Winterwood

by Dorothy Eden

  But Mary, when Lavinia questioned her, said in her shrewd way, “Lor, if anyone was to take that much, Miss Hurst, they would be dead asleep for hours, and Mrs. O’Shaughnessy would be bound to know.”

  Dead asleep. Willie Jones had been dead asleep…

  Willie Jones had drunk Flora’s chocolate, left prepared by Mary. No one had known he would come down the chimney and drink it The chocolate had been Flora’s usual mid-morning drink, and naturally it was assumed—by whom?—that she would drink it. But Willie Jones had been hungry and thirsty and had found the steaming cup of refreshment irresistible. And he might later have died had he not had prompt medical attention and a tough constitution.

  Flora had not a tough constitution…

  Lavinia put down the bottle very carefully to conceal the fact that her hand was shaking. She had to see Daniel at once. There were a thousand monstrous thoughts crowding into her head. Charlotte had bought the laudanum from the apothecary in the village. She had said that Flora had toothache, which had not been true. She had insisted that Flora be given a dose whenever she was in a tense and overwrought condition. For that purpose the bottle had been left conveniently at hand.

  Charlotte had come in from riding that morning with Jonathon Peate. They had been talking earnestly.

  She had immediately enquired whether Flora had had her morning chocolate, and insisted that she do so.

  Later, when she had looked in at luncheon and had seen Flora sitting at the table, perfectly normal, she had fainted.

  She had said, “It must be very cold to be dead.”

  She had bitterly resented Flora, her own daughter, being an heiress.

  If Flora were to die, her parents, as her next of kin, would automatically inherit her fortune.

  If it were to be found that Flora had died from an overdose of a drug, Charlotte would insist that Lavinia had been careless in administering it. It would be little use for Lavinia to deny that, for, with the ensuing notoriety, her past would inevitably come out. She would be blackened before she was heard.

  Lavinia tried to compose herself. Surely all those wild imaginings were untrue, merely pieces of a nightmare.

  But Daniel must be told.

  Daniel was out, and when he came in, he was occupied with his steward. It seemed as if he would never be free.

  When Lavinia at last was able to see him, she had worked herself into such a state of agitation that she could scarcely speak coherently.

  At first he misunderstood her and demanded twice, “Is Flora all right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Meryon. I have told you that it was the chimney sweep’s boy who—had the accident. But it was intended to have been Flora, I am sure.”

  She hadn’t thought his face could go so cold, so hard.

  “Did Doctor Munro say the boy had had a dose of laudanum?”

  “No, Doctor Munro attributed the cause to the berries Willie had eaten. Some of them must have been poisonous. But there was the bottle almost empty. The last time I used it—”

  “You used it, Miss Hurst?” He might have been speaking to a stranger, and a stranger he distrusted at that.

  “Yes, I gave Flora a few drops the other night when she was hysterical.”

  “Did you often do this?”

  “Only once or twice. Mrs. Meryon had told me to do so. I admit it did work wonders.”

  “It was only a small bottle?”

  “Quite a small one. I can show it to you.”

  “Then if you had used it several times, wouldn’t it have been nearly empty? Are you sure you remember just how full it was?”

  “I am not blind.”

  He looked at her, his distrustful gaze suggesting that if she were not blind her memory might be unreliable.

  “Was the cupboard the bottle was in locked?”

  “No.”

  “Then anyone could have had access, any servant who might have a secret taste for opium. Oh, these things, as I am sure you must know, do happen. A habitual opium drinker doesn’t necessarily fall asleep. When, apart from today, did you look at the bottle to see how empty it was?”

  He flung the questions at her as if he were cross-examining her in a court of justice. The echoes of other questions were so vivid—“Will the witness tell the court on what terms she was with the deceased. Friendly? Intimate? Did she, earlier in the evening, invite him to her room? Was the game of cards a pretext for that midnight meeting?” Lavinia began to feel dizzy. She could hardly believe that this inquisitor’s face before her was Daniel’s, that it was Daniel’s cruel unrelenting voice to which she was listening.

  “You see, Miss Hurst, you can’t swear to any of these things, yet you seem to be suggesting that my wife may have had something to do with this. How dare you!”

  She wouldn’t let herself realize that he had the grim look of a man whose heart was breaking. She only knew that she could be as angry as he.

  “I do dare because I care about your daughter’s well-being. Yes, I do care, little as I wanted to when I first came. And I am not accusing anyone in particular. I am only telling you the facts. Before you completely discredit what I say, you must at least discuss this with Doctor Munro. And with your wife, and her cousin. I have told you that it was your wife who encouraged the use of laudanum in the first place. She had got it by telling the chemist she wanted it for Flora’s toothache, but Flora didn’t have toothache. Why should she have told a lie?”

  As quick as a flash he had seized on that weakness in her story.

  “At that time her aunt was alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “She hadn’t made the new will? At least Charlotte didn’t know about it.”

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “Then what fantastic story did your mind invent, Miss Hurst, as the reason for my wife’s obtaining a deadly poison? That she had plans to hasten her aunt’s death in case she should change her mind about her will?”

  “You can’t be making jokes!”

