Deadly Inheritance (24 page)

‘That comfortable?’

‘Just fine,’ she assured the groom and with a smile of triumph took her high-spirited mount out of the yard.

With a fizz of satisfaction, Belle thought how angry Helen would be when she learned that her sister was riding her precious horse. She remembered the chestnut mare Helen had kept in New York. When it was announced that she was to go to school in Europe, Belle had clapped her hands and said, ‘Then I can have Princess!’

‘No!’ Helen had declared. ‘Princess is my horse. I’ll get my friend Joyce to ride her while I’m away. Your hands are so heavy, you’ll ruin her mouth.’

Belle had sulked.

Not long after Helen and Ursula had gone to their school in Paris, Princess had been hers. Helen had been so mad when she returned the first time, but Papa had said that Belle had outgrown her pony and the only horse she’d wanted was Princess. As soon as Helen was settled in New York again, he’d buy her an even better mount.

Helen had taken Belle to the stables soon after she had arrived in England. She’d patted the neck of a beautiful dappled grey and said, ‘This is Pocahontas. I named her after that Red Indian princess. Do you still have my first Princess, Belle?’

‘Yes, and I haven’t ruined her mouth.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. While you are here, you may ride Dancer.’ This was a small, pretty bay with big, liquid eyes. Mounted on Dancer, Belle had felt the little sister and knew that nothing would satisfy her but a ride on Pocahontas.

Now here she was and Belle felt joyous for the first time since she had learned that William Warburton had gone away. She brought the horse to a halt and looked around.

Ahead of them was the wooded hill that led to Hinton Parva. That must be where Ursula had had her accident and found the nursery maid’s body. Over to the left was the open country where Belle had already ridden with Helen and William. Over to the right were fields filled with some crop or other. A broad track led through them and up onto more hills.

‘Shall we explore, Pocahontas?’ Belle whispered into the horse’s ears; they twitched forward endearingly.

Belle laughed and set off in a trot along the track.

The clouds were building into a heavy grey eiderdown above her head. She urged the horse up the hill and found the countryside opening before her with meadows and, in the distance, a thick wood.

‘Let’s go!’ she shouted and kicked her left heel into Pocahontas’s side.

The horse took off at a gallop; its exhilarating speed took Belle’s breath away. She hardly needed to guide Pocahontas, the horse seemed to know exactly which way to go. When the rain started, the girl ignored it. She was flying above the ground. It was brilliant; magnificent; she wanted to ride like this forever.

Soon, though, the rain grew heavier. Just as Belle was wondering whether they should turn for home, they reached the shelter of the wood she had seen. There was a path through the trees, one the horse seemed happy to follow. Now the rain hardly penetrated the canopy of leaves.

After a little, a clearing with a building appeared.

‘Oh my,’ Belle said to herself. ‘Hansel and Gretel!’

It had to be a woodman’s cottage: stone built, a thatched roof, two windows and a door. There was a chimney but no smoke; the place looked deserted.

Belle slid down from the saddle. Without the shelter of the leaves, the rain was heavy. She saw a sort of shed with a stable door and led Pocahontas in, tied the reins to a convenient hook, then shut the lower part of the door and left the horse looking out as she went and knocked on the cottage door.

There was no reply, but she had not expected one.

She peered in through the dirty windows. The interior seemed to be roughly furnished but it had an abandoned air.

Belle shivered and rubbed at her arms. The rain was heavier now and the wood had acquired a sinister look. She tried the door latch. To her surprise, it opened.

Inside, all was dark and smelled of dust and absence. But at least it was dry. There appeared to be just a single room. In one corner stood a pump, its spout hanging over a cracked porcelain sink. In the centre of the room was a small, round, three-legged table and on it a brass candlestick and a box of matches.

Belle struck one and lit the candle, which produced flickering shadows. Shaking the rain out of her hat, she slowly turned, inspecting her surroundings. The place was cleaner than her initial impression had suggested. On a shelf by the sink was a small collection of unmatched crockery. Two thick wine glasses stood at one end. Beneath a draining board, its ridges dark from decades of dishwater, was a drawer that Belle opened almost automatically. It held cutlery: knives with cracked bone handles, forks of worn silver-plate with bent tines. Along one wall was a low, truckle-type bed covered with a rough but clean-looking blanket.

