The Girl at Rosewood Hall (A Lady Jane Mystery)

by Annis Bell

  The maid at the sideboard stiffened, then, with shaking hands, set more bread to toast.

  “You won’t even keep your rooms. An old maid does not need her own salon!” Bridget sputtered.

  That seemed to be too much even for Matthew. Without looking up from his newspaper, he said, “Shut up, Bridget! Show some respect.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite. Please excuse me.” With tears of rage and despair welling in her eyes, Jane stood up. She lifted her chin, took a deep breath, and looked over her cousin’s head to the door, which swung open just at that moment.

  When she saw Captain Wescott, a spark of hope kindled inside her. She would not let Bridget win in the end . . .

  6.

  Wescott’s boots were still caked with dirt. He seemed to have come directly to the dining room from his errand. His dark hair, somewhat ruffled, fell over the scarf he wore outside his riding jacket. Whatever had happened, his face revealed nothing, and his dark eyes scanned those present only fleetingly before settling on Jane. “Good morning. Please excuse me for having to leave again immediately, but . . . Lady Jane . . .”

  On her way out, Jane saw Bridget raise her teacup affectedly and heard her sneer, “What an uncouth man! Comes barging in here . . . it’s high time you taught the people here some manners . . .”

  Captain Wescott closed the door behind Jane and touched her arm. “You seem upset. Was there some trouble just now? Not because of the dead girl, I hope? Blount let nobody in, though they might well have wanted to lynch him for that.”

  “Just the usual.” Jane managed a smile. “Who tried to get past your valet? Has my uncle heard anything?”

  Wescott shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve just been to the village and spoken to the constable there.”

  “Oh?” Suddenly alert, she looked at him and followed him down the stairs.

  Fearnham, the village, was no more than a collection of houses around a tiny church. Her uncle’s estate was situated in Wiltshire, close to the Hampshire border. Salisbury lay a day’s ride west and Southampton to the southeast. On Sundays, she and her uncle normally attended the service in the small parish church, and Lord Henry was popular not only for his generous donations. His farming tenants appreciated his willingness to listen to their travails and concerns. Jane thought often that all of this would change for the worse once Matthew became the new master of Rosewood.

  Outside the dining room, the entrance hall was being swept and mopped, the carpets rolled up and set aside for beating, and the housemaids and servants were carrying silverware and dishes out of the ballroom under the watchful eye of the master’s butler, Floyd. Seeing Jane and Wescott, he stopped what he was doing and bowed his head.

  “Good morning, my lady.”

  Floyd stood very straight in a flawless black suit. He seemed to have something urgent on his mind.

  “Good morning, Floyd. How is my uncle?” Jane asked.

  “Better. The crisis has passed, but any further excitement should be avoided.” The gray-haired man took a deep breath. “Which is why I would like to ask you about something.” He glanced nervously at Captain Wescott.

  “Please speak freely, Floyd,” Jane encouraged him.

  “Well, the captain’s valet won’t let anyone into the hothouse. Naturally, this is causing all kinds of speculation. Up to now . . .” Floyd looked unhappily from Wescott to Jane.

  “There was an incident yesterday evening, and Captain Wescott was good enough to help me to . . .” Now it was Jane’s turn to cast an inquiring glance at Wescott.

  The captain provided a brief explanation to Floyd. “With the constable’s consent, the girl will be brought to Fearnham and laid out there. The coffin has been ordered, and she will be given a pauper’s grave.”

  Another servant, a young, good-looking man with intelligent but, Jane felt, rather calculating eyes, was standing just two paces from them holding a porcelain bowl in his hands.

  Floyd’s eyes grew wider with every word, and only once Wescott was finished did he notice the servant. “Why are you standing around here, Milton? Go and see Miss Gibbs and tell her I am busy and that she is to take over here. Sir, my lady.” The butler looked around nervously. “Who is the girl of whom you speak? No one from the house seems to be missing, but I could . . .”

  “Come with us,” said the captain.

