The trap reached the first cottages on the outskirts of Hinton Parva. Neat, thatched, with gardens planted with colourful flowers, they led up to a large green. This had a pond with ducks and a couple of white swans. On one side stood an inn with a sign illustrating its name: The Lion and Lamb. There was a rough table outside with a bench. On it, enjoying the sun with a tankard of what Ursula thought had to be some local beer, sat an elderly countryman wearing a large-brimmed hat. Not far from the inn was a church and beyond that a street, which seemed to offer several shops.
As the Colonel brought the trap to a halt, the countryman lifted his wrinkled face and gave him a warm smile. ‘Master Charles,’ he called. ‘You’m be back then?’
‘As you see, Joshua. How’s yourself?’
‘Fair to middling. Mustn’t complain.’
‘I’ll come and drink an ale with you in a little while. But first I have business to attend to.’
‘Aye. Soon as I saw you, I knew what you’d come for. Constable’s at home, wrestling with what he calls them awk’ard pieces of paper.’
The Colonel laughed. ‘You haven’t changed, Joshua. You always did know everything. This is Miss Grandison, who accompanied her ladyship’s sister, Miss Seldon, over from America. This is Joshua Barnes, Miss Grandison, one of the oldest and most valued members of the community.’
Ursula raised a hand in greeting. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr Barnes.’
Joshua pulled at a forelock. ‘Glad to make yours, miss.’
The Colonel put the horse into motion again and drove down the little street. Ursula noted a butcher’s, a cobbler’s, an ironmongers and, halfway down, a general store. The trap was brought to a stop outside this emporium.
The Colonel got down, retrieved Ursula’s crutches from the back of the trap, then helped her descend. As Ursula gingerly stepped onto the ground, gripping her escort’s arm tightly while he handed her first one and then the other crutch, two respectably dressed women came towards the shop entrance, nodded at them both, then opened the door. A gust of busy chatter came forth.
The Colonel looked at Ursula. ‘It’s a serious matter, Miss Grandison, and I’m relying on you,’ he said in a low tone. Then, loudly, ‘Well, I’ve brought you here. I will be no more than half an hour, do not keep me waiting.’
With a tilt of his hat, he hoisted himself into the trap, picked up the reins, and drove off down the street.
Ursula took a deep breath and worked her way towards the shop door. How on earth, she wondered, could she achieve what he wanted?
Chapter Ten
‘She was a hussy,’ a voice said as Ursula entered the shop. Then silence fell while she negotiated a couple of steps down into the interior.
The space was larger than she had imagined but so full of goods that the four or five customers it contained took up most of the room.
All there looked round as Ursula wielded her crutches. ‘Why,’ she drawled, hamming it up, ‘I surely do need to sit awhile. That trap throws a body around like I don’t know what. I declare it was almost as bad as the racketing I received the time I travelled by covered wagon over the Sierra Nevada.’
She moved forward towards the counter. As one, the others drew back – and revealed a bentwood chair standing beside the counter.
‘My, that gives a body ease,’ Ursula said in heartfelt tones, lowering herself onto it. ‘If you all will forgive me, I’ll just sit a few moments.’ She closed her eyes and leaned against the back of the chair. A soft motion of customers said they were settling back into the pattern she had disturbed.
‘And how be Lady Frances, Mrs Sutton?’ The voice was soft but composed and Ursula, running through the brief look she had gained of the shoppers as she moved towards the chair, decided it had to belong to a small, neat-looking woman dressed in clothes of a faded gentility.
‘Not so good, Miss Ranner, I’m afraid.’ A voice with a stronger local accent. Its owner sounded genuinely regretful. ‘Don’t reckon she can last much longer.’
There was a general muttering of concerned regrets from the other shoppers.
‘And what about young Mr Russell?’ asked the same soft voice that had spoken before.
‘Poor lad is like a ghost,’ said Mrs Sutton. ‘Don’t know what to do with himself, he don’t. Talks of America. Wants to go there, after …’ she faded to a stop. For a moment nobody said anything, then: ‘Not much of a life they’ve had, either of them,’ a third shopper entered the conversation.
