“If we must put up with your presence Delia, the least you can do is be civil,” snapped Vicky, sitting beside Ruth. She had no wish to sit near Delia. The last time they had seen each other was in this very room when Vicky had accused Delia of seducing Barrie. Vicky recalled that evening with a shudder. Just seeing Delia again had brought it all back with a shocking force. She had thought she had gotten over it, put it in the past but being here again with her sister and hearing her mocking, sarcastic tones, reminded her sharply of how she had felt on that night.
“Ah, Hardy,” Delia said as the butler entered the room. “We were wondering where you were. We’re all ravenously hungry.”
“I’m sorry, Your Ladyship. I was called away to the telephone.” He looked at Ruth. “Lord Wiltshire. He was just confirming his attendance at the funeral, Your Grace.”
Ruth nodded. The funeral in two days’ time was going to be a minefield for her, meeting so many members of the aristocracy whom she had not met before and having to entertain them afterwards in the ballroom, which would be set up after the removal of Richard’s coffin, for refreshments for the guests.
Hardy served the meal but while Delia ate with gusto, Ruth and Vicky pushed the roast beef and vegetables around their plates with little interest, watching Delia throw back glass after glass of Merlot once she had finished her overly large gin and martini. She threw the odd superior look down the table at Ruth and Vicky, knowing they were frightened of her, which pleased her immensely. They made her skin crawl, especially Ruth. God, how Delia hated her, sitting there in Margaret’s place, pretending she was in charge of the situation, issuing instructions to Hardy, thanking him so prettily. It was pathetic.
It was Vicky who spoke first, unable to bear the crushing, ominous silence.
“No doubt you are aware Richard is in the ballroom. Have you been in to see him?” she asked Delia.
Delia tossed her head back and locked eyes with Vicky. “Yes. Hardy told me when I arrived. But no, I haven’t been in. I will later,” she said, knowing she wouldn’t. How could she look down at the brother she had slain in cold blood and pretend she was desperately upset about his death? She had masterminded it and carried it out. No. She couldn’t possibly stand beside his coffin and pretend she was sorry. She wasn’t sorry at all. He had deserved everything he had got … betraying her trust, reneging on his promise. She would never forgive him. She was glad he was dead.
She changed the subject swiftly. “So, how is Father? I was so sorry to hear he had suffered such a bad attack … you really should have looked after him better, Ruth. After all, you are a doctor … oh no, I forgot … you packed it all in, didn’t you? Why was that? Was it because you didn’t have the stamina for such a demanding career or was it that the glittering prize my father dangled in front of your eyes was too enticing for you to ignore? I mean to say, last time we met, you had designs on Richard, but Father must have been much easier prey … an old, lonely man … desperate to have some female company.”
Vicky put a restraining hand on Ruth’s arm. “Daddy is improving slowly but I can’t understand your sudden concern. You’ve been out of police custody for a couple of days … and you haven’t exactly rushed to his side … so exactly where have you been?”
Delia smiled wryly and nodded to Hardy to refill her wine glass. “Aah. I wondered when you would ask. I was otherwise engaged, Vicky, darling. You know, you should treasure your Barrie. He’s such a sweetie and it was awfully good of him to help me out with my bail … I really don’t know what I’d have done without his generous support,” she purred, smiling demurely.
Both Ruth and Vicky sat in stunned silence, unable to believe Delia’s words. Vicky found it hard to breathe. Why on earth would Barrie bail Delia? Why should he? But it would explain his reluctance to talk to her. ‘He was busy,’ he had said. Yes, he had been busy … having sex with Delia. It was written all over Delia’s face. While Vicky had been here, grieving for Richard, worried about their father and supporting Ruth, her rotten husband had been enjoying sex with her sister, the person who had probably caused all this anguish in the first place. And where had they been having sex? The thought of them romping in the marital bed was appalling. How could Barrie do this to her? She really thought he loved her. How stupid she had been. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Vicky closed her eyes, recalling Barrie leaving Delia’s room when they were all last here at Canleigh together. She couldn’t believe how naive she had been, taking him back, marrying him … just to have it all happen again. The humiliation was too great. She took one last look at Delia’s triumphant smile, rose from the table and without a word, fled the room.
