Rogue in Porcelain (18 page)

I am at my wits' end to know how to proceed in this matter, and would greatly appreciate your opinion. When shall you be returning to Chilswood?

Your loving and troubled brother

Spencer.

Rona felt a wave of heat wash over her. Was this, then, the family secret that had so disturbed John Samuel? She read it again, occasionally stumbling over the spidery writing. A Tichborne Claimant, here in Chilswood?

What should she do? What would the family want her to do? Replace the letter where it had lain for over a hundred years, and hope its contents also remained hidden? But other people beside JS might know of the secret, and continue to worry about it. Wouldn't it be preferable to bring it into the open?

Almost absent-mindedly, she gave the offending drawer a push, and it slid sweetly into place, flush now with the front of the desk. A paternity case, Barnie had said. His memory had served him well, after all.

She got to her feet, carefully refolded the letter and slipped it into her bag, accepting that she'd known all along what course of action to take. She'd show it to Finlay; he'd know what to do with it.

She walked back past the picture boards, pausing for a moment to study the likenesses of Spencer and Frederick. How had the latter reacted to that letter? What, if any, action had they taken? Had Frederick deliberately hidden it, or had it become lodged there by accident, when the drawer was overfull?

Rona quickened her pace, hurrying through the long room with its glass cases to the main doors, and switching off the lights as she emerged into the afternoon sunlight. There was no one about as she made her way back to the Visitor Centre.

‘I've finished in the museum, thank you,' she told the receptionist, handing over the keys. But before she could ask for Finn, she was informed that he would like a word with her. ‘If you'll take a seat, Miss Parish, I'll tell him you're here.'

Rona sat down on one of the plush sofas, her mind busy and the letter seeming to burn a hole in her bag. Would he be angry that she'd taken it on herself to free the drawer? How would he feel about her knowing what she did?

‘So there you are!'

His voice startled her. She'd been so intent on her musings that she hadn't noticed him approach.

‘I've something to show you,' she said quickly, coming to her feet.

‘Then I suggest you do so in comfort. I was hoping you'd have a cup of tea with me.'

‘Oh – yes. Thank you.'

‘And since I've had enough of my office for one day, we'll go into town. My car's just outside.' He put a hand under her elbow, led her out to it, and opened the door for her. Silently, Rona got in. She was aware of his curious glance, but small talk was beyond her, and he made no further comment as he drove out of the factory grounds and along the approach road, turning left at the juncture with the main road.

Minutes later, as they went down the High Street, he commented, ‘We're in luck; there's an empty meter just outside where we're going.' She watched while he put some money in it, and came back to open the door for her.

‘This place is renowned for its home-made scones. I hope you're hungry.'

Only when they were seated at a corner table and Finlay had ordered tea and scones for two, did he turn to her and say, ‘Well, whatever you have to show me seems to have stolen your tongue.'

‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I can't think of anything else.'

‘It must be important. What is it?'

Rona opened her handbag, extracted the letter, and handed it across, watching his face change as he read. When he looked up, he seemed stunned.

‘My God!' he said softly. ‘Oh, my God!'

‘I didn't know what to do,' she said.

‘Where did you find this?'

‘In a desk in the museum.'

‘A
desk
?' His face cleared. ‘Oh, that would be Frederick's. It was at Uncle Charles's, and when they moved, he gave it and various other items to the museum. It wouldn't fit in the store room with the other pieces, so it was temporarily shoved in a corner. But I'm quite sure there was nothing in the drawers.'

‘One of them wasn't properly shut,' Rona explained, ‘so I put my hand in behind it, to see what was stopping it.'

‘Good God.'

‘I'm surprised no one thought of that before.'

‘Well, for a start, it's closed properly all the years I've known it. It must have been jolted during the move.' He looked back at the letter. ‘But this is – dynamite.'

‘I know. Had you any idea about it?'

He hesitated. ‘Family legends have grown up, but we've always taken them with a pinch of salt.' He glanced down at the letter. ‘This looks pretty conclusive, though.'

