‘What happened, Miss Ranner?’ Ursula remembered the Colonel and his tale of a father over-eager to exercise a droit du seigneur and a scandal only just averted. ‘I ask not through a taste for gossip but because it could be very important.’
‘Important? Why? I don’t understand.’
‘I am not at liberty to explain but please be assured that I speak the truth when I say that the details could mean a great deal.’
Miss Ranner passed a hand over her eyes. ‘All my life I have been educated not to gossip and particularly not to gossip about one’s betters.’
‘Never think that just because someone has a title or a large house or some great reputation that they are better than you, Miss Ranner. From what I have seen here, you are of sterling quality and should bow to no one.’
Her hostess gave a shaky laugh. ‘Dear Miss Grandison, what are you saying?’ She thought for a moment. ‘Well, both of them have passed on now, though, of course, the Dowager is still with us.’ She looked hard at Ursula. ‘If you are sure it is of such importance, then I will tell you.’
She looked down at her knitted fingers. When she raised her gaze, she was completely composed. ‘The Earl and the Countess had been married some three or four years. No children as yet and perhaps he was worried by that. He and Lady Frances met on the hunting field. She was a bruising rider to hounds, reckless as anything. She came off at a high hedge and lost consciousness. She and the Earl were the only ones foolish enough to try jumping that obstacle. He gathered her up and, well, I suppose it was what the poets like to talk of as love at first sight. Some called her beautiful and some ugly. She had come out several years earlier but somehow failed to find a husband, perhaps she was too selective.’
Ursula had a sudden picture of a strong-willed girl with out-of-the-ordinary looks suddenly meeting the love of her life and throwing every rule book out of the window.
‘I don’t know how long it took before the gossip started. I think he was as reckless as she. Then, suddenly, she was marrying the clergyman of a local parish and he had been given an advancement that took them into the Midlands. We saw no more of Lady Frances until seven or eight years ago. The reverend had died, the rectory had to be passed to the next incumbent and the present Viscount Broome, brother to Lady Frances, supplied her with a house.’
‘The fifth Earl must have still been alive, was he not?’
Miss Ranner nodded.
‘And at last discretion was observed,’ said Ursula, thinking that the Dowager may well have had something to say in that. She must surely have been aware of what had transpired.
‘It was as Mrs Sutton described.’
‘Did gossip not start up again regarding Mr Max Russell? Now that I know the facts, I can see that there is a strong likeness to the Earl.’ Except that Mr Russell had a presence the Earl had never managed to achieve.
‘He was invited to Mountstanton. Only occasionally, you understand, when there were other folk around, just what might be expected, given Lady Frances’s standing. Had there been a complete ignoring of the Russells, then gossip may well have been active.’
‘You spoke earlier as though Mr Russell was aware of his parentage.’
‘Oh, yes. Betty – Mrs Sutton – is a close friend and she has told me Lady Frances informed him of the truth many years ago.’
Ursula shook her head. What a terrible story! And the fifth Earl was a man supposedly held in high esteem and great fondness by all who knew him. How extraordinary it was that neither of his sons seemed to have taken after him. She remembered Mr Russell’s easy charm and wondered if the fifth Earl had wanted to acknowledge him as at least one son who had inherited his own charisma. And how had the Dowager borne it? No wonder she had lashed out so strongly against Mr Warburton the previous night.
Then she thought about Helen and Belle’s mother, for whom faithlessness had seemed a way of life. She wondered how long she would have remained with her own Papa had typhoid not claimed them both.
‘Thank you, Miss Ranner, for telling me this.’
‘Is it important, Miss Grandison?’
Ursula looked down at the gloves she had lain in her lap and stroked their grey suede. ‘At this moment I cannot tell. But, yes, it could be of great importance.’
Miss Ranner looked pleased and relieved. After a moment she said, ‘And how is your knitting going, Miss Grandison?’
Ursula explained she was half way through the wrap she was making from Miss Ranner’s pattern but all the time she wanted to say goodbye. She needed to find Mr Jackman, to tell him how she thought she could now put together all the pieces surrounding the Earl’s death.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Charles Stanhope stood in his brother’s study, looked at his two investigators, and tried to take in what they had told him.
He was deathly tired. He kept telling himself he had suffered far worse hardship on campaign than he had here at home over the past forty-eight hours, but the heartbreak of his brother’s death kept sweeping over him. It made the shock of Polly’s demise a fleabite in comparison.
He had meant coming home after resigning his commission to be no more than a dutiful interlude before moving on to the next stage of his life. He had had it all planned. Now, almost literally, the grand design had been blown into useless pieces.
‘Please, sit down.’ He waved at a couple of none-too-comfortable chairs and waited until both Miss Grandison and Thomas Jackman were seated. ‘Now, let me see if I have this straight.’ He leant against a side table weighted with piles of Richard’s papers. ‘You are saying that Max Russell is one of my father’s illegitimate offspring, that he comes up here on Mama’s birthday fête filled with animosity towards my brother, helps himself to a shotgun, meets him in the belvedere and kills him, making it look like a suicide. Is that it?’ He couldn’t help the incredulous note in his voice.
