by Anne Ashley
‘Do by all means take her, my dear Mr Grantley. And perhaps after she has seen Sir Lionel, you might oblige me by persuading her to rest for a while?’
‘Be assured I shall see that she does so.’
‘Oh, you will, will you?’ Emma muttered, as she accompanied him from the kitchen.
‘Most definitely,’ he answered, smiling at the disgruntled tone. ‘It is high time I took you in hand again, my girl… And in more ways than one,’ he added in a husky whisper, as he opened the door for her to pass through into the parlour, where Sir Lionel and Harry, seated at the table, were enjoying a glass of wine.
If Sir Lionel noticed Emma’s heightened colour, he decided not to remark upon it, as he rose to his feet, and requested her and Benedict to join them in a glass of mine host’s fine burgundy.
‘I cannot thank you enough, all of you, for maintaining a strict silence over this dreadful business,’ Sir Lionel began, after dispensing wine for the new arrivals. ‘The day after the fire, Grantley paid me a visit and put me in possession of all the facts.’ He shook his head wearily, clearly betraying that he had been under considerable strain himself during the past days. ‘I must confess I found what he told me hard to believe. However, acting on information given to me by Miss Lynn, I have spared no effort in trying to discover the identity of the lawyer in whose hands Flint claimed to have placed a certain document. Eventually my search proved fruitful, and in the light of recent events the lawyer in question had little choice but to hand over the papers with which he had been entrusted. I have apprised myself of their contents, and can report that it confirms your suspicions, Grantley.’
Sighing, he rose to his feet once again and went to stand before the window. ‘Incredible,’ he murmured. ‘One can be acquainted with people all one’s life, and never really know them.’
Harry, noting the stooping set of the Baronet’s shoulders, privately considered that poor Sir Lionel appeared to have aged ten years in the past few days. ‘It’s clear that Isabel Ashworth had planned to put a period to Richard’s life, sir. But surely she didn’t have a hand in Hammond’s death?’
‘I shall leave it to your uncle to explain. He, I’m sure, can do so much better than I. Needless to say, what he tells you is in the strictest confidence.’
‘Understood, sir,’ Harry responded, before turning to Benedict who, appearing calm and collected as always, reached for his wine.
‘Before we embarked on this visit to Ashworth Magna, Nephew,’ he began, after fortifying himself from the contents of his glass, ‘I had already apprised you of the fact that Lavinia Hammond suspected that there was more to her husband’s death than the mere fatal attack by footpads which at first it had appeared to be, and I swiftly came to the same conclusion. It was obvious to me that Hammond’s death and that of the maid-servant, Sally Pritchard, were in some way connected. Hammond certainly didn’t believe the maid had met her death from a mere fall down the stairs, and after discovering the extent of her injuries, I have to admit that neither did I. Emma has since discovered that it was indeed Isabel herself who murdered the maid, and with Flint’s aid placed the body at the foot of the stairs to make it appear like an accident.’
Emma sampled the contents of her own glass. What had been related thus far she had managed to piece together herself. Something, however, continued to puzzle her. ‘What I fail to understand is why Isabel should have wished Sally Pritchard dead in the first place.’
‘Because, my dear, the girl knew something that would have brought about not only Isabel’s ruin, if it ever became common knowledge, but also that of Clarissa Ashworth. Remember what the servants at Ashworth Hall told you—Sally was boasting quite openly that she was soon to come into a great deal of money. I suspect she was demanding a sizeable sum in return for her silence, and Isabel decided that it would prove far less expensive to silence her permanently.’
‘But what could a maid-servant who didn’t even come from these parts possibly know to Isabel Ashworth’s discredit?’ Harry demanded, looking utterly bewildered.
‘To appreciate that fully,’ Benedict answered, ‘one must go back more than half a century to the day Richard’s paternal grandmother gave birth to twins. The first to be born was Isabel. It was felt by all those who watched her grow into adulthood that it was a great pity that she had not been born the boy, for she was held to have had far more spirit and determination than her twin brother. It was she who ran the estate after their father’s death. And from what I have learned from Sir Lionel and others, she ran things extremely successfully.’