Rona said awkwardly, ‘Jacqueline said when your father was dying—'

‘Yes. Poor old Dad. He was rambling about there being no proof, and our not admitting we knew anything, and the business being in danger if it got out. I suppose, in his feverish state, everything he'd ever worried about came back to haunt him, magnified out of all proportion.'

So she hadn't even had to ask, Rona thought numbly.

‘She said you and Edward dismissed it as delirium.'

He looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, it was, of course, but we should have explained. I'd always assumed Jackie had heard the stories, but perhaps not. Still, Dad's death wasn't the time to go into it – Mother was distraught and none of us were thinking straight – and the subject never came up again.'

Their tea was brought and, as Finlay was lost in thought, Rona poured it. ‘I feel dreadful,' she said in a low voice. ‘Being responsible for bringing it to light, I mean. If you hadn't kindly let me look round on my own, I'd never have taken it on myself to free the drawer . . .'

Finlay read the letter one more time, then carefully folded it along its creases and put it in his pocket. ‘I'll discuss it with the family,' he said. ‘In the meantime, I'd be very grateful if—'

‘Of
course
I won't say anything. To anyone.'

‘Thank you.'

She took the scone he passed her, warm and crumbling and smothered in butter, and said hesitantly, ‘Have you any idea who the woman might have been?'

‘None. It seems Spencer and Frederick between them managed to contain it, in which case they'd have been unlikely to tell anyone else. As for the woman, it sounds as though she was handsomely paid to keep her mouth shut.'

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘I was going to suggest showing you the family plot in the cemetery; I thought you'd be interested to read the headstones. But perhaps we've unearthed enough skeletons for one day.'

Rona said, ‘Actually, I
would
like to see them, but now mightn't be the time.'

‘If you mean because of the letter, after a hundred years or so, one more day won't make much difference. I need to sleep on it, then I'll have a word with Edward. If you'd like to go, this is as good a time as any. Provided, of course, you don't have to be getting home.'

‘No, that's not a problem; my husband's away tonight. But I did leave my dog in the car. I should go and let him out.'

‘We'll collect him en route to the cemetery; it's in the same direction.' He paused. ‘Has your husband a class this evening?'

‘No, he's gone to meet an old friend who's back in this country for a few days. He felt guilty about going on a Friday, but he'll be home mid-morning tomorrow.'

‘You seem to live a very disjointed life,' Finlay remarked.

‘It suits us,' Rona said defensively.

‘I'm sure it does – I wasn't criticizing. It wouldn't suit me, though; I'd prefer to spend more time together than you seem to. Still, I'm hardly an authority on marriage, am I?'

‘You could always give it another try.'

‘I'd have to meet the right girl first, and then she'd have to be – available. Sometimes the two requirements don't go together.' His voice changed abruptly. ‘Well, if you've finished, let's go and take a look at my ancestors.'

Ten

F
inlay parked his car in the directors' slot and accompanied Rona to the public car park.

‘If he needs some exercise,' he said, as she released a jubilant Gus from her car, ‘we could walk to the cemetery. There's a shortcut across the fields.'

‘That would be fine. I could do with some fresh air myself.'

Once out of the factory grounds, they turned right and followed the road for a hundred yards or so until they came to a five-barred gate opening into a field. ‘It's a right of way, so we're not trespassing,' Finlay told her, ‘and there's no need to keep – Gus, is it? – on his lead. I used to walk my dog here.'

When he was married, Rona thought. He'd told her his wife had custody.

They walked slowly and in silence, both busy with their thoughts, while Gus galloped joyously ahead, every now and then emitting a bark of sheer pleasure. They were, Rona saw, wending their way behind the factory in the direction of the town, passing over stiles from one field to another, until the church steeple was visible ahead of them. Clouds had overtaken the earlier sunshine, and a cool wind blew along the ridge of the hill.

‘Warm enough?' Finlay enquired, emerging from his brown study.

‘Yes, thanks.'

‘It's not much farther, and the family plot will be sheltered from the wind; there's a high hedge round it.'