Until now, he had considered Miss Grandison as a woman of more than usual intelligence. And courage! What other woman would have climbed down that treacherous slope in the way she had for a dog! Or, for that matter, ridden out on a loathsome night through the dark and rain to help a foolish girl when there were others she could have called on? How quickly he had become used to her presence, her frankness, her wit, her ability to think the way he did about matters such as Polly’s death. He caught her sometimes at the dinner table surveying the diners as though they belonged in some zoological park. Then she would catch his eye and smile almost as though they were conspirators.
Now, though, it seemed she had let her imagination run away with her. Could she really believe the theory she had outlined?
‘Sir,’ said Thomas Jackman, ‘I have to point out that Mr Russell’s horse, an unmistakeable animal, blond as I understand …’
‘A palomino’ interjected Miss Grandison.
‘Was seen in the early evening tethered at the trees not far from the bottom of the slope leading up to the belvedere.’
This hadn’t been mentioned before. It rocked Charles, made him realise this theory might not be as ridiculous as he’d first thought.
‘When did you discover this, Jackman?’
‘This morning, sir. While Miss Grandison was visiting Miss Ranner, I talked with Sam, the barman at the Lamb and Lion. He said if I wanted to know more about who was at the fête, I should talk to Mr Russell because his horse was seen below the slope leading up to the west wing. I asked who had produced this information; he said a customer had mentioned it, someone, I gathered, who wouldn’t want to be identified. From what Sam didn’t say as much as what he did, I reckon that poaching is amongst this fellow’s activities.’
Charles had a good idea of who the fellow was. Luke Southover scratched a living lending a hand to any farmer needing unskilled help, and poached regularly, filling the pot for his ever-growing family. Luke was sharp and sly. He knew everything going on in the neighbourhood. If he said he’d seen Max’s horse, then the report could be relied upon.
‘So I aske
d who this Mr Russell was,’ Jackman continued.
‘And what were you told?’
‘That he was a gent, lived a little way outside Hinton Parva and was known to visit up at the big house. Nothing about his being any sort of relation,’ Jackman added hurriedly. ‘I obtained his directions and walked back toward the house Miss Grandison was visiting, to inform her that I was intending to call on the said Mr Russell, when … ‘
‘When I emerged from Miss Ranner’s and was able to tell him what I had learned from both her and Mrs Sutton,’ finished Ursula.
Charles looked at her in bemusement.
She fixed him with a steady gaze. ‘How do you view Mr Russell, Colonel?’
How indeed? With an effort Charles brought himself back to the matter in hand. It was a question he would have difficulty in answering but answer it he must. ‘Max Russell and his mother moved into The Beeches, which is a mile or so the other side of the village, some seven years ago. Lady Frances, Max’s mother, was the sister of Viscount Broome, whose estate borders Mountstanton to the east.’
‘We are aware of that, Colonel,’ Miss Grandison broke in with a note of impatience. ‘Please, may I ask if you were aware that Mr Russell is your half-brother?’
‘I was away with my regiment when the Russells arrived. I came home on leave about a couple of years later and met Max for the first time out shooting with my father and Richard. He seemed a pleasant enough fellow. Then my brother broke the news. He … he … apparently he considered that Max’s birth was not his fault and that it should not be held against him.’ He swallowed hard.
‘But you could not see it that way?’ Miss Grandison asked gently.
He looked down at his shoes. ‘I could not help seeing the presence in the neighbourhood of his mother and himself as an insult to my mother. Richard said that my mother had left her card with Lady Frances and that was all she intended doing.’ He paused then said, with a certain amount of difficulty, ‘It was obvious, though, that my father derived great pleasure from Max’s company.’
‘Did he visit Lady Frances?’
‘No. I believe he did not. By then his physical condition was deteriorating and he rode little. But I know Max came over and played chess with him.’ When Charles had told Richard how inappropriate he considered this practice, his brother said that it gave pleasure to their father, and his life, at that stage, did not offer many pleasures. Richard had always had an uneasy relationship with both their parents. As had Charles. But Richard was always attempting to live up to his father’s expectations. Charles dealt with their differences by removing himself from the family circle. But for Miss Grandison to suggest that Max could have shot Richard was truly shocking.
He took a deep breath. ‘So Max’s horse was seen below the belvedere shortly before my brother died.’
‘I came across Mr Russell the morning before the fête,’ said Miss Grandison. ‘He was fishing. After I left him I saw the Earl riding in that direction. They might well have made some arrangement to meet the following evening.’
‘Or they might not have met at all. None of that is evidence of intent to murder.’
‘Revenge is a powerful motive,’ said Jackman.
‘Revenge for what?’
‘For being done out of the style of living the Earl and yourself have enjoyed, sir. Indeed, I understand Mr Russell was older than your brother?’
Charles nodded. ‘By no more than a few months.’
‘So, if his mother had been married to your father, on his death, Mr Russell would have been the Earl. Jealousy can do terrible things to a person, sir.’
‘You were very dismissive of him when we met on that picnic, Colonel.’ Another quiet interjection from Miss Grandison.
