Deadly Inheritance

by Janet Laurence

  The brief contact was healing in a way Ursula did not want to analyse. Instead she said tartly, ‘No one can say what attracts one person to another. I have seen pretty women bowled over by men that many would not have thought worth looking at. It is as though nature has implanted certain magnets in us which respond without any logic to similar magnets within others.’ She smiled, pleased with her analogy. ‘Contrariwise, there are members of the opposite sex who seem highly desirable in every way but who lack that inbuilt magnet that matches ours. We may tell ourselves the person is right for us in every way but know in our heart of hearts that the relationship will always lack real passion.’

  He looked at her with a peculiar intensity, started to say something, then looked down at his boots. Then he began again and Ursula knew he had decided against revealing something of himself.

  ‘Miss Grandison, what a wise woman you are.’ He gave her a brilliant but impersonal smile. ‘I wonder if Benson has managed to find out what lies behind the man’s outburst; and if Gray intends giving evidence to the inquest. But what evidence could he give?’

  ‘He might know of someone Polly had been involved with. Someone he was jealous of. Perhaps someone who had supplanted him in her affections.’

  ‘Supplanted in her affections? My dear Miss Grandison, have you been reading penny dreadfuls?’

  It seemed that moment of connection between them when he had been tempted to say something beyond the humdrum had been despatched beyond recall.

  ‘If he does know anything that could throw some light on Polly’s death, I’d back your Mr Benson to sober him up so he can tell the coroner.’

  The Colonel gave a sudden snort of laughter. ‘I agree. Come, let me find you somewhere to sit while we wait for the return of the coroner and jury; your poor ankle must be hurting.’

  He was right about that. Ursula was happy for him to find and wipe dry a space for her on one of the outside benches. She let the swirl of activity all around occupy her mind in a senseless kind of way. She was conscious, though, of the Colonel’s sharp eyes taking in every aspect of the scene. He must know most if not all of those present. Some greeted him, respectfully, but keeping their distance and throwing curious glances at Ursula when he introduced her as companion to the Countess’s sister from New York. It seemed they all knew it was she who had found Polly’s body and there was suspicion in the way they eyed her. Unexpectedly, she found herself missing the warmth and familiarity of that makeshift life in California.

  Suddenly there was a shout. ‘They’re back!’

  The long cart bearing the jury and coroner swept down the road from the river.

  As they once again settled themselves inside the inn, Ursula looked around the little group of witnesses. ‘Do you see Mr Snell?’ she asked.

  He surveyed the room and shook his head. ‘Maybe he had second thoughts about giving evidence.’

  ‘I am sure your brother will be relieved,’ said Ursula, watching for his reaction.

  The Colonel said nothing but she detected a sense of unease. What was it Mr Snell knew?

  At the back of the room, Ursula saw Mr Benson enter with a subdued and now sober Martin Gray.

  The jury filed in; they looked shaken by their experiences.

  The coroner called the room to order and soon Ursula found herself asked to describe finding the body. She spoke slowly and clearly; concentrating on the facts but blanking out an actual picture of what she had seen.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Grandison,’ the coroner said as she finished. ‘I am sorry we had to ask you to relive what must have been a most distressing experience.’

  The Colonel was the next witness. He gave his evidence succinctly and unemotionally. Then he added a few words on Polly’s suitability for her position. ‘She never gave cause for any disquiet in the way she fulfilled her duties,’ he finished.

  ‘Thank you, Colonel Stanhope,’ said the coroner, making a note on the pad in front of him.

  After the Colonel came the constable, who took the inquest laboriously through the removal of the body and his investigation of the scene, which had failed to discover anything that could throw light on how the deceased had met her end.

  Then Dr Mason gave the results of his autopsy.

  There were gasps and an outburst of whispered comments as he revealed that when Polly had died, she had been three months gone with child. The coroner had to ask for silence before matters could proceed.

