by Janet Woods
‘Yes … it happens. I must say such spontaneity on your part is unlike you, Dominic, but at least it proves you’re human.’
‘I didn’t think I needed to prove it. Must we have a post-mortem before the event? After all, I have not officially declared myself to Miss Ellis, or decided if that course of action is a wise one. So far we have not come to terms over the contract.’
‘Yes … we must talk about it. I’d already discussed such an eventuality with your brother, for I have made you the sole beneficiary of my estate, and you will be the possessor of a fortune once I am gone. I would like to know she is worthy of you.’
Dominic experienced shock at John’s words. ‘I would not have presumed … you have relatives … what of your half-sister in London, is she not to inherit?’
‘Mrs Crawford and her son have already been taken care of with an income producing property. She is a good money manager.’
Dominic smiled. ‘It must be a family trait. I must admit I’m surprised Alex didn’t tell me of your decision.’
‘Breaking a confidence is not part of his nature. The pair of you have an emotional streak that can be a little disconcerting when it surfaces. Look at it this way. We are born naked. We live a little, and then we depart, leaving all we strived for abandoned.’
The doorbell jangled.
‘Bring your young lady to visit, Dominic. Although this might embarrass you, I’ve always regarded you as the son I never had, and I envied your father his good fortune in having such sons.
‘You already have met her. She is the daughter of Dr Ellis.
‘Yes … of course, a lively little creature, I thought the name was familiar.’
‘Though I tried not to get involved, Gracie has little or no estate to tempt me with so what else can it be but love? I get the same feeling when one of my investments pay a good dividend.’
John laughed. ‘You’d better not tell her that.’
‘I don’t know if she cares for me though, for she leads me on and then rebuffs me and laughs.’
John Howard choked out a laugh. ‘You should play her at her own game.’
A knock came at the door and a manservant appeared. ‘Mr Griffiths and Mr Dupain have arrived, sir.’
‘Good, bring them in would you, and send the maid in with a tea tray. After that, I don’t want us to be disturbed until further notice.’
‘Yes sir,’ the servant said.
Nine
Oakford House
The wind was a fierce and constant noise that battered against Oakford House as though its intention was to knock it down. Doors and windows rattled furiously.
Brian and Jessie hadn’t returned. Grace sat in the kitchen, aware that the side door she’d left open for them was still unbolted and anyone could walk in.
Fuelling up the kitchen stove she watched the flames leap and roar. Beyond the kitchen the house no longer seemed friendly. Rather, its noises became stealthy. The wooden floors creaked, the wind moaned as though it were in pain and sometimes it gathered strength and howled through the cracks like a coven of cackling witches. A door creaked open and then slammed shut again at the back of the house and a flurry of fear raked through her.
For goodness’ sake, it’s only a storm, she thought.
Nevertheless her imagination conjured up stealthy footsteps, cackles of laughter, and the sound of breathing. More than once she said in a wavering voice. ‘Who’s there?’
Relief filled her when nobody answered.
She didn’t know whether to go up to bed, or stay in the warm kitchen. A flash of lightning was followed by a loud smack of thunder directly above her, and it made up her mind. Damping down the stove she panicked a little at the next roll of thunder and ran up the stairs to her room. There she pulled the blankets up round her ears to muffle the noise of the storm and somehow, amidst the clamour of the storm, she fell into a sleep of sheer exhaustion.
Towards dawn a loud bang woke her. Grace started, her heart thumped and her senses went on alert all over again.
She crept downstairs to be greeted by a mess. Several candles guttered in melting wax, their wicks almost spent. The front door had been wedged open, the cellar door swung on its hinges, scraping across the floorboards. Mud had been tramped over the hall floor, which was flooded from the rain.
She closed the front door and locked it. Candlelight sent a soft glow from the drawing room. There, Grace was confronted by the sight of Jessie and Brian. Both were half asleep, muddy feet propped up on the delicate brocade of a chaise longue that Lady Florence had purchased recently at great expense. A wine bottle lay on its side, but it was empty, and a couple of the best crystal wine glasses held the dregs.
