Deadly Inheritance

by Janet Laurence

  ‘Look at the view,’ said William, moving towards the parapet.

  Belle reached nervously for his hand. ‘Is it safe?’

  He smiled. ‘As long as I am with you, you are in no danger,’ he said, holding her small, hot hand in his large, cool one, mesmerising her with his eyes.

  She dragged her gaze away and peered over the parapet, looking down from the dizzying height to the formal gardens, the parkland and beyond to fields and woods.

  ‘Are you pleased I brought you up here?’

  ‘Oh, yes! It’s magical.’ Belle shaded her eyes from the sun, straining to make out more of the landscape. ‘It’s all so small. That’s what I think of England, you know? It’s like a land for children.’

  ‘This is more than a toy house. Come, I want to show you something else.’

  Set exactly over the front entrance was a darling little pavilion with a domed roof. It almost floated above the line of the parapet. William led Belle up its steps. ‘It looks as though it’s made of stone but actually it’s wood, so much lighter, you see. Step inside, my lady.’

  Belle looked at William’s sparkling eyes and her blood began to speed through her veins.

  The pavilion was unexpectedly large. Round the inside were a series of couches with neatly rolled ends.

  ‘Two hundred years ago or so, parties would come up here for delicacies after a banquet. They ate early in those days. It would be cool in summer and perhaps they sat until the sun went down; maybe walked around the roof, perhaps had candles lit.’ His breath was ragged, the pupils of his eyes huge, dark pools. ‘I believe some of the servants use it now for assignations,’ he added casually.

  Belle saw a layer of cushions on one of the couches. She sat down, her heart beating faster and faster, her mouth a little open, her eyes half closed.

  He sat beside her, so close she could feel the heat of his body. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you are like the source of all water to a man dying of thirst,’ he said and placed a hand underneath one of her breasts, as if it were a precious fruit.

  ‘William.’ It came out almost as a groan. She put up an arm and pulled his head down to hers. The softness of his hair at the nape of his neck sent a shiver through her. His moustache tickled her lip and Belle knew that she could no more stop what was about to happen than the sun could stop rising every morning. And she did not want it to stop; she wanted this with a passion she had never experienced before.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Colonel exchanged courteous greetings with Miss Ranner and extracted Ursula with smooth efficiency.

  ‘Do come again, Miss Grandison; I’m always here.’ Miss Ranner pressed both Ursula’s hands with hers.

  ‘As soon as I am mobile again,’ Ursula promised her.

  Once helped onto the front seat of the trap, she was welcomed by Honey, who squirmed her way onto Ursula’s lap then produced enthusiastic licks.

  ‘Did you have a useful meeting with the constable?’ Ursula asked.

  ‘Depends which way you look at it,’ the Colonel said curtly. They trotted down the dusty street.

  ‘We’ll find somewhere to picnic then we can exchange what we have each learned from this morning’s encounters.’

  Ursula held the little spaniel safely on her lap as the trap began to jolt along an uneven road. She was not sorry to have time to put together the bits and pieces she had learned that morning with items from her chat with Mrs Comfort and comments from Mrs Parsons. The picture that was emerging was an uncomfortable one and she wondered how the Colonel would react to her conclusions.

  They began to climb a hill and Ursula hoped she would not be required to propel herself up the last of it on her crutches. But the horse sturdily gained the top with the passengers aboard. The Colonel reined her in for a pause and Ursula gave a little gasp of delight at the vista of rolling meadows that was revealed, the land falling down in a steep slope to their left towards a strip of flashing silver reflecting back the sun. It had to be the river she had met so disastrously the day before. Far away could be glimpsed a thick wood, the green of the trees rendered almost blue by the distance. Up in the clear air a bird was singing, the same liquid notes she’d heard the previous day falling like a benediction.

  ‘A skylark,’ said the Colonel with an air of quiet satisfaction. ‘Now I know that I’m back in England.’

  ‘The deep blue thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.’ Ursula quoted.

