Next Door to Murder (15 page)

‘We ask visitors to leave umbrellas and larger items in our lobby room,' she explained, and Rona was relieved rather than otherwise not to have to carry it around with her.

The first room they came to was the Great Hall, which was approached under an ornate marble archway, guarded on the right by the statue of a young girl leading a goose. The large space was taken up by grouped furniture, several sets of brocaded sofas and chairs, with notices requesting that no one sit on them. There were occasional tables bearing ornaments and bric-a-brac, a magnificent inlaid bureau about six feet high, and a pair of cabinets displaying collections of what Rona guessed to be Meissen china. A minstrels' gallery ran along one end, and a huge marble fireplace had pride of place on the opposite wall.

To her surprise, no areas were roped off, and visitors were free to walk round at their own pace, to look at whatever interested them. She moved through another archway to find herself in the library, whose walls were completely covered by bookcases packed with books that, by their shabby condition, looked to be well-read. She glanced at some of the titles and found a widely varying taste, from Tolstoy, Pushkin and the complete works of Shakespeare, to journals on agriculture, science and religion. A large desk stood under the window, bearing a silver inkwell and leather blotter and pen-holder.

The dining room, a superbly panelled room displaying the carving they'd been told to look out for, contained a long table fully laid for a banquet, with exquisite glass and silver. By contrast, the walls of the drawing room were hung with several large portraits, presumably of ancestors and, from their modes of dress, from different periods of the family's history. Many of the men were in uniform, and Rona guessed it had been a family tradition to serve in the armed forces.

A lady in one of the portraits looked familiar, and she stopped to look more closely, just as a woman behind her asked the room attendant who the sitter was.

‘Oh, that's Lady Araminta,' she was informed. ‘You might say she's the black sheep of the family. She ran away to marry a carpenter.'

‘What happened to her?' the visitor asked curiously.

‘Fortunately, it turned out to be a happy marriage, and though there's no record of it, we believe she and the family were eventually reconciled, because she was left a small legacy in her father's will.'

That was news to Rona, and she stored it gratefully away. She continued her walk round the room, finding that the old portraits on the walls were counterbalanced by photographs of the present family, on the piano and on side tables dotted about the room. She examined them with interest. There were several of the younger generation, mostly taken outdoors, including one of the daughter – presumably Miranda – on horseback, a copper-haired girl laughing at the camera. Studying it, Rona fancied she could see a resemblance to her Titian-haired ancestress. In another picture, Miranda was standing between her two brothers, one seeming older and one younger than herself, cheerfully grinning young men in open-necked sports shirts.

A more formal photograph was of Lord and Lady Roxford, presumably commemorating some event, since Roxford was in his robes, and his wife in evening dress, complete with elbow-length gloves and, Rona was delighted to note, a diamond tiara.

She followed the now steady stream of visitors up a magnificent staircase and through the various bedrooms, including the one with the wedding dress on display, and that in which Queen Elizabeth I had reputedly slept. And in glass cabinets along the corridors were displayed collections of porcelain of varying manufacture, of snuff boxes, of miniatures, even of shells.

And as she walked, steeped in family history going back over 400 years, Rona couldn't help wondering what the present Roxfords had made of their only daughter's association with Dominic Frayne. Though unlikely to have taken such drastic action as their forebears, it was doubtful they would have welcomed the alliance.

After descending to the basement and wandering through the maze of kitchens, still-rooms and dairies, Rona collected her briefcase from the foyer and emerged in need of a supplement to her meagre lunch. She made her way to the tithe barn, where she was able to enjoy a pot of tea and two warm scones topped with strawberry jam and clotted cream.

It was now after three thirty, and she took the opportunity of a last glance at the notes she'd made ready for the now imminent interview. And she wondered, with a touch of apprehension, whether the Roxfords, with their illustrious past, would be happy to feature in the annals of the Willow family history.

She had been told to make her way to a private entrance in the east wing, and this she now did, pressing the bell and hearing it clang portentously inside. The door was opened by a young woman in tailored blouse and skirt.