‘Very exclusive!' Rona said.

‘I'm just thankful they didn't opt for a mausoleum. The very name gives me the shivers. It would be as well to put Gus back on his lead,' he added. ‘We're nearly there.'

Rona did so, and they descended the last, sloping field towards the cemetery and, beyond it, the church and the town of Chilswood. Back to civilization, she thought.

The churchyard was surrounded by a grey stone wall, and they walked round it until they came to the entrance alongside the church.

‘St Barnabus,' Finlay told her as she paused to look at it. ‘The oldest part dates from the fourteenth century, and as you can imagine, generations of the family have been christened and buried here, though not necessarily married.' He flicked her a ghost of his usual smile. ‘The discounted brides tended to be married in their family churches, but they're buried alongside their husbands.'

They followed the path between ancient stones, some lying on their sides, most undecipherable; some adorned with marble angels, others movingly simple. Each one told a story, if only they could read it. The path curved round and now Rona could see a dark box hedge, some six feet high, encircling a portion of the ground. Curzon territory, she thought.

They went through an archway cut in the hedge, and she looked about her. A path in the centre led to a weathered bench, and on either side were neat rows of headstones. A large area near the entrance, though, was still laid to grass – awaiting new arrivals, she supposed.

‘The earliest family members are in the main churchyard,' Finlay said. ‘We'll take a look at them on the way out. The graves in this plot date from about 1790. The Curzons were landowners hereabouts long before Samuel founded the factory, and at some stage must have decided they warranted a place of their own. As you'll see, generally speaking, we're a long-lived bunch. My father was the exception, unfortunately, and there are a few sad little babies' graves.'

They walked together up and down the rows, Rona keeping Gus on a tight leash as they read the dates of birth and death and, on the earlier ones, flowery tributes to the departed. Each of the graves had a small area in front of the headstone, newly planted with spring flowers, and there was a heady scent of narcissus. However, the surrounding hedges gave a feeling of claustrophobia, their dark greenness seeming to absorb the light, and the impression was emphasized as the afternoon darkened with the threat of rain. Even Gus seemed subdued, and his feathery tail was still.

Looking up from one headstone, Rona saw that the bench at the back of the enclosure bore some kind of plaque, and walked over to read the inscription. But as she approached it, Gus growled softly, pulling back on his lead, and suddenly she stiffened.

‘Finn!' she said, her voice strident. ‘There's someone behind the bench!'

‘What?' Finlay, who was still reading the epitaphs, looked up sharply, then came swiftly over to her. ‘I can't see anyone.'

‘Crouching or lying down,' Rona enlarged, indicating a dark shape, barely visible through the wooden slats. ‘I wouldn't have noticed, if it hadn't been for Gus.'

‘Stay here,' Finn ordered, and, moving forward, leant his hands on the back of the bench and peered over.

‘It's a woman,' he said, surprise in his voice. ‘She – seems to be asleep.'

‘An odd place for a nap,' Rona said, her heart still pounding. ‘There's barely room between the bench and the hedge. Perhaps she's ill?'

‘Hello!' Finlay said more loudly, still leaning over the bench. ‘Are you all right?'

There was no response, and he straightened, looking back at Rona. ‘She's lying face down,' he said. ‘I don't like the look of her.'

‘Can you get at her?' The bench was cemented into position, and impossible to move.

‘I'll have a go. I'm afraid of hurting her, but she seems to need help.'

He moved round the end of the bench, bent down, and slid his hands under the woman's shoulders. ‘It's all right,' he said to her, ‘we're here to help you.'

Getting a grip on her, he raised her upper body off the ground and started walking slowly backwards, pulling her clear of the bench. Instinctively, Rona moved closer, dragging the unwilling dog with her. Once in the open, Finlay gently lowered his burden and turned her on to her back.

For a measureless instant Rona stared down at the face now exposed – a lovely face, unnaturally pale and with eyes closed – and at the soft hair, loosened under who knew what horrific circumstances.