Taking Brian by the arm she gently shook him awake. ‘What are you doing? How did you open the cellar door?’
Brian gave her a vacant, boozy smile. ‘Miss me, did you, my darlin? Oh yes … I remember … Miss Grace Ellis doesn’t consider me good enough for the likes of her. What’s it to do with you?’
‘I’m responsible for the house when Mr LéSayres is away.’
Jessie stared blearily at her. ‘More fool you. We had the key to the cellar, that’s how we opened it. We had to get the brandy out first, didn’t we?’
‘We’d better count it then.’
‘Don’t be such a dimwit, Grace. There isn’t any brandy left to count. We’ve sold it.’
‘Sold it? But it’s not yours to sell.’
Brian glared at her in a way that made her quake. ‘Stop shouting, I’ve got a headache.’
She deliberately raised her voice. ‘And whose fault is that? Get the cellar contents back at once, please, Jessie. We’ll all be in trouble if you don’t. It’s on the inventory.’
‘How can it be when you couldn’t open the door to count it?’
‘That’s by the by. The old lady bought it from Rafferty Jones. It’s recorded as “Contents of cellar. Miscellaneous estimate”. Look … you could give me the money you made from its sale in exchange for a receipt. I’m sure Mr LéSayres will accept that.’
‘I can’t return it, dearie. Most of the brandy has gone back to the merchant who sold it to the old lady. Brian and I took the last of it into Poole yesterday. We kept back a nice bottle of wine to celebrate, and it’s fermenting inside us. Nice and warming on a cold day, it is. By the time Mr LéSayres finds out we’ll be long gone and I doubt if he’ll follow us for the price of a few bottles of brandy.’
‘He’ll come sooner if I send him a message. And he’ll probably bring some customs officers.’
‘They won’t find anything because there’s nothing to find except a few bottles – after all, they will expect to find something in the cellar. They’ll only have your word for it.’
Brian stood up and circled her; she’d never seen him looking so unfriendly. ‘You wouldn’t rat on us, would you, Gracie girl? We’ll give you a cut. Five pounds to keep your blathering mouth shut.’
‘I’m not a thief. A better plan is that you leave the money you got for the brandy with me. I’ll give you a receipt and then Mr LéSayres won’t have you charged.’
Brian took a knife from his belt, a wicked-looking thing. ‘I’d rather cut your flapping tongue from your head.’
Jessie poked him in the chest. ‘We agreed there would be no violence. We’ll be long gone before LéSayres gets back. Come with us, Grace. There’s no future in being a servant, and neither is there any fun in being a clerk, unless it’s your own money you’re counting.’
‘And she isn’t counting that because—’
‘Shut your trap, Brian. The less she knows about our business the better.’
Grace said, ‘I have no intention of leaving England. I haven’t enough money.’
Brian leered at her. ‘There are ways and means for ladies to make extra money for themselves.’
‘Will you please be quiet?’
Brian ignored the wisdom of his wife. ‘The old lady hoarded a lot of cash over the years but she didn’
t get any pleasure from it. She tucked it away in various places and thought she was being clever. But the old duck was forgetful and she didn’t notice it disappearing.’
Horrified by the depth of their deception, Grace told them, ‘Lady Florence told me she suspected Pawley for a long time, which is why she dismissed him. He held a position of trust in the household. She had someone come in to look over the books and it was discovered that Mr Pawley had falsified them.’
‘Over the years Pawley made a tidy sum, and after he left he told us where the old lady’s hiding places were for a cut. It took but a minute to slip into her room when she had her afternoon sleep and you were busy.’
‘It sounds as though you’re proud of what you’ve done.’
Jessie shrugged. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never stolen anything.’
‘Not that I can remember.’
‘You didn’t have to steal to survive though, did you?’
‘No I didn’t, which is not to say I wouldn’t have, had my circumstances been different. But you and Brian received a legacy from Lady Florence so you have no excuse to steal.’
