The Girl at Rosewood Hall (A Lady Jane Mystery)

by Annis Bell

  In an astonishingly well-appointed hallway stood two chairs beside a table with a vase of flowers. It smelled of bread, and from a distant part of the building came the sound of singing. Jane allowed a servant to take her cloak and was about to hand the woman her calling card when a man of average height and appearance came toward her, his head slightly bowed.

  His bearing was humble, but his humility was for show. Jane could see that his eyes were alert and calculating. “Lady Allen! What an honor to welcome such a prominent visitor within our modest walls. If we had known you were coming . . . Ledford is my name. I run this institute. If you please.” He gestured invitingly.

  The maid waited off to one side in a passage from which the smell of bread wafted.

  “Paula will serve your butler and maid tea in the kitchen,” Mr. Ledford directed. Then he led Jane through modest but comfortably furnished rooms into a small reception chamber.

  A blond woman of around thirty rose to her feet as they entered.

  “My wife, Virginia. Ginny, may I introduce Lady Allen?” said Ledford. He offered Jane an armchair that stood between a sofa and two chairs.

  “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Ledford. I don’t want to keep you long.” Jane sat politely and shook her head as the mistress reached for a teapot. “I’m just passing through on my way to London. I’m mostly here in place of my friend Mrs. Sutton.”

  She had, in fact, talked to Violet about visiting Newbridge, and the ailing woman had welcomed the plan. She herself felt in no condition to follow her brother to London.

  Mrs. Ledford’s lips were thin, and her smile did not make it to her eyes. “So you are one of the women on the committee?”

  “Well, I’ve only just moved into my estate in Cornwall, actually, and Violet has been so gracious as to familiarize me with her work,” Jane explained, noting a vitrine with silverware and good porcelain, Persian carpets, and heavy, brocade curtains. If things were this good for the directors of the orphanage, one could only hope that the children also benefited from such affluence.

  Mr. Ledford sat opposite her on one of the chairs and followed her glance. “Then you are here to represent the committee, would you say? The official visit was cancelled, unfortunately.”

  “Was it? Well, I’ve brought the children fruit and some other things, and I would be glad to form an impression for myself. Perhaps I might visit a classroom? I heard singing, and very lovely, too,” said Jane, smiling endearingly. Seeing reluctance on the faces of the master and his wife, she added, “Of course, I am well aware that maintaining such a home is not easy, and that perhaps an endowment of some sort might be in order, for renovations or an extension?”

  Her host’s negative expression changed instantly, and the couple exchanged a knowing look. Mr. Ledford wore his hair combed over his scalp and had sideburns all the way to his chin. His lips curled, and his entire expression transformed into one of grateful submissiveness. “My most distinguished Lady Allen, we find ourselves deeply in your debt, and will naturally show you whatever you would like to see. The singing of the children is truly enchanting, I can only agree with you. They are just finishing the final hour of the day. If you like, we will pay a quick visit to the classroom.”

  “I would love to.” Jane stood, then hesitated. “There was something else . . .”

  Mrs. Ledford, who had also risen to her feet, nodded encouragingly. “Yes, my lady?”

  “Do you have a teacher here by the name of Peter Gaunt?”

  Every trace of courtesy vanished from Mrs. Ledford’s face, and an icy silence descended on the room for several seconds. “Why do you ask?” the mistress finally said.

  “Why don’t you simply answer my question? I have something that belongs to him,” Jane replied frostily.

  Mrs. Ledford was about to reply when her husband interrupted her. “Mr. Gaunt left us of his own free will. We were sad to lose him. He was very popular here. But what is it they say? A rolling stone gathers no moss.”

  “He’s gone off to America to make his fortune in a better world! Ha! As if it’s any better over there,” Mrs. Ledford snarled.

  Jane had to make an effort to contain her excitement. Finally, she was on to something. “Well, who can really say? Apparently, there are some who have made a fortune there. Perhaps he wants to prospect for gold.” She began to move toward the door, and her host accompanied her into the corridor.

