Fear for Frances

by Veronica Heley

  Fear for Frances

  Veronica Heley

  © Veronica Heley 1977

  Veronica Heley has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1977 by Robert Hale.

  This edition published in 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Extract from Scream for Sarah by Veronica Heley

  CHAPTER ONE

  Was there a curse on the House of Broome? The servants certainly thought so, but Miss Frances Chard rejected the idea out of hand. This was 1881, not 1481, and although part of Furze Court had once been an abbey, and still lacked such modern conveniences as gas lighting, that was no excuse, said Miss Chard, for believing in ghosts, curses, or things that went bump in the night.

  Agnes Broome believed in them, but Agnes was only thirteen and it was up to Miss Chard, as her governess, to drum some sense into the child.

  However, when both Richard and Gavin Broome were brought back to the Court at death’s door, and that within three months of her arrival at her post, Miss Chard began to wonder ...

  *

  Richard, 10th Baron Broome, had been a genial fair-headed giant of a man. A hard-drinking spendthrift, he had been carelessly kind to the penniless aunt who acted as hostess for him, and to his younger cousin Agnes, who adored him. He had been engaged to be married to Maud, Agnes’s elder sister, when he took a toss on the hunting field, just a week before the date set for his wedding. He died without recovering consciousness, leaving Maud standing among the half-made dresses of her trousseau, white-faced with fury. Mrs Broome retired to bed, as was her habit in moments of crisis, and it was left to Frances Chard to comfort Agnes as best she could.

  The Broomes went into mourning. Richard was buried in the family vault, his valet departed with his ex-master’s wardrobe, and Richard’s dogs, which had filled the Court from morning to night with their noise, were destroyed on Maud’s orders.

  The heir, the Honourable Gavin Charles Broome, was campaigning in South Africa at the time of his elder brother’s death. Communications with the Cape were difficult. The letter advising Gavin of Richard’s death crossed with one from Gavin’s commanding officer stating that Major Broome had been seriously wounded at Majuba, and was being invalided home.

  Frances Chard was no gossip, but young Agnes was. Long before the new master arrived, Frances had learned that Gavin Broome had a sinister reputation, and that the servants feared rather than looked forward to his return.

  At last a telegram arrived, announcing that Major Broome would be on the noon train from Lewes the following day. Three months had passed since Richard’s death, yet nothing was ready to welcome his successor. The servants hurriedly brushed the dust under carpets, the State Bedroom was aired, the butler sought for the key to the wine cellars.

  Family and staff were drawn up on the steps of Furze Court to greet the new Lord Broome. The original family group of Mrs Broome and her two daughters had been supplemented by the recent arrival of Lady Amelia Seld and her granddaughter Isabella.

  Agnes nudged her governess, and made a face at Lady Amelia’s back.

  ‘See the vultures gather,’ she said. Frances suppressed a smile. It was rumoured that Lady Seld had brought her granddaughter to stay to revive the broken engagement which had once existed between Gavin Broome and Isabella. It would not be Lady Seld’s fault if the Court did not soon have a new mistress. Isabella Seld was as fair as her cousin Maud was dark; she invariably wore pastel shades, in contrast to the other women of the party, who were all in mourning.

  Miss Chard, standing in the background, observed Miss Seld with interest; Mrs Broome had no money of her own, and if this pale primrose of a girl, Isabella Seld, became Lady Broome, then Miss Chard’s position at Furze Court might be in danger. Would such a very young girl, newly married, wish to keep a schoolgirl around? Would she not wish to send Agnes away to school? In which case, Miss Chard would once more be out of a job. Miss Chard was well-educated, but she was also young and pretty, and what was more, her references were not all that they ought to be. She did not wish to lose her present position, so she watched Miss Seld, and tried to assess her. In the short time at her disposal before the carriage came into sight, Miss Chard came to the conclusion that Miss Seld was exceedingly pretty, and exceedingly nervous.

