Deadly Inheritance (6 page)

‘Belle,’ Helen controlled herself. ‘Guests are about to leave. I need you beside me to bid them farewell.’ She gave a cool nod to the men. ‘Ursula, I would be grateful if, after everyone has left, you could attend me in my boudoir.’

‘Of course, Helen.’

‘I shall take my leave now,’ said Max. ‘Thank you, your ladyship, for a delightful evening. Miss Grandison, I hope we shall meet again during your time at Mountstanton.’

Ursula offered him her hand. ‘I hope you will find your mother in better spirits, Mr Russell.’

Helen realised that, with everything else she had been thinking about this evening, she had neglected to ask Max how Lady Frances was. And there was that other matter. It was too late, though, to do anything now. She would go over in the morning and call at The Beeches. She could take Belle with her.

* * *

It was well over an hour before Helen said goodbye to the last of her guests. Richard had already taken William off to the billiard room, heedless of any offence he might give. The Dowager Countess had retired some time ago with only the briefest of good nights.

Helen turned to Belle. ‘Go to bed. I’ll talk to you in the morning.’

Belle looked at her with limpid eyes. She did not look at all tired, in fact she glowed. ‘I hope I was a success for you, Helen.’

Helen, conscious of the two footmen straightening furniture and clearing the room of glasses and cups, restrained herself. ‘I said, we’ll talk in the morning.’

Belle walked away with a bounce in her step. It did not escape Helen how the footmen followed her with their eyes.

The girl was a minx.

‘Thank you,’ Helen said to them. ‘Everything went very well.’

Suddenly conscious she was tired, Helen went to the foot of the staircase, then paused. She had intended to take a last look at Harry. The sight of her darling son peacefully sleeping could always soothe her spirits. On the staircase, the oil lamps flickered; they needed cleaning. In New York, the Seldon mansion was lit by electricity; it sprang into life at the touch of a switch.

Helen turned away, deciding not to visit the nursery suite now; Mrs Comfort should not be disturbed.

Helen wondered if she should talk to Mrs Parsons about the necessity to replace Polly, the nursemaid who had walked off in that infuriating way. The girl had been cheerful, hardworking and with a knack of knowing exactly how to handle Harry. He had been very upset when she left.

Mrs Parsons had been furious at her departure. ‘Just upped, my lady. Took her box and left. Mrs Comfort thinks she had another offer. As though her chances anywhere else would be better than here, or there could be a more delightful child to look after than his little lordship.’

Delightful Harry certainly was, but he could also be very temperamental. One advantage with Belle’s arrival was that she and Harry had formed an immediate bond. With an effort, Helen dismissed the problems with her sister; it was time now to deal with Ursula, no doubt already waiting for her in her boudoir. Helen for once was pleased that both her suite of rooms and her husband’s were on the ground floor. Their facilities left a great deal to be desired, but at least she did not have to negotiate a long staircase.

Outside the door of her boudoir, Helen paused for a moment, drawing strength from her grievances.

* * *

Ursula sat with a straight back in a little buttoned chair. The room was the most charming she had met with so far at Mountstanton. It looked recently decorated. The soft, fresh blues and creams and pretty furniture gave quite a different impression from the rest of the house. There was a Watteau on one wall, and two interesting Impressionist paintings on another.

The room brought back the Helen Ursula had known throughout her youth: a volatile, pretty and gregarious girl, one who broke most school rules while managing to evade retribution. Many times Ursula had lied to save her friend from disaster.

What was going to be demanded of her now? And how was Belle to be handled? Walking towards that flash of pink in the shrubbery, Ursula had seen the girl standing far too close to Mr Warburton; they might almost have been in an embrace. She had exchanged a speaking glance with Mr Russell and they had quickened their pace. As they approached, Belle had looked at Ursula with the satisfaction of a cat that had stolen the cream. ‘Do not be unkind, Ursula, I could not bear it,’ she said, laughing.

Ursula could not catch what Mr Russell said to Mr Warburton but she heard a protest from the younger man.

‘Come,’ said Ursula calmly, ‘Let us walk back to the house. Her ladyship will be looking for Belle, I am sure.’ She had placed her hand through Belle’s arm. After a moment’s resistance, the girl had walked with Ursula, leaving the two men to follow.

