‘There’s no sign of Colonel Stanhope?’
‘No, miss.’
‘And John was riding? Wasn’t the horse party searching together?’
‘I don’t know, miss. Only that John wants you to come as soon as possible.’
‘You’d better take a message to her ladyship while I change into my habit.’
‘No, miss,’ Sarah said urgently. ‘John said no else is to know.’
‘Not even her ladyship?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘He said to hurry, miss.’
‘He hasn’t asked me to bring any bandages or anything special?’
‘No, just you.’ Sarah could hardly contain her impatience.
‘Then I’ll go and change and be at the stables as soon as I can. But there’s something very strange about this, Sarah.’
The maid looked embarrassed. ‘John’s always an odd one, miss. We never knows what he’ll do next. He’s even cheeked Mr Benson. Several times we thought he’d lose his job but somehow he’s always managed to stay. Oh, Miss Grandison, he’s found Miss Belle and he needs to take you to her.’
Ursula hesitated no longer. She went and hurriedly changed. Then she stuffed a holdall with a number of items. John might say nothing was needed, but life had taught her that most men had no idea of what could be required. Downstairs in the kitchen she begged some supplies and added them to her holdall. Then she limped along to the stables.
A number of lamps were burning both inside and outside. Hitched to a bridle post was Hector, the ancient hunter that had belonged to Richard’s father. John was just finishing saddling Daisy. He was dressed in working breeches and a rough jacket and looked very different from the liveried footman Ursula was used to seeing – rougher and yet more in command.
‘Have you really found Miss Seldon, John?’
He gave a last tug to the girth, straightened up and nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Grandison.’
‘She’s not injured?’
He checked the harness, his face averted from her. ‘Not sure, Miss Grandison.’
‘Not sure! What does that mean?’
‘It’s just that I haven’t actually seen her, miss.’ She gave him the holdall, told him to secure it to one of their saddles then used the mounting block.
Arranging her legs securely and the folds of her skirt properly, Ursula said, ‘I think you’d better explain exactly what has happened, John.’
Light from one of the lamps fell directly on his handsome face. It looked creased with worry and Ursula decided she could trust him.
‘You can fill me in as we go,’ she said crisply.
He mounted and they set off.
‘Does Colonel Stanhope know you are riding Hector?’
He nodded. ‘Said if I could handle him it were a good choice.’
‘Where did you learn to ride?’
‘My father were a farrier, miss. I were brought up with horses.’
‘But you didn’t want a life with them?’
‘I want more, miss. A life in London, theatres, excitement, like. Reckoned being a footman could bring me that.’
Despite all her anxiety, Ursula was amused. ‘And has it?’
‘We goes to London for the Season, miss, and at other times, every now and then.’
They rode in the same direction she had driven the trap earlier that day.
‘How many of you were in the riding party, John?’
‘Six, Miss. Colonel Charles, the four grooms and me.’
‘And where did you search?’
‘Colonel Charles said we were to go to the tenant farms. He sent us all to different ones. We were to ask if anyone had seen Miss Seldon, to say that she had gone for a ride without a groom and we thought she had got lost. Then we were to meet up with him at Mr Adams’s, the agent.’
‘And did you go to one of the farms?’
‘Yes, Miss. But they hadn’t seen a trace of her. Then I thought I knew where she might be.’
By now the rain had almost stopped but a keen wind blew. Clouds scudded across the sky, alternately obscuring and revealing the moon. It was like a cinematograph showing Ursula had once attended: black and white images flashing across a screen, making a curious kind of sense but remote from reality.
They left the road and started to canter across open ground. Soon John moved into a gallop. In the half dark, Ursula kept as close as she could to the footman, afraid of losing touch with him in an unknown landscape. On her own, she would have no idea which way to take back to Mountstanton.
Unease gripped Ursula. She could think of no good reason why the footman should not have gone to the Colonel and given him the information he thought he had.
And just what was that information?