Ruth had never been so angry. Horrified by Delia’s appalling revelation and desperately sorry for Vicky, she gave vent to her feelings.
“Why do you have to be so utterly cruel?” she bridled. “To your very own lovely sister … who would never dream of hurting anyone? She is ….”
“Oh, spare me,” leapt in Delia. “She asks for it. She’s too soft. She needs to toughen up. Life is hard and she should learn to take the knocks.”
“You’re outrageous,” said Ruth heatedly. “Vicky is a wonderful, warm-hearted person and has done nothing to deserve the treatment you dish out … and to deliberately set out to destroy her marriage is totally unforgivable.”
“What the hell do you know about it?” Delia snarled.
Ruth’s heart was thumping. She knew perfectly well that Delia sensed she was terrified of her but she was determined to stand up to her. If Delia got the better of her now, she would never get the upper hand again and for Charles, Vicky and Stephen she had to. She was their chief protector.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at Delia squarely. “We are all under considerable strain at the moment. I think it best if we try to get along while you are in this house, although I suggest you keep a wide berth from Vicky and as soon as the funeral is over, I suggest you leave Canleigh.”
Delia smiled antagonisingly. “Oh, no, darling. I intend to remain here until the trial. This is my home. I have nowhere else to go and I have given the courts Canleigh as my permanent address … and I have been away so long I have a lot to catch up on … meeting my new step-brother for instance.”
“That can wait!” Ruth gripped her knife and fork so hard, her knuckles turned white. She was mortified to see Delia had noticed.
“Why?”
“He is asleep and tomorrow his nanny is taking him out for the day.”
“That’s a shame … but Ruth, why is it I get the impression you don’t want me to see him … the new little heir to Canleigh?”
Ruth felt sick with fear and she knew she had to get away from this taunting woman as fast as possible. She stood up and turned to the butler who was standing uncomfortably by the sideboard, waiting to clear the plates from the table so he could serve pudding.
Hardy was scandalised and appalled by what he was hearing from the mouth of Lady Delia, whom he had known since she returned from the hospital with Richard when they were new born babies. It had been a real pleasure to watch them grow up and he had thoroughly enjoyed all those mornings and evenings driving her backwards and forwards to Thistledown, when all she thought about was horses and Master Philip. Then, when she was older and the Duke was away such a lot and left her on her own at Canleigh with just the staff, she had been a thoroughly responsible young lady, attending her course at Askham Bryan college every day and working hard at the Kershaw’s in her spare time, helping Master Philip with the horses and his business there. At that time, Hardy and the remainder of the staff at Canleigh had huge respect for the young woman. Until the weekend Philip had thrown her over. The young girl they had all watched grow up so well changed beyond recognition, starting with her antics with Lady Victoria’s boyfriend, then screaming blue murder at Lord Richard and the Duke and following that, flouncing out of the house, not to be seen again for another eighteen months. Then there was the huge question mark over what had gone on in Richard’s flat.
Would she have killed him? Would she have killed this Peter Percival? Hardy didn’t want to believe it of her but listening to her venom towards poor Lady Victoria and the lovely young Duchess didn’t bode well. Hardy was utterly sickened but in his usual stoic manner his face looked composed and kept his eyes well away from the woman he feared was becoming more like her mother every day but at least, Margaret had never killed anyone. He smiled sympathetically at the Duchess.
“I’m sorry, Hardy. I have no appetite for pudding but I’ll have coffee in my bedroom,” said Ruth quickly.
She turned to Delia. “Just keep away from my son. I don’t want your poisonous presence anywhere near him. Do you understand?”
“Whatever you say, Ruth,” drawled Delia. “After all, you’re the Duchess of Canleigh. You’re in charge.”
