‘She strikes her head on a stone,’ suggested Thomas Jackman, surprising Ursula by entering into her enactment. ‘Maybe she’s knocked out; maybe she’s killed. Whatever, he knows he has to make sure she cannot bear witness against him. He’s a callous sort of a chap; he picks her up, and throws her down the slope, then reckons that’s sorted his little problem.’
For the first time since meeting Mr Jackman, Ursula felt they could work together.
‘Tell you one thing,’ he continued. ‘If that’s anywhere near close to what actually happened, it’s no horny handed son of toil who was involved with your nursemaid, no, nor a lowly servant at the big house.’
Ursula immediately lost her sense of partnership. ‘Why not?’
‘Because they would have seen more profit out of standing by her. Upper-class nobs, like the Stanhopes, wouldn’t want their name dragged in the dust by the likes of her; they’d pay up, send her and the kiddie somewhere far away with just enough to live on. Her and the kiddie and the man. See my point?’
‘The man who hired you is one of those nobs,’ said Ursula coldly. ‘Why do you despise him so?’
‘Who said I despised him? Not his fault he belongs to the class what keeps their boot on the neck of the lower classes.’
‘Ah, you are a follower of Mr Marx.’
‘I’m no Communist. I believe every man for himself. The capitalist system has advantages. It’s the class system I despise, where what a man is born into instead of his achievements dictates how society views him.’
‘Does that mean you are all for a revolution?’
To her surprise, he laughed. ‘I’m no revolutionary. I just want justice for the lower classes. Now, Miss Grandison, let’s get back to the matter in hand. Do I understand this Gray fellow has a hot temper?’
She nodded, flicking her whip at a wayward Barnaby.
‘Good. The way we’ll work it is you will be all aristocratic, look down your nose, stress it’s his duty to respond to your questions. I’ll hover humbly at the back but produce the Colonel’s letter of authority if necessary.’
Ursula was surprised. She had assumed that Thomas Jackman would lead the questioning. And that he would almost certainly rile Adam Gray, perhaps to the point where he would refuse to answer any of their questions. Instead, it was going to be she who initiated the interrogation – she could not think of it as an interview. Would the agent consider her to be wearing a cloak of Mountstanton superiority?
‘Have you any ideas how I should start, Mr Jackman?’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re a straightforward woman. Be straightforward.’
Then they had arrived at the agent’s home and Adam Gray appeared at the front door.
He stalked towards the trap, his heavy-featured face frowning. When Ursula said there were some questions she had been instructed to ask him, he was surly and it was as though he had to force himself to help her down from the trap.
‘Will you be stopping long, Miss Grandison? Should I unharness the horse?’
Her unease about the coming confrontation increased. Gone was the pleasant man she had met the other day; instead here was the aggressive man who had invaded the inquest.
‘I hope we shall only need a few words with you, Mr Gray. Shall we go inside?’
The glower deepened. ‘We have only recently finished eating. Clearing away won’t be done until my wife is settled. My sister and housekeeper are upstairs with her now.’
He led the way into an untidy living room; the remains of a meal on the table. The agent indicated a wooden armchair to Ursula then, for the first time, he seemed to notice Thomas Jackman.
‘And who might you be?’
‘Mr Gray, may I introduce Mr Jackman? He comes with the authority of Colonel Charles Stanhope.’ There should have been an Honourable inserted in there somewhere but Ursula, ignored the pesky little title. The one he had earned in the army in her eyes was far more important.
‘Authority? What for?’
For an instant Ursula waited for the investigator to answer then realised that she was expected to field the question. She produced the letter the Colonel had handed over to her and said as haughtily as she could manage, ‘When did you write this to Polly?’
His eyes blank, Adam Gray took the piece of paper, laid it on the table, smoothed its creases and looked at it with eyes that surely were not registering any of the words. ‘Why are you so sure I penned this, Miss Grandison?’
