Frances was quick to pick up this hint. ‘There is someone else ...’
‘That’s my problem. Gran doesn’t approve of my wishing to marry someone who is only a curate, though his second cousin dines with the Bishop twice a year, and we’re sure that it’s only a matter of time before Edwin gets a good living. But if I do accept Gavin’s money, then I think Gran would agree that Edwin and I could get married straight away. Edwin could do so much good with the money, even if it did come from a man who ... well, you know what he did.’
‘Are you asking me for advice, Miss Seld? Or seeking approval of a course of action on which you have already decided?’ Frances thought of the Will which had been discovered in Gavin Broome’s Bible, the Will which left everything to Maud. She did not know what to say to Isabella. It was not her place to advise the girl. Shallow as Isabella undoubtedly was, Frances could pity her, knowing how false her hopes were of inheriting Gavin Broome’s money. ‘I suggest you consult with some member of your family; Mr Manning, for instance.’ She withdrew her arm from Isabella’s, and hurried after Agnes.
‘No more confidences,’ she said to herself. ‘I cannot bear it.’ But what it was she could not bear, she did not put into words.
*
Hugo removed his cigar from his mouth. ‘I am in a very delicate position here, you know.’
His uncle shivered and drew nearer to the fire. The two men were sitting in the gun-room which served not only as a smoking-room, but also as the estate office. In addition, it housed some of the smaller pieces from the Broome collection of antique weapons, although the greater part had long since been consigned to the cellars.
‘This new Will,’ said Hugo, who did not appear to feel the cold as his uncle did, ‘seems to be perfectly in order, although naturally we must have the opinion of the family solicitors on it. Will you break the news to Isabella?’
‘I would rather wait until Mr Cotton has had a look at it,’ said Mr Manning. Mr Cotton was the family solicitor, and his office was in Lewes. ‘It’s Gavin’s signature all right, but somehow ...’
‘You would like to know why Gavin left nothing to his brother and to his servant under this new Will? I doubt if we will ever know. I suppose he may have cut Richard out of his Will because his brother didn’t back him up over that scandalous affair of the woman Jervis. Perhaps Benson is not quite the devoted servant he pretends to be. Who knows?’
‘Gavin said nothing to me about changing his Will when he stayed with us last summer, and he was with us right up to the day he sailed back to South Africa. I can understand his wishing to cut Isabella out of his Will after the way she let him down, but ... we talked freely on so many other subjects ... I would have expected him to have mentioned the matter to me if ...’
‘It’s plain that he changed his mind about leaving the money to Isabella after he got back to South Africa. The new Will is quite recent — early in February — after Richard’s death. Although, of course, at the time he could not have known of his brother’s death. It is all in order. I repeat: Isabella ought to be told, and you seem to me to be the person best qualified to break the news to her.’
Mr Manning sighed. He had a monkey-like face with luxuriant whiskers. He divided his time between charitable concerns and his own large family. He reflected that if Gavin had wanted to throw his money around, he might at least have thrown some in the way of his uncle’s charities, or even in the way of his uncle’s children. Why should everything have gone to Maud, whom Gavin had never liked? Why not equally to Maud and Agnes, if he had wanted to leave the money in the family? Gavin had always been fond of Agnes and deplored the fact that the child was alternately petted and neglected. It was a puzzle.
Hugo placed a solid white hand over his uncle’s. ‘You are a great comfort to me, in this difficult time. You will speak to Isabella? Maud already knows.’ A conscious look came over his face. ‘I really think that Isabella ought to be told at once.’
‘Very well,’ said Mr Manning. ‘I will tell her.’ He threw another log on the fire, which began to smoke. He wished he were safely back in London, with his wife and children. Poor Rosalie! With three of the younger children down with measles, she had been unable to come with him ... ‘Damn this chimney! When do you think it was swept last?’
‘In the days of old King William, I should think,’ said Hugo. ‘There is much that needs to be done.’ He made a note with a gold pencil which had belonged to Richard. ‘Chimneys,’ he said, as he wrote the word down on his list. ‘If only I could get on with it. This hanging around doesn’t suit me.’
