While staying with Vicky at the London flat, Ruth had rung Hardy nearly every day, hoping upon hope that Delia and Barrie were showing signs of departing Canleigh but to no avail. They remained in Delia’s room, working their way through the Krug stored in the wine cellar. Ruth, losing patience when Delia refused to speak to her, instructed Hardy to inform Delia that Charles was on his way home, thinking that might make the pair leave Canleigh without further ado. It hadn’t worked. Delia had laughed in Hardy’s face and demanded more champagne.
Then came the distressing telephone call from Hardy around eleven thirty last night, just as Ruth was preparing for bed. Vicky had retired two hours earlier, still not going down to the club as Alex insisted he could manage until she was better and she needed as much rest as possible and felt ready to face the general public again.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Your Grace,” Hardy started, causing Ruth’s stomach to flip anxiously.
“Go on …,” she urged, unable to bear any kind of suspense. It must be really bad for Hardy to ring her at this time of night sounding so distraught.
“There’s been a fire, Your Grace … in Lady Delia’s bedroom. She is badly injured and is on the way to hospital but Mr. Barrie … he crashed his car going down the drive … I’m afraid he’s dead.”
“What?” Ruth gasped, closing her eyes in disbelief.
Hardy, leaving nothing out, explained in more detail exactly what had occurred. Ruth’s first fear had been for Charles and how he would react … and he would have to be informed as fast as possible before it was broadcast to the world … and then there was Vicky. She had to be told her errant husband was dead … in the most appalling way. Burnt alive in his car. Ruth shuddered. What a dreadful tragedy. She had never liked Barrie and certainly didn’t trust him but he was young and had his whole future before him. She felt bad for his parents too, who would also have to be notified quickly, but luckily, the police were most helpful and offered to tell them, which was a burden she and Vicky wouldn’t have to bear.
Ruth didn’t tell Vicky immediately. She sat in the lounge of the flat in her nightdress and dressing gown and mulled over how to tell Charles. Neither of them liked to go to bed too early and very often stayed up until the early hours reading. No doubt he would be relaxing on the sofa in the red drawing room, devouring one of the many historical non-fiction books he owned to help him with research for his next novel. She made the call, knowing he would know something was up immediately as they had only enjoyed a long chat this afternoon.
“Darling!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again today. Is something the matter?”
“Yes, Charles. I am afraid there is,” replied Ruth, taking in a deep breath and praying he would be able to take in the traumatic events at Canleigh without becoming too distressed and raising his blood pressure.
However, he had taken it more calmly than she thought he would and, in his usual understanding way, he had realised what a predicament she had been in and was grateful to her for not telling him that Delia and Barrie were at Canleigh. Ruth had put his welfare before everything and he loved her for it.
“Right,” he had said once she had relayed all that Hardy had told her. “We must all go home. Tomorrow. I’ll drive Tina and Stephen back. If we leave after breakfast, we can reach Canleigh around three in the afternoon, allowing for the fact that we will have to stop for lunch and Tina will have to see to Stephen’s needs. Can you catch a train to reach Leeds about that time, Ruth? Then I can meet you at the station. I presume Vicky will want to come with you. Goodness knows what we are going to find and even if we will be able to sleep in the Hall. We might have to camp out at the Dower House … or go to a hotel.”
“Hardy did say it was basically only Delia’s room as Anderson reacted so quickly with the fire extinguisher. Apparently, the corridor and the rooms nearby have some smoke damage but that’s all. It could have been so much worse,” replied Ruth, trying to be positive.
“That’s something, at least,” he replied, suddenly sounding very tired.
“Charles. Are you sure you are okay? I can always come straight up to you and drive you all back to Canleigh.”
“No,” he insisted. “I’m perfectly fine, Ruth. Please don’t worry. If I didn’t think I was well enough to drive down, I wouldn’t. I certainly don’t want to put Stephen and Tina at risk. Ring me in the morning and let me know exactly what time your train gets in and I’ll make sure I’m there. It’s a pity Perkins has retired now and I don’t think we should bother Hardy more than necessary at the moment. It sounds as if he’s had a terrible week and is probably in shock, poor man.”