  ‘Keats,’ said the Colonel, clicking the horse into resuming their trip. ‘Hail to thee blithe spirit, yes?’

  ‘Shelley.’

  ‘Ah, I bow to your superior knowledge.’

  ‘Though you’re surprised to find that an ill-educated American knows English poets?’

  He laughed. ‘Miss Grandison, you seem to have a poor opinion of us English.’

  ‘Not at all; I think that you are all charming.’

  ‘But hold that you Americans are more straightforward and to the point? Do not suffer fools? In fact, regard bluntness as a virtue?’

  ‘Is that your opinion of Helen?’

  The Colonel concentrated for a moment on taking the trap round a tricky bend in the road.

  ‘My sister-in-law is as charming as any English girl,’ he said briskly, bringing the horse to a stop. ‘Here I think is an excellent place for our picnic. If I help you and the basket of food down, would you be able to see what Chef has provided while I deal with Beauty?’

  They had reached an open area beside a sheltering cluster of trees. Ursula was settled on a grassy promontory with a rug and a cushion on which to sit. Then the wicker picnic basket was unloaded.

  Ursula’s first thought was to see if there was some water in the basket that could be given to the dog. Her respect for the Mountstanton organisation grew as she removed a white cloth and found beneath it a container of water and a metal bowl that was obviously intended for the animal.

  The Colonel unharnessed the horse and tied her on a long rein to one of the trees.

  ‘Glad to see you follow campaign rules of attending to animals before men,’ he said as he joined her.

  ‘Pioneering rules as well,’ Ursula said briskly, spreading the cloth on the ground and investigating what else was in the basket.

  ‘Indeed? Have you done much pioneering?’ He looked at her quizzically.

  ‘I spent some time in the silver fields of the Sierra Nevada.’ It was not a subject Ursula wished to pursue and she regretted the light-hearted way she had tried to match his comment. ‘The chef has done us proud,’ she said quickly. ‘Look, roasted chicken, slices of game pie, hard boiled eggs, and potato salad!’

  He sat on the ground and helped arrange the food on the cloth. ‘Ah, I see a bottle of claret.’

  ‘And a corkscrew!’

  Glasses, cutlery and plates were also in the basket. The Colonel opened the wine and poured them both glasses. Ursula took a sip. It was excellent.

  ‘Those back at Mountstanton can’t be eating any better,’ she said, ‘and they certainly won’t have this amazing view. Oh, isn’t the sun wonderful?’ She held her face up to the warmth. ‘Look at those fluffy white clouds, don’t they make the blue of the sky so much bluer?’

  Holding a chicken leg, the Colonel looked, not at the sky, but at Ursula. ‘Such enthusiasm for the simple things of life.’

  ‘Aren’t they the best?’

  ‘So you would abandon the glories of Mountstanton, the pomp of position, the comfort of riches?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you have been trying to do?’

  He said nothing but tore a piece of chicken off the bone and offered it to Honey, who eagerly gulped it down.

  He attacked the rest of the leg with relish. Ursula gnawed at hers rather more delicately. She supplied them both with napkins.

  He grinned as he wiped his fingers. ‘We must not abandon civilisation entirely, I suppose.’

  Ursula arranged a slice of game pie and a mound of potato salad on a plate and han
ded it to him with a fork.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Ursula after a moment, ‘what did you learn from the constable?’

  The Colonel rose with the plate in his hand and roamed the little area of grass as though the activity allowed him to think better. ‘The constable has seen the report of the post-mortem examination,’ he said, gazing into the distance. ‘It would be unfair of me, I suppose, to suggest that the examination was carried out in some haste. Considering the amount of time poor Polly’s body was in the water, it obviously had to be done as swiftly as possible.’

  Ursula set down her plate, her appetite gone.

  ‘Nevertheless, the constable gave me the distinct impression that the intention had been to establish an accident had taken place.’

  ‘Was there any evidence to show it might have been anything else?’

  The Colonel finished his piece of pie and placed the plate on the ground for Honey to lick. Then he poured more wine for them both. Ursula took her recharged glass gratefully.

