An Ideal Companion

by Anne Ashley

  ‘I’m glad I’ve managed to catch you, Colonel, before you leave,’ she said, while handing him a folded sheet of paper. ‘I’ve written down Sir Cedric Walsh’s precise direction for you, though his house isn’t at all difficult to locate. Simply stay on the main coastal road and you’ll see it, standing by itself on a slight rise. Julia Adams informed me that you asked for everyone’s direction,’ she added, when he made no attempt to speak.

  He continued not to do so for a further moment or two while he studied the openness of a sweet face; a face that for all the world betrayed only two things to his searching gaze—trust and honesty.

  Not for the first time during his short stay did he experience something deep within him stir, only this time it seemed stronger, reminding him of a feeling he had not experienced in many a long year.

  ‘Believe me when I tell you I’m more than willing to remain if you imagine I might be of service to you, Miss Harrington, should the local Justice of the Peace consider a further investigation into the death of Lady Beatrice is required.’

  For a moment he thought he detected a glint of what might have been hopeful expectation in those lovely eyes, only for it to disappear a moment later as a distinctly wry smile this time touched her lips.

  ‘That is kind of you, sir,’ she uttered softly in a kind of resigned sigh. ‘But you must be longing to return to the comfort of your own home...and family. Should Sir Cedric choose to bestir himself and look into the matter of Lady Beatrice’s death, though I’m not altogether certain he will given his reputation for indolence, then I’m sure Dr Maddox and Lady Beatrice’s lawyer will offer me all the assistance I require.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, sir. It has been a sincere pleasure making your acquaintance, and...and safe journey.’

  Releasing the slender fingers the moment he felt the first sign of withdrawal, Hugo then watched her until she had disappeared into the house. Not once did she attempt to look back over her shoulder, but as he reached the front gate and chanced to glance back over his, he saw that slender form staring out at him from the drawing-room window.

  Unwillingly urging his mount onwards, he headed down the lane that led to the market town. Throughout his adult life he had been a man given to decisive action, someone continually admired for his clarity of thought and discernment, yet he felt anything but resolute now. Torn between a strong sense of righteousness and a surprising feeling of protectiveness towards a female he scarcely knew his thoughts were in turmoil.

  Plagued by such drastically contrasting feelings, he rode on in stony silence until he had reached a pair of impressive wrought-iron gates, flanked by two hideous gargoyles mounted on tall, brick pillars. Beyond stood an impressive stone-built mansion, undoubtedly the property of Sir Cedric Walsh. Hugo was only too aware of what he ought to do, what was demanded of any man of honour. Yet he made no attempt to gain access to the sweeping driveway. Instead, he took out several folded sheets of paper from his pocket and stared at them with an expression of intense loathing.

  ‘Is something amiss, Colonel?’ his manservant asked tentatively, wondering if he had done something to put his master into such an obviously unsociable mood. Raising a hand, he thoughtfully scratched the grizzled hair beneath the edge of his misshapen hat. ‘Not done something wrong, ’ave I, sir?’

  ‘No...but I’m about to do just that,’ Hugo announced, before resolutely thrusting the several sheets of paper back into his pocket, and urging his mount to move off down the road once more. ‘Come on, Ben. Let’s away from here. How I wish I’d never come to this place... And the sooner I forget I ever did the better for my peace of mind!’

  * * *

  Ruth gazed out of the drawing-room window, experiencing a distinct feeling of pleasure at the clear signs of spring to be seen everywhere. Although not particularly hard, the winter had seemed interminably long, starting as it had on that never-to-be-forgotten day at the beginning of October. On numerous occasions in recent months she had recalled that particular day. Not only had it brought into her life, for a brief period, one of the most personable gentlemen she’d ever encountered, but it had also been, of course, the prelude to a drastic change in her lifestyle and personal circumstances.

  As a mark of respect for her late benefactress, Ruth had continued to observe strict mourning for very many weeks, only recently donning more cheerful hues, though still avoiding anything that might be considered unbecomingly bright.