  “Hettie!” Jane called, ignoring Mrs. Ledford’s icy glare. “My maid loves children so very much, just like me. She wanted to be a teacher.”

  “Oh, really?” said Mrs. Ledford. She could hardly have sounded less interested.

  “I’m sad to say we haven’t been blessed with children of our own,” said Mr. Ledford, and gave his wife a stern look. “So we dedicate our lives to the well-being of orphans, and there are so many of them. Though you may not believe it, poverty in our country is widespread. This way, if you please. We have to go outside for a moment, but we will be under cover.”

  Hettie had come out of the kitchen and followed the small group down a long corridor and out into a small garden surrounded by high walls. From there, they passed through a narrow doorway into a large courtyard filled with huge puddles.

  “The children’s courtyard. Some gravel would certainly help it drain, but there is always something more pressing to be done. The dormitory roof has a leak, the bathrooms have to be replaced, and now that we have over two hundred children the bathrooms are too small anyway. And there are always more children coming. Over there is the poorhouse. It isn’t large, but it’s a haven for the most needy.” Mr. Ledford spoke quickly and without emotion. “Many women exploit us shamelessly.”

  “Ned, leave off . . . ,” Mrs. Ledford said, trying to slow down her husband’s monologue.

  “Why should I? It’s the truth. They come looking for a bed for the night and say thank-you by leaving their children behind. Ah, do you hear?”

  They were standing beneath the eaves of a long building that looked like a row of schoolrooms. Through the rain, Jane could see a rectangular yard with a huge, ancient oak tree at the far end. Behind the wall lay the barracks of the poorhouse, from where she’d heard stone breaking.

  From the ground-floor windows came the sound of the polyphonic singing from innumerable young mouths, the last verse of a chorale. When it was over, there was silence, followed by the children shuffling from the classroom and out into the courtyard. Because it was raining, the children—girls between four and ten years of age, all in thin dresses—huddled along the wall, anxious not to get too close to the master and his entourage. An aura of fear reigns here, thought Jane.

  At the other end of the school building, another door opened to release the boys into the courtyard. A grim-looking man walked out with them and took up a post by the wall from where he watched the children, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “That is Mr. Cooper, our custodian. He also assists with the monitoring and disciplines the children for misconduct.” Mr. Ledford looked at Jane. “Without discipline, it is not possible to keep a horde of neglected children under control, my lady.”

  “Please excuse me,” said Mrs. Ledford. “Sister Susan!” She approached a tough-looking woman with a coarse face who was just coming out of the girls’ section.

  “Our able nurse and surrogate mother. She looks after the littlest children and takes care of any first aid that might be required,” said Mr. Ledford.

  Jane observed the girls. They were standing together in small groups in front of the house and seemed unsure of what was expected of them. “Would it be all right if we distributed the baskets I’ve brought? It strikes me as a nice reward for the end of the lesson. Hettie, run to Blount and fetch the things.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hettie said and hurried off.

  A girl with flame-red hair caught Jane’s eye. She was leaning listlessly against a pillar, star
ing out into the rain. The girl seemed deeply sad, lost even. Like a bird whose owner has clipped its wings and slammed the door of the cage, thought Jane.

  “Do you know the names and backgrounds of the children who come here?” she asked, unable to take her eyes off the lonely looking girl.

  “Not all of them, my lady,” the director explained. “If they don’t have a name, we have to give them one. Sometimes we name them after the place they were found. We’ve had a Mary Field, a Mary Wood, and . . .”

  “Mary? So Mary is quite a common name here?” Jane asked.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “Which of the girls is a Mary, then?” she asked, as innocently as she could. Whatever Mr. Gaunt had to do with the matter, she didn’t want her questions to put any of the children in harm’s way.

  Ledford’s brow creased. “The little one back there and—” He paused.

  Jane had not missed the reaction of the red-haired girl at the mention of the name Mary. She had turned her head slightly, not too far, but as if the name meant something to her. There was something very wrong there, Jane realized. She could sense it.