That Helen was very angry when she met them was obvious but Ursula admired her control. Ten years ago she would have exploded into a tantrum. Now she managed to handle the situation to a nicety.

Ursula turned from the problem of Belle to the enjoyable time she had spent seated next to Mr Russell at the dinner table. He was a delightful conversationalist and if Englishmen in general were more like him rather than the Earl, whom in other respects he greatly resembled, then perhaps the next few months would not be as difficult as she feared. There might even be another meeting with Mr Russell.

The door opened and Helen entered.

Ursula remained sitting.

Helen stood as though expecting her to rise, then seemed to decide that, for once, she would not insist on the courtesy due to her position.

‘You look very tired, Helen.’

The Countess went over to the fireplace and tugged on the bell pull. ‘It was a long evening,’ she said, sounding surprised. ‘I think we could do with something to drink.’

This was not what Ursula had expected.

A footman arrived.

‘Whisky and some soda, please, John.’

‘Water for me, please,’ said Ursula.

‘Of course, my lady.’ The footman bowed with a twinkle in his brown eyes that said he liked the idea of the two of them enjoying a nightcap.

Ursula waved at the two Impressionist paintings. ‘You have good taste,’ she said.

Helen looked at them as though for the first time. ‘Part of my wedding present from Papa. Richard doesn’t like them so they hang here.’

‘Renoir, I think, and Monet?’

Helen waved a dismissive hand. ‘If you say so.’

‘This house seems to have many treasures. And its patina of age is attractive,’ she added, wondering what this would bring forth.

Helen hardly seemed to hear. She sat down and removed her shoes.

It was almost as though they were schoolgirls again.

Helen looked ruefully at Ursula. ‘I have hated you for ten years. When I saw you with Belle the day you arrived, I was almost consumed with hatred.’

‘And now?’ Ursula sat very still.

Helen dragged a hand across her forehead. ‘I feel empty. Seeing you sitting there, remembering what we once were to each other, the hate suddenly seems pointless. It’s as though rotting flesh has fallen away, leaving clean bones.’

‘An interesting metaphor,’ Ursula said dryly.

‘I suppose you think that I have no reason to hate you. After all, I have my belted Earl, and an historic mansion, not to mention a house in London.’

‘And a beautiful son.’

Helen’s expression softened. ‘Yes, I have Harry.’ There was a moment’s pause before she said, ‘And you, Ursula, what do you have?’ There was a note of satisfaction in her voice that suggested the answer had to be, ‘nothing’.

‘Memories, mostly damaged ones.’

The footman knocked and entered. He bore a silver tray holding a whisky decanter, glass tumblers, a soda siphon, a gracefully shaped jug of water and a bowl of ice.

There flashed across Ursula’s memory a vision of an unlabelled, dumpy bottle of gut-blasting moonshine, tin mugs on a rough board table, raised voices, and a haze of tobacco smoke. She closed her eyes for a moment and blanked it out.

‘Thank you, John,’ said Helen. ‘We will serve ourselves.’

Ursula opened her eyes to see Helen holding out a glass of whisky with ice.

She took it and added a splash of water.

‘Papa wrote that Jack was killed in an accident in California. Were you there?’ Helen sat down with her own, amber-filled glass.

Ursula nodded. ‘It wasn’t an accident. He had a devil of a temper when drunk.’ She wasn’t prepared to go into details. She enjoyed the smoky-peat flavour of smooth liquor. After a moment she added, ‘If he hadn’t died, I would have left him.’

Helen looked at the contents of her glass. ‘He was a devil of a man every which way. I haven’t forgiven you for taking him from me.’ There was a streak of acid in her voice.

Ursula shook her head. ‘He wasn’t yours, any more than he was mine.’ She looked full at Helen. ‘He told me when we reached St Louis that you would have been too easy.’

Helen flushed. ‘But I had money. Oh, don’t look at me like that, Ursula. Men want money. They need money.’

‘Jack said that real power didn’t lie with money, it was to do with knowing how to handle people. Give him people he could set against each other and it was as though he’d been filled with alcohol. Look at how he set you against me. He’d have made one hell of a politician.’

Helen said nothing.

After a moment Ursula added, ‘I didn’t steal Jack, Helen. He had no “sold” notice on him.’

