Belle looked at Mr Warburton. He had risen on the entrance of the Countess and stood, holding his napkin, his face expressing no more than mild interest in what was being said.
Ursula saw the rapid flicking of Belle’s gaze from him to her sister and back again.
With a sulky flounce of her head, Belle rose. ‘I will be ready in thirty minutes, your ladyship,’ she said, giving a bitter emphasis to the last two words.
‘I think I need a cup of coffee,’ said Helen as the door banged shut.
The secretary helped her into a seat then poured her a cup. He was all attentiveness.
Helen glanced at Ursula.
‘My dear, I should have enquired how you are feeling this morning. How is your poor ankle?’
‘I am fine, thank you, Helen.’ Ursula went back to her toast and allowed Mr Warburton to refill her coffee cup.
Helen tapped her fingers irritably on the tablecloth. ‘Did you encourage Belle to think you were to take her riding this morning, William?’
He shrugged. ‘Something may have been mentioned last night when it seemed as if you were to be involved in this ghastly business over Polly. However, when you told me of your intention to visit the Paxtons with your sister …’ A graceful wave of his hand indicated that the riding suggestion had instantly been dropped.
Helen’s eyes narrowed.
‘I am not “involved in this ghastly business”, as you put it, and I would prefer that Belle was not encouraged to believe you will dance attendance on her every whim.’
William Warburton sat down with a little assenting dip of his head.
Helen drank more of her coffee. ‘Perhaps tomorrow morning we can all ride together, William?’
He looked up eagerly.
‘I have missed our early morning rides; there seems to have been so little time since Belle’s arrival,’ Helen continued.
A slight flush coloured his face. ‘I would like that,’ he said quietly.
‘A pity you cannot join us, Ursula. I hope in a few days your ankle will be recovered sufficiently to make riding possible.’
Ursula refrained from pointing out that she had managed to ride back to Mountstanton after she had damaged her ankle.
‘I hope so too.’
Helen managed a slight smile. ‘I did not realise just what a task you must have had in chaperoning my sister from New York to here.’
‘She was little trouble, Helen. The fact that I was not family must have helped.’
Another slight smile in acknowledgement. ‘I know what you mean. Ursula, if you were able to advise my chef this morning on how dollar pancakes are cooked, I would be greatly in your debt.’
‘I shall be delighted,’ Ursula said cheerfully. ‘I wonder if after that, Helen, I might be permitted to practise on your drawing room piano? My playing skills, such as they are, are so rusty.’
‘Of course.’ Helen rose. ‘Until luncheon, William?’
He nodded, half rising in his seat. ‘I shall be there, Helen.’
After the Countess had left the room, Ursula said, ‘Did you know the nursemaid well, Mr Warburton?’
‘What, Polly? No, of course not, Miss Grandison. What on earth makes you think I might have done?’
‘I apologise. It was just the way you referred to her, that is all.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, I knew her, of course.’ He helped himself to a piece of toast, placed butter and marmalade on his plate and thought for a moment. ‘I would have seen her with Harry, taking him for a walk, or bringing him down to tea.’
‘Was she pretty?’
William Warburton broke a piece off his slice of toast, smeared it with butter, added some marmalade and ate it while considering his answer. ‘I can’t say I thought much about the matter. Comely, I suppose. Certainly she was not ugly.’
‘No, I suppose you would have noticed that.’
The young man looked at her suspiciously and Ursula chided herself for her tone. ‘I’ve noticed that men are always aware of ugliness in a female. It’s as though they distrust the owner of such an appearance, though why it should be, I cannot understand. No one chooses to be ugly. On the contrary, everyone, I think, would prefer to be pleasant to look at.’
Immediately he brightened. ‘I agree! A pleasing appearance in a woman, or a man – or indeed a piece of furniture – is to be valued.’
‘And yet,’ Ursula said reflectively, ‘there are other qualities that could be equally valued, if not more. Kindness, for example, or honesty.’