  Behind them, the door squeaked and Mr. Ledford’s maid called out to him. “One moment, if you please,” the director excused himself. He disappeared through the door.

  As if she had been waiting for this moment, the red-haired girl pushed herself away from the pole and strolled close to Jane, as inconspicuously as possible. She looked all around nervously, and then motioned secretly to attract Jane’s attention. “Lady!” she whispered.

  Jane was about to take a step forward, but the girl hissed, “No! Stay there. I . . . I know a Mary.”

  Surprised, Jane whispered back, “Yes, but . . .”

  “I always knew she was different. But you’re too late. She’s gone away. To London.” The redhead shuffled her feet in the slurry.

  Mrs. Ledford finished her talk with Sister Susan and turned back toward Jane.

  “Later,” the girl whispered, and wandered away.

  25.

  While the fruit and sweets were being distributed, Jane tried to catch a glimpse of the red-haired girl, but she was nowhere to be seen. It was almost as if the girl had never existed. Jane had the director show her one of the dormitories, and found the conditions inside almost unbearable; the faces of the children were pale and forlorn. In the stairway, she stopped in her tracks. An unpleasant odor was spreading through the building from the basement.

  Jane pressed a handkerchief to her mouth. “What is that?”

  Mr. Ledford’s expression did not change. “The wash, my lady. We also do the laundry for the poorhouse.”

  Hettie, too, had turned pale and moved on quickly. Jane followed her and took a deep breath as she passed through the main entrance into the yard. The rain had stopped, but the orphanage did not leave a better impression for being more visible, and there was neither sight nor sound of the children. Jane had seen how their eyes lit up at the unaccustomed sweets and fruit.

  Blount exited the Ledfords’ house and went to his horse, which was waiting patiently alongside the coach. The coachman had tied a nose bag to each of the horses and now removed them.

  Mr. and Mrs. Ledford stood side by side on the landing in front of the entrance and smiled pleasantly at Jane. “Were we able to show you everything you wanted to see, my lady? There is work to be done left and right, but . . .” Mr. Ledford shrugged and sighed dramatically. “We are grateful for any assistance in furthering our good work.”

  They were waiting for a donation. “I will have the money transferred from my bank as soon as I arrive in London,” said Jane. She looked up to the windows of the dormitory above, and saw that the children were pressing their faces to the glass and waving to her.

  “That is very good of you, most generous, my lady,” Mr. Ledford kowtowed.

  Jane lifted the hem of her skirt to prevent it from dragging in the mud. “Oh, one thing. The red-haired girl I saw earlier in the yard. What was her name?”

  The director and his wife looked at each other and said, almost as one, “Which girl?”

  “A very thin girl, maybe eleven, with unmistakable red hair. She reminded me very much of the daughter of a friend. The same hair.” Jane raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

  “I really couldn’t say who you mean. We have only a few older girls, and none of them have red hair, my lady.” The director’s tone made it clear that he considered the topic at an end.

  “Ah, well, I guess I was mistaken. Oh, there was one other thing.” Jane looked back up to the orphanage windows. “Have you found a high-society placement in London lately? For a girl? I’m on my way to London, you see, and my friends there are often in search of maids. I could perhaps help in finding positions.”

  “We did place a girl in Norfolk not long ago. Not a high-society position, but a good house, for a businessman. Anything else, my lady?”

  Her questions had been no more than fishing, and Jane gave up. Mr. and Mrs. Ledford had been playing this game longer than she had and would not disclose anything they did not want to.

  “I shall inform the committee that you are planning extensive renovations.” Jane’s words were an indirect threat that she would retain control over how her money was spent, but that did not shake the Ledfords.

  “We are looking forward to hearing from you and from the other women. Many things will have changed here by the next time you visit,” Mrs. Ledford assured her.

