by Joan Smith
Mrs. Rampling continued as warm and friendly and as full of italics as ever. “My dear, you must excuse this gown I am wearing—so inappropriate. Gregory told me only that I was needed, and I just snatched up whatever was at hand. I look a quiz, I swear.”
I was happy for her presence, but I also kept an eye peeled to see how she and Otto behaved with each other. I sensed some effort to attach him on her part, and Otto was never reluctant to make eyes at a pretty lady. But overall it was clearly Gregory who was her particular friend. She treated him with a conjugal offhandedness that betrayed their alliance.
We ladies were spared the funeral. I said my last farewell to Aunt Hettie in her room, just before the coffin was removed. That lifeless face did not look much like the Hettie I had known. It might have been one of Madame Tussaud’s wax figures I had heard about; the features were those of the original, but without the spark of animation—the pride and sharp temper—that were so much a part of her. It was Mrs. Manner who looked more like her old self. In death, they were finally equal.
We knew that Mrs. Manner wished to be buried beside her late husband at Bath. Her coffin was to be removed that afternoon, but I would come and make a separate farewell to her later.
When the men came to remove Aunt Hettie’s coffin, I went to my room. I did not want to see the sorry sight, but I saw it in my mind’s eye all the same as the heavy tread of their footfalls struggled down the great staircase with their burden.
Mrs. Rampling was waiting in the purple saloon when I returned below. She came to me and put her arms around me. “Poor Jessie,” she murmured. “Do you mind if I call you so? You need a friend at this time, and a friend would not call you Miss Greenwood.”
“Of course,” I mumbled through my tears. It was a comfort to feel the warmth of a human touch. I did need a friend. Her words reminded me of how very much alone I was.
“And you must call me Anita,” she said at once.
Such a rushing forward of the intimacies of friendship was not in the best of taste, but the unusual circumstances made it seem natural.
While awaiting the return of the funeral party, we sat by the grate and talked. Mrs. Rampling—Anita—apologized again for not having proper mourning clothes. When I volunteered the use of Aunt Hettie’s black shawl, she accepted gratefully.
“I have half a dozen black gowns at home,” she mentioned, “for my husband passed away recently. I only switched to half-mourning at Christmas. Perhaps Gregory mentioned my situation?” she said, and looked at me closely.
“Yes.”
“I hope you did not—but of course Gregory would not have told you those malicious rumours.” I looked encouraging, and she continued. “Certain people have been saying my late husband died defending my honour. It was a lie. George and I were very much in love. George’s duel was fought over a card game. A Captain Sharp was using marked cards, and George accused him of it. The man called him out, and George was killed. When a younger lady is married to an older gentleman, that sort of malicious scandal is only to be expected. My friends know it is untrue. They have all stood by me. Gregory was a great help to me in handling all the business of settling the estate.”
The story from the lady most intimately involved was at variance with the rumours Horatio had related. Naturally I did not challenge her. I thought the truth probably lay somewhere between the two tales. It seemed plausible that she had been carrying on behind her elderly husband’s back, and when he was killed in a duel, the gossip-mongers invented the rest of it.
“The reason I mention it, Jessica—”
“You don’t have to explain things to me, Anita. That is none of my concern.”
“But I want you to know! You must not think too badly of me,” she said cajolingly. “When you come to stay with me in London, you must not think you will be ostracized from decent society. I have dozens—nay, hundreds of friends. I am out every night. The theatre, routs, balls. Gregory will be our cicisbeo. I have no doubt Otto will be happy to squire us from time to time as well. I have been feeling him out in that respect, and he seems agreeable. He could be a great help to you. He has the entree everywhere. There would be no hope of attaching him, of course. With his expectations he will marry some well-dowered noble daughter, but his friendship could be very useful.”
“You forget I am in mourning, Anita,” I said, astonished by the tenor of her conversation.
“Of course,” she said at once. “I was speaking of next year. In fact, it might be a good idea for us to travel a little during your year of mourning. Something to pass the interval in an interesting manner. With Boney bestriding Europe, it is difficult. Ireland, perhaps ...”
I had no intention of making Anita such a bosom bow that we set off on a year’s travel together, and said vaguely, “I daresay there will be business to tend to here in England.”
“We shall wait until the will is read before deciding exactly what is to be done. But you must not forget you are to come to me. That is settled.”
It was settled in my mind that I would do nothing of the sort, but I worded my intention less sharply. “I have not really decided yet, but I thank you for the offer, and shall keep it in mind.”
Before long the mourners arrived. A fair number had turned out for the occasion. Vicar Jennings and Doctor Culpepper came, along with Aunt Hettie’s solicitor, Mr. Ogilvy, a dark and dapper man from Littlehorn. Mr. Walgrave, her man of finance, also came. John Weldon and some of the other neighbours were there as well. With the four nephews, it made a decent showing. Wine was served first, followed by tea and the cold lunch Cook had prepared.
The guests spoke respectfully of Hettie, and mentioned Mrs. Manner. As if by tacit consent, the subject of murder was avoided, but it was there, the uninvited guest at the feast. I noticed Culpepper’s sharp eyes darting hither and thither, and knew he was looking and listening, as I was, for a false move.