‘Oh, quite,’ said William Warburton quickly, buttering another piece of his toast. ‘I do see what you mean, Miss Grandison, and, if you will allow me to say so, it does you a great deal of credit. However, may I be allowed to hold that all those virtues of character are more appreciated in someone who is agreeable to look upon?’
He smiled ingratiatingly at her.
Oh, poor Belle, thought Ursula. She smiled back at the young man. ‘You are not from these parts, I understand, Mr Warburton?’
‘No. My family is from the Midlands; Derbyshire to be precise.’
‘Ah, was that not where Mr Darcy was from?’
‘Darcy? I don’t recognise the name. My uncle is the Marquis of Buxton.’
Ursula laughed. ‘Easy to see that you are not a fan of Miss Austen, Mr Warburton. Mr Darcy is the hero of Pride and Prejudice, one of her novels.’
‘Oh, a novel. I am afraid I am not a great reader. Sporting Life is what I study. Amazing range of information.’
‘How interesting,’ Ursula murmured.
Mr Warburton swallowed the last of his coffee, muttered something about ‘getting on with things’ and hoped Miss Grandison would excuse him.
Ursula sat for a moment alone at the table and wondered precisely what the young man’s function in the Mountstanton household was.
* * *
Ursula had listened to the superb sound of the Mountstanton piano on the night of the dinner party and envied Helen its possession. Once they had vied with each other to receive applause for their performances. Over the last few years, though, her playing had been confined to popular songs on ramshackle instruments.
Propelling herself along on crutches was tiring and Ursula found it a relief to hop onto the piano stool.
She started with scales and arpeggios and was soon lost in the rigour of the exercises. Stiff and clumsy to begin with, her fingers gradually began to loosen and acquire something of their old mastery. As her hands dedicated themselves to the mechanical movements, Ursula’s mind drifted to contemplation of what the coroner was reporting to the Earl and his brother. Would Richard be able to ensure that there would be no publicity surrounding this death? Would the Mountstanton influence stretch to a neat tidying away of the facts? Would the circumstance that Polly appeared to have no relatives be of assistance there?
The scales grew faster and faster; the arpeggios acquired more of a flourish.
Finally Ursula rose from the stool and, balancing herself on her good leg, raised the lid to find what was available inside.
A few moments later, a thick copy of Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations was on the piano’s music stand.
It had been a delight to find something she knew so well. Ursula had studied the variations with her Paris tutor, immediately attracted by their complexity, power and beauty. It had been so long, though, since she had played the pieces. She struggled with the first variations, working on difficult passages over and over again.
She had lost track of time when the drawing room door burst open.
‘There you are!’ said the Colonel. ‘Come on, I’m taking you for a drive.’
Startled, deep in Beethoven’s subtleties, for a moment Ursula could only stare at him.
Dressed in a light brown tweed suit with a similar belted jacket to the one he had worn the day before, the Colonel hit his leg with a pair of gloves.
‘I’ve got to get away from this place,’ he said irritably. ‘I’ve ordered the trap to be harnessed.
’
As Ursula continued to stare at him, his expression changed.
‘Can you manage?’ He came forward and picked up the crutches.
She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
‘Sorry, for a moment I forgot you’re not one of my men,’ he said with an apologetic grin. ‘Would you, please, come with me? Can I fetch you a wrap?’ he added.
Resentment at being ordered about dissolved into amusement. Ursula abandoned Beethoven. ‘It’s a lovely day but maybe one would be sensible for driving in a trap.’
The Colonel strode over to the fireplace and rang the bell. Then he held the crutches out to Ursula.
‘Good girl.’ He watched as she rose, positioned them beneath her arms and started to walk slowly but confidently towards the door.
As she reached it, the butler entered.
‘You rang, sir?’
‘Yes, Benson. Be so good as to send someone to collect a wrap for Miss Grandison from her bedroom. Do you know where it would be?’ he asked Ursula.