  Not for the first time, Ursula wondered how the girl had reacted to her situation. Had she been fearful, worried? Or had she had reason to think that the father of her child would take care of them both; that they were on the verge of a joyous life together? But in that case, surely she would have told someone? Bearing a child was one of the most important, yet often traumatic, events of a woman’s life. She needed the support and commitment of the man responsible for her condition.

  Mrs Comfort, clearly nervous, was next to give evidence. Many times she lost the thread of what she was saying and had to be prompted back on course by the coroner. Ursula admired his patience as he coaxed her into a declaration that Polly gave every satisfaction and she knew of no liaison between her and any man.

  When she came to Polly’s last words to her, she broke down. ‘“Don’t expect me back,” she said. I thought she was joking; wanted me to think she was running off with a young man. Well, I knew she wouldn’t be doing anything like that. She was always having a laugh with everyone, me included.’

  The coroner regarded her for a long minute. ‘“Don’t expect me back,” was what she said?’

  Mrs Comfort nodded.

  ‘And when she didn’t return, then you decided she had meant it?’

  ‘We all did!’

  ‘Mrs Comfort, once you knew she was expecting, could you imagine that she had decided to take her own life rather than bear an illegitimate child?’

  Mrs Comfort’s hands worked her damp handkerchief. ‘Sometimes I didn’t know what she was about. She could go down into the depths; not often, mind, but every now and then. Not that she ever took it out on Harry. Well, we all find life a bit much at times, don’t we, sir?’

  Beside Ursula, Mrs Parsons shifted uneasily. She would be next to give evidence.

  ‘Would you have said she was depressed that morning?’ asked the coroner.

  ‘Like I said, she’d been laughing. But, I don’t know. I’d’ve said she would have told me if she was expecting. I couldn’t have known her at all, could I?’ Tears began to flow again.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Comfort, we appreciate your frankness. Now, if we can have Mrs Parsons, please?’

  As the nanny took her seat, still upset, Ursula wondered if she realised how her evidence could have suggested to the jury that Polly had deliberately flung herself down that fatal slope.

  The housekeeper seemed as nervous as the nanny but more in control. Yes, she said, she was in charge of all the female staff in the Mountstanton household. Yes, the nursemaid had had to conform to the rules of the establishment. These meant she was not allowed to fraternise with male members of staff.

  ‘So,’ said the coroner, a trifle wearily as though he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. ‘You were not aware of any liaison the deceased was conducting?’

  There was a pause and suddenly the atmosphere in the room sharpened.

  Mrs Parsons clasped her hands tightly together. ‘There was, sir, one occasion when I saw Polly together with a member of the opposite sex in a compromising situation,’ she said slowly, reluctantly.

  The coroner’s expression sharpened. ‘When was this and who was the man?’

  ‘I saw them in the wood, not far from where she fell down into the river. It was several weeks ago – I could not tell you exactly. I went to gather some primroses. I had some matters I wished to consider and was not studying where I was going. The trees suddenly opened and I saw two figures in a small clearing. They were … ,’ she swallowed hard then gave a small cough. ‘They wer
e in an embrace. It was a private moment and I began to retreat. And then I recognised them.’

  ‘And they were?’ prompted the coroner.

  Silence fell upon the room.

  ‘Mrs Parsons?’ the coroner said gently.

  ‘I saw … ,’ the housekeeper whispered.

  ‘Please speak up, Mrs Parsons.

  ‘I saw that the girl was Polly, and the man …’ again she faltered.

  ‘And the man?’ prompted the coroner.

  Ursula sensed an almost tangible anticipation in the room.

  Mrs Parsons straightened her shoulders. ‘The man was Mr Gray. He was kissing her passionately.’

  ‘No!’ shouted the agent from the back of the room. ‘It was not like that!’

  ‘So how was it, Mr Gray?’ asked the coroner. ‘I must ask you to come forward and give evidence. There is no one else I think due to speak?’

  The clerk murmured some words in the coroner’s ear.

