‘Honey!’ she called, ‘Honey!’
There came an increasingly frantic series of yelps, then they stopped. The only sound was that of rushing water.
Ursula grabbed the support of a slender tree trunk and peered over the edge. An almost vertical slope studded with outcrops of rock and the occasional scrubby tree led down to a fast-moving river. Nowhere could she see the dog.
‘Honey!’ she shouted as loudly as she could.
Again no answer. Then, looking frantically around, her eyes caught sight of a wagging tail right down beside the water.
Ursula’s first thought was relief that the headlong flight down the slope did not seem to have harmed the animal; then came the realisation that, in order to retrieve the dog, she was going to have to tackle the descent to the river.
Well, she had managed worse climbs, she told herself; it would merely take a certain amount of care. And at least the odd stunted tree could offer support. Tying the leash around her waist, Ursula started down the perilous slope.
At first all went well. The outcrops of rock from time to time could act almost like steps. Every now and then there was a tree to provide a handhold. Gradually she gained confidence; then a protruding root caught her foot and, just as the slope was at its steepest, Ursula lost her balance.
Frantically she reached out for the tree whose root had been her downfall. Her hand grazed the bark but couldn’t grab a hold. She found herself tumbling over and over, spears of sunlight flashing across her eyes, jolting agonies of pain racking her body as she bounced from rock to rock. Terrified of breaking a limb, Ursula tried to roll herself into a ball, protecting her head with her arms.
Her flight ended in an almighty splash as she fell into the river.
For a moment she was aware of nothing. Then, gradually, her senses returned. She was lying in shallow water that flowed swiftly but gently over soft sand.
A tongue licked her face.
‘Honey,’ she groaned. ‘What have you done?’
Soaking wet ears brushed her cheeks as she received another lick.
With an effort, Ursula managed to raise herself into a sitting position. Nervously, she moved her aching arms and legs, testing for broken bones. It seemed at first as though she had survived the fall with no more than severe bruising. But when she attempted to rise, pain shot through her right ankle and she collapsed back into the water with a cry. At the very least it was badly sprained.
Ursula sat and assessed her situation.
Just before it reached the river, the steepness of the slope gave way to a narrow bank. On it was the odd, bleached branch, no doubt brought down by winter winds.
Weighed down by her wet skirt and petticoats, Ursula struggled to crawl onto the bank and then to reach a stout-looking stick. With its support she managed to get upright. Then realised that once again the dog was gone.
This time Honey was easy to see, engrossed in examining something in the river a little way away.
Ursula wrinkled her nose as a stray breeze carried a most unpleasant, rank aroma towards her. Oh dear, trust a dog to find something unspeakable. The last time she’d smelled anything so odious, it had been the carcass of a cow in a Californian gulch. Calling Honey had no effect. Finally, using her branch, Ursula hobbled towards her. Here, half a rotten tree had got caught by an outcrop of rock and provided a quiet pool. In the pool, humped up, was what appeared to be a washerwoman’s bundle.
Reassured by the fact it obviously wasn’t a dead cow, Ursula clipped the leash onto Honey’s collar then attempted to pull the dog away. Honey dug her feet into the shallow water, growled at Ursula, and returned to the bundle.
Impeded by her damaged ankle, Ursula staggered a little closer, took a grip on the animal’s collar and once again tried to pull the animal away.
Suddenly she let go of the dog. There was something unsettling about the sodden, bleached hump of chequered cloth. Despite the sun, Ursula felt arctic cold suffuse her. Balancing on one foot and trying to control her rising gorge, she poked at the bundle with her branch. Then she once again fell back into the water as a nauseous belch of gas was released. Her hand clamped to her mouth, Ursula watched the bundle roll on its side. A head was revealed. Once there had been a face, now the features had been eaten away. Half an arm briefly rose in the air then flopped down.
Chapter Seven
Ursula vomited, retching until her stomach was empty. She had thought the last few years had made her impervious to the most horrific of sights. This, though, was too much.
Finally she dragged herself up, sat on the sandy bank, and shouted to the dog. Rather to her surprise, Honey left the corpse and came, nestling into her side as though realising comfort was needed.
‘Oh, Honey,’ Ursula groaned.
Her eyes closed, she took deep breaths. Gradually her heartbeat slowed. On the inside of her eyelids, though, was the picture of what she had seen revealed in the water.
Eventually she brought herself to look at it again.
The skin was covered with an excrescence like a velvety veil, yet underneath it looked as dark as a negro's. Judging by what clothed it, the corpse was that of a woman.
Ursula looked at the steep slope she had fallen down. Whoever she had been, the dead woman must also have slipped and fallen. Perhaps she had knocked herself out, landed in the water and drowned. If it had not been for that dead tree caught in the river bank, her body would have been carried downstream.
So much for what had probably happened. More important was how Ursula could alert the authorities. Another glance up the slope told Ursula that, with her wounded ankle, it was an impossible climb. Did the river run all the way to the village? And how far was that? Could she hobble along the bank with the aid of her branch, contact the authorities and then get someone to drive her back to the house?