‘They are your initials.’ A momentary inspiration came. ‘The writing has also been recognised as yours.’ After all, if they had gone to the Earl’s office, surely there would have been notes there from the agent and they could have compared the handwriting with the letter. ‘And who else would be writing to Polly?’ She flung the words at him with careless authority.
He flicked at the paper and seemed too paralysed to speak.
‘Who told you Polly was a Mountstanton?’ she asked in the most arrogant voice she could produce. ‘The Colonel has to know,’ she added when no response was forthcoming. Behind her she could sense Thomas Jackman waiting, assessing the situation.
Adam Gray seemed to be dealing with an inner struggle. Several times he appeared about to speak, his face getting redder and redder, veins bulging in his neck and forehead.
‘The possibility of Polly being a Mountstanton has never arisen before, even though she was working in the house,’ Ursula said, not softening her voice. ‘Either it is something dreamed up for some nefarious reason or someone knows something. You know which it is. You have to tell us.’
That did it. Adam Gray bellowed with pent up rage: ‘You’re all the same; puffed up aristocrats who think you can lord it over us; that we have been sent here merely to do your bidding. Polly was worth more than the lot of you put together. She had Mountstanton blood in her but because her mother was what you call lower class, she was abandoned. No respectability for her, unlike … unlike … ’
‘Those in the big house?’ Ursula finished for him.
He closed his eyes for a moment, his whole face contorted.
‘Mr Gray,’ Ursula tried to sound stern, authoritative. ‘Please. You have to tell us.’
‘I have to tell you nothing,’ he shouted. ‘Nothing, do you hear?’
Ursula felt the whole situation was hopeless. The Colonel should have come; he would have known how to handle this bull of a man.
‘I’ve been looking at this photograph,’ said Thomas Jackman pleasantly, his quiet voice breaking into the heated atmosphere. ‘You seem to have been something of a footballer. Do I have it right?’
He was over by the far wall, studying a photograph hanging there. Ursula could only see an array of men in striped shirts and knee-length shorts. They were in two lines; those at the back standing and the front ones sitting, arms crossed; the central man had a foot on a ball.
Adam Gray seemed nonplussed. He stared at the investigator as though he had suddenly arrived from outer space. Then he gave himself a little shake and appeared to shrink. He ran a hand through his thick hair.
‘Only I was a keen player at one time. Even had a try out for one of the London clubs. Then I injured a knee and that was that.’ Thomas Jackman’s tone was easy, friendly.
The agent moved towards him as though sleepwalking. ‘It was when I was working up north,’ Jackman continued, jabbing a finger at the photograph. ‘Bunch of lads and I made up a team. We were good, though I say it myself. Course, we didn’t have time to make a real go of it but we won the local cup one time. Bet you played defence, shoulders like that.’
Adam Gray nodded.
‘I was a wing; fast you see, until my knee got clobbered.’
Ursula watched, amazed, as the two men talked football for a couple of minutes, then, realising at last what the investigator was up to, sat down in the chair she had been shown on entering.
Jackman put his hand on the agent’s shoulder. ‘Sorry about all this questioning. You know how it is; for the li
ttle lass’s sake we have to get to the bottom of things. It’s plain as a pikestaff you’ve got hold of some information from somewhere and if we’re to sort out who was responsible for her death, we need to know what you do. The Colonel has put his trust in me and I don’t intend to let either the girl or him down.’ He looked around the room, then steered the agent in the direction of a chair. ‘Why don’t we sit down and have a chat, eh?’
To Ursula’s surprise, the two men sat. Thomas Jackman leaned confidentially towards Adam Gray.
‘All we really need is to know who told you Polly was a Mountstanton.’ He spoke quietly, persuasively, and Ursula knew that her part in the interrogation was over.
Adam Gray leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes; all at once he looked very tired. ‘It was Miss Ranner,’ he said eventually. ‘Made me swear I’d never tell anyone else.’