‘It wasn’t a gift since it was owed to us. Mr Pawley said she was underpaying us and this was a way we could get what we were due. The old girl had plenty of money and we were doing quite nicely until you came along and stuck your nose into everyone else’s business. Then Pawley was dismissed … and he took our money with him, the poxy thief.’
There was a poetic justice in that and Grace grinned. She was glad Dominic had hidden the strongbox well. ‘Lady Florence’s money I think you mean.’
‘Pawley told us it was invested in the bank, and he couldn’t get it out until a certain date, so we planned our journey for then. He said it would earn interest in the meantime, and that would make something to add to the sum. It put our plans back a bit, and then she upped and died.’
Grace turned to go. If she could reach the village she might be able to find someone to carry her message, or she might be able to intercept Pawley.
Brian caught her wrist as she headed for the door. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To get the eggs.’
‘There’s no hens left.’
‘There’s Edith, the white one.’
‘She’s too old to produce eggs. I’m not daft.’
‘Sometimes, she lays an egg.’
‘You were going to try and find someone to tell of what’s happening here.’ Brian’s grip tightened and became painful. ‘I’ll tell you what you’re going to do, you’re going to stay here and cook breakfast, there are still some eggs and ham in the larder. I bought muffins from the bakery yesterday and there are some smoked kippers on the larder slab. You can boil the eggs hard, and pack us a meal for when we’re on the road. Now get on with it, we haven’t got much time.’
Grace’s stomach rumbled and he pushed her towards the door. ‘Watch her carefully, Jessie. The cab won’t be here for another hour or so but we might as well eat before we head for Poole.’
Jessie snapped, ‘Don’t you mean Southampton?’
‘Stop your nagging, woman, it was just a slip of the tongue. I’ll give the house another quick search just to make sure while you’re doing that.’
‘Fetch them nice silver pieces from the cabinet.’
‘We can’t take everything, there isn’t room for it. Besides, the coachman might get suspicious and mention it to someone.’
Grace sat at the kitchen table while various crashes and scuffs came from the rest of the house. She winced when glass smashed.
‘Don’t look at me, girl, get on with the cooking,’ Jessie bawled from the rocking chair.
Grace took an iron frying pan from its hook, and wondered if she would be quick enough to flatten the woman with it.
Yes, but you might kill her.
Serves her right. She deserves it.
Go on then. Have you given any thought to what you’ll do with her body?
Grace shrugged. ‘Mind your own business.’
Jessie snapped awake. ‘Did you say something?’
‘You’re going to be sorry when the law catches up with you.’
‘They’re not going to catch up with us. Get on and cook the breakfast, would you. We haven’t got all day.’
Six chunks of ham were soon sizzling. She cut thick slices of bread, making a hole for the eggs to nestle in, and added that to the meal.
Grace dropped an iron spoon and Jessie’s eyes shot open. ‘Be careful, will you, my head aches something dreadful.’
‘I could make you something to ease it. I will need my medication box and some red wine to hide the taste of the herbs.’
‘There’s some burgundy open on the shelf,’ Jessie said.
Grace put the frying pan to one side to keep warm.
Lifting down her father’s box of herbal cures she picked out a measuring glass and filled it two-thirds with the burgundy. She added some honey and powder to the liquid and shook it vigorously.
‘What was that powder you put in it?’
Grace set the mixture on the table. ‘It’s powdered willowbark mixed with honey. It needs to infuse for half an hour and then be given another good shake before drinking. I’ve made two doses.’
She decided not to tell them that another ingredient was licorice, which might prove a little inconvenient in due course.
A little while later Brian joined them in the kitchen, looking irate. He helped himself to the large portion of breakfast, and began to gulp it down. Jessie ate the smaller half.
When he’d finished eating, Brian looked up at her from his chair at the table. ‘Where’s the bloody strongbox?’
Grace looked him in the eyes. ‘I don’t know. Mr LéSayres has hidden it somewhere. He didn’t tell me where. Perhaps he buried it on top of Lady Florence in her grave.’