Ruth admired him for the way he cared for his staff and those around him. He was so kind and considerate. She had been really lucky, finding him to share her life with.
Once Charles had said goodbye, promising to get straight to bed, Ruth turned to her next formidable task … informing Vicky that her husband was dead. Vicky wasn’t difficult to wake as she had been disturbed by Ruth talking on the telephone. She was still using the guest room, unable to return to the master bedroom after what had occurred there. Ruth knocked and entered. Vicky, looking fragile, dressed in a virginal white cotton nightdress, pulled herself up to rest against the velvet headboard, and stared worriedly at Ruth when she sat on the bed and took Vicky’s hand in hers.
“I am so very sorry, Vicky,” Ruth murmured softly, not wanting to have to say the words she knew she must.
“Oh no!” Vicky cried, her eyes widening with alarm. “Not Father. Please don’t tell me it’s Father.”
“Oh, no,” Ruth said quickly, grasping Vicky’s hand tighter. “No, Vicky. It’s … Barrie. He’s had a car crash at Canleigh. I’m so sorry, love but he’s dead.”
Vicky’s eyes widened with surprise. “What? How … why … what about Delia … was she with him?”
“No. Apparently, they seem to have had some kind of a row and there’s been a fire in her bedroom. She’s injured and is in hospital. Vicky, your father is returning home tomorrow so I’m going to have to go back to Canleigh too. Do you want to come with me?”
“Yes. I think I do. I don’t know what use I shall be but we all need to be there for Father … and I want to be with the two of you. I don’t want to remain here on my own. Oh, goodness, Ruth. What about Barrie’s parents? They need to know.”
“Hardy told the police you were unwell and the rest of us are scattered around the country so they are arranging for someone from Oxford police station to do it. It can’t be left for long as it will be all over the news in the morning.”
“I suppose it will,” said Vicky, sorrowfully. “Ruth. I think I must be an awful person. The only thing I feel is some kind of weird relief. I should be devastated … my husband is dead … but I don’t even want to cry. Whatever is the matter with me?”
Ruth sat down beside her and hugged her close. “It’s the shock, Vicky … and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. That man put you through hell … and he can’t do it again. You’re totally safe now and won’t ever have to worry about him walking through the door or working at the club anymore. The next few weeks will probably be hard but once all the funeral business is over and done with, you’ll be free to get on with your life … and put all this behind you … now,” she said, picking up the bottle of sleeping pills beside the bed. “Take one of these … and if you don’t mind, I’ll have one too. We don’t need to spend hours tossing and turning, thinking about what might or might not have happened. It will be bad enough, dealing with it all, when we reach Canleigh.”
Ruth left Vicky to sleep, glad that she hadn’t had to deal with any hysterics, and went to bed herself, hoping the sleeping tablet would do its job. Her mind was all over the place with so much to think about and plan for.
And now, here they all were, back at Canleigh and one more bend and the Hall would come into view. Charles was gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had turned white, Vicky w
as crying softly on Tina’s shoulder in the back. Ruth just stared anxiously, willing the Hall to look the same as it always had.
At first glance, it didn’t look too bad. Delia’s bedroom window was black with smoke, as were her sitting room and the guest room windows at either side of it, along with the stonework surrounding them. Another police car, along with a fire engine, stood on the gravel near to the steps to the front door. The firefighters were winding up hoses and packing their equipment away. They all looked weary.
“Why are they still here?” asked Vicky, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I thought the fire was last night.”
“They would have remained to make absolutely sure there was no chance of it starting up again,” said Charles. “And probably trying to find out what actually caused it.”
He pulled up the Rolls next to the two vehicles and turned off the engine. “I’m half frightened to go in,” he said. “Heaven only knows what we are going to find.”
