by Joan Smith
Of course I could always refuse to marry any of them, and in one year we would divide the estate. That seemed the fairest course, except that it meant selling Downsview, and that was not what Hettie wanted. She had no right to rule my life from the grave. The only consolation in the overwhelming problem was that it did not demand an immediate solution. I would remain at Downsview for the meanwhile, which meant hiring a companion.
A light tap sounded at the door. Before I could reply, the door opened and Anita Rampling popped in, wearing a smile. “Gregory has just told me the news, Jessica! Is it not marvellous? I could not wait to congratulate you.”
“Thank you.”
“I have sent Juteclaw for a bottle of champagne. We are going to celebrate, you and I, and decide which lucky gentleman is to win the prize.”
I would have preferred to be alone, but could not be rude to a guest. I was also curious to hear what she would have to say. Juteclaw arrived hard at her heels, carrying a bottle of champagne and several glasses.
“May I congratulate ye, miss,” he said, smiling. “The cat’s amongst the pigeons now. Ye’ll have more offers than ye know what to do with.”
"Thank you, Juteclaw. Perhaps you would open the wine for us.”
He struggled with the cork, and eventually poured the wine and handed us each a glass.
"To Jessica, and her man,” Anita said, playfully touching her glass to mine.
We sat in front of the desk, using it for a table. “Gregory tells me you get the income from the estate during the year,” she said. “That will be more than enough to hire a mansion in Ireland. You can live in a grand manner cheaply there. Dublin, of course, is where you will want to go. I have many friends there.”
“Under these new circumstances, I don’t plan to leave Downsview,” I said firmly, “I am in charge of running it.”
She looked quite taken aback. “You have a steward. Mrs. Farr did not actually run the place herself. Why, you will be bored to flinders here, Jessica. Oh, I will come and visit as much as I can, of course, but really, you know, the deep country is not my style.”
“I would not dream of dragging you away from London, Anita,” I said quite cordially, but with enough firmness to let her know she was not going to bearlead me.
She adopted a moue and tossed her curls. “I am only thinking what is best for you, my dear. If you think to nab Otto now that you are an heiress, I wish you luck, but I would not bet on your chances. He is practically engaged to a very lovely heiress, you must know. Lady Mary Swanson, Lord Edgeworth’s daughter. One sees them everywhere together.”
This news smote me like a physical blow to the heart. I realized then where my heart, and hopes, lay. I had always known Otto was above my touch, but when did that ever stop a maiden from loving? There was no reason to doubt Anita’s claim. It was easy to believe. The only surprise was that it had taken him so long to reach the sticking point. Pride demanded a denial of Anita’s suggestion. It also demanded that I not reveal my true feelings.
“Otto?” I asked, and gave a little laugh. “Where did you get the notion I favoured him?”
“Then it is Gregory after all?” she said. Her eyes were bright with curiosity, but not with pleasure, I thought. She disliked the idea, and well she might if she loved him herself.
“No, not Gregory.”
“Who, then? It cannot be Felix. Horatio!” she exclaimed. “But he does not come into any title, you must know. Of course he is well-connected. You would have access to all the best people. But really, to have to be bedded by Horatio,” she said, and laughed. My mouth flew open at such blunt speaking.
Anita rushed on to excuse herself. “I forget you are not an old married lady, like most of my friends. You are not quite a child, however. These missish airs paint you as a provincial, Jessica. I am only trying to hint you into a more acceptable style. At your age, a touch of town bronze will be expected. What I said is true. There is more to marriage than walking down the aisle and being called ‘Mrs.’ "
“I am well aware of that. I happen to find Horatio attractive.”
“Really?” She looked dumbfounded.
It was not long before there was another tap at the door, and Gregory came in. “I hope I am not interrupting you, ladies,” he said with an ingratiating smile. Just so had he been smiling at Aunt Hettie for ten years. That smile was nothing less than an insult.