  ‘It seems the state of her lungs suggests she did not drown,’ he said slowly.

  Ursula looked up at him, shocked. ‘That surely means she was attacked.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. Richard and I went through this with the coroner this morning. He pointed out that Polly might easily have received a fatal blow from a stone when she fell down that slope. Her skull had certainly sustained serious injury. She might have lain unconscious in the river with her head above water and died of her injuries.’

  Ursula shuddered. In her mind’s eye she saw the helpless figure of a young girl hurtling down that deadly escarpment into the rushing waters.

  She took a deep breath. ‘It’s difficult for me to remember exactly how the body lay; I was too shocked. Did you see whether the head was below the water?’

  He looked at her with considerable sympathy. ‘I’m sorry to bring back memories of such an unhappy event. But, yes, I did see that her head was beneath the water.’

  Ursula suddenly recalled the position of the body – the head face down in the river. She gulped and looked around, trying to find some distraction.

  The Colonel sat down and reached for her hand. ‘However,’ he continued. ‘That means nothing. The force of the water or a wild animal could have moved the body.’

  Ursula found unexpected comfort in the warmth of his grasp. She looked straight at him. ‘Do you believe Polly was attacked?’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t know. I just want to be certain that every possibility has been explored; that her death has not been tidied away under a convenient label of either accident or suicide if there could be another possibility. Suicide would be the worst conclusion.’ He drank more of his wine. ‘The constable says that the area superintendent could be looking into the case.’

  Ursula gently retrieved her hand. Perhaps because of the way he’d held it, perhaps because of the wine, she had recovered much of her composure. ‘Then surely you can be certain that every contingency will be considered?’

  He rose to his feet again; it seemed impossible for him to keep still. ‘I cannot, I am afraid, ignore the fact that my brother will make every attempt to ensure that a verdict of accidental death is brought in. He is no doubt at this very moment writing letters to such people as have influence over superintendents of police to ensure that this will be the verdict.’

  ‘Is power in England concentrated in such a way that he can do this?’

  ‘My dear Miss Grandison, are you trying to make me believe political corruption does not exist in the United States of America?’

  Ursula could not help laughing. ‘By no means. But it is politicians and powerful financiers who pull the strings to get the results they desire. Forgive me, but I did not understand that an earl could hold a similar position.’

  The Colonel gave a bleak smile. ‘The Earl of Mountstanton is part of a network of the top social order. He can eat financiers for breakfast and that goes for most politicians as well. The House of Lords can frustrate the aims of any government, voting down Bills that do not suit them. One of these days I hope this will change.’

  She looked at him curiously. Was this a bitter younger son talking, one who would like to see his brother brought down in some way? ‘You sound dangerously subversive, Colonel.’

  ‘Richard would agree with you on that,’ he said lightly. ‘But now, tell me what you have learned about Polly from the gossipmongers.’

  Ursula gathered her thoughts. ‘Well, I think I told you earlier that I had a chat with Mrs Comfort yesterday?’

  He settled again on the ground and looked interested. ‘You mentioned that Polly had said not to expect her back when she set off that last day and that Nanny Comfort thought that meant she was going to meet a young man and would not be back until much later.’

  Ursula nodded. ‘I think she was really shocked when Polly appeared to have run off. According to her, Polly had no followers; she said she didn’t receive mail or callers.’

  The Colonel gave a snort of laughter. ‘I’d like to see Mrs Parson’s face if a young man called to pass the time with any of the Mountstanton female servants.’

  ‘Are they not expected to have friendships, then?’

  ‘Only if they are kept well outside Mountstanton. Of course what you might call “associations” are formed between various servants, despite it being forbidden. Sometimes they even get married. In my father’s time, I remember a cottage being made available when two members of staff applied to him for permission to remain in our employ as husband and wife.’ He looked at her. ‘You seem shocked. Is servant life in America more free and easy?’

