Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter

by Sylvia Andrew

  Movement behind her brought her back to the present. The children had lost interest in their argument and were wandering out into the hall. Emily followed them, and saw James walking purposefully towards the door at the end, which led to the servants’ quarters.

  ‘James, wait!’ William joined him. ‘This part of the house is still being worked on. The kitchens are down there. It could be dangerous.’

  Emily looked through the open door. It opened into a long pas sage, wide but dimly lit. ‘It’s quite a different house down there,’ William said. ‘Dark. Older. It reminds me of Temperley.’

  ‘Rosa says her father’s house dates from the fifteenth century, and you’re right. This looks the same.’

  ‘I think the old manor house was built about then, too. About a hundred years ago the owner of the time started to modernise the building, but he couldn’t finish the work. Along with a good many others he lost all his money in a rash piece of speculation.’

  ‘I can see why Charlwood has a reputation for ruining its owners!’

  ‘Not this one, Emily! Not this one! I’ll finish it, you’ll see! But until it’s all done… Come back, James!’

  ‘It’s all right, Uncle William. I’ve been down here before. I want to show you where I found the picture. It’s quite safe.’ James was some way ahead by now, and Laura was pushing past Emily to follow him.

  Emily caught hold of her and took her firmly by the hand. She said to William, ‘Could we perhaps have a short look? He’s so proud of that picture! I seem to remember looking for him once before, and finding him beyond this door.’

  William looked resigned. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s better we know what there is down there. Keep hold of Laura and go slowly!’ He took off down the passage to catch up with James, and Emily and Laura followed. Their foot steps echoed as they went. The walls were made of heavy stone, and the only light came from a small window at the far end.

  They passed a massive oak door. Laura eyed it nervously. ‘I don’t like it here,’ she said in a small voice. ‘It’s too scary. Where does that door go?’

  ‘I don’t know, Laura. It’s probably just a broom cupboard.’ Emily said, her voice care fully matter of fact. She tried the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. ‘We’ll ask your uncle in a minute.’ William and James were by a flight of steps that led down wards. Emily eyed it with distaste. ‘If those steps lead to the kitchens, I’m glad I’ve never had to dine at Charlwood,’ she said with decision.

  ‘Those steps lead to the cellars,’ said William, amused. ‘The kitchens are further on, but they are, I admit, a mile or two from the dining room. Don’t worry. New kitchens are being in stalled at this very moment just down there on the other side. The new dining room for the family will be here, so that we shall all be able to enjoy moderately warm food.’

  He opened a door on the other side of the passage and they went through. The room had been some sort of parlour in the old manor house, and it had been left very much in its original style. It would be a cosy room in winter, for a large fireplace with a stone surround filled at least a third of one wall, and the rest of the room was box panelled in oak, with shutters for the diamond-paned windows. On the wall opposite the fireplace alternate panels were filled at head height with small paintings.

  William pointed to them. ‘We’ve just hung these up again. They’re not in a very good condition and the quality is dubious, but they’re obviously designed to fit the panels. A couple of them were still hanging on the wall when I first saw the room, but the rest were lying scattered over the floor, as if a child had thrown them down in a temper. Do you think they’re worth keeping?’

  ‘Uncle William! I found my picture here! It was on the floor, too. It’s just like these. But mine’s the best.’

  Laura was busy counting the pictures. ‘Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven!’ she said triumphantly.

  Emily took a closer look at the pictures. ‘Do you know, I think there should be twelve,’ she said. ‘Your picture might well belong here, James. These are all pictures of the garden, and so is yours. They’re all by the same artist, and Uncle William is right—not a very skilled one! Yes, I would say quite definitely that there ought to be twelve, and yours is the one that’s missing.’

  ‘I think so too,’ said Laura. ‘Because look! There’s an extra space at the end.’

  ‘We’ll have a look when we get back. But don’t worry, James. I regard the picture as yours,’ said William.

  They went out into the passage and made for the door to the hall. As they passed the oak door, Emily said in response to a nudge from Laura, ‘Would you tell us, please, where that door leads to? It’s locked.’