‘Good afternoon. I'm Rona Parish, and I have an—'

‘Please come in, Miss Parish. Lady Roxford is expecting you.'

The hall, like the lobby in the main house, was chequered in white and honey-coloured marble. Though on a smaller scale, it was beautifully proportioned, and a graceful staircase led up to a gallery that circled the hall and off which the bedrooms presumably led.

The young woman knocked on one of the panelled doors, opened it, and announced, ‘Miss Parish to see you, Lady Roxford.'

Cecilia, Countess of Roxford, had been removing some fallen petals from the top of the piano, and she turned to survey Rona from across the room. She was a tall woman, dressed in a plain blue linen dress; her hair was short and neat, her eyes keen and her mouth slightly pursed. Fleetingly, Rona wondered from whom Miranda had inherited her beauty.

‘Come in and sit down, Miss Parish.' Lady Roxford dropped the fallen petals into a waste basket and took her seat opposite that to which she'd directed Rona.

‘It's very good of you to see me,' Rona began a little nervously. ‘You probably know that I'm researching the Willow family?'

‘So I believe, from my husband; though I confess I'm at a loss to see how we can help you.'

‘Julian – Mr Willow – is anxious that it should be as full a history as possible of both family and firm, and there was, of course, a point at which their history impinged on yours.'

A smile touched the countess's face. ‘Tactfully put, Miss Parish. Yes, we were brought up on tales of the scandalous Araminta. However, it's a tenuous link, and I shouldn't have thought warranted dragging you all the way up here to see us.'

Rona, unaware of any special etiquette to be observed, decided to relax and be herself. ‘Actually, I've been enjoying myself,' she said frankly. ‘I've just been on a tour of the house. It's magnificent, isn't it?'

Lady Roxford thawed slightly. ‘Indeed it is. We love it dearly, and frequently use the downstairs rooms for entertaining. So, what would you like to ask me?'

‘You've already answered part of it. I wondered how your family regards the Willow episode; you referred to Araminta as scandalous.'

‘I wasn't entirely serious, of course. I think quite a few of us over the years have admired her for her pluck. She'd always been headstrong, but she must have been very much in love to act as she did, in the face of such severe disapproval. But exaggeration, as you must know, plays a large part in family legend. For instance, the Willows were a respectable and respected family, even in her day, and references to Sebastian as a simple carpenter are certainly spurious.'

‘How exactly did they meet?'

‘I don't know if you're aware of it, but not only was he the son of the firm, he was also a skilled and highly regarded furniture-maker. It happened that the wife of one of Araminta's brothers was expecting a child, and, having seen some of his work at an exhibition, they commissioned a carved cradle. Sebastian delivered it himself, offering to make any alterations they might wish, but they were so delighted with it that Charles persuaded him to stay on and do some more work for him. In all, he was up here for two or three months, during which he and Araminta inevitably came into contact – and the damage, if such it was, was done. The attraction was on both sides, but to his credit, Sebastian made no attempt to prolong it. It was she who insisted on leaving with him when the time came.'

‘And was disinherited?'

‘So the story goes, though I think it was done in a fit of temper, and her father later regretted it. She was his only daughter, and had always been the apple of his eye. It was only natural he should hope for an advantageous marriage for her.'

‘And I learned today he left her a small legacy.'

‘Yes. Altogether, a happy enough ending, considering the circumstances.'

‘Are you still in touch with the Willows?' Rona asked, with assumed innocence.

‘Not personally, though I believe my husband and Julian occasionally lunch together.'

They heard voices in the hall, and she added, ‘There's my husband now. He was hoping to get back in time to meet you.'

The door burst open and a larger-than-life figure exploded into the room. He was dressed in a check shirt and riding breeches, and his face was red with sunburn and exertion. Rona rose hastily to her feet in time to take the hand thrust towards her.

‘Apologies for being late, my dear,' he said breezily. ‘Miranda's horse lost a shoe, and that delayed us. Delighted to meet you.'