‘In the middle drawer of the chest, knitted, with a fringe. And perhaps whoever fetches it could also bring the hat and bag that are sitting on top of the chest?’
‘Of course, madam. It shall be done.’
‘It’s very good of you, Benson.’
‘Not at all, madam.’
‘And, Benson,’ the Colonel continued, ‘get Chef to put up some cold meat with rolls and butter and a bottle of wine. Nothing fancy, I need it in double-quick time. Miss Grandison and I are going for a drive. We shall not be back before this afternoon.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘Get it sent out to the stables, we’ll pick up the trap there.’
‘Indeed, sir. Will that be all, sir?’
‘Yes, thank you, Benson.’
The butler gave the smallest of bows and melted through the door.
‘That man is a marvel,’ said Ursula. ‘Your family is very lucky to have him.’
‘Benson has been a Mountstanton fixture ever since I can remember.’
The Colonel held open the door for Ursula.
As they proceeded along the corridor, there was a flurry of red and white fur and Honey flung herself at Ursula with small squeals of excitement.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said to the dog. ‘I can’t get down to stroke you but I’m very pleased to see you again.’ She looked around, expecting to see the Dowager Countess.
Instead a footman hurried towards them. ‘Sorry, Miss Grandison. She got out before I knew what was happening.’
‘Got out from where, John?’ asked the Colonel.
‘She was shut in the pantry, till someone had time to take her for a walk, sir. The Dowager is out visiting.’
‘Poor thing! Colonel, can we take her with us?’
‘If you’re content to sit whilst I walk her, I don’t see why not. As long as nothing else delays us.’ The Colonel snapped his fingers at Honey, and Ursula hid a smile as she instantly came to heel. John produced a lead; Ursula’s wrap, hat and bag were brought to her by one of the maids, and they were ready to set off.
Soon Ursula was seated in the trap, a wicker basket of comestibles in the back, Honey, all panting eagerness, placed between her and the Colonel.
Having taken one look at her companion’s grim face, Ursula said nothing for some time. Instead, she enjoyed their progress through rolling farmland, the Beethoven phrases still resonating in her head, one hand on Honey’s warm back, occasionally caressing her silky ears.
After a little Ursula said, ‘Are we going to Hinton Parva?’
The Colonel glanced at her and seemed almost surprised to realise that he had a passenger.
‘She was with child.’
For a moment Ursula was taken aback. ‘Polly?’
He nodded.
‘What is the coroner going to do?’
‘Hold the inquest in camera. No press, no public.’
‘Can he do that?’
‘He says, yes. He said he sees no point in exposing the poor girl to more public scrutiny than absolutely necessary.’ He took a deep breath. ‘My brother has more or less demanded that the matter be kept as quiet as possible. He may talk about protecting the girl’s reputation; what he means is the reputation of the Stanhopes.’
The Colonel’s voice was cold.
‘You do not agree with him?’
He turned and Ursula was shocked at the raw anger in his face.
‘They are saying Polly committed suicide because she knew she was expecting.’
‘And you do not believe that was the case?’
He turned his attention back to his driving.
Ursula waited.
‘Polly was a children’s nurse, she adored Harry.’
‘You knew her?’
‘She was here when I returned two years ago from South Africa, injured. I was unable to do much. So I spent time with little Harry, he’s a delightful child – and that meant with Polly as well. Polly was a welcome contrast to all that had gone on out in Africa.’
Ursula thought of the faded magnificence of Mountstanton House; of the social life that Helen pursued there. Had life in the nursery been a refuge for the Colonel? And exactly what role had Polly played in that refuge?
‘Don’t imagine, though, that I conceived a tendresse for her,’ he continued, as if reading her thoughts. ‘We were just friends. But I got to know her and her commitment to children. Believe me, she would never have killed her child as well as herself.’
‘Not even if that child meant a ruined reputation?’