‘Dr Kimpton said Gavin might linger a while, like his brother. A tough race, the Broomes, but Gavin was badly beaten around the head and his arm is in a bad way. Did you hear that Dr Kimpton is poorly today, and may not be able to come up? Don’t you think we should call in a doctor from London? Gavin can afford it, if anyone can.’
Hugo pursed his lips. ‘Let the beggar die in peace, I say. What’s the point of having him pulled about and submitted to all sorts of painful treatment, just to be up to date? If Dr Kimpton takes to his bed, his nephew will see Gavin out. And you know what we decided about the nursing.’
He was sitting at the bureau which housed all Richard’s papers. ‘I want to show you Miss Chard’s references, if I can find them.’ He searched through various drawers, picked up the new Will, read it, smiled, and locked it away.
‘That money my aunt spoke of,’ he said, still searching. ‘Fifty guineas. Didn’t she say that Richard used to keep a float of that sum in one of these drawers, and that she hasn’t touched it since his death? I could do with some ready cash, but I can’t find it. Maud says she hasn’t had it, either, so it must be one of the servants. I really don’t wish to call in the police. The servants are upset enough as it is, what with Gavin’s returning, and having to adjust to two new masters in such a short period of time ... Did you hear that the family ghost has been seen again in the cloisters? What nonsense will they think up next!’
‘It will be Gavin’s batman who is responsible for the rumours, I expect. He’s half off his head with worry and fatigue, and sees murderers lurking in every shadow. A bad influence on the rest of the servants. No, I agree, we don’t want to bring the police in. Fifty guineas may seem a great sum to you at the moment, but it is a trifle compared to what Maud will inherit. Be patient; you will soon have enough money to do whatever you wish with the Court.’
Hugo flushed. He had been working as secretary to an out-of-office politician when he had been summoned to Furze Court. His salary had not been large and he had hated the work. His letter of resignation had gone off in the post the day he arrived at the Court.
The clock struck eleven, and the gentlemen checked their watches.
‘I asked them to meet us in the hall at eleven,’ said Hugo. ‘Shall we go? By the way, I’m having the agent repair that footbridge over the river. Nothing has been done to repair it since ... several of the struts are rotten. You can almost believe Gavin’s story when you look at it.’
Mrs Broome was reclining on a settee in front of the fire in the Great Hall when they entered, and beside her sat Lady Amelia. Mr Manning paused to greet the ladies, but Hugo strode to the fireplace and stood with his back to it. The butler ushered Miss Chard into the room.
‘Good morning, Miss Chard. My aunt has something to say to you. Aunt?’
‘I’m so bad at explaining things, Hugo. Won’t you ...?’
Hugo needed no further prompting. ‘Miss Chard, as you may have perceived, we are in some difficulty as regards supervision of the sick-room. Mrs Broome is not well. Neither Miss Broome nor Miss Seld feel they can undertake the responsibility and, in short, we must ask you to take over the job until such time as ... well, you understand me, I think?’
CHAPTER THREE
It was done, and she was to nurse a man suspected of murder. There was no getting out of it. She had tried to excuse herself on the grounds of having had no experience of nursing, but Lad
y Amelia and Mr Manning had overridden her protests. She was to have whichever members of the staff she chose to assist her. The butler and the housekeeper had already been informed that her authority in the sick-room was to be absolute. The remaining agency nurse was at her disposal, but the midwife had returned to the village. Her duties to Agnes would be suspended until after the funeral; yes, Mr Manning had actually put it into words. Until after the funeral. He added in a kindly way that he thought she had worked wonders with young Agnes, and that the Broomes were very lucky to have her.
There was nothing for Miss Chard to do but curtsey, and leave. At one and the same moment she wanted to burst into tears and resign her post, and to rush to the invalid’s side. She was excited by her appointment, and feared the effect on her of close proximity to the sick man.
The Great Hall lay on the opposite side of the Court to the principal bedrooms. No one in his right senses would wish to cross the courtyard on such a day as this, with snow powdering the grass, so she turned to the right out of the Hall, to pass through the dining-room and music-room and thus gain the Oak Gallery on the south side of the Court.
