The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (8 page)

‘She’s queen – she can choose anyone she wants to marry,’ Sarah replied.

Charles shook his head. ‘Not at all, Miss Cooper. Her choice of husband will be closely scrutinised and will have to be approved by her advisers. He will need to be someone of suitable status, perhaps a foreign prince.’

‘What if she chooses not to marry?’ Sarah asked. Her tone was flirtatious. ‘After all, Good Queen Bess never married, so an unmarried queen is not unprecedented.’

‘Perhaps she will find someone suitable who meets with her advisers’ approval and whom she loves,’ Rebecca said. She did hope so. It felt a bit like her own situation – being expected to marry but wanting to love the person her parents had chosen for her. She stole another sideways glance at Charles, then blushed when she realised he was looking at her.

‘I hope she does,’ he said, quietly. ‘No one should be forced to marry someone for whom they don’t care.’

After dinner, when the party had retired to the drawing room, the call went out once again for Rebecca to provide some music. She nervously settled herself at the piano, and looked to Sarah to stand at her side and turn the pages of her music. But Sarah was across the room, deep in conversation with Charles, their heads close as they chuckled together over some private joke. Rebecca noticed her mother frown as she saw them together. This was clearly not part of the plan.

In the end Spencer was called upon to act as page-turner. As Rebecca played a selection of Bach arias she lost herself in the music. When she finally finished playing, she glanced up to find Charles gazing at her from across the room, an expression of deep admiration on his face. Sarah, beside him, looked distinctly unhappy.

The next day dawned bright and clear, and Sarah shook Rebecca awake early.

‘Hurry up! Charles will be here soon. Remember we promised to go riding with him?’

Rebecca groaned and hauled herself into a sitting position. ‘You did. I don’t ride any more, as well you know.’

‘But I can’t go with him on my own. It wouldn’t be proper, if just he and I went riding. If we both go, that is more acceptable. Besides, you are supposed to be getting to know him, aren’t you? What better opportunity than trotting gently through the woods together, side by side, chatting about this and that? I shall follow behind as your chaperone, and I promise I will not get in the way, nor encourage you to gallop.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Though I may have a gallop myself across the open parkland. I doubt I shall be able to resist.’

Rebecca sighed. ‘Sarah, I have not ridden since Bluebell threw me. I do not intend going riding again. You know my preferred pursuits are quieter, less strenuous and indoors. I don’t understand why you torment me like this.’

Sarah sniffed. ‘I am only trying to help progress your budding romance. If you don’t want to go, then I shall have to go alone with him after all. We mustn’t disappoint him, as he is expecting to go riding. When we return perhaps you could delight him with your musical skills again, or show him your embroidery. I am sure he would enjoy
that
.’ She left the room, letting the door bang closed behind her.

Rebecca was left bemused. Why was Sarah acting like this? They had always been so close. It broke her heart when Sarah treated her badly. She shook her head. Perhaps she was being too sensitive. She decided to keep out of the way until Sarah and Charles returned from their ride, and to spend some time with him afterwards. He had been invited to lunch with them, so there was plenty of time. She rang the bell for her maid Tilly, and asked for breakfast to be brought up to her in her room. She sent Tilly away with a message: ‘When Mr de Witt arrives, please ask Spencer to tell him I am indisposed for riding but will gladly meet him later for lunch.’

A little while after breakfast, she stood at her bedroom window and watched Charles and Sarah ride across the parkland behind the hall. They looked good together – Sarah’s dramatic red riding habit looked stunning against the grey mare she was riding, and Charles’s green coat contrasted well with his black mount. They appeared to be laughing together at something, as they cantered over the grasslands. Rebecca lost sight of them as they approached the woods at the far side of the park. She turned away from the window. Perhaps Sarah would be a better match for Charles than herself? He’d appreciated her piano-playing last night, and they had discovered a similar taste in literature, but if he wanted an adventurous, lively wife then Sarah would be better for him than she would. If only she hadn’t liked him so much, or if her parents had not planned for her to marry him, she would gladly have stepped aside and made way for Sarah.

But she
did
like Charles, and she did not want to let him go without a fight.

Rebecca was reading in the library when the riders returned. There was some commotion in the entrance hall, so she put down her book and rushed out to see what was happening.