  ‘The key is hanging high up on a hook just next to it. I keep it locked because it leads to a watch tower that was part of the old manor house, and I don’t want the children to open it when we’re not there. Do you want to see it?’

  ‘Please,’ said Emily, holding on to Laura’s hand. William reached up, took the massive key from its hook and turned it in the lock. The door swung open with a ghostly groan and a draught of cold air came out and hit them. Laura gave a frightened gasp and hid her face in Emily’s skirt. Emily picked her up. ‘It’s all right, sweet heart. Look, it’s just a tower with a spiral stair case inside.’

  ‘There’s an open platform at the top which is why the wind whistles in,’ William said. ‘It’s just as well that this door is completely draught proof, otherwise we should all freeze in winter. I don’t advise you to try the stair case—it’s not in good repair.’

  ‘Have no fear! Neither of us will try anything of the sort,’ said Emily. ‘Not even you, James, my lad. Thank you. You may lock it again now.’

  ‘I don’t like that stair case, Aunt Emily. I’m cold.’

  ‘So am I, Laura. I think we should all go back to Shearings soon. We could remind ourselves of James’s picture.’

  William was frowning as they came back through the door and into the hall. ‘I’d like a look at some papers I collected from the lawyers in London when we get back. They have bits about the old manor house and some of its history. I could probably tell you more about the place after I’ve studied them. Come, James! We’ll go back. Lead the way, Laura!’

  They blinked in the sunlight as they came out. The two sides of the door belonged to different centuries, thought Emily. The fifteenth, heavy, dark and mysterious, and the eighteenth, all light and air.

  ‘We’ll call at the Dower House again on our way,’ said William as they got into the carriage. ‘I’d like a last word with George Fowler.’

  When they met George, he had something in his hand which he held out for William to inspect. It was a brass button, dirty and distorted, but quite unmistakable. ‘One of the men found it in the ashes, sir,’ he said. ‘I thought you ought to see it.’

  William examined it. ‘I’ve seen one like this,’ he said, frowning thoughtfully. ‘With the same design. But where?’

  ‘It doesn’t belong to any of the men. I’ve checked.’

  ‘I’ll take it with me. It may help me to remember. Thank you, Fowler. Give this to the man who found it, will you?’

  A few minutes later they were on the way back to Shearings.

  While Emily, William and the children had been making discoveries at Charlwood Rosa, well briefed, had been making discoveries of her own.

  She rang for tea and sherry wine as soon as Mrs Fenton arrived, and the two ladies sat in the salon discussing a variety of topics, none of them significant, for a while. Rosa pressed some wine on her guest, saying without a blink that she always took a glass or two of wine at this hour of the day. When she judged that her friend Maria would be ready to talk more freely, Rosa sighed and said, ‘In fact, I am so glad to have this opportunity, Maria, to have a word about Emily with you. I’m afraid she was somewhat rude to you when you were last here. Is that why we haven’t seen you since?’

  Mrs Fenton gave Rosa a look, but there was only a slightly w
orried innocence in her hostess’s blue eyes—nothing to suggest that Emily had reported anything untoward. She smiled graciously and said, ‘I was surprised at your sister-in-law’s manner, I must confess. I was only speaking to her for her own good. I shall overlook it, of course!’

  Rosa shook her head. ‘You are generous. I love Emily dearly, but she can be very obstinate. As I fear Sir William is now finding.’

  Mrs Fenton looked pleased. ‘Really?’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’ Rosa sighed. ‘She is so convinced that he is merely after her fortune that she says she is tempted to call off the engagement. Neither he nor I can persuade her to change her mind. And yet I know she would be devastated if he were to carry out his threat to look else where. Oh!’ Rosa put a hand to her mouth in a pretty gesture of confusion. ‘It must be the wine. I really shouldn’t be saying this—to you, of all people! Pray do forget I said a word.’ Mrs Fenton, looking like a cat with the proverbial saucer of cream, assured her hostess of her complete discretion, and Rosa went on earnestly, ‘I wouldn’t like to lose your friend ship. As a girl I always admired you, but you probably know that. Of course, that was before your marriage to Mr Fenton. Had you…had you known him long before you married? I do so want to catch up on what you’ve been doing all these years.’