Hugo Broome caught up with her as she entered the music-room. Servants were laying the table for lunch in the dining-room, but the music-room was deserted.
‘The responsibility frightens you?’ he asked, laying a large hand on her arm in familiar fashion. Frances shook her head. ‘Ah, then you must have heard the rumours about my cousin? The inquest? The suspicions?’
‘Such a thing ought not to make any difference to a nurse,’ said Frances, thus betraying that it did, in fact, make a difference to her.
‘Nevertheless, it is in the back of all our minds. I tell myself that perhaps a soldier might have looked on her death in a different light from a civilian. I have tried to find excuses for him, but ...’ He looked around.
The place was deserted. He drew her to one of the oriel windows. ‘We are placing a great burden on you, Miss Chard. I am well aware of that. And, believe me, you will not find us ungrateful.’
‘I hope I will always do my duty.’
‘Perhaps there may be something required of you more than just doing your duty.’ His expression conveyed a deeper, sinister meaning. ‘There has been quite enough scandal attached to my cousin’s name already. For his sake, and for the sake of his family, we would like the close of his life to be seemly. He must be well tended on his death-bed. That goes without saying. Dr Kimpton will help you, if he is well enough; but if not, the young doctor will do the trick. Although somehow I feel you will not need to call on him.’
Frances was puzzled. Was her imagination playing her tricks? Did he mean to insinuate …?
‘You are intelligent, and resolute enough to do what has to be done.’ Hugo’s hand strayed up her arm to her shoulder. He cupped her chin in his hand, and tilted her face up to him. She could see his large white teeth coming closer. ‘Too pretty to be a governess, aren’t you? You’ve had some offers in your time, eh?’
She was afraid of this large man who seemed so sure of himself and of her. Would he kiss her? Surely not. Had she not seen with her own eyes that he was paying attentions to Maud? What would Maud think if she came in at that moment? Frances shivered. She thought she could guess exactly what Maud would say.
‘You have no money of your own, I believe,’ said Hugo. ‘What a pity. With your background and education you ought to set up your own school one day. I am always looking out for possibilities of investing money — on a friend’s behalf, of course. I am sure a school set up by you would repay any capital sum invested in it.’
She tried to laugh, to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Oh, I have not been here long enough to justify ...’
‘There are some services which can only be paid for with that kind of generosity. Think about it, Miss Chard.’
He left her, to return to the hall. Frances leaned against the window to recover. Had she understood him correctly? Had he tried to bribe her to ensure that Gavin Broome died under her hands? She remembered how Nurse Moon had been discovered lying on top of her patient, with a pillow over his face. Had Benson been right all along in suspecting foul play?
She pressed both hands to her temples and tried to think.
‘Beg pardon, Miss,’ someone said, close to her.
Frances jumped. One of the house-parlourmaids, little more than a child, stood before her. She had been crying. Frances’ alarm dissolved, as it always would when her compassion was aroused.
‘Sorry if I startled you, Miss. Only I’m that worried ...’ She sniffed and drew the back of her hand across her face. ‘Have you seen a glass stopper anywhere, Miss? I’ve looked in all the bedrooms and the dining-room and even in the hall and the gun-room, but I can’t see it anywhere. Mr Spilkins says that he’s sure I’ve broken it and he’s going to dock the money from my wages, and the bottle cost ever so much ...’
Mr Spilkins was the butler.
‘A cut-glass stopper, about so big?’ Frances indicated the height of the object Agnes had found. The maid nodded. ‘I may have seen it. You say it came from a decanter? Will you show me?’
‘Not a decanter, Miss. From the desk set on the bureau, here. Sometimes Miss Seld takes it into her bedroom to write letters, but I’ve looked in her room, and I can’t see it.’
Frances inspected the desk set. It was an ornate affair, complete with old-fashioned quill pens and two square, cut-glass ink bottles. One of the ink bottles had lost its stopper, but its fellow was similar in appearance to the one which Agnes had found on the floor of the sick-room.
‘Miss Agnes found it,’ said Miss Chard. ‘I know where it is now.’
‘Oh, of course. Miss Agnes does love things that sparkle. A proper magpie, she is.’