Giving a little scream she cringed away from him when he used his knuckles to deliver a couple of painful hits on her cheekbones. Then, as if he had opened a gate he began to pummel her; stomach, arms, legs. She fell to the floor and covered her head with her arms as china and pots and pans bounced and shattered around her.
Jessie came between them. She pushed Brian aside and helped her up. ‘For pity’s sake, Grace tell him.’
Jessie was pushed roughly to one side. ‘The strongbox … where is it?’
‘I told you, don’t know where it is. Mr LéSayres doesn’t take me into his confidence.’
A punch to the midriff floored her and she fell, clutching her stomach and gasping for air, frightened by the violence. ‘I don’t know.’
He took her by the hair and pulled her towards the stairs. ‘It would be a shame to mark that pretty little face, but if you persist in lying to me it will be a knife next time.’
Jessie intervened, coming between them. ‘Let her go, Brian. We agreed she wasn’t to be hurt.’
The pressure on her scalp was released. ‘You might have agreed, but I don’t know who with. It certainly wasn’t me. Beside, it was only a tap or two. I want that strongbox. If she doesn’t tell me where it is I might kill her.’
Hugging her stomach Grace racked her brains, trying to imagine where Dominic would have hidden the box. She doubted if he’d hide it in the house.
Her stomach rumbled. They’d eaten all she’d cooked, leaving nothing for her.
Then came the sound of wheels on gravel.
Brian cursed. ‘Damn it, the coach is early.’
‘Put the silver in the sack. It will fetch a pound or two and we can sell that instead,’ Jessie said.
‘The strongbox must be somewhere. Tell him to come back.’
Grace made a run for the front door, where the shadow of the coachman loomed in the porch.
Grace was just about to scream when Brian put out his foot and sent her sprawling. Clamping a hand over her face he delivered one punch to her stomach and her knees weakened. She felt like a rag doll, all floppy and slow-witted. Somewhere in the midst of the twilight state she was in, she was dragged and
bumped up the staircase. She landed face down on something soft and yielding.
A bed! Her own bed, she hoped, irrationally.
‘See how you like this, Miss Ellis Have a nice sleep. No doubt the money man will come along and free you bye the bye. Count yourself lucky I didn’t kill you.’
‘Come away now Brian, the girl’s telling the truth. She wouldn’t have taken that beating if she knew where it was hidden.’
There was the sound of a slap. ‘Keep your mouth shut, you poxy trollop.’
Grace tried to sleep but she jerked at every scuff and squeak. There was a metallic clunk, and then suddenly, there was no noise at all, apart from worn out gusts of wind that sounded like despairing sighs.
They might come back, she thought. They might kill her. The deed would be blamed on Dominic and they’d hang him for murder.
A loud sob thrust from her at the thought.
Enough self-pity!
That’s all right for you to say but my brain is battered beyond redemption.
Nonsense! I am your brain and I’m far from being done with you. Now, rise from this bed and start trying to get us out of this jar of pickles.
She swung her legs out of the bed, and stood, clinging on to a bedpost, as the room whirled busily around her. At least she was in her own room. Allowing the dizziness to recede she limped precariously to the door like a drunken sailor. She seemed to have lost a shoe and gazed in perplexity at her bare foot.
Never mind the shoe, try and open the door!
Locked! She rattled the doorknob and shouted, causing her head to buzz alarmingly. ‘Let me out!’
The donkey gave a loud wheezing bray at the sound of her voice. The poor creature would be hungry.
Downstairs, the hall clock struck five. It must be wrong. But no … it was almost dark outside. She couldn’t believe she’d slept for all that time. She went to the window, with the faint hope that the cab driver was still there. It looked as it normally did, except for some storm litter.
No, she hadn’t been asleep. She must have been suffering from a loss of consciousness. Her head throbbed as she tried to straighten out the muddle she was in. She explored her scalp gently with her fingertips then moved on to her ears. There was blood seeping from cuts and grazes. As far as she could tell her skull wasn’t fractured, though her face felt puffy.