‘Yes, she was certainly efficient. I’ll grant the woman that much at least,’ Sir Lionel confirmed grimly, returning at last to the table. ‘Her brother Roderick was a likeable fellow, but there’s no denying he was indolent, content to allow others do the work. He lacked his sister’s head for business. Isabel had the brains, there is no question.’
‘And the ambition,’ Benedict continued. ‘She came to look upon the place as her own: mistress of the house; master of the estate. So imagine her chagrin, after years of ruling the roost, when her brother returns from an impromptu visit to the capital with a pretty young bride on his arm. Isabel must have been devastated at being forced to relinquish her position to the frivolous pea-goose her slothful brother had married after a whirlwind courtship, and in her very unsettled state she behaved for once in her life with foolish abandon by seeking solace in the arms of a handsome, young ne’er-do-well by name of Jonathan Kemp, who paid a brief visit early one autumn many years ago to the house which Colonel Meecham and his good lady wife now own.’
Again Benedict paused in order to refresh himself from the contents of his glass. ‘I do not suppose for a moment that it ever crossed Isabel’s mind to form a permanent attachment with the handsome man who was some ten years her junior, and who was merely the younger son of an impoverished country gentleman. She certainly acquired the means by which she might have induced him to offer for her hand. Their short and passionate affair, you see, proved—er—fruitful.’
‘Good gad!’ Harry didn’t attempt to hide his astonishment. ‘Do you mean she bore him a child? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.’
‘Isabel took great pains to ensure that no one living hereabouts should discover her secret,’ Benedict assured him. ‘As soon as she realised she was with child, she went away to live with a maiden aunt, a somewhat reclusive woman, by all accounts, who lived in the heart of rural Northamptonshire, with only two servants to bear her company—a woman in late middle-age and a young manservant by name of Flint. In the late spring of the following year, just a few short weeks after the death of her aunt, Isabel gave birth to a daughter, and swiftly afterwards returned to Ashworth Hall, leaving her child in the care of the woman who, since her aunt’s demise, had become her own devoted servant, as too had Flint.’
Benedict noticed a look of dawning wonder replace puzzlement in a pair of soft grey eyes, and smiled to himself. Emma was certainly beginning to see a chink of light, even if poor Harry remained fumbling blindly about in the dark.
‘Isabel’s confinement took place just two or three weeks before her sister-in-law’s,’ he continued. ‘As we all know Lady Ashworth contracted childbed fever shortly after giving birth to a baby daughter, and sadly died. The baby too, according to the aged doctor who attended the birth, was weak and sickly, and not expected to live.’ He stared across the table at Sir Lionel. ‘Perhaps, sir, you would care to continue with the story, as you yourself can recall the tragic events, and have also read Flint’s written testimony, which I have not.’
‘Very well,’ Sir Lionel agreed a trifle grimly. ‘According to Flint’s account, he received an urgent summons from Isabel Ashworth to close the house in Northamptonshire and bring both child and maid-servant to Ashworth Hall, and to travel through the night if necessary. He arrived late the following evening and, as had been previously arranged, was met by Isabel herself and smuggled secretly into the house. In the nursery, he d
iscovered the Ashworth baby dead in her crib.’
‘You don’t suppose that…?’ Harry’s words faded, but Sir Lionel guessed the question that the young man could not bring himself to ask.
‘In the light of recent events one is certainly given to wonder whether Isabel did in fact murder her baby niece, I must agree,’ the Baronet conceded. ‘But, no, I do not think it. Dr Hammond’s predecessor made it clear to me, as I was a close friend of the family, that he believed that within a few days the child would join her mother. Which, according to Flint’s account, is precisely what happened. He was ordered to place the child in her mother’s coffin.’
Benedict raised a sceptical brow. ‘One would like to suppose that this was a charitable act on Isabel’s part. But I’m inclined to think that she considered her sister-in-law’s recently dug grave the safest place to hide the infant.’
‘An exhumation would confirm the truth of Flint’s story,’ Emma suggested, but Benedict surprisingly shook his head.