  Jane and Floyd followed Captain Wescott into the conservatory. The butler kept turning back, and Jane heard him murmur, “I hope that Milton did not hear anything.”

  “Why? What’s the matter with him?” Jane had never paid much attention to the man, who mainly attended Matthew. She clicked her tongue. “You think he’ll go running to my cousin, don’t you?”

  “I’m afraid so, my lady,” he said grimly.

  Both of them knew what that meant, but they were already on their way through the hothouse, where they found the steadfast Blount at the door of the room where the dead girl lay.

  The man still had on the brown suit from the evening before, but he did not seem tired. If anything, he seemed invigorated. “Nothing special to report, sir, other than that one of the servants was here and wanted to question me. He tried to get past.” Blount grinned.

  “Thank you, Blount!” Wescott clapped his valet on the shoulder and pushed the door open.

  “Come inside, Floyd,” said Jane. “Perhaps you know the girl, although I think that is unlikely.” Jane let the butler go ahead, and Floyd crossed himself reverently at the sight of the dead girl.

  Her hands were folded on her chest, and the shawl and blanket so arranged that only her face could be seen. Jane looked gratefully at Wescott, but he was watching the butler.

  “Poor child. No, I don’t know her. She’s not someone I’ve seen here.” Floyd looked up.

  “I found her in the park last night in a sorry state. She was coughing her lungs out and died here just a few minutes later. Hettie says it could be a distant cousin of hers, someone she hasn’t seen for years. It’s possible. Her name is Rosie, she has no other relatives, and it seems she ran away from a bad situation.” Jane cleared her throat and hoped the butler would swallow the white lie.

  Floyd nodded, his expression serious and understanding. He looked first at Jane, then Wescott. “That must be it. That was very wise of you, my lady.”

  That was all he managed to say, for someone started shouting outside the door, and Jane heard the sounds of a scuffle and the smashing of glass and porcelain. Then a heavy wooden shelf crashed to the floor, and Blount shouted, “Captain!”

  The door flew open and Matthew, his face bright red, barged in, closely followed by Milton. Matthew held a pistol in his right hand and was pointing it at Wescott. “What do you think you’re doing? You are a guest in my house, and you dare conceal a crime behind my back? What is going on here? I demand an answer, on the spot!”

  Jane leaned back against the table where the girl’s book still lay. With presence of mind, she concealed the small volume in a fold of her skirts. “Everything is under control, Matthew. You don’t need to storm in here and make such a commotion! And lower the damned pistol!”

  “No one is trying to hide anything. Perhaps we could briefly acquaint you with the circumstances?” said Captain Wescott, his voice calm and clearly accustomed to giving orders. He was taller and more powerful than Matthew, and he radiated a natural authority.

  As if it were the least he could do, Matthew lowered his weapon, but he seemed to sense an opportunity to finally act like the master of the house. “What pack of lies are you going to try to sell me? It’s perfectly clear what happened here. You had your fun with the girl and went too far.”

  Jane saw with trepidation the unbridled fury that flared in Wescott’s eyes.

  “Stop it, Matthew!” Jane screamed at her cousin.

  “Watch what you say, sir.” Wescott’s voice had lowered to a deep growl,
and every muscle in his body seemed tensed, like a predatory cat about to pounce.

  “Are you threatening me? Milton! You heard it! I’ve been threatened! And you, Jane, what are you even doing here, alone in the hothouse with this captain nobody knows? Not that it matters . . . nothing good was ever expected of you.” Matthew’s voice dripped with scorn and contempt.

  “Captain Wescott is a better man than you will ever be. He is a man of honor and—” She paused for a barely perceptible moment. “And my fiancé.”

  “Ha!” Matthew spat derisively, but at the same time he looked confused. He stumbled back against the open door.

  “What the devil is going on here?” thundered Lord Henry’s voice from behind Matthew, who turned and was just able to catch himself on the door frame.