‘Was I? I don’t remember.’ But he did. The sight of Maximilian Russell had destroyed for him what had been, up to that point, a delightful outing; brought home to him how much of what went on at Mountstanton he found repugnant. He and Richard had been so close as boys; when had they started to grow apart?
‘The revenge motive that Mr Jackman mentioned,’ Miss Grandison continued, ‘could have included revenge on behalf of his mother. The Stanhopes had ruined her life. Forced her to be married to a man she would, I suggest, not ordinarily have chosen as a husband, then damaged her social acceptability when she returned to this area.’
Charles said nothing but he was seeing a certain logic to the argument being put before him.
‘Then,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘there is the matter of the horse and rider Miss Ranner saw outside Mr Snell’s house the night he died. She identified it as your brother’s because it was a grey. I believe it is the only grey in the immediate neighbourhood. However, in the moonlight, would not a pale gold horse seem to be white, the same colour as a grey? And Mr Russell’s figure is very like your brother’s. It could have been Mr Russell that Miss Ranner saw that night.’
‘But what would he have been doing there?’
‘Was it possible that Mr Russell was the father of Polly’s child? And that Mr Snell had seen them together some time?’
Charles felt a chill go through him. ‘But that would have been …’ he could not bring himself to say the actual words.
‘He would not have known the details of Polly’s parentage,’ said Miss Grandison, ‘that they were half-sister and brother. You did not know who her father was before seeing Mr Gray’s letter to her, did you?’
No, that at least was true. He wished he had. He shook his head, then looked across at the investigator. ‘Do you go along with this theory, Jackman?’
‘It fits a number of the facts, sir. Mr Russell would seem to have had the opportunity and the means – he would have known where the gun was kept and been able to help himself while the company was otherwise engaged with the fête. And Miss Grandison has come up with a viable motive.’
‘I find it difficult to believe that Max would have become involved with Polly.’ Yet was it difficult? He could easily have met her in or around Mountstanton, or going through that damn wood. Max had all their father’s charm, probably had his propensity for seducing women as well. ‘I think it much more likely Mr Warburton was responsible for her condition.’
‘He strongly denies it,’ said Jackman. ‘As he denies killing her.’ He paused for a moment then said thoughtfully, ‘His denials carry a certain amount of weight but it is possible he is a particularly good liar.’
Charles looked at the investigator he had chosen for the mission of discovering what had brought about Polly’s death, and at the American woman who had shown such courage and common sense. Both of them appeared to think that Max Russell had been capable of killing his brother.
He walked over to the window, stood looking out on the parterre garden and tried to bring the man into focus. It was difficult because he had spent so much time trying to deny his very existence. Had he not, though, considered that Richard treated Max’s unexpected presence with far too much ease? ‘I don’t trust him,’ he’d told his brother. ‘There’s something in his eyes when he thinks you’re not looking at him which is …’
‘What?’ Richard had asked impatiently, sounding as though any such suggestion was ridiculous.
Charles had shrugged and let the matter go. What he had seen, or imagined he had seen, in Max’s eyes was hatred. Was it just possible that the malevolence towards his half-brothers had festered and grown to the point when, about to depart for America and reckoning he could get away with it, he had shot Richard? The man who, if Jackman and Miss Grandison were to be believed, he reckoned had stolen his rightful heritage?
Charles swung round to face the room. ‘The fact that Mr Russell did not make his presence at the fête known to anyone, other than perhaps my brother, could have been because he wished to spare my mother the pain of his presence there.’ Even as he said this, Charles decided Max was unlikely to show such consideration. ‘You have, though, convinced me enough to believe Mr Russell should be questioned about his presence at Mountstanto
n on that day.’ What would the man’s reaction be? Charles wondered if he was opening his family up to more scandal, scandal that almost certainly could not be controlled. But what alternative was there? Allow Max to sail away to New York without the possibility he was a murderer being properly investigated? No, that was not an option.
‘If the information given to Miss Grandison is correct, he is now on his way to Liverpool to board a boat for America. What was the name you were given, Miss Grandison?’
‘The SS Majestic, Colonel.’
‘Do we know when it sails?’
‘Mrs Sutton said she thought it was to be in a week’s time. He was going to visit a friend on the way to Liverpool with the intention of selling his horse.’
‘I would suggest I go into Salisbury this afternoon and ascertain the line which operates that vessel and its schedule, sir.’
‘Excellent, Jackman. I’ll get my driver to take you in my motor vehicle. That will be faster than the dog-cart.’
A look almost of panic came over the investigator’s face. ‘A motor vehicle? I seen them in London, sir, and highly dangerous they seem to be. They never should have lifted the speed limit on them. Man with a red flag walking in front was just the ticket.’
Charles laughed, and realised it was the first time he had done so since his brother died. ‘Jackman, I am sorry, but you sum up the reactionary view of so many to the advance of technology. Take the ride and see if you don’t think the motorised vehicle will revolutionise travel.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Eat luncheon before you go. We would seem to have a few days in hand.’
Jackman raised a hand in acknowledgement and left the room.
‘Miss Grandison,’ Charles said as she moved to follow the investigator. ‘I would appreciate a few words with you.’
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