“You will never guess what, Gregory. She plans to marry Horatio!” Anita said, and laughed as though it were an uproarious joke.
“Good God!” he exclaimed. Gregory was not laughing. He looked alarmed, and almost angry.
“I did not say I wished to marry Horatio, Anita,” I said stiffly. “I was merely correcting your assumption that I wished to marry Otto.”
Anita poured Gregory a glass of champagne and he dragged a chair to the desk. “Jessica feels she cannot leave Downsview, now that she is in charge of it,” she explained to Gregory.
He assumed an avuncular tone and began a new role. “Quite right. Hettie knew she might depend on Jess to do the proper thing. As Hettie’s closest kin, naturally I shall do all I can to help you,” he began. “A young lady would have very little idea how to deal with the steward and tenants and so on.”
“You cannot stay here, Greg,” Anita pointed out. “Unless Jessica hires a companion. I daresay you will be doing that right away, Jessica?”
“Yes, as soon as possible, but I shall not require help in running Downsview, Gregory. I have a very good idea how Hettie managed her affairs. I have been doing her correspondence for her the last five or so years.”
“Still, I fancy you will want a little company—family is the best company, after all.”
We sipped our champagne a moment in a silence that was not one of those comfortable silences. Far from it. I wished they would finish their wine and go.
“If it is not Horatio, and it is not Otto you plan to marry,” Gregory said, “then who ... ?” He cast a speaking glance in Anita’s direction. It was as transparent as glass. He was urging her to leave, so that he might have me to himself.
“It is quite possible I shall not marry anyone, Gregory. The fairer course would be to wait and split the estate evenly between us all. That is the other alternative the will provides.”
“But that would take a year!” he said.
“You have waited all these years. Surely another twelve months is not beyond your patience.”
He looked frustrated, but mumbled something about its being up to me. “You haven’t forgotten she promised me that five hundred? As you speak of fairness, I am sure you will want to honour her intention.”
“I shall have a look at the books early in the New Year,” I said vaguely.
Anita was becoming restless. “Let us all go out for a drive,” she suggested.
“You go ahead,” I replied. “I want to go upstairs a moment before Mrs. Manner is taken away.”
“Of course,” she said gently, and gave my fingers a squeeze.
Gregory rose and accompanied me to the door, murmuring insincerities in my ear about his sorrow at Mrs. Manner’s passing. He detained me with a hand on my arm and said, “About your staying here, Jess—there is nothing in the will to prevent you from visiting London. Anita will be delighted to have you. She lives in a very elegant style. Such small and private diversions as our mourning allows will be a treat to lighten the gloom of winter. Think about it.”
The only reply I gave him was a wary smile. He loved Anita, but he planned to marry me if he could. I had no intention of either visiting London, or inviting these two wicked sophisticates to visit Downsview. How long would I live, if I was all that stood between them and the fortune? Someone had already murdered two helpless ladies, and the idea was becoming stronger by the moment that it was Gregory.
I wondered, too, why Hettie had lied to Gregory about her will. Had he known the truth, he would have been making up to me all these years. Perhaps she preferred that he make up to her, to try to
get her to change her mind, and make him the chief beneficiary.
Chapter Thirteen
When I went into the hallway, Juteclaw stood at the front door. "They’ve come for her, miss,” he said dolefully. I knew he meant Mrs. Manner.
“She is not gone!” Gone, without my taking a proper leave of my dearest, best old friend.
"They’re abovestairs right now.”
I flew up the curving staircase at an unladylike gait. Four stout men were just carrying their burden down the hallway. The coffin was heavy. I could not ask them to put it down, or take it back to the room. I preceded them down the stairs and said my last goodbye to Mrs. Manner at the doorway, with no privacy and not nearly enough time to suit me. I felt cheated.
Juteclaw and I watched from the door as they put the coffin on the flatbed and attached it with chains. In my mind’s eyes I could see it jolting over the cold rutted roads of winter to Bath.