Belle sat down on one of the two sturdy yet comfortable wooden chairs that stood either side of the table and shivered. She did not feel comfortable in this place. But she did not feel comfortable at Mountstanton either.

Helen had grown into someone she hardly recognised. What had happened to the sister who used to laugh with her? What had gone wrong? Was it all connected with the death of that nursery maid which had upset everyone so much?

Belle shivered. Outside it was still raining. Suddenly, she screamed and leaped to her feet as a mouse ran across the dirt floor and into the sticks piled roughly in the fireplace.

For a long time Belle stood with her hands clamped to her mouth, her terrified eyes scanning the floor. But the mouse seemed to have disappeared. Gradually she relaxed. Should she, she wondered, light the fire? It seemed laid ready for a match.

She looked around again. There was a line of pegs by the door but they held no clothes. Hanging down from the chimney was a large, serrated jack that ended in a hook. And beside the fire was a pot with a handle that could be hung on the jack. And a kettle stood on a trivet at the other side.

Who used this place? Was it, in fact, on Mountstanton land or did it belong to a neighbour? Her curiosity thoroughly aroused, and on the alert for any hint of a mouse, she scanned every inch of the room. And was rewarded by the glint of something lying underneath the trivet.

It was a small button of dark blue enamel, ornamented with a tiny white flower. Belle stared at it and knew she had seen it before. After a moment she remembered where: Helen had a silk shirt with these buttons.

For a long moment Belle stood looking at it. Then everything came together. Helen and William were having an affair! This was their private place. No wonder the horse knew the way so well. Anger seared through her. How dare Helen lecture her on proper behaviour.

Rain or no rain, Belle didn’t want to spend another moment in the cottage. She grabbed her gloves from the table, blew out the candle, checked there was no trace of her presence, and left.

Pocahontas snickered and nibbled at her shoulder. Belle stroked her neck. ‘Good girl; you won’t tell we’ve been here, will you?’

She led the horse out of the shed then looked around and found there was a moss-covered mounting block by the front door. ‘How useful,’ she murmured. Pocahontas stood perfectly still in exactly the right position while she mounted, then retraced her passage through the wood back to the open country beyond.

Belle was surprised what a long way her reckless gallop had brought her. She set Pocahontas into a canter towards Mountstanton. Drawing near the range of hills they had come down, she found a single horseman coming up behind her.

‘Well, well, Belle, my dear sister-in-law,’ said the Earl, drawing level. ‘What have you been up to? And where,’ he said, turning around in his saddle, ‘is your groom?’

Belle gave him a lovely smile. ‘Was it very naughty of me to say I wanted to ride alone? Is it not “the done thing” in England? Helen is trying hard to educate me.’ She pouted. ‘There seem to be so many “done things”. How long did it take Helen to learn them all?’

Richard’s face broke into one of its rare smiles. ‘Long enough! My mother was a great help.’

I bet she was, Belle thought. Poor Helen!

‘How far have you ridden? You seem very wet, you must have been caught in that downpour.’

He was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a rubberised coat.

‘It was fine when we set out. I didn’t intend going far but Pocahontas is such a lovely ride and the countryside is so beautiful. It’s been a wonderful change from hacking around Central Park back home.’ She gave him another wide smile and gestured to the rolling hills and woods all around them. ‘Is this all your land or have I trespassed onto someone else’s?’

‘No, it’s all part of the Mountstanton estate, which stretches several miles behind us.’ He turned and pointed towards the wood which held the stone cottage. ‘Over to your left, the boundary is just beyond that wood. You look really cold, my dear. Not surprising, considering this rain. Come, let’s gallop back before you catch pneumonia.’

It was the first time Belle had been alone in the company of her brother-in-law. Also for the first time, she did not feel intimidated in his presence and could almost believe that Helen had actually fallen in love with the man rather than his position.

They slowed as they tackled the hill that lay between them and the house.

‘Feeling warmer?’ Richard asked.

Belle nodded. She felt more comfortable altogether. She was dying to mention the cottage to see if Richard knew anything about it, then decided it was wiser not to.