“In the absence of your father, yes, I am and I would be grateful if you could remember that and I’m warning you … I shan't stand any nonsense. You can remain at Canleigh, if you must … at least until whenever your trial takes place. As soon as your father is fit to travel, I am taking him and Stephen to Blairness and until then I strongly suggest you keep out of everyone’s way as much as possible, especially Vicky. You’re poison, Delia … to all of us and I shall be extremely glad when they lock you up … because I don’t know how you did it but I am pretty positive you killed Richard … or had him killed. Either way, you are responsible for his death and although Richard and I have been estranged for some time, I mourn his loss and can never forgive you for what you have done to this family.”
Shaking with anger and fright, Ruth left the room in a hurry and flew upstairs to find Vicky had locked herself in her bedroom.
“Vicky, please let me in,” Ruth begged, desperately worried about her.
Vicky was obviously crying bitterly as her voice was muffled. “No, Ruth. Leave me for now … I’m tired and want to go to bed.”
“Okay, but if you want to talk, I’ll be in my room.”
Ruth made her way slowly down the corridor to her bedroom, her mind in turmoil. Vicky’s marriage was rocky enough without Delia causing more havoc and her interference could prove to be the final straw. Ruth didn’t know how Vicky would be able to forgive Barrie a dalliance with her sister a second time. Ruth felt so sorry for her. What a complete and utter rat Barrie had proved to be.
She reached her bedroom and knocked gently on the door. “It’s me, Tina,” she said softly.
Tina was quick to let her in. “Stephen has been fine, Your Grace. He will need a feed soon though.”
“Thank you so much. You go off home now and I’ll see you in the morning. I’ve told Lady Delia you’re taking Stephen out for the day tomorrow so perhaps you could take him to your home … that is, if you don’t mind? I have to visit my husband and will be busy with last minute funeral arrangements and will feel much happier if I know he isn’t here at Canleigh.”
Tina nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. I will be more than happy to take him home. He will be quite safe there.”
Tina departed. Ruth locked the door behind her and turned to her sleeping son in the cradle beside the bed. He stirred, opened his eyes and waved his tiny hands in the air. She picked him up and cuddled him close, breathing in his gorgeous baby smell. His skin was like silk. She kissed his face and neck. Just to feel his warm cheek against hers gave her courage and determination. She loved him so fiercely. She would do anything to keep him safe and happy and somehow she would find the strength to do so but until Delia left Canleigh for good Ruth knew she was going to have to keep up her guard at all times of the day and night and she was already exhausted.
Her son gurgled and made her smile. “Right, little man. Let’s get you settled for the night. A feed and a nappy change are in order I think.”
She pushed all depressing thoughts from her mind. She treasured every moment she had alone with him and for now, she was going to concentrate totally on his needs and nothing else.
* * *
Delia also declined pudding and returned to her bedroom for a cigarette. Beneath that mocking, sarcastic exterior she was quivering with rage. Ruth’s presence at Canleigh was intolerable. Delia detested her … even more than she had detested Richard and their father. She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw herself on her bed and collapse into a paroxysm of weeping. She wanted to beat the pillow furiously, to pretend it was Ruth’s face. Bloody, bloody woman. Worming her way into the affections of her father and producing another heir. Delia was wild with anger and didn’t know how to vent it. She puffed furiously on her cigarette, opened the window and deposited the ash outside. The cold night air helped calm her. There was a breeze and the bushes beneath her window rustled. An owl hooted in the distance. Canleigh. She was home. At last. And here she was going to stay, whatever that stupid woman might say. And there was the funeral to get through. All those people who would descend on Canleigh to pay their respects and no doubt stare at her and wonder if she had really killed him. It wasn’t going to be easy. She thought about his body down in the ballroom. Until now she hadn’t wanted to see him but suddenly the urge descended on her. She wanted to make her peace with him while no-one else was about.