  ‘Snell? Snell? Well, is he here?’ He looked around the room. No one moved. ‘Send to find out where he is,’ said the coroner tetchily. ‘Meanwhile, Mr Gray, please come forward.’

  Mr Benson guided the man, who was still a little unsteady.

  ‘Mr Gray, do you or do you not admit that you were in the woods with the deceased?’ asked the coroner.

  The big man seemed to sag inwards, as though air had been drawn out of his body. All at once he appeared to age before their eyes. Where before Ursula would have gauged him to be in his early forties, now she would have said he was considerably older.

  ‘Well, Mr Gray?’

  ‘I was in the woods with Polly,’ the man murmured.

  ‘Speak up, man.’

  With an effort the agent squared his shoulders. ‘I met Polly in the woods, sir. That is true. She was upset. I comforted her. That is all. We had no sort of liaison, if that is what is being suggested.’

  ‘Why did she need comforting?’

  The agent bowed his head as though unable to meet the coroner’s eye. ‘She had been let down,’ he mumbled.

  ‘I shall not tell you to speak up again. Did I hear you to say she had been let down?’

  Mr Gray nodded.

  ‘Who had let her down?’

  ‘I do not know,’ the agent said helplessly.

  The coroner sighed. ‘Let me see if I have understood this right. You met the deceased in the wood. Was this by arrangement?’

  Gray nodded. ‘She left me a note in a place we both knew of.’

  ‘So you were in the habit of exchanging notes and, one has to suppose, of meeting?’

  Once again the shoulders sagged.

  ‘You must answer the questions Mr Gray. Were you or were you not in the habit of meeting?’

  ‘A few times.’

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘Polly had troubles, she needed advice.’

  ‘What sort of troubles? What sort of advice?’

  The agent clenched and unclenched his hands. ‘There was a man she said she was involved with. It was he who let her down.’

  ‘Who was this man?’

  A hopeless pause, then, ‘She wouldn’t tell me.’

  The coroner looked at his scribbled notes then sent a keen glance at the agent. ‘What else?’

  ‘There is nothing else I can tell you, sir.’

  ‘Nothing,’ the coroner repeated without inflexion. ‘And you say there was no relationship between you and the deceased?’

  ‘No, sir. I swear it.’

  There was a long pause before the coroner sighed deeply and said, ‘You may step down, Mr Gray.’ He consulted one of his papers. ‘I see I have forgotten not only Mr Snell but also Miss Ranner. My apologies, ma’am, may I ask you to come forward?’

  Miss Ranner had little extra to add to what had already been said, merely that she had taught Polly and had always found her to be of sober character.

  After she had finished her evidence, the coroner looked around the room. ‘Is there any person who wishes to tell us anything further?’

  There was a general craning of necks and some whispering but no one came forward.

  ‘As Mr Snell has not had the courtesy to attend this inquest, I am removing his name from my list of witnesses.’ The coroner studied his notes for a moment then summed up the evidence for the jury. Finally, he reminded them that they could find that the deceased had met her death by accident; or that a person or persons unknown had been responsible; or that the deceased had taken her own life whilst the balance of her mind was disturbed, owing to the unfortunate nature of her condition.’

  He had, thought Ursula, managed to convey to the jury that the last possibility was the most likely verdict and the one that they should return.

  As the jurors huddled together to discuss the matter, the outer door banged open and the clerk ran in, his face a picture of consternation.

  ‘Sir! Sir! Mr Snell, he is dead, sir.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  After Ursula left the breakfast table, Belle sat there, emotions churning inside her.

  She was not a girl who normally examined her feelings. Like a bird, she soared along the currents of her life. Her father had been heard to say, ‘Don’t ask Belle to think, just enjoy her.’ And she had reached the age of seventeen confident in her ability to please, sure there was nothing that could be denied to her. For her desires, she told herself, were not many. Lovely clothes, people to tell her how pretty she was, lots of parties, and a beautiful home to live in. And, of course, a handsome man who would love her to the end of his days. He didn’t have to be rich, because, thanks to Papa, she had masses of money. He didn’t have to have a grand title – though to be called ‘my lady’ would be nice – he just had to be hers and she had to be the centre of his life. And together they would have lots of babies.