Ursula realised with a slight shock that they were talking of the delightful partner she had had at Helen’s dinner party. It had only been the other night but now it seemed weeks ago.
‘Your sins will always find you out,’ said another, and it was the same voice that had been stridently proclaiming someone a hussy.
Ursula opened her eyes in time to see the shopkeeper, a man with a gentle face and skin the texture of fine suede, lean forward and say in a peaceable tone, ‘Now Mrs Clarke, if that be true, we’ll all be for the hangman’s rope.’
‘She’s right about that little strumpet from the big house, though.’
The women tutted. The speaker was a slight man, his shoulders bent, his thinning hair long and straggly. He looked, decided Ursula, like some minor clerk fallen on hard times, his clothes shiny with wear, the waistcoat plentifully stained with food. ‘I saw her, in the woods, flaunting herself.’
Ursula shivered at how he managed to sound both vitriolic and lecherous at the same time.
‘Who with, Mr Snell?’ breathed out a wispy woman of uncertain years, dressed in what looked like an assembly of scarves that floated around a dowdy-looking skirt and jacket. A romantic who had never had her day, Ursula wondered? Both this woman and Miss Ranner seemed to be in the store on their own account; the others shopping for their employers. She was amused for a moment at how confident she was of this analysis of status.
‘Were you looking for something in particular, Miss Grandison? It is Miss Grandison, isn’t it?’ said the shopkeeper, bending towards Ursula. There seemed to be a note of warning in his voice, but the warning was not for her.
‘Why, I thank you, sir. I was wondering, could you supply knitting needles and wool? See, I have time on my hands,’ Ursula said cheerfully.
‘Miss Grandison,’ said Miss Ranner with a quick gasp. ‘You came with Miss Seldon from America, did you not? She who’s come to see her sister, the Countess? Of course, you hurt your ankle, didn’t you? When you found poor Polly Brown.’
A murmur ran through the little group; it was obvious not everyone had realised until now who they had in their midst.
The shopkeeper started to hunt through a series of drawers that ran along the wall at his back.
In front of the counter were sacks and barrels of flour, beans, potatoes, carrots. Cabbages were in a crate and gave off a freshness that was welcome. The store was redolent with a combination of lamp oil, kerosene, candles, well-matured cheese, brown sugar, soap, loose tea, coffee, and other comestibles. It caught at Ursula’s throat. All at once she was back with the horror of the worst time of her life.
‘Are you all right, Miss Grandison?’ asked Miss Ranner. ‘You look terribly pale. Mr Partridge, a glass of water for Miss Grandison.’
With an effort Ursula wrenched her mind away from the Sierra Nevada and back to the safety of a small village in the English countryside.
A glass of water appeared and she sipped at it gratefully.
‘Who did you see Polly Brown with, Mr Snell?’ The romantic spinster was not going to leave the matter alone.
‘There’d be the devil to pay if I were to say,’ said Mr Snell. ‘But I’m not. There’s some matters as should be left alone.’ He sounded horribly sanctimonious.
‘Which means you have no idea who she met,’ said Mrs Sutton decisively. ‘You shouldn’t go round spreading rumours, Mr Snell. Rumours are the work of the devil. Now, Mr Partridge, if you please, and if you have finished serving Miss Grandison he
re, Lady Frances is needing eggs. Our lot’s gone broody on us.’ She sounded confident of a certain status as housekeeper to a titled lady.
‘Of course, Mrs Sutton, in just a moment. Here are knitting needles, Miss Grandison.’ The shopkeeper placed a selection on the counter. ‘What colour wool was you interested in?’
Ursula had no idea what she wanted; knitting had only occurred to her as she entered the shop. ‘Please, serve Mrs Sutton while I think.’
‘Kind of you, I’m sure,’ said the woman graciously. ‘Two dozen eggs, if you please, Mr Partridge.’
She handed over her basket and the shopkeeper started to place creamy-white eggs carefully in paper bags before arranging them in the carrier.
Glancing around at the other women, Ursula became aware that she was the only one wearing a knitted wrap. She had not expected Helen to possess such a mundane article, but did not countrywomen knit themselves warmth and comfort?