  In the long afternoon that followed, the two ladies exchanged gossip about their lives before they had met each other again at the Langleys’ ball. Several items of interest emerged, and later, when the council of four were at dinner, Rosa reported them with a precision that would have amazed Maria Fenton.

  Anyone who knew the circumstances of Rosa’s first marriage would have been astonished at the extent to which she had talked of her husband that afternoon, and had referred to her life as a widow, all with the aim of extracting information from her visitor. Perhaps only Philip really appreciated what it cost her. But by talking of her presence at Stephen’s bedside in the last days of his life, she had established that Maria Fenton had indeed been with her husband, Edric Fenton, during his last illness. She had also learned that he had been able to talk, though not at all distinctly.

  When she paused, Philip came over and, putting his arms round her, said, ‘Rosa, I never cease to marvel at you! You are so courageous.’

  ‘Clever, too!’ said Emily. ‘But then I always knew she was!’

  ‘I haven’t quite finished,’ said Rosa, ‘and this was interesting. As a boy Edric Fenton stayed occasionally with his uncle.’

  Her three com pan ions looked blank. ‘And?’ asked Emily.

  ‘His uncle,’ Rosa said with a small air of triumph, ‘was a tenant at Charlwood at the time.’

  ‘Rosa!’

  ‘So he knew the house,’ said William. ‘And that means that he probably knew exactly where he was going to hide those jewels even before he stole them. And then, in spite of all those murders, all the careful planning, he wasn’t able to retrieve them after all. The thought must have driven him mad. He must have tried to tell someone! Rosa, did Maria Fenton really try to persuade you that Edric Fenton hadn’t said anything at all of significance?’

  ‘It was odd. The scene she de scribed was most affecting, but there was something false about it. It sounded…like a well-rehearsed story, which she had told before. I think he probably did say something, which she did under stand, but if so she’s keeping it to herself.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to see what I can do,’ said William, a touch grimly. ‘When I seek her out again, having fallen out with Emily. My congratulations on your excellent ground work vis-à-vis my shaky relationship with my betrothed, by the way. That will help.’ He looked at Emily. ‘Of course, it is in fact shaky, but will it stand the strain of what we planned? Will you fly into a rage again if I approach Maria Fenton, or are you strong enough to believe me when I say that the lady does not, and never will, attract me, whatever I may say to her in the next week or two?’

  There was a short silence, then Emily said, ‘Yes, I believe you. And you can be as convincing as you like. I don’t believe she has a heart to break. I shan’t get annoyed, I promise.’

  ‘Good!’ Sitting back, William took out of his pocket the button Sam Lilley had given him. ‘Does anyone recognise this?’

  They examined it and shook their heads. Rosa said, ‘It’s a man’s coat button, isn’t it? The buttons on Maria’s pelisse had the same design, but they were much smaller…’

  ‘That’s it!’ exclaimed William. ‘It’s one of the buttons off Walter Fenton’s riding coat—I remember now. When I saw them I thought the design was far too ornate for a man’s coat. Certainly not a riding jacket. Well, well, well!’

  ‘You mean…it was Walter Fenton who was the other man with Kidman when he set fire to the Dower House?’ asked Emily.

  ‘Unless someone else was wearing his coat, he was certainly there when it happened. I can see that my visit to the Fentons will be even more interesting than I had thought—’

  He broke off and turned round as a small figure in a white night gown peered round the door and approached the table. He was being chased by a harassed-looking nursemaid, who took hold of his arm and tried to lead him away. But James shook her off and said very firmly, ‘I told you! I’m not being naughty, I’m being extremely helpful! I’ll go back to bed in a minute, but I want to give this to Uncle William first. I promised him!’ He held out his picture. William tried to look stern, but failed. He nodded reassuringly at the nursemaid who was stammering her excuses, and took the picture from James’s out stretched hands. ‘So you did,’ he said, ‘and I forgot to collect it. Thank you, James. I’ll take care of it.’