He took up a seat beside me before leaving and expressed his dissatisfaction with Croton for not sending for Bow Street. He inquired why Mrs. Rampling was here. I explained she was acting as chaperone for the time being.
“She looks young for the job. Is there no decent local lady you could hire?”
“She is not indecent, so far as I know.”
“Lord, Miss Greenwood, I thought you had more sense. You don’t know a thing about her except what young Gregory has seen fit to tell you. She might be his accomplice, for all we know.”
“Accomplice?” I leaped on the word. “Are you saying you have discovered something that proves Gregory—”
“No, no,” he said at once. “But we know it was one of the lads. Why take chances? You must stay here until the will is read, of course, but after that, I think you should get away for a while.”
Horatio came ambling up to us and our private talk was finished. Culpepper moved away, but he had left me with something to think about.
“Well, that is over, thank God,” Horatio said. “How are you making out with the widder, young Rampling?”
“She told me that her husband’s duel was over a game of cards, Horatio. Where did you hear she was the cause?”
“You may hear it anywhere. It was a great secret. The whole town was whispering about it.”
“You don’t actually know it was true then?”
“Not for a fact. No smoke without fire though, eh?”
“She invited me to stay with her in London.”
He looked positively alarmed. “You mustn’t think of it! You might never leave the place alive. Even if you did go, no one decent would receive you. No, no, my girl. Put that notion out of your mind.”
“I did not tell her I would go, but she invited me.”
I noticed, of course, that Horatio’s mind was running in the same groove as Culpepper’s. He suspected Gregory too. I think I suspected him myself, but Anita Rampling was not his accomplice. She had been at Littlehorn when both murders occurred. Whatever her sins, I rather liked her.
When Horatio le
ft me, he walked straight to Otto and whispered in his ear. Within a minute, Otto came to join me. He just shook his head.
“I thought you had more sense, Jess.”
“Horatio told you.”
“He did, and I agree with him—the idea is preposterous. You’d be eaten alive by Rampling’s crew.”
“I know she is not quite the thing, but I rather like her. She is lively and amusing.”
“All the more successful lightskirts are. That is what makes them successful, but I had not realized they could enchant ladies as well as gentlemen.”
“You are the one who said she should stay on.”
“Only for a day or two. I had no idea she worked so quickly. You have not agreed to join her in London?”
“I haven’t agreed to anything, but I obviously must go somewhere if Downsview is to be sold.”
“I don’t believe for a moment Hettie put that in her will. One of us will get it. Probably Gregory ...”
“Well then! I don’t suppose you are suggesting I stay here with him.”
“He won’t make Downsview his home, but I don’t suggest you stay if he inherits. He will, no doubt, come from time to time to see what depredations he can make on the estate in the way of cutting timber, or selling paintings, or selling off parcels of land. If you must leave, and I agree it would be advisable, you have connections you can go to.”
I noticed he did not say “relatives.” My connections were the Farrs. I looked a question at him, but he did not pin-point what connection he had in mind. I felt it could only be his mama.
The guests began to leave, and we went to the saloon door to see them off. Horatio joined us. “Are we calling that bite of cold mutton lunch?” he asked.
“Yes, we want to get on with the reading of the will while Ogilvy is here.”
“Business before pleasure,” Otto said.
The atmosphere at Downsview had been oppressive since my aunt’s death. It grew almost unbearably tense as Juteclaw ushered the last guest out the door. Now we would hear the will read. Hettie’s fortune was the reason she had been murdered. We were all on thorns to hear the will, but did not wish to reveal our eagerness.
Mr. Ogilvy, the lawyer, looked around and said, “Shall we begin now, Miss Greenwood?” I was surprised that he put my opinion over that of the gentlemen. Little did I suspect the reason!
Mrs. Rampling darted up to me and squeezed my fingers. “Good luck, Jessica. Let me know how it turns out.” Then she left before I could reply.
As everyone was eager to hear the news, I led Ogilvy to the study, with the others following like sheep. He opened the door, and we saw Felix and John Weldon sitting in the study. In my excitement, I had not noticed Felix was not with the other nephews. He sat behind the desk, Weldon in front of it. Scholars, it seemed, could not be distracted from their arguments even by death. That they were, or had been, arguing was clear from their postures and sharp expressions.
Felix looked sheepish to be caught out in this slight to Hettie’s memory, and coloured up. “Is it time already?” he said. “I fear Weldon and I got carried away over a point of translation. Another time, Mr. Weldon.”
Mr. Weldon said, “Another time. But let us make it very soon, Mr. Chapman.” He rose, bowed curtly and left.
“What a fellow,” Felix said, with a shake of his head. “He has got it in his bonnet that I traduced the memory of Crassus by overemphasizing his greed. The facts speak for themselves. If I erred, it was a culpa levis on my part.”
“Yes, yes, Felix. Never mind that now,” Gregory said impatiently, and Felix moved away from the desk to allow Mr. Ogilvy to use it.