I would make a pilgrimage to her grave in the spring and plant some daisies, which simple wild things were her favourite flower. I disliked that she was to be buried so far away. Mrs. Manner had often spoken of Bath to me. Her main interest centred around the cathedral and ecclesiastical doings, but she also spoke of the Pump Room and the assembly rooms, the theatre and gardens, Milsom Street and the circulating library. She had assured me one could have a full and useful life in Bath. The prospect of London was overwhelming, but I thought I might make a place for myself in the quieter society of Bath when the business of Downsview was settled.
As the coffin disappeared around the bend in the road, we came back inside and Juteclaw closed the door. Felix appeared then and asked the butler to bring his coat and hat.
“I am going out, but I shan’t ask you to accompany me on this nasty errand, Jessica,” he said. “I am going to look for Duke. Not that I expect to find him alive, but I hate to think of him lying frozen in some ditch.”
I was pleased with this unsuspected streak of sentimentality in Felix. He had never revealed any notion of it before. Yet an involuntary shudder seized me at the image his words called up. He reached out and held my arm. “Poor Jess,” he said gently. “What a wretched position this will has put you in. I shan’t pester you with an insincere assurance of my undying love and devotion, but I hope you know I have always felt a genuine fondness for you. I am here, if there is anything I can do to help you. Anything at all.”
I could not remember his ever touching me before, except for the ritual kiss on the cheek when parting, and even that was not always done. I felt more sincerity in his simple words than in all of Gregory’s ranting.
“Thank you, Felix. I appreciate that. Things are indeed difficult.”
“You ought to go up to bed and have Cook take you a nice hot cup of cocoa. You look worn to the socket.”
“That sounds tempting.”
He gave a “tsk” of combined frustration and annoyance. “I suppose Greg has been at you to marry him.”
“No, not quite.”
“He must be cursing himself for having brought his mistress here.”
The hint of satisfaction in his tone betrayed a deep-seated dislike for his brother. Felix had a spiteful streak, as seen when he mentioned Anita Rampling in front of Hettie. But I did not judge him too harshly, not knowing what past doings might have caused this dislike. Gregory was easy to despise. I left, and let Juteclaw see Felix out the door.
I would do just as he had suggested—go up to my room and call for a cup of cocoa. I wondered where Otto and Horatio had gone, and what they were doing. As I passed the purple saloon I peered in and saw them standing before the grate, talking in what struck me as a conspiratorial way, with their heads together. The fire cast flickering shadows on their faces, lending them an air of diablerie.
Horatio looked up and saw me. “Ah, here she is now,” he said. That suggested to me that I was the subject of their private chat.
“Speak of the devil,” I said, entering.
“Nothing of the sort,” Horatio objected. “An angel, more like.”
“Doing it too brown, brother,” Otto said.
As I advanced towards them, Otto turned and directed a long, measuring look at me. “We are honoured, Miss Greenwood,” he said with an exaggerated bow. “Won’t you come and give us a chance to endear ourselves to you by compliments and cajolery? Does Miss Greenwood not look particularly lovely today, Horatio? Black is so becoming in the young.”
“I am well aware that I look like a carrion crow,” I said testily.
Horatio looked confused, but said, “No, by Jove! You look dashed pretty—as usual.” He examined me more closely as I accepted a seat and added, “A tad peaked, mind, and those smudges below your eyes—”
“Are completely charming,” Otto said, in a silken and insincere manner.
I gave him a chilly look. These clumsy compliments were unlike Otto. If he had decided to make me an offer, he would have to do better than that. After we had settled in, Horatio cleared his throat and said, “Well, have you decided? I notice Greg rushed into the study before you had time to think. Daresay he’s made his bid already.”
“Surely not in front of Mrs. Rampling!” Otto said, and laughed. “He must curse himself for having imported her!”
“No, he did not quite offer,” I said.
“He will before long,” Horatio warned me.
“Why should he not try his hand?” Otto asked.