Suddenly Ursula wanted to make herself something fragile and feminine instead of her fiercely practical dark brown shawl. However, its very plebeian status may have given her a certain anonymity amongst them. And tied about her in the mountain cold, it had provided welcome warmth.
Mrs Sutton left. No one else seemed in a hurry to place an order. They stood fingering items on shelves: tins of preserved vegetables and fruits, bars of soap, mops and brushes, dusters, books from the circulating library shelves. Conversation had ceased. Ursula felt everyone’s attention fixed on herself.
When the shopkeeper turned back and asked if she had come to a decision on the shade of wool she required, she said, ‘Cream,’ as though she had been nourishing the idea for some time. She picked up a pair of thick needles. ‘A fine wool, if you have one, Mr Partridge, it’s to be a lacy wrap.’
Skeins of a fine cream wool were placed beside the needles.
‘I don’t suppose you would have a pattern, Mr Partridge?’
He shook his head. ‘Patterns here be copied down from knitter to knitter. Baby shawls be most popular and everyone has a pattern for them.’
‘I’m right sorry, Mr Partridge, to have troubled you over such a thing. I’ll take this wool and these needles. Could you please wrap them for me?’
Miss Ranner said, ‘I have a pattern for a lacy wrap as might suit, Miss Grandison, if you would be interested. I would be most willing to lend it to you.’
Ursula looked at the steady hazel eyes in the soft face. ‘Why, Miss Ranner, you are most kind. I would surely be grateful for the loan. How many of these skeins do you think I’ll need? And would these be the right size needles?’
Soon the needles and the wool were parcelled up and Mr Partridge offered to send them up to Mountstanton House.
‘Too much trouble,’ Ursula said briskly. ‘I’ll take them with me. They can sit in the Colonel’s trap. Mr Partridge, what do I owe you?’
She paid the shopkeeper and took the parcel.
‘Shall you come with me to see the shawl and its pattern?’ Miss Ranner looked up at Ursula hopefully.
‘I’d be delighted. I’ll wait for you to finish your shopping.’
‘Oh no, I can do that any time.’
‘Then lead the way. Perhaps, Mr Partridge, if Colonel Stanhope arrives to collect me before I return, you can tell him where to find me?’
As Ursula left the shop with Miss Ranner, she could feel the gaze of everyone else following her. She wondered if she imagined the long drawn out sigh that came as the doorbell rang on her departure.
Her companion lived a few doors down from the store, in a little cottage no more than one room wide. A narrow staircase led upstairs and there appeared to be another room at the back. One glance, though, was enough to tell Ursula that, for Miss Ranner, life was lived in the room that gave straight onto the street. A fire was laid in a gleaming black grate. On the mantelshelf above stood a pair of small china houses, roses climbing round the doors; windows and chimney picked out with colour. A round table in the centre of the room held an assortment of needlework, books and letters. Beside the unlit fire was a comfortable chair. A wooden armchair with a round back and spindle supports was drawn up to the table.
‘Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea?’ Miss Ranner took off her bonnet and adjusted the set of her hair. ‘There may be some coffee,’ she added doubtfully.
‘Tea would be very pleasant, ma’am.’
Her hostess gave a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘I like the way you talk, Miss Grandison. It’s more interesting than the Countess, if you don’t mind my saying so. Though you can, of course, tell that she is not English.’
Ursula laughed. ‘Her ladyship hasn’t spent time in the far West of America. We were at school together but my life has been more rough and ready than hers.’
‘Goodness, you don’t say!’ Miss Ranner gave another, smothered laugh. ‘Do, please, sit down and rest that ankle. I’ll ask Ellie to bring us tea.’ She disappeared into the room at the back.
Ursula loosened the ends of the unfashionable wrap she had tied around her waist, then inspected a couple of framed samplers displayed on one of the walls. Judging from the dates, and the fact that the name on each was the same, it would seem that her hostess was called Amelia.
‘Are these your work?’ she asked when Miss Ranner reappeared.
‘Oh, dear, they are.’ Miss Ranner peered closely at one of the samplers and her index finger traced the line of patterned cross-stitch that framed the sampler’s rows of different stitches. ‘Now, I’ll just pop upstairs and find that shawl.’