“We’ll do it together … come on, darling. It really doesn’t look too bad from here. It could have been a whole lot worse,” replied Ruth. “And we’ll soon have it repaired and restored and in a few weeks’ it will be as good as new.”
Charles squeezed her hand. “Yes, darling. You’re right. As always.”
Tina was taking Stephen out of the car and Hardy, his face a picture of misery and concern, descended the front steps and opened the passenger door of the Rolls. The strong smell of smoke drifting down from above caused Ruth to recoil.
“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” Hardy said quietly to Ruth as she moved to get out of the car. “It all happened so quickly.”
Charles was standing on the gravel and gazing up at the top floor with a look of dismay on his face. He had heard Hardy. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Hardy. You were in a dreadful position and you did your best. If you and Anderson hadn’t acted so fast and rushed up to Delia’s room so quickly, it would have been quite a different story. Delia is a very lucky woman to have survived and it’s all thanks to both of you, dragging her out of her bedroom. It must have been terrifying. You were both very brave … and I can’t thank you enough.”
“Thank you, your Grace but it was Anderson really. He raced up the stairs to Lady Delia’s room as soon as we smelt the smoke. He dragged her out and then we managed to get her down the stairs together… then he rushed back up with the fire extinguisher and put out the worst of the flames but his hands are burnt quite badly so he is in hospital too. Poor lad. He was marvellous … he even dashed up the drive to see what he could do for … but it was too late. He was so brave and Betty … she looked after him and Lady Delia until help arrived. It was sheer pandemonium then with three fire engines, two for the house and one for the … for the car. Then there were two ambulances and the police. All screaming down the drive at once. It was dreadful, Your Grace. Simply dreadful.”
Charles put a hand on Hardy’s shoulder, seeing his butler was near to tears. “It must have been. I just wish we had been here and then this would never have happened.”
“I am so sorry about Lady Delia, Your Grace. She was in quite a bad way. Her face is all cut up and she was barely conscious, not only from the smoke, but I think Mr. Barrie had hit her … knocked her out.”
“Oh, Lord,” Charles uttered. “Let’s all go inside and see what’s what. Then I’ll ring the hospital. I take it your part of the top floor is okay, Hardy?”
“Yes, Your Grace. The only rooms affected up there are the few above Lady Delia’s bedroom but as they are empty and it’s only smoke, it’s nothing too disastrous. The fire doors between them and the rest of the floor prevented the smoke penetrating any further. The worst of the damage is on the first floor. Lady Delia’s bedroom is gutted, being the seat of the fire, and there’s smoke and water damage in the adjoining sitting room and guestroom. Lady Victoria’s bedroom and sitting room and two further guest rooms have smoke damage.”
“Great,” muttered Vicky. “Trust Delia to ruin my rooms.”
“You can have one of the guest rooms on the north wing, darling … until we can restore yours,” said Charles, giving her a hug. He was worried about her. She looked drawn and ill and if Barrie hadn’t already been dead, he would have happily killed him himself. Vicky was such a lovely girl and didn’t deserve any of what that man had put her through. She was well rid of him.
Charles turned back to Hardy. “And downstairs,” he asked anxiously, “the crimson state rooms beneath Lady Delia’s bedroom? I do hope they aren’t ….”
“Unfortunately, they have water damage, Your Grace … from the fire engines. The silk on the walls and the carpet are in a terrible mess and as for the state bed …”
“Blast,” swore Charles. “My mother loved those rooms. Have the fire brigade investigated and decided what caused it yet?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Grace. They want to speak to you as soon as you’re ready but apparently, it was a discarded cigarette in the bed sheets.”
Charles cursed under his breath as they all entered the Hall.
“Hardy, what’s the nursery like?” asked Ruth. “Can we use it?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Again, the fire doors prevented anything getting through.”
“I can’t thank the insurance company enough for recommending we have them fitted last year. It looks like they were a sound investment,” muttered Charles, striding up the steps into the entrance hall.