  Although she had avoided socialising on a vast scale, she had been determined not to live like a virtual hermit, as the previous owner of Dunsterford Hall had done. She had made several new friends and acquaintances in recent months and, as a consequence, the house saw many more visitors crossing its portals. One frequent visitor was the late Lady Beatrice Lindley’s man of business. He had worked tirelessly on Ruth’s behalf, most especially during those early weeks, when Lady Beatrice’s two sisters had attempted to contest the will. They had been unsuccessful and now Dunsterford Hall was legally hers to do with as she chose.

  As yet she had made no firm plans about her future. The house was large, far too large for her needs, and although she had done her best to make the place more cheerful, by ordering the cutting down of several trees closest to the property, the building stubbornly clung to its gloomy atmosphere.

  The door opening interrupted her musings and she turned to see Dr Maddox entering the room. It was the first time he had called at the house since the demise of its previous owner. Although she had attempted to call on his services in order to attain a second opinion about Lady Beatrice’s death, Ruth had subsequently discovered he had departed for Bath early that very same morning to visit his ailing sister, leaving his young apothecary to deal with less urgent cases. He had remained away for almost six weeks, by which time Lady Beatrice had long since been occupying a spot in the local churchyard.

  After supplying them both with a glass of Madeira, Ruth invited him to sit down. ‘How is the patient, Doctor?’

  ‘Your cook has sustained a severe sprain and she’ll need to keep off that left ankle for a few days.’ The middle-aged practitioner regarded her with a hint of approval. ‘Clearly you take the well-being of your servants seriously, Miss Harrington. Too many in your position consider the attentions of the local farrier more than adequate for the lower orders. Yet, when it comes to their own mild disorders...well, it’s quite a different matter.’

  Ruth half-suspected him of alluding to the previous owner of Dunsterford Hall. Silently she was obliged to own that the doctor had spoken no less than the truth. Not once could she recall Lady Beatrice requesting the practitioner’s services for any one of the servants. All the same, she couldn’t bring herself to say anything disloyal about her late benefactress. How could she? She owed that particular lady so much.

  ‘It has been quite some little time since you were last under this roof, sir,’ she reminded him. ‘It was a great pity Lady Beatrice suffered such indifferent health for so many years. Had she not done so she might have got out and about a deal more, and not been a virtual recluse.’

  ‘That was entirely of her own choosing,’ Dr Maddox returned bluntly. ‘There was never much wrong with her from what I ever discovered.’

  It was a moment or two before Ruth was able to assimilate what the doctor had unwittingly revealed. ‘But, surely she suffered from a weakness of the heart? I distinctly remember her telling me so.’

  His bark of laughter was derisory. ‘She might have told you so, m’dear. But you may take it from me she was as sound as a bell. Absolutely nothing wrong with her, save for an excess of nerves. Like most females of her station in life, she was wont to quack herself. She did have some trouble sleeping, I own. But in my opinion that was the sum of her ills. I had my young apothecary make up a draught containing a mild quantity of laudanum. That seemed to do the trick.’

  This disclosure, unsurprisingly, disturbed Ruth
. ‘But—but if it wasn’t her heart that killed her...then what could it have been?’

  The doctor shrugged, appearing unconcerned. ‘Who can say? I distinctly remember that lawyer fellow of hers telling me, not long after I’d returned from Bath, that a doctor had been staying here at the time and had examined her. Evidently he didn’t consider there was anything suspicious about the death. And it must be said that fatal heart attacks and seizures can strike without any prior warning whatsoever.’ He took a moment to lower the level in his glass. ‘Had I not been visiting my sister at the time, I should have wished to examine Lady Beatrice myself. But there’s no reason to suppose anything untoward occurred, now is there?’

