawing room.

  With a muttered apology, he led her smoothly towards the door.

  They were a party of twenty-four. Max and Miss Grandison were, as he expected, seated in the middle of the table, as distant as it was possible to be from both their host and their hostess.