Quietly she made her way back downstairs. Hardy had cleared the dining room and retired for the night. Delia crossed the entrance hall and turned on lights as she passed through the green drawing room, the Italian room and the gold drawing room, and finally reached the door of the ballroom. Hesitating with her hand on the knob, she pulled herself upright and opened the door. The candles were still alight and the lamps were on. The strong perfume from the lilies and roses hit her and almost made her reel. She looked at the oak coffin in the centre of the room with its polished brass handles and felt sick but somehow she put one foot in front of another and made her way to it.
Richard looked relaxed and at peace in his cocoon of white silk. Delia gazed down at him, wanting to touch him but knowing he would be stone cold. Instead, she rested her hand on the side of the coffin.
“Oh, Richard,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you keep your promise? Why didn’t you let me run the estate? You foolish man. This could have all been so different. We could have all been so happy and had what we wanted if you had just kept your word.” She banged her hand on the side of the coffin, her anger growing and spoke through gritted teeth. “And now I have another problem that needs sorting. That bitch upstairs and her bloody little baby and I just know she will fight tooth and nail to keep me out of here. Thank you so much, Richard for letting me down so badly. May you rot in hell for what you have made me do and for what I am going to have to do.”
She turned swiftly, left the ballroom and ran back to her room. She lit another cigarette and tried to stop her hands shaking. The room was very cold as she had left the window open. She pulled a cardigan around her shoulders and stood by the window again while she inhaled the smoke and tried to calm down, thinking about her next move. She had to get through the coming days as best she could and she had to have something to help her.
Demon. She would go in search of her beloved horse in the morning. He was still being cared for by Philip. Her heart missed a beat. She would see him too. Find out if his marriage was working. She hoped not. It would be easier to get him back if there were cracks in the relationship … and get him back was exactly what she was going to do … after all; she had nothing else to do for a few months.
CHAPTER 31
March 1974
Weak, depressed and sad, Charles lay in his bed in the private room at the hospital. His son’s funeral was today and he wasn’t able to attend. He hadn’t even been able to return to Canleigh to say farewell to Richard lying in his coffin.
He felt a little better in himself. The chest monitors had been removed and he had been allowed out of bed yesterday and to give him a change of scenery, Ruth and Vicky took turns pushing him around the hospital and its grounds in a wheelchair. But the visit hadn’t been a good one. With the funeral looming, they were all tense and Vick
y looked as if she had been crying all night. Apart from telling him that Delia was now at Canleigh, they weren’t forthcoming in how things really were but Charles guessed she was making them uncomfortable. It was a terrible dilemma and Charles felt so frustrated and angry that he couldn’t be there to help them through this ghastly time and to try and keep calm for the sake of his health was proving a difficult task. How could he when his family were being torn apart and his precious son was being buried today?
He squeezed his eyes tightly, trying to force the tears away. Scenes played in his mind of his son growing up. Richard, being taunted by Delia as they learned to ride and he wasn’t as keen as her. Richard, showing signs of wanting to be a doctor and spending hours playing about with the skeleton Margaret had brought him home from one of her interminable trips. Richard, rambling over the Scottish hills with him on one of their long walks at Blairness. Richard, devouring the books Charles wrote; always interested, always supportive, and always proud. Richard, doing well at school with glowing reports and excellent exam results. Richard, his precious son. Charles opened his eyes and let the tears fall.
* * *
Philip Kershaw sat at the old oak table in the kitchen at Tangles and thought long and hard about the morning ahead. He was going to attend the funeral. He had to. Richard had been his friend when they were growing up. Even though Philip was closer to Delia than Richard … and Richard wasn’t so keen on tearing about the countryside on horseback as they had been, he had still figured largely in Philip’s young life, during school holidays and on their frequent trips to Blairness when Philip was always included. Philip had considerable respect for Richard, trying to make his own way in the world, wanting to become a top surgeon and working hard towards his goal. He could have had a life of luxury at Canleigh and possessed his own money to do more or less as he liked, having inherited a million pounds from his grandmother, but no, Richard had chosen a hard path and by all accounts had been tipped to achieve the dizzy heights in his career. Richard was going to be a great loss to the medical world.
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 51