  ‘Whatever is the matter with the man!’ demanded Lady Seld. The carriage, instead of bowling along in spanking style, was being drawn along at a walking pace. The reason why was soon apparent. Amid murmurs of horror, the slight figure of a man in a stained scarlet uniform was lifted from the carriage and carried up the steps into the Court. Miss Chard drew Agnes’s head down as the body of her cousin was borne past her. One side of the soldier’s dark head was covered with blood, and the left arm, which was in splints, was also coloured red.

  Dr Kimpton was hastily summoned from the village and the family and staff gathered around Benson, the Major’s batman, to learn what had happened. Benson was a square-cut Cockney, incoherent in his distress.

  ‘Steady, my man,’ said old Lady Amelia, who seemed to have taken charge of the proceedings. Mrs Broome had given way to her palpitations, and was prostrate on a sofa. ‘Take it from the beginning.’

  Benson started again. His master had been badly wounded at Majuba, at the end of January. His arm had been broken, he’d had concussion and then fever. He’d not come to himself properly until he was on board ship, when he’d recovered fast ... ‘Except for his arm, which they’d told him would need attention by some surgeon or other when he got back to London. He was playing poker and cursing us all to rights and making up to the nurses — begging your pardon, ma’am — no offence! I’d been ill, too. Dysentery, and a bit of trouble with my right knee. He said to me that he wanted to go home to see his brother before he went to London to have his arm attended to. He was worried, because he hadn’t had any letters from home in months. I should explain, perhaps, if you didn’t know ... I’d served him nearly two years now, come May. We’d always got on. He said to see him home, if I wasn’t pressed to get back to my family. He said ... “Come home with me; my brother will find you a place even if I don’t build” — he wanted to build a house for himself, to go back to when his soldiering days were finished. I said I didn’t mind if I did. He was a bit uncertain on his feet still, and his hand wasn’t ... well, I could manage the money for him, see, and I got him tucked up in a first-class compartment at Lewes when we changed trains, and then I left him to go back to my own seat, and these two men passed me, going into his compartment. I didn’t think to look at them closely. Why should I? But they were big men, both of them. Bigger than me, or him. Yet he gave a good account of himself, didn’t he? Even without a weapon, and with his arm in splints ...’ Benson gulped. He looked longingly at the door through which his master had been taken. ‘The door of his compartment was swinging open when I got out at the Halt here. The men were gone. I reckon they must have jumped out as the train slowed up for the bend just before the station. His watch was gone, and his pocket book was on the floor, empty. There was a discharged pistol on the seat — the ball was in his arm — and he’d been beaten over the head as well. I suppose they fired the pistol, and when that didn’t kill him, they used it to ... there was blood everywhere.’ Again he looked at the door. ‘Is that doctor any good? Perhaps Lord Broome could send for someone from London ...?’ He looked around the Great Hall, but there was no man to be seen, except
in the huddle of servants in the background. ‘Two men,’ he said, ‘one wearing a new tweed coat, with checks on it. I didn’t see their faces ...’

  ‘My nephew was killed just before Christmas,’ said Mrs Broome in a trembling voice. ‘Didn’t your master know?’

  Benson shook his head. He appeared stunned.

  Dr Kimpton appeared. He was an old man, and ill, due for retirement, but he had served the Broome family for many years and was a great favourite with Mrs Broome. He shook his head.

  ‘I’m much afraid — still unconscious — you must prepare yourself for the worst.’ He took Mrs Broome’s hand and patted it.

  ‘Oh, my heart!’ she cried. Her maid was summoned, and she was borne off to bed. Agnes clung to her governess’s hand and would not release her hold even when bidden to join her great-aunt and cousin Isabella by the fire. Miss Chard said that Agnes had had quite enough excitement for one day, and perhaps the ladies would excuse them?

  ‘Get her back to Nurse,’ snapped Maud. Of all those present, Maud appeared least affected.

  As Miss Chard led Agnes away, they distinctly heard Maud say, ‘So you may not have to marry him, after all, Isabella!’