Grimly, Ursula attached Honey’s lead, struggled upright and started to limp painfully along beside the river. She had not gone far before she saw that an outcrop made further progress impossible.
She looked again up the slope to the bluebell wood. Mrs Comfort had said that staff used the path as a shortcut when going to the village. What were the chances someone would be coming along and could hear her cries?
Very unlikely; all the servants would be going about their tasks at Mountstanton. However, when it was realised that Ursula had failed to return to the house, Mrs Comfort would direct the search into the bluebell wood.
How long would that take?
Ursula started to shiver. The sun was still shining but this early in the year it did not have enough heat to dry her wet clothes. Ursula rubbed her cold arms and tried to get her blood moving. Then she looked along the river in the other direction. That way must surely lead towards Mountstanton.
She started to hobble along the bank. The dog trotted happily beside her.
As she drew level with the remains of the poor, dead woman’s battered corpse, Ursula looked straight ahead, grasped Honey’s leash tightly, and tried to think of something else.
Then, above the sound of the river, she thought she could hear someone whistling.
She stopped hobbling and listened hard.
Yes, it was definitely whistling. Someone must be walking through the wood.
With all her force, Ursula yelled, ‘Help, help!’ trying to bring the breath up from her diaphragm the way an actor had once taught her.
The whistling stopped.
She yelled again, and after a moment a figure appeared on the edge of the escarpment. ‘What the hell are you doing down there, woman?’ he shouted.
‘I fell. My ankle is sprained,’ she yelled back. ‘There’s a dead woman in the river.’ She waved in the direction of the sad bundle.
The man immediately discarded his cap and shouted, ‘I’m coming down. Stay there.’
Ursula wanted to say that she had no intention of moving but saved her breath.
He negotiated the steep slope facing inwards. As she saw him sure-footedly using the
rocks and trees to help his descent, she understood what a mistake she had made in trying to go down face-forward.
She admired the lithe way he moved. A little above middle height, he was dressed in grey-green tweeds, his jacket’s waist marked with a band of matching material, his trousers neatly nipped in below the knees. Muscular calves were covered in long socks of a colour that matched his suit. His footwear was as sensible as hers.
After a remarkably short time, he jumped the last little way down onto the bank and turned to face her. He looked to be in his early to mid-thirties, his features open and not unattractive. But Ursula saw what she had come to recognise as an upper-class Englishman’s belief in his God-given right to rule the earth.
‘Now, tell me what happened,’ he said; then his authoritative air softened slightly. ‘We’d better get you sitting down first.’
He helped Ursula towards a large boulder, then removed his jacket and placed it round her shoulders.
The feel of dry material on her freezing body was incredibly comforting and Ursula held the jacket tightly around her as she told her story as succinctly as she could, Honey sitting beside her wet-booted feet. Only now did she realise how lucky she was not to have been drowned in the river like that poor woman.
The man stood in front of her, listening, hand on hip, his weight negligently poised on one leg, sharp grey eyes studying her face as though probing the verity of her words. When she described how she had found the body, he wheeled and looked at where she pointed. Then he held up a hand to arrest her tale and strode over to the corpse.
She heard an intake of breath but he gave no other indication that the sight moved him. Then he was back in front of her again.
‘Do you recognise her?’ Ursula asked.
‘How do you imagine I could identify that poor remnant of humanity?’
‘But negroes can’t be common in this area.’
‘Negroes?’ He sounded perplexed. Then he said, ‘Ah! No, I’m afraid the body is almost certainly that colour because of prolonged immersion in the water.’
‘Oh.’ Ursula wondered at his knowledge of what drowning could do to a body.
‘I don’t understand why you were walking through the wood, you don’t sound from these parts.’
Ursula resented his tone. ‘I was walking from Mountstanton House to the village. I was told it was a shortcut.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘From the house? Who are you? Despite your current appearance, your air is not that of a servant.’
And, obviously, not that of a guest either. Ursula became exasperated. ‘I’m freezing. I have a damaged ankle and there is a dead body in the water. I don’t want to visit with you, I want action. Can’t the inquisition over my exact status wait for now?’
‘American, that’s what you are.’ His expression cleared. ‘Of course, you are some connection of Helen’s.’ He looked suddenly suspicious. ‘Not her sister, are you?’
‘No, I’m not.’
Suddenly he became all sympathy. ‘I am a pig. We need to get you back to the house and into a hot bath. And I need to inform the police about …’
Ursula averted her eyes as he waved towards the corpse.
‘Now, I can’t see getting you back up to the wood is a starter. Are you able to ride?’
Ursula nodded.
‘Can you bear it if I leave you here whilst I fetch some mounts? It’ll take some time but I think it’s the only way.’ He indicated the direction Ursula had decided led towards Mountstanton.
‘Honey can keep me company.’ Ursula may have disliked his attitude but she found she had complete faith in his ability to do what he said. ‘Can you, though, help me to sit over there?’ She indicated a rock some way away from the dead woman’s remains.
‘Of course.’ In a most ordinary manner, he placed her arm around his neck and helped her hobble further along the bank. Honey followed.