Of course, it had to be. Miss Ranner had employed Polly’s mother, Mary. She had helped her when she found the girl was with child. Mary would have told her who had been responsible for her condition.
‘So you said you would keep it confidential, yes? Yet you told Polly.’
The big man rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. All belligerence had now drained out of him. ‘She deserved to know. I wanted to talk to her, tell her how I thought she should handle it, but I was sent off to Yorkshire. No time for more than those few words. Never thought she’d do anything before I came back and we could discuss it.’
Ursula conjured up the picture of Polly she had put together: bright, knowing, lively; put a girl like that in possession of information that could prove her salvation and she would not wait before using it. How foolish of Adam Gray to imagine she would. He had completely misread his influence with her.
‘So, the Mountstanton who had his way with this Polly’s mother was the father of the Earl who died yesterday, was he?’
The agent sighed heavily. ‘Earl Simon, the fifth Earl.’
‘So we’ve got that sorted. Now, how about the bounder who took advantage of Polly? Have you really no idea who he could be? One of the servants up at the big house, maybe? Chap with plans to rise in the world perhaps but not above enjoying himself with a lovely maid along the way?’
Adam Gray shook his head. ‘Polly thought herself better than them. Even with not knowing who her parents were, she had silly ideas about where she came from – and where she was going. Full of dreams and stupid ambition she was.’ A heavy sigh followed.
Listening to the two men, Ursula suddenly remembered the little incident in the Mountstanton laundry. The girl, Maggie, pounding her fists into the footman’s chest and accusing him of playing fast and loose with Polly.
‘What about John, the tallest of the footmen?’ she said quietly. ‘You don’t think he could have seduced her? He’s very attractive.’
Another shake of the head. ‘Wouldn’t have said so. She could have flirted with him; Polly flirted with everyone – if they were attractive – but, like I said, she held herself to be better than the other servants.’
‘It would have happened about four months ago,’ Ursula said gently. ‘Think back, did Polly seem at all different then? And were there any men visiting Hinton Parva who could have caught her fancy?’
Life seemed to come back into his eyes. ‘I haven’t been thinking straight about matters. Four months ago, that would have been mid-February, right? We were lambing, it’s a busy time, but I did meet Polly one afternoon when she was out with young Lord Harry.’ There was a long pause as he seemed to retreat into himself. Both of his inquisitors waited patiently.
‘You know, you’re right,’ he said, coming back to life. ‘She was so bright that afternoon, joshing with me and the boy. I said it was as though she’d been drinking from some life-giving fountain. And she looked at me, not with the mischief that was usually in her eyes; it was more a pure sort of joy. Funny, I don’t usually notice things like that but, to tell you the truth, I was a bit bowled over by it.’
Ursula wondered if he had thought her joy was because she was together with him. Had he imagined she had feelings for him?
‘She went almost shy, if you could ever say Polly was shy. Then she made some comment about how great it was to see the sun and the boy asked if he could stroke one of the lambs. So we had fun catching hold of one.’ Another pause. ‘As to visitors to the village, no, I don’t remember any.’
‘What about the Earl, and his brother, Colonel Stanhope?’ asked Jackman. ‘Could either of them have been responsible for her condition?’
The agent looked pole-axed by the question. For several seconds he sat looking at the investigator before saying, ‘Nay, his lordship weren’t the womaniser his father were.’
That seemed to dispel any idea the man could have shot his employer.
‘And Colonel Charles was in London with his regiment all that time,’ said Gray.
To Ursula it was significant that the only reason it seemed the agent ruled out the possibility of the Colonel seducing Polly was because he was not at home. For a moment she sat stunned. She had good reason to believe that the Colonel had indeed been in the area at the relevant time. Could he have taken advantage of an innocent girl, one who, unbeknownst to him, was also his half-sister? Then she steadied her whirling thoughts. The Colonel was not the sort of man to seduce a servant girl and, even if he had been, surely he could not have disguised the revulsion the letter would have provoked when he found out she was so closely related? Whatever had distressed him after their interview with Helen, it was not that. No, she decided, they could count the Colonel out.