  Helen’s invitation to make her debut in London had been so exciting. All those wonderful clothes she was provided with. And a French maid, who might be as sour as a lemon without an ounce of human feeling but she sure could do hair.

  Belle poured herself another cup of coffee, sat holding it in both hands and looked at the faded Chinese wallpaper. Everything in this place was so old and so shabby. Why did Helen stand it?

  She remembered her father returning from his one visit here soon after Helen’s marriage. Belle had been too young to go as well. ‘Got some treasures there, she has. They ain’t looked after, though. And the state of the place, you wouldn’t credit. Still, Helen will see to all that. I’ve made sure she’s enough funds to do the place up a treat. The Vanderbilt girl has done up Blenheim for the Marlboroughs and my girl will do the same for Mountstanton.’

  Only she hadn’t. Belle wondered what her father would say when he heard about the state of the house.

  She finished the coffee and, finally, nothing could stop her thinking about William Warburton. She had fed on the memories of that afternoon with him on the roof, before the rain had driven them indoors to the picture gallery. She'd relived every moment of the passion they had shared. Even now, her body sang to echoes of what she had felt then.

  Abruptly, she rose and went over to the window. Instead of the parterre garden with its regimented box hedges, she saw William Warburton standing on the station platform to greet them as they arrived.

  The attraction had been instant. She had no sooner looked into those astonishing blue eyes with their long, dark lashes and seen the energy that lurked there, heard the hint of laughter in his voice as he apologised for the absence of her sister, than she knew that this was the man she wanted. He was so tall, so handsome, had such charm. And he had seemed as captivated by her as she by him. Those stolen moments in the shrubbery on the night of Helen’s party had been worth the sermon she had endured afterwards. Then there had been the rapture of their union on the roof.

  But she had seen so little of him since that afternoon. That night at dinner, she had caught his eye and been confident he felt exactly as she did, which was that she wanted to b
e alone with him, in his arms, enjoying their passion, not sitting at a stupid dinner table.

  The following day, though, when she had hoped for at least a quick kiss in one of the many, many rooms this house contained, together with some words that would feed her soul, William was nowhere to be seen.

  When the men had rejoined the women in the drawing room after dinner last night, there had only been Richard and his brother, that Colonel who made Belle feel that in his eyes she hardly existed. Nobody had explained why William was not with them and she had not dared to ask.

  Belle had soon excused herself for bed, then wandered around the corridors trying to find the office where, she supposed, William was attending to some urgent correspondence. Not looking where she was going, Belle bumped into John, the footman with the twinkly brown eyes. He asked if he could help.

  ‘I have a message for Mr Warburton,’ Belle said casually. ‘I thought he was in the Earl’s office.’

  ‘Mr Warburton has left, Miss Seldon.’

  She stared at him. ‘Left? What do you mean?’

  ‘As I understand it, miss, he had a message from his family.’

  Belle went straight to Helen’s boudoir and waited for her sister.

  ‘Where has William gone and why?’ she demanded the moment Helen entered.

  Her sister looked tired and strained. ‘It is none of your business, Belle.’

  ‘You don’t want me to be involved with him, do you, Helen?’

  ‘Involved? What do you mean?’

  ‘You know, dummy.’

  Helen’s gaze grew glacial. ‘Belle, your language is a disgrace.’

  ‘Don’t you come all high and mighty, all English with me. I am your sister; I know all about you. So don’t try and pretend you don’t understand exactly what I mean.’

  Helen sighed deeply, sat down and put her hand over her eyes for a moment. Then she looked up at Belle.

  ‘William’s mother is not well; he has gone to see her.’

  ‘Without saying goodbye to me? How long before he’s back?’

  ‘I have no idea. Belle, you must abandon any idea of forming a relationship with Mr Warburton, he’s not for you.’