  Just before stepping into the coach, Jane turned up to the windows one last time. A movement behind one of the tiny windows in the attic caught her eye. A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, and for a second she saw red hair and a pale face. Had someone locked the girl in the attic to prevent her from speaking to Jane? Or was her imagination playing tricks on her? A lot had happened in recent weeks. Disappointed, she sank back into the seat.

  The coach wheels churned through the mud and finally rattled out onto the cobblestones in front of the gate. As if she had been waiting to escape the oppressive walls of the institute, Hettie said, “Phew. Ma’am, that certainly was a strange bunch. The master and mistress weren’t too bad, but the sister and that custodian were downright terrifying. Those poor children!”

  “Hmm. Mr. Cooper . . . he looked rather like the man we saw in Bodmin, but I’m sure it wasn’t him.” Jane looked out the window and waved Blount over to her.

  “My lady?” Blount leaned down effortlessly to her while his horse continued at its quick pace alongside the coach.

  “Did you notice anything untoward?” She hoped that this capable man had been able to look around while she had been visiting the buildings with the Ledfords.

  Blount’s pale eyes flashed. “Yes, I think you could say that. I spent quite some time talking to the maid. A friendly girl. She told me that another coach arrived just yesterday to pick up one of the girls.”

  “Which girl? Come on, man, enough suspense.”

  “Mary. Her name was Mary. A blond girl, eleven years old. Once the girls reach eleven, they have to leave the orphanage and find work.”

  Jane inhaled sharply. “My God, we missed her by a day. And she is on her way to Norfolk?”

  “No, my lady. The coach was on its way to London.”

  The road narrowed and Blount let his horse fall back. He was only able to draw alongside again a few minutes later. “The maid said the Ledfords always make a great secret about who a new employer is. Apparently, that’s the usual arrangement if a high-society position is involved.” He tapped his hat with his fingers. “It will be dark soon. I’ll take care of lodgings for the night, my lady,” he said, and galloped ahead.

  “Did you hear that, Hettie? A high-society position in London,” said Jane pensively.

  “Do you think that’s our Mary, ma’am? And that she might end up in the same place as her friend?”

&nbs
p; Jane hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, but that was exactly what she was thinking. She sighed unhappily. “I’m afraid it may be. They did admit Mr. Gaunt had been a teacher there. But we can’t be sure it’s her. It could also be that he had a position somewhere else and gave the book to the girl there. Anything’s possible.”

  “But the Ledfords’ orphanage was the worst we’ve seen, by far. That Mr. Cooper was plain fearsome! No, they had something to hide,” said Hettie with absolute conviction.

  Jane smiled. “Orphanages are never nice places, Hettie, but I agree with you. Their reception room was certainly very nice for such a poor home, and then there was the girl with red hair.”

  Jane did not have a chance to give voice to any more thoughts. Without warning, the coach was knocked off course by something and bounced and swerved wildly for a moment. Jane and Hettie were thrown sideways. Glass shattered, the coachman bellowed, the horses whinnied frantically but stopped, and Jane found herself underneath her maid, lying on the street through the half-open door of the carriage.

  “Hettie! My God, you’re heavy!” Jane couldn’t move under the weight of her maid, and Hettie’s petticoats were covering her face.

  But the maid did not move. She simply lay on top of Jane, motionless as a sack. “Rogers! Blount! Help us, for God’s sake,” Jane shouted. She could feel a strange warm wetness on her cheek and a growing pain in her arm.

  Suddenly, someone jerked open the door on the other side of the coach, above her, and the red glow of the setting sun fell through the opening. Jane managed to push Hettie’s body a little to one side and found herself squinting up into the unexpected brightness. “What the devil is going on? Help me!” Jane seethed.

  The outline of a man appeared in the opening. With the light behind him, Jane could not see his face. He simply stood and looked down at her.

  “Why are you just standing there? Help us!” she shouted.

  Hettie began to move, and her skirts fell back over Jane’s face. When Jane managed to free herself from the material again, the silhouette above her had disappeared. Like a ghost, thought Jane. Disconcerted, she peered up at the red sky.