‘What do you think of Pocahontas?’

‘She’s wonderful.’ Belle patted the horse’s neck.

‘I’m glad Helen allowed you to ride her. She was a marriage gift from me, I chose her with great care.’

‘You are a good judge of horse flesh, Richard.’

He nodded. ‘My father taught Charles and me what to look for.’ He shot a sideways look at Belle. ‘My brother is very taken with you.’

She laughed. ‘It’s sweet of you to say so, Richard, but he disguises it very well.’

‘It would please Helen and me very much to have you properly in the family, you know?’

They had reached the top of the hill and paused to allow the horses a brief respite. Belle looked at her brother-in-law and realised he was serious.

‘I’m much too young to think of getting married,’ she said with a laugh. ‘And I am having such a good time with you all. I do appreciate the compliment, however.’ She gave him another sweet smile and hoped he would now drop the matter. ‘There’s the river,’ she said, pointing. ‘Does it ever flood?’ she asked, looking at the fields it flowed through before it reached the wooded hill that hid Hinton Parva.

‘Only very occasionally. Mountstanton stands well above it, if that is what you fear.’

Belle found she could not forget the poor nursery maid who met her end in its waters. ‘You are not attending the inquest?’

‘No, I am not needed,’ he said tersely and set his horse down the hill. They returned to the stables without further conversation.

Richard walked beside Belle back to the house. As they approached the side door, Helen emerged looking very angry.

Belle flinched involuntarily. Trust Helen to have found out exactly what her baby sister had been doing.

Richard put an arm around Belle’s shoulders. ‘My dear, we have had a marvellous ride together; your sister is almost as good a horsewoman as you are. It was very generous of you to allow her to ride Pocahontas.’

‘Richard has been telling me how she was a present from him on your marriage,’ Belle said as lightly as she could manage. ‘I thought you could not object to my riding her when you were otherwise engaged. We have had such a wonderful time.’

‘I have been otherwise engaged writing the invitations for your ball,’ Helen said in a icy voice.

‘Why did you not ask me to help? I would have liked to.’

‘You look drenched. Go and change. Richard, the inquest has returned a verdict.’

The hand on Belle’s shoulder tightened for a moment.

‘And?’

‘Suicide whilst the balance of her mind was disturbed.’

‘Ah! Pity. I do not suppose the shame of such a criminal act will escape us entirely.’

Belle was astonished at his reaction. It seemed all he worried about was the Mountstanton reputation. What about that poor girl?

‘But it seems there will have to be another inquest,’ Helen continued. ‘Snell is dead and the doctor is refusing to sign the death certificate.’

There was uproar at Polly’s inquest.

Dr Mason disappeared to attend to Mr Snell and the coroner called for quiet. ‘I had already removed Mr Snell’s name from my list of witnesses and his demise, if indeed he is dead, is regrettable but of no account to these proceedings. I now ask the jury to return to the task of deciding on their verdict.’

In California, the jury had taken some two hours of furious debate to reach their verdict; two hours that had seemed a lifetime to Ursula. At this inquest it took no more than twenty minutes or so before the vicar, as foreman, was able to announce the jury’s verdict that the deceased had taken her life whilst the balance of her mind was disturbed.

There were gasps of shock from the audience.

‘Owing to her delicate condition,’ one of the jurors added from behind the vicar.

‘Quite,’ said the coroner. ‘Note down the verdict,’ he directed the clerk.

The inquest was over.

Ursula looked round at the Colonel. He was banging his hand against his leg as though he held his army baton. ‘Wait for me outside,’ he said to Ursula. Then he strode over to the coroner.

Ursula thought that Colonel Charles would never learn that ‘please’ and a few soft words would get him further than his customary curtness, and smiled to herself as she followed the Mountstanton contingent out into the courtyard of the pub. The remains of another downpour was draining off the cobblestones and the benches were once again wet, but the sky was now clear. It seemed that in England the weather could change from fair to foul and foul to fair in less time than it took to boil a pot of water.

There was nowhere to sit that wasn’t soaked, so Ursula stood against the wall, leaning on her crutches, and watched as Mr Benson found the groom and set him to harnessing up the trap. She felt very uneasy.