  “No. I am not making jokes. I have no motives for doing so.” She seemed to shrivel before his accusing eyes. Could he think she was trying deliberately to destroy Charlotte? “You had better go back to your charge.”

  “And you?” she got out.

  “I will do as I think fit.”

  There was nothing to do but go and leave him there. This was no time to think of her own feelings. If she had blackened herself in his eyes forever, at least she had the wry satisfaction of having acted purely for Flora. Had she been wild and impulsive? Did her mind run too much on disaster? Perhaps it did. Perhaps her own tragic experience had deprived her of the ability to reason calmly. Perhaps she had imagined the lethal reduction in the contents of the laudanum bottle. Perhaps Charlotte had taken a dose herself, as probably she often did, and her addiction to it had been her sole reason for buying it.

  There must be a simple answer. She was sure she could find it if she were to reflect calmly.

  But all she could wonder, with frozen disbelief, was that the man downstairs with his hard eyes and cruel words could ever have said he loved her.

  When Flora had her supper later, Lavinia had Mary bring an extra tray. She didn’t feel like going down to dinner, she said. Flora had to be reassured that she was not ill, but later the child was doubly intrigued by the activity that went on.

  “Miss Hurst, what are you doing?”

  Lavinia was carrying in blankets and directing Mary and Lily, who were panting with the weight of the mattress they carried.

  “Put it there, by the window. I intend to sleep in here, Flora. Now that you’re getting so strong I have the fear you might fall out of bed in the night. I have never thought you should sleep alone.”

  Flora was instantly suspicious.

  “Am I worse?”

  “No, you’re much better. That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “Of course I am. When do I not tell you the truth?”

  “Then why are you look
ing so angry? I don’t need you to sleep in my room if you hate it.”

  For once Lavinia couldn’t keep her patience.

  “Don’t be so aggravating, pray. You must allow me to use my discretion.”

  The servants were puzzled, too. She knew they would start gossiping. All the better. The sooner—someone—knew that Flora was never to be alone at any moment of the day or night the better it would be.

  The mistress had gone down to dinner, Mary reported. Her face had looked as pale as a ghost’s, and she had worn her black mourning again. Then she had been upset because the master wasn’t there, but he had come in late, when they had reached the third course. He said he had had late business out of doors. Mr. Peate was there, of course, and he, for once, was in a bad temper and hardly spoke at all. But he drank a great deal (this report had come from Joseph, who had been waiting on table) and smoked the master’s cigars. He had sat over the port alone after the master and Sir Timothy had retired to the library. Sir Timothy had been saying something about the plans for the new wing arriving, but the master had said he was no longer interested in them, at least not at this particular time. He had too many other things to worry about.

  Daniel, as well as Charlotte, would have benefited from Flora’s death. He could have gone ahead with his cherished plans for Winterwood, which had had to be put aside when Lady Tameson had made her new will. He could have attempted to console himself for the loss of his dearly loved daughter by making an historic addition to his equally beloved house.

  The twisted thoughts would not leave Lavinia. At last she sat down to write to Eliza, whom she missed sadly. Eliza had begged for news from time to time, especially news of Flora. She had left her sister’s address in Norfolk with Lavinia.

  It was a great relief to pour all her deadly worries onto paper. Eliza, at a distance from the events, would be able to reason calmly, and draw conclusions. Lavinia sealed the letter, and sent it down to the mailbag in the hall, and wondered impatiently how long she would have to wait for an answer.

  Then she began to prepare for bed, her pallet on the floor, where she would sleep uneasily, if at all. Never had she felt as alone as this.

  She had just begun to remove her dress, however, when there was a tap at the door and Phoebe was saying that the master wanted to see her downstairs. She, Phoebe, was to sit with Flora until Lavinia came back.

  He was in the library alone. He told her brusquely to shut the door and then to come and sit by the fire. She said, childishly, that she preferred to stand and hear what he had to say, but he said curtly that he was tired, and how could he sit down if she were standing.

  So the scene became warm and intimate against her will. What blandishments was he going to use on her now? The hard look had gone from his face, and he did look tired, as he had said.

  “Why were you not down to dinner, Miss Hurst?”

  “I preferred to eat with Flora.”

  “Yes. Yes, I see. Has Phoebe remained with her now?”

  “Yes, Mr. Meryon.”

  “Good. Well, then, you will want to hear what Doctor Munro had to say.”

  Lavinia could not help leaning forward eagerly.

  “You saw him?”

  “I saw him and discussed the type of poison from which Willie Jones was suffering.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He’s an old fool. Half-blind, too. I can’t think why we still use him except that he has always been our family doctor. Still, one can’t go on employing a doctor who has the beginnings of cataract in both eyes. I didn’t realize how bad his sight was until this evening. He dropped his pipe and couldn’t see where it had fallen although it was right in front of his eyes.”

  “But what did he say about Willie, Mr. Meryon?”