“True,” Horatio murmured. “I expect it was what the old girl wanted, if the truth was known.”
Otto just rolled his eyes at such witless innocence. “What she wrote in her will was that Jess should choose her husband from amongst the four of us,” he pointed out. “Let us not forget Sir Felix. With his new eminence, he is not to be despised. Perhaps he is the dark horse in this race.”
“Dark?” Horatio asked. “He is a redhead.”
“And not actually a horse either, if we are to be mired in literalism,” Otto said with a lazy smile.
“More like a fox,” I added.
“A sly young fox,” Horatio said, but I don’t think he really meant anything. The word “fox” automatically triggered the word “sly.”
I was surprised when Otto agreed with him so readily. “Yes, I rather think we have been overlooking the Reynard. He has a few tricks up his sleeve.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded at once.
“To disparage the competition is the mark of the amateur—or a desperate man. I do not give up on winning you fairly, Jessica. Let Reynard remain in the race. We do not fear the competition, eh, Horatio?”
Horatio said, “The fortune actually came from our Uncle Aldous. It should, by rights, go back to the Farr side of the family.”
“Then do your duty, man,” Otto urged. “Don’t leave all the courting up to me.”
“You include yourself in this contest then, do you, Otto?” I asked.
“Certainly I do. Need you ask? Such a lovely heiress does not cross my path every day.”
I was annoyed at his jesting manner. “I just thought your affections might be engaged elsewhere.”
“I knew it!” Horatio exclaimed, turning to his brother. “Greg has been trying to spike your gun. Who did he say—”
“I did not say Gregory gave me the idea. I was merely asking Otto whether his affections were engaged.”
“My affections are at liberty,” he said. “You are welcome to try your hand at capturing them, if you are interested.”
“Mine too,” Horatio chimed in.
My new fortune lent me confidence to indulge this raillery in a bolder manner than I had ever employed before. “Surely it is for the suitors to try to capture the lady’s affections,” I said, “or why are they called suitors?”
"The art of flirtation is like the waltz, Jess,” Otto informed me. “It takes two.”
“And like the waltz, it is for the gentleman to lead.”
He directed a long, penetrating look at me. It was as inscrutable as the gaze of th
e Sphinx. I could not tell whether it was devoid of feeling, or composed of a mixture of amusement, admiration, curiosity, disdain and even anger. What was lacking was love, or any sort of tenderness.
“Let us abandon that metaphor,” he suggested. “The waltz only goes in circles. If we are actually interested in getting somewhere—”
“There is no rush,” I said at once. “I have a year to make my choice.” Yet I felt that if I had held my tongue, I might have received an offer on the spot. An angry offer, with Horatio looking on in confusion.
“If you live that long,” he said, and lifted an ominous eyebrow to bolster his meaning. A frisson shivered up my spine and lifted the hair on my arms.
“You’re scaring her to death,” Horatio scolded.
“Jessica has reason to be afraid. I hope you are taking precautions?”
“Against whom? That is what we must discover.”
Horatio rubbed his nose and stared into the grate. “Where was Gregory when Mrs. Manner went out for her walk?” he asked. “Does anyone remember?”
“He went to order Aunt Hettie’s tombstone,” I said.
“Odd he was in such a rush to do it. She won’t be buried till spring. I wonder if he did order it ...”
He and Otto exchanged a questioning look. Horatio stood up. “Where is he now?”
“In the study with Anita,” I replied. “Felix is out looking for Duke.”
“Duke is dead,” Otto said with no particular emphasis, but as if he were stating a well-known fact. “No, don’t look at me like that, Jess. I did not kill him, but it stands to reason he was got rid of before Mrs. Manner was killed. Duke would not have stood by and let her be attacked.”
“He might have hesitated while one blow was struck, if he knew the man. It would only take one blow. Duke was only a companion dog really. Weldon had not trained him to attack, or anything of that sort, though of course Duke would not stand still while Mrs. Manner was killed.”