Charles was standing in the hallway, being relieved of his mud-encrusted green coat by Spencer. ‘Sir, I shall have this cleaned for you, and perhaps you can borrow something of Mr Winton’s to wear on your ride home this afternoon.’

‘Thank you. I fear it is quite ruined. Ah, Miss Winton! We missed you on our ride, did we not, Miss Cooper?’ said Charles.

‘Oh, please, Charles, do call me Sarah. Let’s not be quite so formal with each other. I am so sorry about your fall, truly I am.’

‘Whatever happened?’ Rebecca asked, torn between wanting to reproach Sarah for being so informal, and concern for Charles who was walking stiffly across the hall, rubbing at his shoulder.

‘It was nothing,’ said Charles, taking a seat on a hall chair.

Rebecca crossed the hall to kneel before him. ‘You are hurt? Should Spencer send someone to fetch the doctor?’

‘Not at all. It is just a bruise.’ He smiled at her, and Rebecca felt her heart leap. His smile was warm and made his eyes light up. Was it only for her, or did he use that smile for everyone?

‘Poor Charles,’ Sarah said, coming to kneel beside Rebecca. ‘His horse took fright as we went through the woods. I tried to help but am afraid I could not manage to catch the reins of his horse before it threw him.’ She suppressed a giggle. ‘Oh, do excuse me, but it was rather funny, you see, he landed right on the muddiest part of the path. A foot to either left or right and his coat would not have suffered as much.’

‘But I think my shoulder would have suffered more. The soft mud at least cushioned my fall.’ Charles was unsmiling as he answered Sarah.

‘Come, Mr de Witt. Let’s sit in the drawing room. It is not long till lunch, but I shall ring for refreshments for you immediately.’ Rebecca stood up. Instinctively she held out a hand to pull Charles to his feet, but retracted it before he could take it. She wasn’t sure now whether he was courting her or Sarah.

Mrs Winton joined them at lunch. Mr Winton was in town on business. Sarah told the story of Charles’s fall, once again. Rebecca flinched at her sister’s undisguised glee at the poor man’s misfortune. Mrs Winton seemed not to approve either, glaring at Sarah from her place at the head of the table. She insisted on providing a carriage to take Charles home, rather than allow him to ride with his injured shoulder.

After lunch, when Charles had left, Rebecca and Sarah were making their way upstairs to their sitting room, when Mrs Winton called them back and bade them sit a few minutes in the drawing room with her.

‘Charles has grown into a very pleasant young man, has he not?’ she asked, addressing her question to Rebecca.

She blushed. ‘Yes. I like him very much, Mama.’

‘I like him also,’ Sarah said. There was a touch of defiance in her voice. It worried Rebecca. What Sarah wanted, Sarah generally got, by one means or another.

‘You, my girl, are to stay clear of him. He is promised to Rebecca. We have had an understanding with the de Witts for many years, that when Charles and Rebecca were grown, if they liked each other they should be encouraged to marry.’ Rebecca watched as Mama wagged her finger at Sarah as though she was a misbehaving child, and Sarah set her jaw. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Mama,’ Sarah said.

‘I am not your mama. Do not forget your place in this household, Sarah. My husband has indulged you for too long. As has Spencer. You will not steal Rebecca’s suitor from her. I hope I have made myself clear.’

Sarah raised her chin and stared straight ahead. ‘Yes, Mrs Winton. Perfectly clear.’

Mrs Winton stood then. ‘I am going upstairs to my room now. I shall see you both at dinner.’

Sarah followed her up, but Rebecca decided to return to the book she had been reading in the library. She felt she needed a break from Sarah’s company for the rest of the afternoon. It was the first time she could remember feeling like that about her adopted sister. Was this part of growing up – growing apart from the person you thought you loved most in all the world? No. It was just a phase. Meeting Charles had disturbed their equilibrium. They would regain it once the excitement had subsided and it was clear which of them he preferred. And if he really did prefer Sarah, even though she did like him, she would step aside. Somehow she would persuade her parents it was the right thing to do. There would be other suitors in time. She picked up her book and settled in a chair near the window.