Helen tossed down the contents of her glass and refilled it, then leant against an antique secretaire, nursing her drink.

‘What made Papa send you with Belle?’ she asked abruptly. ‘He must have known it would annoy the hell out of me.’

‘He wanted someone with her he could trust.’

‘He thought he could trust you?’

‘He knew he could. He rescued me from the slums of San Francisco.’ Ursula looked down into her glass. ‘After Jack died, a friend of his employed me to run a boarding house. The clientele were the lowest of the low and I could see no way out. Then your father arrived.’

‘He likes power, too,’ Helen said bitterly.

‘He said he needed someone to help with his younger daughter. I was starving and he offered me a feast.’

‘What does he intend with this debut season for Belle?’

‘Have you not discussed this with him?’

Helen sat down again. ‘Belle was about to finish her education and I suggested she might enjoy a London Season. He agreed.’

‘So why do you ask what his motives are?’

‘Papa never does anything without motives.’

Ursula shrugged. ‘If you mean do you think he’s hoping for another marriage into the aristocracy of England, you can rest easy. He wants her to have a good time and then return to New York to brighten his days.’ Ursula watched to see what the effect of this would be on Helen. Belle’s tearful complaint that her sister had already chosen a husband for her was very much in her mind.

‘But if Belle were to fall in love?’

‘Ah!’ Ursula studied the handsome tumbler she was holding. ‘Belle’s happiness is important to him,’ she said slowly.

‘Anything Belle wants, Belle gets, is that it?’

Ursula was silent.

‘I’m surprised he didn’t come with her.’

‘He would have liked to but business keeps him in New York for the moment.’

‘Business, always business!’ Helen topped up her glass and waved the decanter at Ursula, who shook her head.

‘It’s business that gives you your money. Without it, do you think you would be here?’

Helen gave her a searing look and Ursula realised she had been clumsy. As she cast around for a way to defuse her remark, Helen said stiffly, ‘Thank you for rescuing Belle this evening.’

Ursula shrugged again. ‘She is very young and untrained in formal behaviour. I am sure you can make her aware of what is required. I will, of course, help in every way I can.’

Helen drained her glass for the third time. ‘It’s late. We must go to bed.’

Ursula rose. ‘Helen, let me say that it’s good to see you again.’ She placed her half-finished glass on the silver tray. ‘Thank you for this evening.’

Helen said nothing.

* * *

Going back through the main hall, Ursula saw a door open and the Earl and William Warburton stagger out. It was the Earl who seemed the worse for wear. His arm was around the younger man’s shoulder; he was laughing inanely and slapping the other man on the chest. ‘I sank them; I said I would sink them and I did, I did, I did.’

The light in the wide corridor was very dim, the lamps flickering. Ursula drew back into a doorway and hoped to remain unnoticed.

The footman who had brought the whisky to the Countess’s boudoir appeared and draped the Earl’s free arm around his shoulder. ‘Come along, my lord,’ he said. ‘We’ll see you to bed.’

As the little party drew level with Ursula, she distinctly saw the footman wink at her.

The morning had promise. There was a mist but behind it the sun was shining and Ursula thought it would soon clear.

Helen had announced at breakfast that she and Belle would go for a drive and visit some neighbours, including Lady Frances Russell. The Dowager Countess was to be taken on a tour of the estate by the Earl.

Ursula decided she would explore the village of Hinton Parva, the nearest to Mountstanton, and applied to one of the footmen for directions.

She should go down the drive, then turn left at the end and follow the road. ‘It’s not above a couple of miles or so,’ the footman added.

This was not a distance to trouble Ursula, especially on such a fine day. She put on stout footwear, changed her linen skirt for one of ankle-length in plain drill cotton, and donned a short jacket.

As she passed the nursery, drawing on her gloves, Mrs Comfort emerged with Harry.

‘Morning, Miss Grandison. Going out for a walk? That’s the ticket. Me and his lordship are off for a pony ride.’

‘I’m to jump today,’ Harry announced in a proud voice.

‘I’m to jump today, what?’ pressed Mrs Comfort.

Harry looked down at his boots. ‘Miss Grandison,’ he muttered.

‘That sounds splendid. I’m sure you will jump beautifully. Will Mrs Comfort ride with you?’ Ursula asked with a smile.