She was soon back with a cobweb-fine wrap.
Ursula expressed her delight with the intricate garment then watched as Miss Ranner dug out a large box from the bottom drawer of a dresser and found a couple of much-fingered pages covered with neat knitting notations.
Rather as she had with the sampler, Miss Ranner ran a hand over the first page. ‘My dear Mama copied this from one in the possession of her mama. She was a vicar’s daughter in the North of England, you know?’
Ursula expressed interest.
‘She met my Papa when he was on a walking holiday. He was a curate; so suitable.’
‘So, she became a vicar’s wife as well as daughter?’
‘Why, yes, and brought up a large family as well as giving succour to the parish. She used to say that, poor as we were, we had much, much more than others.’
‘It must have been a tough life for your mama; forgive me,’ Ursula gave a little laugh. ‘That’s my far Western vocabulary speaking. I mean it must have been difficult for her.’
‘She managed. Ah, here is Ellie with our tea.’
A small and very nervous maid brought in a tray with a brown teapot and two porcelain cups and saucers and placed it on the table, Miss Ranner clearing a space.
Ursula was pressed to take the upholstered seat.
‘Are you comfortable at Mountstanton House?’ Miss Ranner asked as she supplied her guest with a cup of the tea. ‘I am afraid, though, that the unfortunate discovery yesterday must have upset you.’
Ursula admired the skilful innocence with which Miss Ranner had introduced the subject.
‘Did you know the girl, Polly Brown?’ Ursula allowed herself to be as direct as her hostess.
‘Why, yes. All the Mountstanton servants visit Hinton Parva when they have free time. Or are on an errand for someone.’ Miss Ranner sat down, her pleasant countenance very sad. ‘Polly was full of life. Always ready to chat.’
‘About Mountstanton?’ Ursula drank a little of her tea. It was hot and strong. She was coming to like this English obsession.
‘Not about the Earl and Countess, dear me, no. But she would always tell us tales of young Lord Harry. Adored that boy, she did. And then there would be comments about some of the other servants. Because she was in the nursery, Polly gave herself a few airs; she thought herself better than most of the other young ones.’
‘How about Mrs Parsons and Benson?’
‘Full of respect for them she was.
She had to be.’
‘Was she pretty?’
‘Very pretty! She had blue eyes that were so large. Such a pleasure to look at, she was. And her nose was small and straight. She held her head up as though she knew she looked as good as anyone and better than most. Bit of a saucy air about her.’ Miss Ranner stopped for a moment and gave an apologetic smile, ‘How I do go on.’
‘Please, Miss Ranner, I’d so like to put a face to that poor body.’
‘Oh, Miss Grandison. How terrible it must have been.’ Miss Ranner looked as though she might burst into tears.
‘Tell me more so I can picture her alive.’
Miss Ranner thought for a moment. ‘Full mouth she had. “Made for kissing” is what someone told me once.’ She gave a deprecating little laugh.
‘Would that have been Mr Snell?’
‘Goodness, no. That man never says a kind word about anyone.’
‘He seems to have noticed Polly in a very particular sort of way.’
Miss Ranner looked her straight in the eyes. ‘I do not like to speak ill of others, but Mr Snell is not a nice man.’ She took a quick breath. ‘I was the local schoolteacher, Miss Grandison. I taught Polly and others from the orphanage. Polly was a bright girl who liked to be helpful. I had hopes for her. When she came down to the village, she sometimes used to spend a little time with me.’
‘Mr Snell seemed to suggest she was involved with a man, indeed, perhaps with more than one. Did she confide in you?’ Ursula asked gently. She had been sure that Miss Ranner had wanted to talk to her about Polly rather than show her a shawl.
Miss Ranner gazed into her teacup as though it would yield up what she should say. Finally, as though she had made some decision, she looked up and said, ‘I saw her once walking with one of the Mountstanton footmen. Laughing they were, and very close with one another.’
‘Do you know which footman?’
‘He’s called John. I teased her, said she looked as though she was in love. But she laughed it off, said it was nothing. It did not, though, look like nothing to me.’
Deadly Inheritance Page 10