Screams and a clatter from the hallway sent her running out of the library again almost immediately. Spencer had come running too, along with a couple of maids. Rebecca first noticed Sarah, standing on the gallery at the top of the stairs, leaning over the rails. There was momentarily an odd expression on her face, and then she screamed, one hand clutched over her mouth, the other holding on to the railings. And then Rebecca saw what she was screaming about. Partly hidden by Spencer who was kneeling on the floor, was her mother, lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the stairs.

‘Send for the doctor, immediately!’ Spencer shouted at one of the maids, who went running off at once.

‘Mama!’ Rebecca ran across the hall and threw herself down beside her mother. Her body was twisted, legs bent at unnatural angles, and her face was deathly white.

‘Oh, Mama!’ Sarah came running down the stairs too, and sat beside Rebecca. ‘She tripped on the stairs! I tried so hard to catch her, but I couldn’t!’

‘Make way, Miss Winton and Miss Cooper. Let me examine her.’ Spencer gently pushed the girls aside and leaned over Mrs Winton, his fingers feeling for the pulse at her neck.

Rebecca watched, her mouth open with shock and tears cascading down her cheeks as he sat back on his heels and shook his head sadly. ‘I’m so sorry, girls,’ he said. ‘I believe she has broken her neck. There is nothing that can be done for her.’

‘Mama! No! No, it can’t be!’ Rebecca flung herself across her mother’s body and wept. She was vaguely aware of a weight on top of her – Sarah, also sobbing loudly. She reached for Sarah’s hand and clutched it tightly, and drew strength from feeling Sarah squeeze her hand in return. Despite their earlier differences, they would need to help each other through this terrible tragedy. Her mother, dead, from a broken neck! How could that have happened? One moment she was there, admonishing Sarah for flirting with Charles, and the next she was gone. So sudden, so terrible, so shocking. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Chapter 7

April 2015

Gemma hadn’t planned on telling Roger that she’d become engaged first thing on Monday morning but she couldn’t help herself; it just slipped out before she’d even hung up her jacket or switched on her laptop.

Roger looked vaguely surprised by her announcement. ‘Wow, erm, well done, Gemma, I mean, congratulations. Yes, congratulations, that’s the word. Splendid news.’ He nodded at her, and swallowed hard making his Adam’s apple bob up and down. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

She smiled at him. It was typical of Roger to be not quite sure how to react to her news. But at least he’d said congratulations, which was more than her best friend had done. ‘Yes, please, Roger. Then if it’s OK with you, I want to start researching the shooting at Red Hill Hall that those duelling pistols were apparently used in. Can I buy a month’s subscription to the newspaper archive website on the museum’s account?’

‘Of course. I’m as fascinated as you are by this. Let me know if you find anything interesting.’ He coughed and shuffled his feet for a moment. ‘Right then. I’ll fetch that coffee. I really am pleased for you about the engagement. Yes, delighted.’

Gemma grinned and shook her head as he left the back room. Dear old Roger. Socially awkward but such a lovely person to work for. She started up her laptop and set to work on the research.

By the time Roger returned with the coffee, she’d set up the newspaper archive subscription, run a search on ‘Red Hill Hall’ and ‘duel’, and had already found and downloaded her first article. It was from what appeared to be a popular gossip magazine. She scanned it quickly, her eyes widening as she took in its contents.

‘Roger, listen to this.’ She began reading.

‘
The Curse of Red Hill Hall? If any Esteemed Readers of this publication are invited to stay at Red Hill Hall in the county of Dorset, they should perhaps consider their response carefully, for the place appears to be cursed. First the lady of the house took a tumble down the stairs and broke her neck, though one must ask whether she was perhaps pushed; then the gentleman of the house died suddenly of a broken heart, though again one wonders whether he was perhaps poisoned; and in the most recent tragedy the two daughters of Red Hill Hall were found in a cellar, mortally wounded. A pair of duelling pistols was found, both discharged, at the scene. The hunt is on for the murderer who apparently escaped by means of the door to the coal cellar. It occurs to your Author that our Esteemed Readers are unlikely to be furnished with an invitation to stay at Red Hill Hall, for there would appear to be no one left there to act as host or hostess. What will become of the house and estate your Author does not know, but should such information be forthcoming he will of course share it in a future edition of this magazine.’