The lawyer took a folder out of his case and spread it on the desk as we all settled in. Gregory drew a chair for me beside himself. Otto sat on the other side, with Horatio hovering over my shoulder. Felix stood behind us, as there were not enough chairs.
Ogilvy cleared his throat and began the reading of the formal documents. “I, Hettie Elizabeth Farr, being of sound mind and body, do hereby—”
“Do we have to bother with all that?” Gregory said.
“You want to know who gets the estate and money,” Ogilvy said with a certain distaste. “Very well then ...” And he immediately reverted to more unintelligible mumbo-jumbo about estates and chattels. The facts were slow to penetrate, but after a few repetitions and several questions, Hettie’s intentions became clear.
“Yes, Miss Greenwood is the major beneficiary, providing she marry one of you four gentlemen within twelve months of Mrs. Farr’s demise,” Ogilvy said in plain English. “If at the end of twelve months she has not married, or if she has married someone other than one of you, the estate is to be divided evenly amongst the five of you. In the case of her demise before the twelve month period, the estate is to be evenly disbursed amongst the nephews. There are other details: in the case of the demise of any of the nephews, the estate is to be divided evenly amongst the remaining heirs. There are some smaller bequests. Mrs. Farr’s dog, Duke, is to remain at Downsview with Miss Greenwood during the next twelve months if she does not marry. Mrs. Manner was to be a beneficiary, and of course the servants. A thousand for the church, and so on.”
“Intolerable!” Gregory exclaimed, but he did not seem so angry as I would have thought. In fact, he did not even seem surprised. His face lacked that stunned expression of the other nephews.
“Anguis in herba,” Felix murmured softly.
Horatio said, “Eh?”
“A snake in the grass,” Felix explained.
“Where?” Horatio demanded, looking about him.
The others spoke too, but I scarcely heard them for the humming in my ears. She had left it all to me! I was rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Downsview, the money, the lot. But there was indeed a very large snake in this new Eden. In order to inherit, I must marry one of these four gentlemen—and one of them was a murderer.
Chapter Twelve
We thanked Mr. Ogilvy. He asked me to remain behind a moment, after the others left, and told me he would be happy to assist me in any way he could. He explained that I was to receive the year’s income for Downsview and be responsible for the running of it until such time as I chose my husband. He assumed I would choose from amongst the four.
As I had never looked beyond that little circle for a match, I did not find this strange. I asked him to tell the others I wished to be alone for a moment, and he was very happy to oblige the potential heiress of Downsview.
I sat on alone, looking at the astonishing document Aunt Hettie had left behind. Whatever had induced her to create such a monstrous piece of mischief? And why had she not warned me of it? After the first bout of disbelief I tried to think rationally, for there must surely be a rational explanation.
I thought she wanted to be fair to us all, yet did not want to see Downsview sold to strangers. She knew the money should revert to the Farrs, as the estate had been Aldous Farr’s to begin with, yet her own inclination was to leave it to her kin, the Chapman side of the family, which included me. Over the years she had come to place some trust in my common sense.
At the bottom of her heart, she knew Gregory to be unreliable, yet she did not much care for Felix. Unable to reach a compromise without selling Downsview, she had dumped the matter in my lap. But she had not foreseen the complication of murder.
Of course she hoped I would choose Gregory, and ride herd on him hard enough to keep him in line. Blinded by his superficial charm herself, she thought I must admire him too. He would be my last choice. He had been behaving in a worryingly lover-like way during this visit. Had Auntie told him what was in this will? Why else had he suddenly begun courting me? He had told me a quite different story about the will; that it was to be shared amongst us. Had Hettie misled him? No, he must have known the truth. But if he planned to offer for me, why had he imported Mrs. Rampling?
He had not made up to me when he first arrived. His advances only began that day in the hall upstairs, when I feared he m
ight have done Mrs. Manner some harm. He said he had gone to the east wing to look in on her, but Auntie’s bedchamber was close by. Had he slipped into her room and found her will? I knew she had had a copy of it there to review while planning her annual revision.
I felt certain that was it. That was when he learned I was the major beneficiary, providing I choose one of the nephews. He was trying to inveigle me into choosing him. Mrs. Rampling had come to Littlehorn with him earlier, before he read the will. Yes, that would explain her presence close by.
Hettie was clever enough to know I had a tendre for Otto, but she must not have thought he would ever offer for me, even with the added inducement of Downsview. He would inherit Cleremont; he had no need of her estate and money. She did not know about his lawsuit when she made this will, of course. Things might be different now ...
My thoughts turned eagerly to Otto. He might very well have me now. But it was small consolation to nab a husband who needed my money, and had no use for me myself. I thought of Horatio—he was kind, and he liked me. I would have accepted him had he offered anytime over the past ten years. Felix? I hardly considered him at all, really. He was a book in breeches, and a book in a foreign tongue at that. There was nothing in him to turn a lady’s head. With his new success, and with his knighthood in the offing, he was a more attractive parti than before from a worldly point of view, but I had never had a hankering for worldly honour and glory.