Determined not to show how much her ankle was paining her, Ursula was able to ignore the intimate contact she was forced into with her rescuer. She was merely thankful that he was only a little taller than herself.
Neither of them said anything until he had sat her down on the boulder.
Then he stood back and looked at her and the dog, once again nestled against her legs. ‘Would you like me to put that animal onto your lap? It could act as a hot water bottle. I’m sorry I do not have another coat.’
‘I shall be fine,’ Ursula said, summoning the last of her energy. ‘At least the sun is shining. By the time you return I shall be dry.’
‘I won’t take that long.’ He raised his hand in a sort of salute, then set off to climb the escarpment back to the wood.
Ursula held her face up to the sun and clutched the warm tweed jacket around her shoulders. It had a masculine smell of tobacco and carbolic soap and a faint, elusive male fragrance that recalled Jack. For a brief moment, she wondered who her rescuer was. Neither of them had introduced themselves but it was hardly the most social of occasions. Even so, Ursula thought grimly, the Dowager Countess would doubtless disapprove.
Etiquette was the least of her concerns. More important was to consider the identity of the corpse she had discovered. That might keep her mind off the pain in her ankle and the cold gathering in her bones.
* * *
Sooner than she had dared to hope, two horses thundered round the river bank.
Her rescuer, still wearing his tweed breeches, handled both mounts with consummate ease. Even before the horses drew to a halt, he was dismounting beside her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, trying to control her shivering.
‘Miss Grandison, you are a doughty lady.’
So, as well as organising mounts, he had ascertained her name. But if he thought flattery was going to get him anywhere, he could think again. Then Ursula remembered just what a wet and bedraggled picture she must present and that this did not seem a man who practised empty compliments.
‘I’m afraid I have been very remiss,’ he continued. ‘I should have introduced myself. I’m Richard’s brother, Charles. He’s out riding, and Helen is off somewhere with Miss Seldon. But I’ve alerted the household as to your state. Also I’ve sent a lad from the stables to inform our local constable of the situation.
This, Ursula realised, must be the Colonel Stanhope who had been expected, so she had been told a number of times, to arrive home within the next few days. She wondered that he should have been returning in such an informal fashion.
The Colonel helped her onto her mount. She was amused to see it was equipped with a side-saddle. It was many years since she had used one; riding astride had been her practice in California, and was so much easier.
Colonel Stanhope adjusted her stirrups, careful not to jolt her injury.
Before he could remount, Ursula forced herself to say, ‘If you could manage to get a piece of the dress, Colonel, an identification might be possible.’
‘You mean, the dead woman’s dress?’
She closed her eyes briefly. What else could she have meant?
‘Of course,’ he said swiftly and handed her the reins of his horse.
She didn’t watch to see how he carried out her request.
When he returned, he was stuffing a scrap of fabric into a pocket. ‘Right, Miss Grandison, let’s get you back to Mountstanton. I’d better take the dog, otherwise she might not be able to keep up. Can you hold her whilst I mount? Then you can explain exactly why you think that piece of material is important.’
* * *
Back at the house, Albert and James, two of the Mountstanton footmen, were waiting in the stable yard. They would, Ursula was informed, carry her upstairs to her room with their hands locked together in what she was informed was a ‘bosun’s chair’.
‘You should be safe enough like that,’ the Colonel said, helping her to dismount.
Then Harry clattered up on his pony, with Mrs Comfort puffing hard as she followed behind. She greeted Colonel Sta
nhope with an unaffected warmth.
‘Uncle Charles, how splendid,’ Harry said eagerly.
He nodded, ‘Good to see you, young Harry. How you’ve grown! Been riding, have you?’
‘I jumped lots of fences and I only fell off once.’
‘Excellent! You are obviously going to be as great a rider as your papa. Now, I think you should see that your pony is properly rubbed down.’
The boy dismounted and took the animal into the stables.
The Colonel turned his attention to the nanny. ‘Mrs Comfort, I’m delighted to see you again. I’m afraid, though, that something tragic has happened. I wonder if you recognise this piece of material?’ He handed her the scrap of cloth he had pocketed beside the river.
‘I don’t know why you should think I might know anything about this.’ Mrs Comfort held the drenched rag distastefully. The Colonel was silent. Ursula watched her carefully.
‘Oh, my lord, it looks like …’ She screwed up her eyes then gave a cry. ‘Yes, Polly has a dress made of just this stuff.’ She looked up at the Colonel. ‘You said something tragic has happened. Do you mean that Polly …’ her voice wobbled and failed.
‘A moment, please, whilst I see Miss Grandison taken to her room.’ The Colonel swiftly checked the footmen’s grip then helped Ursula to sit on the linked hands and place her arms round their shoulders. ‘Right, take her upstairs, and see that the crutches I asked for are there.’
‘But, Polly?’ wailed Mrs Comfort.
The two footmen looked at each other across Ursula. Their usually poker faces expressed profound shock.
‘Take her inside now.’ Authority quenched any possibility of enquiry.
Without a word, Ursula was carried into the house and up the stairs.
Chapter Eight
With extraordinary deftness, Ursula was lowered onto her bed.
‘Here are the crutches the Colonel asked for.’
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