Their speed increased. Ursula concentrated grimly on following him across first fields, then a gently rising meadow and then onto a wide path that led into a wood.
Here the trees dripped water and the moonlight, fitful at best, hardly penetrated the darkness. Ahead of her, Hector seemed to move forward without hesitation. Ursula felt as if she had entered some sort of sinister fairytale. Her sense of foreboding increased.
All at once the trees lessened and opened into a small clearing. A sudden shaft of moonlight showed a cottage, the type a woodsman might inhabit. Off to the side, a horse snickered in welcome and Ursula realised that Helen’s mare, Pocahontas, was tethered in a rough stall at the side of the cottage.
John dismounted then helped Ursula.
‘Belle is here?’
He nodded. ‘She wouldn’t let me in, just begged me to bring you to her. She sounded, well, strange. I tried to batter my way in but she screamed and screamed, said she wanted you and no one else. I didn’t know what to do, miss.’
He sounded so worried and unsure that Ursula couldn’t help sympathising with him.
He looked at the cottage. ‘When I left there was a candle burning inside.’
The single window was dark. Ursula ran to the door and banged on it. ‘Belle, it’s Ursula. I’m here. Let me in, please.’
There was no answer.
‘Belle, please, are you all right?’
Still no sound from inside the cottage.
‘John, please give me that holdall.’
He unfastened it from his saddle and handed it to her. Ursula extracted some matches and a small lamp, which she lit and held up high, examining the door. It was fastened with a simple latch but seemed to be secured on the inside.
‘John, you need to force it open,’ she said urgently.
‘Stand clear.’ He took a run at it, his right shoulder aiming for the latch.
At the third attempt, the hinges gave way. John managed to squeeze his way in. A moment later he had opened the latch and Ursula was able to enter, holding up her lamp and trying to make out the interior.
Then she saw Belle lying motionless and pale as death, one hand trailing from a rough bed set against the wall. She wasn’t breathing.
Chapter Thirty-One
Ursula ran to the girl’s side, dropped to her knees and felt for a pulse in Belle’s neck. Then came a violent snore that vibrated through the dank atmosphere.
Ursula almost dropped her lantern with relief. Placing it securely on a chair, she examined the girl. Belle was breathing and there was a strong smell of alcohol. A brief look around revealed an empty, unmarked bottle underneath the bed, the clasp of its stopper open. Ursula dribbled the last few drops onto a finger and tasted gin. Then she pulled back the surprisingly soft couple of blankets that covered Belle. Underneath, the girl was only dressed in a corset over a chemise. Quickly, Ursula drew the covering back over her, and went outside.
The footman had secured Daisy beside Pocahontas and was tying Hector up outside the stall.
‘Is the lass all right, Miss Grandison?’
‘As far as I can judge, yes. Do you know if a fire can be lit in the cottage?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Please come and light it, and bring that holdall with
you.’
The footman brought the bag into the cottage. ‘Is she really all right, miss?’ he asked as another loud snore shook the air.
‘I think she is under the influence of alcohol, John. Which is why we need a fire. I have to try and bring her back to consciousness, then dress her.’ She shook out clothes drawn from her own wardrobe. ‘Then we need to sober her up before it’s safe to put her back on Pocahontas.’
There appeared to be a generous stack of wood by the empty fireplace. John found a box of firelighters in a cupboard and soon had a warming blaze going.
‘Thank you, that’s very comforting. I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to go outside and stay there until I call you.’
‘No matter, miss,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I brought some oats with us for the horses. I’ll go and feed them.’ He left, carefully balancing the door back in place on its damaged hinges.
The business of trying to bring the drunken Belle back to consciousness was not easy and Ursula combined her efforts with managing to remove the corset, then pulling a petticoat over her lolling body. She half carried, half pulled the groaning girl onto a chair. She managed to button her into a shirt, bring a skirt down over her head, then force her to stand like a sagging, human-sized doll while she did up sufficient fastenings to keep the clothes in place.