  Jane silently cursed her self-serving cousin. With his ill-tempered outburst, he had brought about precisely what Jane had been hoping to avoid. Hardly had Jane caught sight of her uncle when she felt a painful stab in her belly. Lord Henry stood tall and impressive, sternly taking in the situation, but his face was marked by tension and fatigue.

  A week after that extraordinary morning in Rosewood Hall, things had once more calmed down. For the time being known as Hettie’s cousin, Rosie Gray, the unknown dead girl had found her final resting place in the village cemetery in Fearnham. Jane had presented the possible relationship to her lady’s maid with the greatest reserve, to avoid anyone accusing her of deliberately lying later. The chances of clarifying Rosie’s true identity were poor at best. Neither the girl’s clothes nor a description that the constable had forwarded to other stations in the region brought any results. The girl had appeared out of nowhere, and apparently no one missed her.

  February was coming to an end, and the next day, the first of March, would bring with it the hope of spring. Jane went for a walk with Rufus through the garden, where snow was still to be found in patches of shade. One day, she thought, could change an entire life. She could not forget the face of the girl, her delicate, damaged body, or her final request.

  “Mary,” Jane murmured into the midday air. It was still chilly, but the bitterness had gone out of the cold, and with it the winter.

  The Great Dane turned its head, but Jane scratched his back. “Go on, then. Go for a run, Rufus. I’m just talking to myself.”

  She turned up the fur collar of her long coat and climbed a stone stairway up to the artificial ruins of a small temple. They were laid out picturesquely and situated exactly where strollers could stand and let their eyes roam out over the small river that wound through the landscape at the base of the hill. A carefully tended wood with exotic trees from every continent lay on the far side of the stream. Beyond that lay the village. Jane let her mind follow that line, eventually coming to Salisbury with its train station.

  After the funeral for Rosie, Wescott had left on the train for London. The new railway line made the connection possible, and was far more comfortable than traveling by coach. Jane pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her coat and balled them into fists. She was now officially engaged to Captain Wescott. The news had made her uncle happy, and that made all the difference to Jane, for his health was deteriorating daily. He ought to leave the world with the knowledge that she had found a new home at the side of a respectable man. Everything else would work out.

  Cousin Matthew, Lord Henry’s own son, had puffed himself up and painted Jane as a liar. His wife, Matthew’s equal in maliciousness, took great delight in insinuating that Jane was having an affair with Wescott. Jane could well imagine the gossip at the tea parties Bridget had begun hosting, and had immediately written a letter to Lady Alison to acquaint her with the situation. Jane kept the form of Wescott’s proposal to herself. That was a matter between herself and Wescott, no one else. In less than a month, she would be his wife. Her uncle had insisted on the unusually short engagement, which only confirmed to Jane the validity of her fears for his health.

  The day of her wedding would be a day of departure and of pain. Jane could not hold back her tears any longer, and leaned against one of the cold, white pillars of the artificial temple. Rosewood Hall would no longer be her home, but it made no difference: without her uncle, it would lose its soul.

  Her cheerless thoughts were interrupted by Hettie, who came running breathlessly across the lawn and stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Ma’am, shouldn’t we be going? The horses are already harnessed.”

  Rufus came galloping excitedly around a bush. He did not see the hare zigzagging away as fast as it could, but instead turned with interest to Hettie.

  “Don’t you jump up on me, you calf!” Hettie said, fending off the dog and holding her hands protectively in front of the lovely blue coat Jane had given her for Christmas. Rufus barked and trotted away.

  Jane wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and came down from her lookout. She had ordered the coach to go into the village. Her uncle didn’t want her hovering around him all the time and frequently hid himself away in his study. A local lawyer had been in with him since the early hours of the morning, helping him sort out his affairs. Jane only had to think about it and the tears began to blur her vision again.

  “Oh, ma’am, please don’t cry. I can’t bear it when you’re sad.” Hettie fished in her bag for a handkerchief.

  “It’s all right, Hettie, thank you.” Jane cleared her throat and whistled for Rufus. “We’re going into the village to see if we can find out anything about Rosie.”