  *

  The house was in a ferment of activity. Old Nurse was kept in the State Bedroom to which the injured man had been taken, and Miss Chard had to be very firm with a passing housemaid in order to get any tea for the schoolroom. Like Nurse, the butler was long past retirement age, but the housekeeper was efficient enough and gradually a semblance of order was restored. The schoolroom was fed with news by housemaids bringing trays of food and scuttles full of coal. Miss Chard did not normally indulge in gossip, but she was as eager as Agnes to learn what was happening.

  Dr Kimpton was still in attendance at supper-time, and had sent for nurses and a second opinion from Lewes. His nephew, who had only just qualified as a doctor, had joined him in the sick-room. Mrs Broome had had hysterics and her maid, Meakins, was nowhere to be found. The Blue Bedroom was to be made ready to receive Mr John Manning, an elderly relative from London; and lastly, the new heir, one Hugo Broome, was to be sent for.

  ‘Oh, him!’ said Agnes, with a twist of her shoulders. ‘Well, I suppose it’s a good thing that Gavin’s past caring, or he’d have a fit. He hates Hugo. If you want to know what I think: I think Gavin only made up to Isabella because he couldn’t bear the thought of Hugo’s stepping into his shoes.’

  ‘What is he like?’ asked Miss Chard. If Hugo Broome were to inherit, then he would be her next employer.

  ‘One of the big, fair Broomes. You know they’re all either big and fair like Richard, or small and dark like Gavin and me? Only Hugo’s not really like Richard. He’s ... oh, I don’t know. He creeps up behind you sometimes and makes you jump, and he never laughs at jokes. He just sort of smiles, with his hand half over his mouth. He hasn’t any money of his own, so he’s bound to marry Isabella, now.’

  ‘But I didn’t think Miss Seld had any money, either,’ said Miss Chard.

  ‘She hasn’t. Not till Gavin dies. But Gavin’s got a lot of money of his own, and before he went back to South Africa he made a Will leaving it to Isabella. So when Gavin dies, Isabella will get the money, and Hugo will get the Court, and they’ll get married, and what will happen to us?’

  *

  Furze Court was hushed. Everyone waited. The doctor from Lewes agreed with Dr Kimpton that the case was hopeless. The arm was in a bad way, they said. They would consider amputation if their patient could stand the operation, but as it was ...

  Nurse gave up her post in the sick-room, saying it was too much for her, at her age. The two agency nurses seemed to know what they were doing, although one of them spent more of her time gossiping with the servants than on duty in the sick-room. Mr John Manning arrived from London, and so did the new heir, Mr Hugo Broome. Mr Manning spent most of his time closeted with Mrs Broome, but Hugo paced the Court, his eyes into everything, as if he owned it already. Miss Chard knew that it would be sensible for her to ingratiate herself with Mr Hugo, but she could not bring herself to do so. She felt his eyes following her, as she went to and fro with Agnes; it was not a comfortable feeling. She told herself that she had no business to be forming opinions of her betters, but there it was; she did not like the man. She could not fault his appearance, which was handsome; or his manners, which were those of a gentleman. Maud certainly seemed to find her cousin everything that was charming, but Agnes ...? Yes, there Miss Chard could fault Mr Hugo’s manners, for he seemed chillingly indifferent to the fact that Agnes Broome was very upset by her cousin Gavin’s condition.

  Sometimes it seemed to Miss Chard as if Agnes were the only person in the whole of the Court who cared whether Gavin Broome lived or died, or grieved that he had started to refuse food and drink. Twice Agnes went down to the sick-room to see what was happening for herself. Her disobedience was discovered, of course, but luckily it was Miss Chard who found out what the child had done, and not one of the nurses, who might have been justifiably annoyed and complained to Mrs Broome.

  ‘Well, I didn’t see why I shouldn’t go in to see him,’ Agnes said. ‘No one else bothers, and I thought he might be lonely in there by himself, when the nurse had gone. Anyway, he can’t like her much, because she stinks of dirt and gin. I’d be ashamed to be seen out with a dirty apron on like her, and finger-nails all grimy!’ Miss Chard hid a smile, remembering the battles she had had in the past with Agnes on the subject of cleanliness.