‘She thought it belonged to Lord Broome, and it has been left in the sick-room. I will see that it is returned for you. Don’t worry.’
The little maid was profuse with her thanks. Miss Chard had saved her from disgrace and the loss of half of her salary. Her name was Polly Dowding; this was her first job, which her aunt — who was in the kitchens — had got for her. Anything that Miss Chard wanted, she would only have to ask, and Polly would do it for her.
‘Even help in the sick-room?’ Frances thought it might be useful to have someone whom she could trust to help her.
Polly gulped, and then nodded. ‘Only you’ll have to ask Mr Spilkins.’
Frances said that she would do so, and Polly went galloping off down the music-room. She stopped abruptly when she came to the double doors leading into the dining-room, opened one of them with caution, peered round the edge to see if the coast was clear, and then slid from sight.
Frances went the opposite way, through the ante-room to Mrs Broome’s apartments, and thence to the Oak Gallery. Benson was there, sitting astride a chair outside the door of the State Bedroom. He was watching Agnes, who had chalked a grid on the wooden floor and was playing hopscotch.
‘Miss Chard, Miss Chard!’ Agnes came flying up and gave her governess a hug. ‘Isn’t it heavenly that I’m to have a holiday? Arling is to take me and Nurse to the Armstrongs and I’m to stay for two whole days and nights and play with their puppies and ride on their pony if it stops snowing. Oh, I’m so happy!’
Arling was the head groom, and the Armstrongs were a local family of importance, who lived about two miles away. Frances remembered Isabella had spoken of Miss Susan Armstrong, who would have liked to marry Gavin Broome. Before Frances could comment, Agnes had danced back to her game, and was absorbed in throwing a button into square number three.
Frances wondered if ‘two days and nights’ were supposed to see the end of Lord Broome, and fear trickled down her back. She put up her hand to smooth her hair, and sighed.
‘That’s right, Miss. We’ve got a lot to think about. I’m glad you’re taking charge, for it’s all got too much for me. One nurse, that’s all we’ve got left, and she’s not much use. She’s away gossiping in the servants’ hall now. Did
you hear about the midwife? We’ve lost her, that’s for certain.’
‘No, I ... what about Lord Broome? How is he?’
‘Remember to call him “Major”, Miss. He’s asleep. He wakes and eats and drinks and then dozes off again. He’s going on all right. Do you want to see him? I don’t mind your having a peep.’
‘Not if he’s asleep.’ She did not want to see him at all, but could hardly say so to Benson. ‘What was that about the midwife?’
‘She said she saw the family ghost. I don’t hold with ghosts, no more than the Major ever did. Of course, I’ve heard him tell the story about there being an abbey here once and that one of the monks was supposed to walk the cloisters when the head of the house was in danger. It made a good story, the way he used to tell it. But this is different.’ He kept his voice low, watching Agnes at play.
‘Mrs Peach saw the ghost?’
‘I didn’t say that. She saw something or somebody dressed up as a monk. At first I thought she’d dreamed it, but she’s conscientious enough, and she keeps herself awake in the night by knitting. I saw how much she’d done to her knitting between the time I went to bed and the time she woke me up with her screeching, and I reckon she’d been awake all right, and working away at her needles. I was sleeping on my cot, and she was sitting by the Major’s bed. She said she looked up and saw something big and white reflected in the pier-glass in the dressing-room. She thought at first it was me, so she got up quiet-like, and went to the door between the two rooms, and saw someone standing in the dressing-room doorway, here. The one that’s always locked. So she screamed. Luckily you gave the Major that sleeping draught, or he’d have heard her. By the time I got myself awake there wasn’t anything to be seen. The door was locked, just as it has been ever since I got here. She was gathering her things together. She said she wasn’t paid to put up with ghosts and that she was going straight home. I said she couldn’t leave the house at night, because the outside doors would be locked. She said she didn’t care, she’d sleep in a chair in the servants’ hall if she had to, but she wasn’t stopping here. So I said good riddance, and put a chair under the knob of both doors, and went back to sleep. Only, we won’t get anyone else to come up from the village to give us a hand, because she’ll have told the story to everyone by now.’
Fear for Frances Page 5