‘Belle,’ she said forcefully several times during this process. ‘Wake up!’ The only result was groans and grunts.
Ursula sat her back on the chair and managed to slip a stocking on each bare foot, making a roll at the bottom of the legs, then she added a pair of too-large shoes, lacing them as tightly as possible.
Belle was lolling dangerously on the chair. Holding her in place, Ursula looked around the little room. On the wall opposite the door was what looked like a very basic kitchen. A shelf above a draining board held a collection of plates and mugs together with a utilitarian, metal coffee pot. Below the shelf was a small collection of comestibles, including a tin marked ‘coffee’.
Ursula called the footman back into the cottage. He came in with an air of helpful efficiency. ‘Could you, do you think, manage to make some coffee while I support Belle?’
‘Of course, Miss Grandison.’
‘I’ve found,’ said Ursula, ‘that if you heat water in the pot, then add grounds – four tablespoons should be sufficient for that pot – and stir it well, a tolerable result can be obtained.’
There was a trivet by the fire and soon the coffee pot was sitting on it over glowing wood. John also found several candlesticks and candles. ‘That’s better,’ he said, placing them so they provided a goodly light.
Ursula thanked him and said, ‘I think we must try and get Miss Seldon moving. You take one side and I’ll support her on the other.’
As with the dressing of the girl, it was a difficult task. Only half conscious, she was unwilling to make any effort. Ursula slapped her face then splashed cold water on it. Alternately encouraging and badgering, Ursula forced her to take unsteady steps. Belle responded with more groans and protests. Gradually, though, she seemed to be returning to a semblance of consciousness.
When the coffee was ready, they returned Belle to the chair and John supported her while Ursula used spoonfuls of cold water to settle the grounds. Then she poured the coffee into a mug and persuaded Belle to drink.
With Ursula supporting the girl again, John went and found a large bowl. He was rewarded with a smile. ‘I appreciate your forethought,’ Ursula said. ‘You have obviously had some practise in dealing with the sobering of those who have overindulged.’
‘As do you, if you don’t mind my saying so, Miss Grandison.’
She acknowledged this with a slight smile but said nothing. She had no intention of telling the footman about the sordid and messy times she had coped with after her husband had come home from the mining saloons.
Soon the bowl had to be utilised. Shortly after that, John suggested that fresh air might assist the sobering process. Ignoring Belle’s protests, they took her outside. It did not take long for the girl to come to.
‘Oh, Ursula, has anything happened?’ The words were almost wailed. ‘Didier said gin always works.’
‘Hush, Belle. You have not suffered any injury apart from being vilely drunk. Until you are sober, we cannot return to Mountstanton.’
The girl gave a great sob. ‘I’m cold – I want to go inside.’
Ursula had given Belle her own jacket and her knitted wrap but the linen skirt she had dressed her in was not very warm and in the chill of night she herself was shivering badly. ‘A little longer, Belle, then you will feel much better.’
The girl couldn’t seem to summon up the energy to protest further.
The footman took off his jacket and draped it round Ursula’s shoulders. It smelled earthy, of man, and a faint aromatic odour that she did not have the time or space to identify. She was just grateful for the warmth.
After a little while longer of walking up and down the grassy path, Belle started to gulp the fresh air and her expression grew more lively. ‘I know where we are,’ she said eventually. ‘It’s the Hansel and Gretel cottage.’
‘It was the woodman’s,’ said John firmly and unexpectedly.
‘What happened to the woodman?’ asked Ursula.
The footman shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think he died. The old Earl, he bought this wood. That were many years ago.’
Ursula decided not to ask more questions. ‘I think we can go inside now, Belle.’
She sat the girl back on the chair and wrapped the soft blanket round her shoulders while John added more wood to the fire. She returned his jacket with thanks. ‘I think you should ride back to Mountstanton and tell them that Miss Seldon is safe but is a little faint and I am staying with her until she is well enough to ride. It should not be long. I think you need not mention anything else.’ She eyed the empty bottle she’d placed on the draining board without further comment.