  ‘So I went in very quietly, in case he was asleep. I knew the nurse would be away for a while, because she keeps a bottle of gin in the cupboard in the attic where nobody else goes ...’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  Agnes wriggled. ‘I might have followed her one day. Just to see what she was doing up there by herself. Anyway, Dr Kimpton had told Mama that Gavin wasn’t always asleep now, even though he wouldn’t take food or drink. But he was asleep, and the room ... Ugh! It stinks. Don’t you think that’s awful, Miss Chard? It can’t make him want to get better if he’s left in dirty sheets and nightshirt and not shaved, even if he is so ill. Then he woke up and I think he saw me, but I’m not sure, because he looked at me as if he didn’t recognise me, and I ran for the door. And that’s when I fell over and hurt myself. I’d slipped on this glass stopper which had fallen on the floor by the bed, and I picked it up and brought it away with me. I didn’t really mean to steal it.’

  She held on to the glass stopper with both hands. It was cut-glass and looked as if it had come from a decanter. Miss Chard had noticed Agnes trying to hide it, and had demanded to know where it had come from.

  ‘I’m not going to put it back,’ said Agnes, in a voice which informed her governess that she’d better not try to take it by force, either. ‘Gavin would have been very happy to give it to me, if he’d known I wanted it. He always treated me nicely, not like some people I could mention!’

  ‘It would be stealing, if you don’t have permission,’ said Miss Chard. ‘You must ask Mr Hugo if you may have it, after ... when everything is settled.’

  ‘Cousin Hugo isn’t interested in old things. He pretended he was when he first came, because he thought it was expected of him, but you could see he wasn’t interested when I showed him Grandpa’s collection of firearms and armour. He didn’t even like the ducking stool, or the pillory, so you can see he wouldn’t be interested in this. Look: it’s a prism. I’m going to keep it in the nursery, to make patterns on the wall for the sun to shine through.’

  ‘You must return it, my dear. Otherwise some servant may be accused of stealing or breaking it. You wouldn’t want someone else to suffer because you made a mistake, would you?’

  Agnes gulped. ‘I don’t want to go back in there again. He looks so ... hairy, and bony and dirty. Not like him at all.’ She burst into tears.

  Miss Chard put her arms round the child and hugged her. ‘There, now. Shall we return it together? Let us go and ask the nurse if your cousin is feeling well
enough to receive visitors. If not, I will ask her to return the stopper, and no one need ever be the wiser.’

  ‘Those nurses,’ said Agnes, reluctantly following Miss Chard down the turret stairs to the Oak Gallery from which the main bedrooms led. ‘They don’t care what happens to him, and neither does anyone else. Mama only thinks what a worry it is having so many guests, and how she is to balance the table at dinner, and Great-aunt Amelia is always scolding Isabella for not making herself agreeable to Hugo, and Maud and Hugo spend all their time together and from the way they look at each other you can see it would be a waste of time Isabella even trying to attract Hugo’s attention ...’

  It was cold in the Gallery, and both Miss Chard and Agnes pulled their shawls more closely around their shoulders. Their footsteps echoed on the wide wooden floorboards. Dingy family portraits hung on the panelled walls between the doors of the bedrooms, while opposite, between leaded windows, heavy oak chests were spaced. It was dusk, and the park outside could barely be seen.

  ‘The footmen are late bringing round the lamps,’ said Miss Chard.

  ‘I’m scared,’ said Agnes.

  Miss Chard wanted to say that there was nothing to be scared of, but the words died in her mouth. She knocked on the door of the State Bedroom. There was no reply. The silence in the Gallery was profound. A board creaked. Agnes jumped. Miss Chard knocked again, and the door, which could not have been properly closed, swung open. From within came a moan which raised the hairs on the back of Miss Chard’s neck.

  Agnes clasped her hands over her mouth and fled back along the Gallery and up the stairs to the safety of her nursery. Frances Chard raised a hand to smooth the hair at the nape of her neck, and hesitated. Should she go after Agnes? No, the child would be safe for a moment. Her old nurse was upstairs. It would only take a few minutes to restore the stopper.