  “He said the boy admitted to eating wild berries which had never previously harmed him, but this time he had obviously got hold of one of the more deadly varieties, white bryony most likely, since its red berries would attract him. Or it may have been black nightshade, which looks exactly like black currants. The stomach wash proved that he had eaten berries, and also drunk milk. Doctor Munro hadn’t thought to suspect the milk since the evidence of the berries was there before him, but he did admit the boy’s symptoms of extreme drowsiness and inertia could come from other forms of poison, such as opium. The main thing was that the patient was recovering and had no doubt learned his lesson about eating or drinking rashly.”

  “Is that all?” said Lavinia. “Then there is nothing conclusive?”

  “Nothing. Unlike you, Miss Hurst, I have no intention of declaring that Willie Jones has nearly died of a drink intended for my daughter.”

  “You don’t believe it!”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m—not sure.”

  “Will it comfort you to hear that my wife admits to having taken laudanum on two occasions recently, one only last night. She said she couldn’t sleep. You yourself know her nervous state, so I don’t think you can deny the truth of her story.”

  “No,” Lavinia admitted reluctantly.

  “Is that all you are going to do?”

  “I want also to apologize to you for the way I spoke this afternoon. You had given me a very unpleasant shock.”

  “I know.”

  “I think you may have to go, Miss Hurst.”

  “Go!”

  She met his bleak eyes.

  “The situation is—untenable. I had thought—but it isn’t possible. How do you find Flora since her visit to London?”

  “Stronger.”

  “Yes. I thought so myself. I believe she will recover. After Christmas Edward will go to school with Simon and I intend to take Flora abroad for an indefinite time. If you would be good enough to stay until then”—he put out his hand—“if it isn’t asking too much. I am sure you understand.”

  “The situation is the same as it was when we were in London,” Lavinia burst out.

  “No, it is worse. Much worse.” He seemed about to explain more, then changed his mind, and gave her instructions in his impersonal voice. “Until then I don’t want Flora left alone at any time. I believe you have been making plans about this yourself. I appreciate your caution, and though I am sure it isn’t necessary, we’ll take no risks. Does that satisfy you?”

  She had forgotten her own pain in the realization of his.

  “Mr. Meryon, this situation can’t go on forever!”

  “Oh, it is most unlikely to. Strangely enough, the world doesn’t come to an end. In the meantime, it is going to be the festive season and I want the children happy. That is your task, Miss Hurst. Can you manage it?”

  She said yes because there was nothing else to say.

  Chapter 18

  JONATHON PEATE WATCHED her come out of the library. She gave a violent start as he laughed behind her. He had been standing in the shadows, a glass in his hand, swaying a little. The ruddy color in his cheeks was heightened, his hair disheveled.

  “The pretty watchdog, eh?” he observed genially.

  Had he been at the keyhole listening to hers and Daniel’s conversation? She didn’t think he was capable of doing so. He looked too drunk.

  But he had known she was in the library, and must have been waiting for her to come out.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh, come now, my sweet little darling, when were you unintelligent? You’re too bloody intelligent for a woman. But I like you in spite of that When are you going to give me your answer?”

  She backed away in distaste, one eye on the library door lest Daniel should come out and hear this revealing conversation.

  “You couldn’t think you would endear yourself to me by this behavior!”

  “My dearest high and mighty young lady, I have given up trying to endear myself to you. From now on I use other methods.” He began to laugh again, his soft drunken laughter much worse than his usual hearty shout.

  “The same as you use with Mrs. Meryon?” she retorted swiftly. I
t was a shot at random, and rather disturbingly found its mark.

  For one moment his bold eyes slid from hers. Then he laughed again and said, “I adore my beautiful cousin. But she’s a high-strung creature, and far too greedy. In spite of all that she already has. Winterwood, a good-looking husband”—he paused significantly—“even that pasty-faced cripple you are trying so hard to protect.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  He ignored that question and went on, “You and I are the outsiders here. Isn’t it the logical thing for us to join up? Stop wasting your time casting languishing glances at Daniel. He’s married. You’ll never get him. Anyway, he’s a dull stick. I can give you a great deal more fun and excitement than Daniel Meryon ever could. And you like excitement, don’t you, my lovely Lavinia?”

  Lavinia twitched her skirts about her to pass him. He began to laugh again at her white-faced anger.

  “Don’t look so murderous! I believe I’ll scarcely be safe here until after Christmas. Do you remember—that’s the date for your answer. We start the new year together.”

  Again her question came without her apparent volition.

  “Why do you wait until then? Why don’t you demand an answer now, if you are as impatient as you say? What is to be gained by waiting?”

  He had spilled a little of the brandy out of his glass. He stood staring at the small pool on the parquet floor with a suddenly very drunken look.

  “Go back to your watchdog duties,” he said thickly. “Mind your own business and I’ll mind mine.”

  What was his business? To get what pickings he could, since he must have been as disappointed as Charlotte by his aunt’s will? But how was he planning to get them, and how could she expose him without him exposing her?

  She stood in the bedroom holding the candle over Flora’s sleeping face. The child was growing so much prettier. Her cheeks were quite round, and gently flushed. Her mouth had a soft curve. She looked happy. She was dreaming of Christmas, or perhaps her romantic attachment for Mr. Bush. Or perhaps of walking again. Supposing she were to be wakened and told that her dear Miss Hurst, who she trusted completely, was a murderess!