  ‘And I wasn’t being naughty, was I?’

  ‘No, not this time. But you had better go back to bed now. So…would you like me to take you upstairs?’

  James gave his uncle a huge grin. He knew this was no tame offer. It meant sitting on Uncle William’s shoulders, being quacked at as a reminder to duck his head as they went through any of the doors, and then riding a growling bear up the stairs. Best of all, he would be tossed into the air and then dropped like a parcel on to his bed when he got there. ‘I should say so!’ he said.

  When William returned, the three Winbolts were already studying the picture. Like the rest of the set it was not particularly well painted, but the fountain and the garden with its surrounding urns were clearly recognisable. Philip looked up with a puzzled frown. ‘I don’t under stand. It’s no work of art. And if the rest are anything like this one, I wouldn’t give them wall space. I can’t see anything significant about it, William.’ He turned it over. ‘There’s a number on the back—nine. Is that significant?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The rest were all numbered, too. It’s as we thought, though. This is the missing one of the set in the small parlour at Charlwood.’

  ‘What else have you got?’

  William had been holding a solicitor’s box and he now put it down and opened it. It was so full that the papers inside spilled out on to the table. ‘Work,’ he said briefly. ‘Lots of it. They’re all the papers the agent had connected to Charlwood. Would anyone be willing to help?’

  All four went into the library where they worked with such a will that by the time William left Shearings to call on the Fentons the next day, the papers were all sorted into neat bundles, ready for inspection after dinner that evening.

  When the manservant came to tell Maria Fenton that Sir William Ashenden had called she was not completely surprised. Rosa’s ‘indiscretions’ had prepared her to believe that Sir William, having failed with Emily Winbolt, might seek out other, more sympathetic, company. He came in, as charming as ever with his athletic stride and easy grace, and she found it quite hard to be as cool towards him as she had intended. After exchanging greetings she invited him to sit down, then waited, one eyebrow raised, for him to speak.

  ‘I have been taking a look at Thirle on behalf of Lady Deardon,’ he said. ‘And as I was in the neighbourhood, I decided to call. I…I’ve been away in Lond
on, otherwise I would have been here sooner.’

  ‘Really?’ said Maria, not yet prepared to be helpful.

  ‘Yes. I…I want to say…’ William stopped. Looking embarrassed, he went on, ‘You were kind enough to offer me your help with Charlwood some time ago, and I’m afraid I took it amiss, and was somewhat un gracious. I can see now that I was as mistaken in your motives as I have since been in those of…of others.’

  ‘How is Miss Winbolt?’ asked Maria sweetly.

  William frowned. ‘Forgive me, ma’am, but it wouldn’t be right for me to discuss my…my betrothed. With you of all people. But I do wish to ask your pardon.’

  ‘I see.’ Maria got up and walked round the room. She turned and said, ‘I will be honest with you, Sir William. I was hurt. Deeply hurt, that you should be so suspicious of an offer that I made sincerely as a friend. But I am not one to bear grudges. I accept your apology.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said William meekly. ‘You are very generous. How can I regain your favour?’

  She studied him thoughtfully, obviously weighing what she was going to say, then gave him a delightful smile, which didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I still have this stupid desire to see Charlwood,’ she said. ‘Our last visit was…well, cut rather short, shall we say? I know there’s so much more to see.’

  William hid his satisfaction. There was nothing he would have preferred. ‘But won’t it perhaps bring back unfortunate memories?’ he asked doubt fully. ‘Perhaps we could go some where else? Windsor, perhaps?’

  ‘No, Charlwood will be very pleasant.’

  ‘In that case, I should be de lighted to take you. In fact, there are aspects of the house on which I still need a feminine point of view, but I find it difficult at the moment to discuss them with…with Miss Winbolt. Indeed, until certain matters are…are resolved between us, I do not know what will happen. So, dare I ask if you would be good enough to give me your advice? Or is that too much to expect?’