“Let’s go upstairs and settle Stephen into the nursery,” said Ruth to Tina.
“Let’s all go upstairs,” said Charles. “I need to see exactly what my delinquent daughter has done to the house she professes to love so much.”
* * *
After a quick glance to make sure the nursery and adjoining rooms on the top floor of the east wing were safe for Stephen, Ruth left him and Tina, sped down the stairs and joined Charles and Vicky on the first floor of the west wing. The smell of smoke hit them with force as Charles held open the fire door for them to go through, but there was little else to indicate how near to disaster Canleigh had been until he opened Delia’s bedroom door. The room was a complete mess and smelt simply awful. The ebony four-poster bed was a charred wreck and the ceiling and window were blackened. Fire damage, followed by a good soaking from Anderson’s fire extinguisher and then gallons of water from the fire brigade’s efforts to dampen it all down, had destroyed the curtains and furnishings but as bad as it all was, as far as Charles and Ruth could see there was no structural damage.
“Thank goodness Anderson reacted so quickly,” Charles said quietly. “If it hadn’t have been for him … it just doesn’t bear thinking about.”
They quickly surveyed the adjoining guestrooms, Delia’s sitting room, and Vicky’s two rooms. Thankfully, there was no serious damage. Everything would have to be cleaned thoroughly and redecorated but that was all. Canleigh Hall had been very lucky indeed.
Charles continued on down the corridor, closely followed by Ruth and Vicky. They passed the lovely room at the end of the west corridor Ruth had used on her first visit to Canleigh as Richard’s guest and turned left through another fire door into the south corridor. They passed two more guest rooms and then Charles paused to stare at Richard’s bedroom door. Vicky and Ruth stopped behind him, waiting for him to open it.
“You don’t have to go in there yet, if you don’t want to,” said Ruth, feeling his pain.
“I’ll have to at some time. There are all his things. They will have to be sorted. Actually, Ruth. I hadn’t thought. What about all his belongings at his flat in Oxford … and his car?”
“All dealt with, darling, while you were in hospital. His friends, Rowan Simmonds and Carl Fortescue packed everything up and drove them here in Richard’s car. Then they took the train back to Oxford. The car is in the garage, down at the stables.”
“Well, if neither of you ladies would like it, I suppose we’ll have to sell it. I certainly have no use for a sports car,” Charles attempted a smile.
&n
bsp; “I’ll drive it down to London when I go back,” offered Vicky, sorrowfully. “I can sell it down there easily enough.”
“Thank you. I don’t really want to see it here, as a constant reminder. Let’s go back downstairs. I don’t know about you two but I need a drink after all this.”
That’s a relief anyway,” Charles continued as they descended the stairs back to the library, where Hardy had opened the French windows to allow in the fresh air. “We can still use our rooms, Vicky can have one of the guest rooms for the time being, and the nursery is unaffected. I’ll not look at the crimson rooms until later. I don’t think I can face it at the moment,” he said, glancing up at the portrait of his mother over the fireplace, wondering what she would have thought of her precious Delia now.
He nodded at the brandy decanter and then glanced at his wife and daughter. “Would you like one?”
Both women nodded, watching him pour a liberal amount into three glasses. Vicky and Ruth took the drinks gratefully, needing something to steady their nerves after such a traumatic homecoming.
Vicky moved to the French window, stared out blankly, and then threw back the brandy in one gulp.
“Are you okay?” Ruth asked, deeply worried how this was all going to affect the young woman she had grown so fond of. Vicky was physically on the mend from the assault in London but was still vulnerable and Ruth was at her wits end to know what more she could do to help her … and then there was Charles to worry about … Barrie’s funeral to get through … and the biggest problem of all … Delia. Someone from the family should visit her in hospital. Vicky wouldn’t and shouldn’t. Charles certainly couldn’t, as it would make him too angry. Therefore, Ruth had a nasty feeling it was going to have to be her. She, too, drank her brandy quickly.
Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) Page 58