  Dr Maddox tossed the remaining contents of his glass down his throat, before taking the time to study the troubled expression clearly visible on Ruth’s delicately featured face. Then he rose to his feet and laid a fatherly hand on one slender, drooping shoulder. ‘Don’t concern yourself, m’dear,’ he advised. ‘Unforeseen occurrences do happen. There’s no reason why you should be troubled and not enjoy the good fortune that has come your way.’

  * * *

  Wasn’t there a very good reason for her to be plagued, now, by doubts and guilt? Ruth asked herself later, as she entered the bedchamber that had taken her weeks to make her own. Although she’d had the large four-poster bed in which Lady Beatrice had died removed to another bedchamber and replaced by the very one she had slept in for years, the room remained much the same as it had in its former occupant’s time.

  Sighing, she seated herself at the escritoire in the corner of the room, and drew out a certain letter from one of the drawers, a letter she had received several months before, and one which she had retained as a keepsake.

  My dear Miss Harrington, she read anew. I trust this missive finds you well and more accustomed to your new position at Dunsterford Hall. I read Lady Beatrice’s obituary in the newspaper and hoped you were not too burdened by reactions to her death from her relatives.

  Raising her eyes, Ruth stared blindly at a spot on the wall opposite, wondering whether he was perhaps acquainted with Lady Beatrice’s two sisters and had suspected they might not take too kindly to the contents of their sister’s will.

  Ruth could well understand their disappointment and their resentment, too, come to that—that she, no blood relation, had inherited most everything their sister had owned. She could appreciate fully why they had attempted to contest the will. What she found hard to forgive was that neither sister had attended the funeral, nor had they sent a representative. Moreover, neither had had the common courtesy to respond to the letters she had written, informing them of their sister’s demise.

  Returning her attention to the missive in her hand, she read yet again the amusing account of the Colonel’s return journey to Dorset, before fixing her eyes on his short closing paragraph.

  The unfortunate event that took place during my brief stay at Dunsterford Hall in no way diminished the pleasure of having made your acquaintance and I sincerely hope that if, for any reason in the future, you should feel the need to consult someone over the tragedy that so unexpectedly occurred, you will not hesitate to make contact with me. In the meantime I remain, Your obedient servant...

  Narrow eyed, Ruth once again studied the wall opposite. When first she had received the Colonel’s letter she had not considered its contents in any way odd, merely the gracious offer of assistance from a kindly gentleman. But now she began to suspect there was more to those final few sentences than she had first supposed.

  Rising to her feet, she went across to the bell pull and gave it a sharp tug, while at the same time casting her mind back over the sequence of events on that unforgettable October morning.

  She recalled vividly her first glimpse of Lady Beatrice. Naturally, she had been shocked. But she hadn’t been in any way suspicious, simply because she had believed Lady Beatrice had suffered from a weak heart. Dr Dent had accepted this explanation readily enough, though it had to be said his examination had been brief in the extreme. Colonel Prentiss, on the other hand, had spent far more time by the bedside, she reminded herself, seeing again that strange, almost accusing, expression on his face, as though he had been sceptical about something... But what? At the time she’d imagined he had suspected some kind of seizure. It had never occurred to her to suppose that he might have considered the death had not been due to natural causes. If this had been the case, what on earth had aroused the kindly Colonel’s suspicions?

  Ruth shook her head, completely baffled. But suspicious the Colonel most definitely had been; she felt certain of it now. After all, it was he who had suggested contacting the Justice of the Peace, and attaining a second doctor’s opinion. It was just sheer ill luck that Dr Maddox had been away at the time. And as for not receiving a visit from the local Justice of the Peace...? In truth, given his reputation for indolence, she hadn’t been unduly surprised. Maybe, though, she ought to have called upon him herself when she had failed to receive a visit from him.

  Those uncomfortable feelings of guilt returned with a vengeance. At the very least she ought to have gone out of her way to ensure a second doctor examined Lady Beatrice. Knowing now what she did, she was forced to own she had been grossly at fault not to have done so. But at the time...

  The door opening interrupted her guilt-ridden reverie, and she turned to see her maid entering the room. ‘Ah! Aggie, come in and close the door. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.’