Thomas Jackman rose. ‘Mr Gray, thank you for being so co-operative. We shall take our leave and report back to Colonel Stanhope.’
‘I would hope you can leave out Miss Ranner’s name,’ the agent said. ‘I did promise not to reveal what she told me.’
Jackman held out his hand. Gray rose and shook it.
‘We’ll do what we can,’ Jackman said soothingly.
‘Thank you, Mr Gray,’ said Ursula, standing also. ‘I am sure the Colonel will be very grateful to hear what you have told us.’
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Adele, the agent’s sister, entered.
Polite conversation had to be made and by the time Ursula and Mr Jackman were able to take their leave, the light was going, dark clouds loomed and rain threatened.
Outside, Barnaby stood quietly, one leg bent, resting. He looked up hopefully as Ursula untied the reins from the hitching post, twitched his ears and gave his body a little shake.
Adam Gray helped Ursula into the trap, then they were off.
‘Weather doesn’t look good,’ said Jackman.
Ursula’s lips tightened and she made no reply. Yet she found that her feelings towards the investigator had improved. She had to admire the way he set her up to receive the agent’s immediate onslaught, then had slipped underneath his defences. The Colonel had known what he was doing when he hired Thomas Jackman.
Ursula clicked the reins, encouraging Barnaby into a faster pace through the rapidly failing light.
The first part of the journey went well. Barnaby, no doubt aware that home lay ahead, trotted happily without veering from the centre of the road.
Then, from the direction of Mountstanton, came the sound of a horse galloping down the narrow road towards them.
Ursula expected it to slow as the rider saw them. But if anything the horse’s speed increased. She saw that the rider was a woman, urging on her mount, her head close to its neck. As far as she was concerned, the trap might not have existed.
Ursula pulled at the reins, shouting at Barnaby and attempting to move him out of the way. Whereas before the horse had seemed to have an inexplicable fascination for the wayside ditches, now he appeared determined to remain in the centre of the road. As she tried to force him away from the oncoming danger, he broke into a series of small, sideways steps that she recognised as the ‘dance’ the groom had warned her about. The gallo
ping horse came on, the ditch beckoned, Barnaby danced and threw up his head, snorting terribly; the trap wobbled on the verge, then its near side wheel slipped over the edge. Both passengers were thrown out into the water-lined ditch.
As the rider galloped past them, apparently unconscious of their plight, Ursula saw that it was Belle.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The brief vision of Belle riding like a girl possessed etched itself on Ursula’s mind. Then she found herself in the ditch. Before she could struggle to her feet, the trap slid inexorably down the bank, catching the folds of her skirt and petticoat beneath a wheel. She was trapped in the waterlogged depths.
Terrified screams came from Barnaby, held by the harness and dragged off his feet by the falling vehicle, his front legs flailing as they failed to gain any purchase.
Ursula tried to pull herself free but the material was firmly captured. Panic filled her. Then Jackman was there. Standing in the debris-strewn ditch, he put his shoulder to the back of the trap. The weight lifted just enough for Ursula to release her garments.
‘Thank you, Mr Jackman.’ She pushed herself into a sitting position. ‘Are you hurt at all?’
He grunted and allowed the trap to drop back, one wheel in the ditch, the other perched precariously on the verge edge. ‘Seem to have come off all right, thanks miss. How about yourself?’
Ursula gingerly stood and lifted first one foot and then the other, testing that each could bear her weight. ‘Like you, I appear to have escaped injury.’ Even the ankle that had been sprained seemed only slightly worse. She tried to climb up from the ditch but was hampered by the heavy weight of her soaked skirts.
‘Let’s be having you out of there.’ Thomas Jackman reached down towards her.
‘The horse needs calming, Mr Jackman. I can manage.’
‘Never been any good with livestock, miss. Take my hand.’
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