Belatedly, Rona saw that his daughter had followed him into the room. Though recognizable as the girl in the photograph, Miranda Barrington-Selby was a pale copy of her former self. In contrast to her father's ruddy features, there was no colour in her face other than the purple shadows under her eyes. She, too, was dressed in riding clothes, and carrying her hat by its strap.

‘This is Miss Parish, my dear,' Lord Roxford introduced, and, to Rona, ‘My daughter, Miranda.'

The two young women nodded cautiously at each other.

‘No doubt my wife has been able to answer your questions?'

‘Yes, thank you. She's been very helpful.'

‘Splendid, splendid. Not sure that we've much to offer that's of interest, but Julian was determined we should see you. You've covered the story of Araminta, then?'

‘Yes, I – have a much clearer idea of events now.'

‘She's also been over the house,' Lady Roxford put in.

Lord Roxford nodded approvingly. ‘Good move. Give you some idea of the background.'

His wife's glance moved to their silent daughter. ‘I hope you've not overdone things, dear,' she said anxiously. ‘It might be wise to go upstairs and have a rest before dinner.'

The girl nodded, smiled wanly in response to a paternal pat on the arm, and went out of the room.

There was a brief silence, then, by way of excuse or explanation, Rona wasn't sure which, Lady Roxford remarked, ‘She's been a little under the weather lately.'

‘I'm sorry,' Rona said inadequately. Feeling her welcome was coming to an end, she went on, ‘I won't take up any more of your time. I'm extremely grateful to you both for agreeing to see me and answer some questions, and I'm delighted to have had the chance to see round your lovely home.'

They both smiled at her, as though she were a child who'd said the right thing.

‘Regards to Julian and his wife,' Roxford said, as, in response to a bell rung by his wife, the young woman who'd admitted Rona appeared and, after appropriate words of farewell, escorted her back to the door.

Outside on the gravel, Rona stood uncertainly for a moment. She had, she realized, paid to see the gardens, and had not yet done so. It would do her good, after the long drive and somewhat tricky interview, to have a walk and clear her head. Returning briefly to the car, she locked her briefcase in the boot, and took the path leading to the lake.

On her return to her room at the pub, Rona took out her laptop and typed up notes on her visit to the Hall. As Lady Roxford had remarked, there'd been no need for her to come to Yorkshire; everything she had learned here could have been accessed from other sources, but Julian had wanted to show off his connections. In retrospect, though, Rona was glad to have met the Roxfords – not to mention their daughter – and seen where they lived. Also, she was looking forward to satisfying her curiosity about the Franks the following day.

Before going down for supper in the pub restaurant, she phoned Lindsey.

‘I was about to ring you,' her sister exclaimed, before Rona could speak. ‘You'll never guess who's just been on the phone?'

‘Then you'd better tell me.'

‘Adele Yarborough! She's finished her psychiatric treatment or whatever it was, and is back home.'

‘Oh Linz, I'm sorry. Max did tell me, and I meant to warn you.'

‘Well, thanks a bunch! I got the shock of my life. And you'll never believe it, but she's had the gall to invite us to a drinks party they're giving next week – you and Max, as well as the neighbours here.'

The Yarboroughs lived in the same cul-de-sac as Lindsey, some fifteen minutes' drive out of Marsborough, and before her temporary removal to Norfolk, Adele, a student of Max's, had claimed he'd molested her, an accusation that had resulted in an uncomfortable few hours with the police.

‘I doubt if Max will go within fifty yards of her.'

‘That's what I thought. To be fair, though, she
was
genuinely ill during all that fracas. I think I'll go along, and I can report back to you on how she seems. Sorry, though, this is your call; did you want something?'

‘To tell you that you in turn will never guess who I met today.'

‘Surprise me.'

‘None other than Lady Miranda.'

She heard Lindsey's indrawn breath. ‘Where the hell are you?'

‘The far-flung north. Ottersby, to be precise, a couple of miles from Roxford Hall.'

‘She was at the house?'

‘Yes; I only met her briefly. She'd been riding with her father, and I must say she looked pretty washed out. Her mother said she'd been “under the weather”, whatever that meant.'