  Striving to gather her thoughts in some semblance of order, Ruth went over to the window. ‘Dr Maddox gave me some very disturbing information this morning.’

  ‘Oh, it isn’t as bad as that, miss,’ Agatha assured her. ‘Cook will be up and about in a day or two and we can manage well enough in the meantime.’

  ‘I wasn’t referring to Cook’s unfortunate accident, but to your late mistress’s state of health during her final years. According to Dr Maddox there was nothing wrong with Lady Beatrice’s heart.’

  ‘Ha!’ Agatha scoffed. ‘Well, that comes as no surprise to me!’ She tapped her temple significantly with one finger. ‘All in the mind, it were. Wasn’t I forever telling you so?’

  ‘But don’t you see, Aggie...if Lady Beatrice didn’t die of a heart attack, then what did kill her?’

  ‘Who’s to say it wasn’t her heart?’ Agatha returned, betraying supreme unconcern. ‘People do go off just like that—one minute fine, the next...’

  ‘That’s just what Dr Maddox said, but I’m not so sure now.’ Ruth regarded the maid in frowning silence for a moment. ‘You assisted with the laying out,’ she reminded her. ‘Did you notice anything suspicious on her body—any marks of any kind?’

  Agatha shook her head. ‘There was nothing, miss, not so much as a scratch on her anywhere, except... Now you come to mention it, I did notice a spot of dried blood round the nose, but that was nothing, surely?’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ Ruth responded, sounding anything but convinced.

  ‘But what are you suggesting, miss? That Lady Bea was murdered?’

  Agatha might make light of it, but Ruth wasn’t amused, for the suggestion had struck a chord of memory, and all at once there was a clamorous warning bell chiming in her head.

  ‘Good heavens! I’d forgotten all about that. I thought she was in jest,’ Ruth announced, much to her maid’s further puzzlement. ‘I never for a moment supposed she might have been in earnest over dinner that night!

  ‘I wonder...?’

  Chapter Four

  ‘All packed and ready to go, no doubt,’ Hugo remarked as his good friend, dressed in fashionable travelling attire, came strolling into the library.

  ‘Yes, just waiting for the last of my belongings to be taken out to the post-chaise.’

  There was a hint of a sportive smile tugging at Hugo’s lips. ‘Must be somewhat demea
ning for someone of your vaulted stature, my lord, to be obliged to travel by hired carriage, though travelling post-chaise is beyond the means of the majority of common mortals, it must be said. All the same, it’s strongly rumoured the cattle and carriages kept at Kingsley Hall are second to none.’

  A suggestion of a challenging gleam suddenly sprang into the Viscount’s eyes. ‘You might be an inch or two taller than me, Hugo, old friend, but I fancy I could still slip a flush hit beneath your guard. I might now be the head of the Kingsley family, but I hope I never become so high in the instep that I fail to enjoy the simple pleasures in life.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t, Luke. Seriously, though, how are you coping with the extra responsibilities now you’ve succeeded to the title? You haven’t raised the subject once since your arrival,’ Hugo reminded him.

  His lordship sighed. ‘I shan’t pretend that adjusting to life as a viscount has been easy. That is why I’ve very much enjoyed this short, relaxing stay with you. All in all, though, I’m content enough. Briony, bless her, took it all in her stride.’ His lordship stared about him for a moment. ‘I’m glad we spent the first years of our life together, here, in this house. It will always hold so many happy memories for me. After all, our two sons were born here.’

  His lordship again took a moment to study the room. ‘I must say I approve the changes you’ve made since purchasing the Manor. Adding this library wing was nothing short of inspirational, Hugo!’

  ‘Well, I always said, after I’d retired from the army, I would need to find a permanent place for all my books. I’ve been collecting them for years, remember. Not only that, adding the two wings has provided me with four extra bedchambers, not to mention another two new reception rooms. The extra space will prove most useful when I’ve a number of guests staying at any one time, most especially my sister’s family.’