  Ursula thought about Mr Seldon’s smoothly run New York household and had to admit that she had no idea what the rules were there. ‘But so much of American life is less formal than it seems here.’

  ‘I can certainly accept that it would be very different in the Sierra Nevada mining fields,’ he said with a laugh.

  Ursula almost choked on her wine. ‘You have no idea,’ she said, laughing with him. ‘But, rough and ready as life there was, a certain hierarchy existed. There’s always someone top of the pile; what varies is what puts them there. However, back to Polly. Mrs Parsons did not seem to have such a high opinion of her as Mrs Comfort. She said she could be a disruptive influence and that the dress she wore out of uniform was, according to her, most unsuitable.’

  ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘Could what remains of her dress still exist, or has it been thrown away?’

  He shrugged. ‘It never occurred to me to ask. Do you think it important?’

  ‘It might give some evidence as to Polly’s view of herself.’ Ursula looked down at her plain shirt and skirt and wondered for a moment what they were evidence of. ‘As I went into the shop I heard a reference to “a hussy” but I did not catch the context.’

  ‘You think it referred to Polly?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m sure of it; the conversation dried right up as soon as they saw me. But later, a rather unpleasant-looking man, Mr Snell, I think his name was, referred to the hussy remark. He claimed the speaker had been right. He talked of “that strumpet from the big house”. There’s something else. Mr Snell said he’d seen Polly in the woods. ”Flaunting herself”, he said. When asked who with, he wouldn’t say, but hinted that it could cause trouble. I got the impression he loved making a mystery out of nothing very much. Miss Ranner, during our little chat in her house, said she knew Polly well; she’d taught her at the orphanage and thought she was very bright. She also said Polly was friendly with one of the footmen, John. Maybe that was who Mr Snell had seen her with.’

  The Colonel was listening intently.

  ‘Miss Ranner liked Polly very much,’ Ursula added. ‘The girl apparently visited her when she came down to the village. Miss Ranner called her a little piece of sunshine. And she thought it strange that Polly hadn’t called to say goodbye before leaving. She did add, though, that Polly thought herself rather better than
the other Mountstanton servants and Miss Ranner said there could have been some jealousy amongst them.’

  There was silence.

  ‘Do you really think,’ Ursula said, ‘that Polly’s death was other than some sort of dreadful accident?’ A cold shiver ran down her spine.

  He looked up, his expression serious. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I? I know nothing about the matter.’

  ‘At this stage, I think you probably know rather more than anyone else.’

  ‘But that does not mean that I know enough to give an opinion. This is not something that should be judged lightly or without knowing a great deal more about who Polly was walking out with.’

  ‘You mean, who was the father of her child?’

  Ursula nodded. ‘There is one other thing,’ she said reluctantly. ‘What happened to the hatbox Polly was said to have with her?’

  ‘Picked up by some passer-by?’ suggested the Colonel. ‘The very fact that she took it, though, suggests that she was not thinking of suicide.’

  Ursula tried to shift her injured ankle into a more comfortable position and saw a horseman approaching them on a handsome pale gold palomino. ‘Isn’t that your brother?’ she said in surprise, wondering why the Earl was not eating luncheon at Mountstanton.

  The Colonel rose. ‘Richard? I don’t think so,’ he said, his tone cold.

  The horse came nearer and its rider raised a hand in greeting. ‘Charles, I heard that you had returned, good to see you again. And, Miss Grandison, is it not?’

  Of course, the newcomer was Mr Russell.

  ‘You’ve met?’ The Colonel sounded surprised.

  ‘Helen was good enough to invite me to a dinner she gave for her sister and I had the pleasure of sitting next to Miss Grandison.’

  Ursula smiled up at him. ‘You’ll forgive me for not rising, Mr Russell, I have hurt my ankle.’

  ‘I am very sorry to hear that.’ He swung himself down from his horse and held out his hand, first to her and then the Colonel, who seemed to hesitate a moment before taking it.

  ‘I regret very much hearing the poor news of your mother’s health, Max,’ he said rather stiffly. ‘How is she today?’