‘I understand, Miss Grandison.’ He looked at Belle. ‘Poor girl, not fair is it?’
Ursula looked keenly at the footman. He was extremely handsome and she had seen Belle, more than once, sending him a laughing glance when asking for something or other. But there seemed nothing inappropriate in his expression, only sympathy and concern.
‘I’ll be off then.’
Ursula was left alone with Belle. Huddled in the blanket, her eyes closed, head leaning against the chair back, she looked shrunken and bereft. Ursula collected the wet clothes scattered round the room and placed them next to the fire, together with the sodden riding boots. They would all take several hours to dry.
‘I feel awful,’ Belle groaned. ‘I’ve never felt this awful in my life before.’
‘It’s the alcohol, I’m afraid, darling. This is what it does. I will make some fresh coffee and maybe that will make you feel a little better. And I brought some food from Mountstanton. I begged it from the kitchen because I was sure that you would be hungry. You can’t have had anything to eat since lunchtime.’
Ursula dug out a roll with chicken, some cheese and a piece of fruitcake from her holdall. She found a plate and placed the food next to Belle on the cottage’s little round table. ‘Do try and eat something, it will make you feel better, I promise.’
Belle opened her eyes. ‘I never want to eat again. Have you ever felt like this?’
Ursula laughed. ‘You mean, have I ever drunk too much alcohol? Yes, Belle, I have. In my wild young days, several times I felt as you do now.’
The big blue eyes widened. ‘Really, Ursula? Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ She hesitated for a moment then said, ‘My husband wanted a wife who could drink along with him. It took me a little time to realise how stupid that was.’ She smiled a small, painful smile. ‘I’m afraid men are often not very sensible.’
‘What happened to your husband?’
‘He died.’
‘Oh, Ursula, how sad! I am so sorry.’
Ursula said briskly, ‘Life
can be difficult. And very rarely is alcohol an answer.’ She thought how prim and governess-like she sounded.
‘And it hasn’t worked,’ Belle wailed. ‘Didier said riding hard and gin would do it. There would be a lot of blood but then I would be all right.’
Where on earth had Helen found that French maid? How could Didier risk her mistress’s life in this way? And only confess the half of it to the Dowager? On their return to Mountstanton, Ursula would see that she was immediately dismissed.
‘Darling, it was a dreadful thing you tried to do. And to be all on your own! What were you going to do if you started bleeding? Out here, no one knowing where you were, no one to care for you, no one to make sure you were all right.’ Ursula could not bear the thought of what might have happened. ‘Why did you not come and talk to me?’
‘I tried,’ Belle started to cry. ‘I wanted to tell you about my condition but I was so scared.’
‘Scared of me?’
‘Papa told me you would be able to let him know all about my life at Mountstanton.’
‘Oh, Belle, I was not sent to spy on you.’
‘And I knew you would not respect me anymore and I could not bear that. Oh, my head!’ Belle buried it in her hands.
Ursula put a gentle hand round her shoulders. ‘Darling, I will always love and respect you. Don’t ever again feel you cannot talk to me whenever you are in need. Now, please eat something and I will make some fresh coffee. I promise you that your situation is not hopeless.’
Belle ignored the plate of food. But the tears stopped and she leant her head against the chair back.
Ursula built up the fire and prepared another pot of coffee.
With the coffee infusing on the trivet, she pulled up the other chair and peered into the shadows around the room, trying to read the story of the little cottage. Apart from the soft blankets and linen sheets on the low, rustic bed, no effort had been made to spruce it up. A religious tract on a wall was the only decoration. The utensils were the simplest. Yet the coffee was fresh and wood had been carefully stacked by the fireplace in readiness – for what? For whom?
Deadly Inheritance Page 37