  “My cousin,” said Hettie unnecessarily, giving her mistress a conspiratorial smile.

  “We should mention the matter as little as possible. It’s not like we want to lie deliberately.”

  “No, of course not. The poor thing’s got a lovely grave beneath the lilacs. When it gets warm, the flowers there bloom a pretty white, and smell sweet.” A gust of wind shook the ties on Hettie’s bonnet, a meager covering, and Jane shivered.

  Jane took great pleasure in giving Hettie items of clothing that Hettie herself could not afford. It rested on her, finally, if her lady’s maid was not properly outfitted, but she mainly just enjoyed spoiling Hettie. The girl had grown up in poverty, but never complained about her background and always spoke warmly about her family in Cornwall. It was standard practice not to employ servants from the local area. Often enough, young girls entering domestic service for the first time were plagued by homesickness and simply ran away. If their parents lived close by, the risk of them absconding was higher. Moreover, separating the place of work from relatives by at least thirty miles made communication—and therefore gossip—more difficult. Before Rosie died, Jane had not been as aware of the mechanisms that controlled the lives of masters and servants, and she wondered if the time had come to rethink some things.

  The coachman stood beside the team of horses and was chatting with one of the servants, the man Jane now knew to be Milton. The moment Milton saw her, however, he disappeared, and the coachman opened the door of the carriage for Jane.

  “Did you see that, Hettie?” said Jane to her maid in a low voice. “I can’t suffer that Milton much longer. He’s always showing up where he ought not be. He seems to be spying on me. I’ll bet a shilling he asked the driver where we’re off to.” Rufus was sniffing at the coach, and Jane shooed him back to the house before climbing inside.

  “Then let’s ask him!” Hettie whispered, and turned to the driver. “What did Milton want from you? Doesn’t he have anything to do?”

  The driver, a portly man with graying hair, scratched his scalp beneath his hat and mumbled between gappy teeth: “Nothing to do with you. Keep your nose out of men’s business, darling.”

  With that, he slammed the door and swung himself up onto the box seat.

  Hettie sat down opposite her mistress and pulled a face. “Rude man!”

  “Might be, but might not be. Perhaps I’m seeing Matthew’s allies everywhere.” Jane sighed and
looked out the window. From Rosewood Hall, it was a quarter-hour ride by horse or coach out to the road into Fearnham.

  The Lord of Pembroke was a rich man. His estates lay in what, for Jane, was one of the most beautiful parts of England. The earth was fertile, and the gently rolling green hills were covered with forests that teemed with game. Matthew, it seemed, could wait no longer to come into his inheritance, and already saw himself as the master of Rosewood Hall. And Jane feared that her cousin would not settle only for that to which he was entitled.

  7.

  Mary

  Mary had already been sitting in the tiny attic for three days. In winter, when the icy winds blew and the ice crept from the skylight out along the walls, those imprisoned here sometimes came down with a burning fever and cough that would not let up. After seven days of solitary confinement in there, weaker children were known to have died.

  “But I’m not weak. I’m not! You won’t get me,” Mary murmured to herself.

  Master Ledford had kept her shut inside the attic ever since Tim had fled. She would only be let out when she told them how he and his friends had accomplished their escape and where they had gone. No one believed that she didn’t know.

  She squatted on the sack of straw that served as both bed and seat, the scratchy woolen blanket pulled around her tightly. She leaned her back against the wooden wall and looked up at the ceiling. Through the skylight, she could see the night was clear and full of stars. Polly had known the names of the constellations. Mary sobbed. She missed her best friend terribly. She had been brought to the orphanage seven years earlier with her brother. Her father had already been dead a long time. Her mother worked in a textile factory until the coughing grew steadily worse. In the end, all she did was spit blood and fight just to breathe. It was horrible, having to stand by and watch when her mother sat up suddenly in bed, clutching at her throat and gasping like a dying fish. And then she simply fell back, eyes open, and never moved again. At that moment, she looked more peaceful than she ever had before.