‘Neither Sir Lionel nor I am in favour of that. But we will discuss the matter further, presently. To continue—having successfully installed her own child in the house, she dismissed the nursemaid, replacing her with her own servant who, I am given to understand, has since died—through natural causes, one must assume, given that she was quite advanced in years when she first came to Ashworth Hall. Isabel also arranged for a new wet-nurse to nourish the infant. If members of the household staff thought these arrangements strange at the time, they certainly considered Isabel had acted in the child’s best interests when the baby, against all the odds, survived. No one suspected the truth. The doctor who had brought Lord Ashworth’s baby into the world was far from well himself, and retired at this time. When Dr Hammond arrived here shortly afterwards, he wrote in his diary that he could not understand his predecessor’s concerns, for Clarissa, as she had by this time been christened, was perfectly healthy.’
‘All the luck was certainly running Isabel Ashworth’s way,’ Harry muttered, disgruntled.
‘It certainly was,’ Benedict agreed. ‘And continued to do so for very many years. She resumed her former position in the house, and had the satisfaction of watching her own child raised as her brother’s legitimate offspring. However, Lady Luck, as we all know, is apt to be capricious, and eventually turned her back on Isabel. Ill fortune then began to strike some devastating blows. Her brother died and she discovered that the heir to the Ashworth estate was not her weak-willed cousin Cedric, but a nephew of whose existence she had been in complete ignorance.
‘Worse was to come. The young woman whom she had engaged as parlour-maid was not slow to remark upon the strong resemblance her young mistress bore to a certain family she had known in Worcestershire by the name of Kemp. This untimely reminder of her ex-lover had been a further crushing blow. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover that Isabel made enquiries, and discovered, as I did myself last week, that Jonathan Kemp married a wealthy farmer’s daughter, and has two legitimate offspring. Undeniably, Clarissa bears a strong resemblance to her father, but the resemblance to her half-sister is most striking. I also discovered that a man by the name of Pritchard worked as a labourer on the farm, and shared a cottage with his younger daughter who, after his death, left the district and went to live with her married sister in Andover.’
Emma shook her head sadly. ‘Sally’s knowledge sealed her fate, just as Dr Hammond’s suspicions sealed his. And Richard’s desire to remove his aunt and cousin from under his roof very nearly sealed his. How many more would Isabel happily have sent to their graves in order to achieve her ambition to see her daughter as mistress of Ashworth Hall and her own place secure there for the rest of her life?’
‘One can only wonder whether both Cedric and his wife might have met an untimely end,’ Benedict responded in all seriousness.
Sir Lionel nodded his head, acknowledging the possibility that this might well have turned out to be the case. ‘I for one cannot be sorry that Isabel did perish in the fire,’ he admitted at length. ‘She can harm no one else, and for the sake of the family it is as well that the full extent of her misdeeds will never become generally known.’
‘Yes, that’s all very well, sir,’ Harry put in, after giving this a moment’s consideration. ‘I wouldn’t like to think that Richard might suffer as a consequence of his aunt’s actions by having the Ashworth name dragged through the mud. Isabel and her scheming henchman are both dead. But what of those two men hired to murder Dr Hammond, and dispose of Richard? I do not believe any strangers were seen lurking near Ashworth Hall on the night of the fire. Which isn’t very surprising—the fire could be seen for miles around. They would have known something was wrong, and possibly decided not to venture near the place. Surely, though, fresh enquiries can be made to discover their identities?’
Sir Lionel betrayed clear signs of unease. ‘Yes, my boy, they could of course,’ he reluctantly agreed. ‘In view of the fact that Flint made certain references to the hired assassins in the document he left with his lawyer, mentioning that they are, in fact, brothers and that he had learned of their existence and their unsavoury reputation from the landlord of a certain inn Flint frequented in Salisbury, fresh investigations could be undertaken to uncover their identities. But I have no intention of instigating a search. If those two villains were ever captured and put on trial, then I’m afraid the sorry truth about Isabel Ashworth and her nefarious deeds could not remain a secret. I’m not just thinking of the boy upstairs, I’m also trying to consider my ward, Clarissa. If it ever became common knowledge that she was Isabel’s illegitimate daughter, her life would be as good as ruined. She would become a social outcast.’