‘She was tough; she would have been sure something would turn up to save her.’
Ursula thought of the poor bundle of broken body she had found in the river.
‘Mrs Comfort told me yesterday that Polly had set off for the village that last day in high spirits, saying, “Don’t expect me back”. Mrs Comfort thought that meant she was going to meet a young man and that she would be out some time.’
Nothing was said for several minutes as the horse trotted along the dirt road, her head held high.
‘What do you want to happen?’ asked Ursula.
‘I want a proper inquest. I want to know who fathered that child. I want to know if it was a pure accident Polly fell and finished her life in the river.’
‘Would an inquest reveal who was responsible for her condition? Surely the man, whoever it is, is not going to own up?’
‘Somebody must know something,’ he said obstinately, his face set and hard. ‘Trying to cover up what has happened will not help anyone.’
Ursula thought of the proud nature of the Earl; the supreme self-confidence of the Dowager Countess; the determination of Helen.
‘Why are we going to Hinton Parva?’
The Colonel allowed the reins to slacken and the horse to slow its gait.
‘I had not intended to when we started out,’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘I just wanted to get away and I thought …’ His voice tailed away.
‘You thought that nice Miss Grandison, who found dead bodies, would make an entertaining companion, was that it?’
He looked at her again, this time with the glimmer of a smile. ‘How well you know me!’
‘I know nothing about you. Except that you appear to have a highly developed sense of justice – and that your sense of loyalty to your family is rather less than that of your brother’s.’
‘Damn Mountstanton and all it stands for!’ The anger was back. ‘I thought I had got away from all that. Instead, what do I find? That the death of one of its faithful servants matters less than its standing in the world. Why am I not surprised?’
‘Why did you return, if that is what you feel?’
‘Why, indeed?’
After a moment, Ursula said, ‘I have to confess that I have not visited the village and have no idea how large it is.’
He gave a curt laugh. ‘Quite small. But it has a police station and a constable who is ostensibly in charge of the investigation into Poll
y’s death. I want to find out if he means to do exactly what my brother and the coroner tell him, or if he is going to hold out for a wider justice.’
‘Does he have the power to do so?’
Her companion shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s another thing I need to find out. There is also a village shop, hotbed of all village gossip. I thought I might hear something about Polly there. The tittle will certainly be tattling.’
‘And what would you like me to do in the meantime? I am afraid I am unable to walk the dog.’
He hit his forehead in a gesture of frustration. ‘My dear Miss Grandison, I am a complete and utter fool.’
‘By which I assume you had forgotten about me,’ Ursula said cheerfully.
He gave her a rueful look. ‘I think I have remarked before on your intelligence, Miss Grandison. I now turn to you for the solution to the problem. Shall we return to Mountstanton and allow you to have lunch there? Or shall we abandon the village. I can, after all, come back on my own later this afternoon.’
‘Nonsense, Colonel. Not when you are as fired up as Don Quixote. I think the answer is that you assist me to descend at the village store and allow me to venture in and see if I can gather anything from the gossip. As I am not a Mountstanton, and a foreigner not bound by English conventions of loyalty, they may hope I can provide some meat for their gossip.’
‘And in the process may provide you with some meat of their own?’ He looked admiringly at her. ‘Miss Grandison, you understand the way small societies work much better than I.’
Ursula gave a peal of laughter. ‘Colonel, you beat everything! I dare you to tell me this is not what you intended from the start.’
‘Miss Grandison, you disappoint me. How could you impugn such Machiavellian motives to me? I’m just a bluff, honest soldier.’
Ursula gave him a straight look. He grinned at her but said nothing.
How very different this man was from the Earl, Ursula thought. Helen’s husband had no wit, and little sense of anything beyond his own importance. She wondered what made Helen think she could persuade Charles Stanhope to make a match with Belle. Why, in fact, did she want to achieve such an unsuitable union? And what sort of relationship did she have with her brother-in-law?
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