Emma gazed sightlessly down at her lap, silently acknowledging the truth of what Sir Lionel had said. She had had firsthand experience of just what it was like suddenly to find oneself a social leper, ostracised from polite circles. True, she had been welcomed into the homes of people like Lavinia Hammond and Colonel Meecham in recent years. Sir Lionel, too, on the few occasions their paths had crossed, had always treated her with respect, even though she had never been invited to join social evenings at his home. It wasn’t until Benedict’s arrival that she had been granted entrée into the world of those more affluent members of the community.
For someone like Clarissa, who had been socially acceptable throughout her life, to find herself suddenly barred from the polite world would come as a crushing blow. The girl might be totally spoilt and utterly thoughtless, but she didn’t deserve such a miserable fate, Emma decided. Why make the girl suffer through no fault of her own, when it could be so easily avoided?
‘I agree with Sir Lionel,’ she said softly, breaking the silence. ‘I do not suppose for a moment that Clarissa was ever in the confidence of the woman whom she had always believed to be her aunt, so why should she be made to pay for Isabel’s misdeeds?’
‘Yes, you have something there, Emma,’ Harry conceded.
Sir Lionel’s smile of approval encompassed them both. ‘I spoke briefly to Richard earlier, and can assure you that he is not wishful to take matters any further… So that just leaves you, Grantley.’
All eyes turned towards Benedict, but he left them waiting for his decision whilst he finished the wine in his glass. ‘I did not come here to Ashworth Magna for the purpose of damaging reputations or ruining innocent lives, but to uncover the truth about Hammond’s death, which I have done. So, I will agree to maintain a strict silence on one condition—Lavinia Hammond must learn the truth. I do not suppose for a moment that she will wish to take matters further in view of the repercussions. But I insist that she, having suffered such a tragic loss, is given the final say.’
It was several moments before Sir Lionel nodded his head in agreement, and then rose to his feet. ‘Very well, Grantley. I shall go and see Lavinia now,’ he announced, before turning eyes filled with admiration on one of those still seated at the table. ‘I have not yet had the opportunity to thank you for what you did
that night, Miss Lynn. You are a remarkably brave young woman.’
‘I second that,’ Harry announced, adding to the colour which had sprung into Emma’s delicate cheeks. ‘Richard will be forever in your debt. Why, I do believe he’s half in love with you, Em! He can’t stop talking about you. Which reminds me… I haven’t seen him this morning. I’ll go up for half an hour and bear him company.’
Benedict waited until Harry had followed Sir Lionel from the room before giving voice to his own opinion, denouncing her actions in a few well chosen, pithy phrases which had the colour flooding back into her cheeks with a vengeance.
‘Featherbrained?’ she echoed, more annoyed than upset by the blistering condemnation. ‘Well, let me tell you, Benedict Grantley, that if you had been here, or at the very least had shared your suspicions with me, last week’s whole sorry escapade might have been—’
Surprise checked her scolding tongue, as she found herself unexpectedly hauled off the chair and held captive in two strong arms on Benedict’s lap. To have put up the least struggle would have been undignified, she swiftly decided, besides being a complete waste of effort. Furthermore, she was surprisingly not wholly averse to these unexpected displays of male dominance, though she felt obliged to remark that she hadn’t taken into account that her future husband might turn out to possess a masterful disposition.
‘I couldn’t possibly marry a man of whom I was afraid,’ she added for good measure.
‘Delicious little liar,’ he muttered thickly, as he ran a trail of feather-light kisses down the length of her slender neck to the base of her throat. ‘You are not in the least afraid of me. You know full well I would never harm so much as a hair on that beautiful head of yours.’
He then proceeded to silence any further absurdities she might be inclined to utter by capturing her mouth and kissing her thoroughly. ‘On the other hand, though,’ he added, when at last he drew his lips from hers, ‘I might be forced to take a firm stand if you continue flirting with young Ashworth.’