The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (14 page)

The disco was held in the same modern extension as the ceremony and reception had been – the chairs and tables now cleared away to the sides and a DJ set up where the altar had been. As Gemma came back downstairs and into the dance hall, the disco was already in full swing. She looked around for Nat. That peacock dress was hard to miss, but it took her a few moments to spot her, on the far side of the room, sitting down with a glass of something in her hand. She was chatting to someone, but Gemma couldn’t immediately see who it was as there were dancers in the way. She began making her way across the room but stopped halfway, as Nat leaned forward and put her arms around the person she was talking to, and kissed him, full on the lips.

It was Ben. And he had his hands around her waist, kissing her back, as far as Gemma could make out. She turned on her heel and left the room. She’d seen enough.

Chapter 12

June 1838

Papa had not taken the news of Rebecca and Charles’s split very well. In fact, Rebecca thought, he could not have taken it worse. As she had stood in front of him in the library, head bowed, telling him that Charles no longer wanted to marry her, Papa had collapsed into a chair clutching at his chest and gasping for breath.

‘Papa! I shall fetch Spencer!’ She tugged on the bell rope to summon the butler, then rushed to Papa’s side, but he batted her away.

‘I am all right. Just let me have a bit of air.’ He was pulling at his collar to loosen it.

Spencer tapped on the door and entered, then went straight to Mr Winton when he saw what was happening.

‘Oh, Spencer, he looks so ill! Should we send for the doctor? I am afraid he has had a shock – I had to give him the bad news that Charles and I will not be marrying, after all…’

‘Sorry to hear that, Miss Rebecca. It may be the shock that has brought this on. Sir, I really think we need to send for the doctor now.’

‘No need, no need. I shall be all right. Bring me a glass of brandy to revive me, would you?’ Papa was beginning to breathe a little easier now and Rebecca was relieved to see the worst of the attack was over.

‘Yes, sir.’ Spencer crossed the room to where a decanter sat on a small table, and poured a glass of brandy. Rebecca noticed his mouth was set in a thin line, as though he disapproved of using brandy for medicinal purposes. But if it revived Papa then what harm could it do? And as Papa sipped it, his colour did seem to return to normal.

‘There now, Rebecca my sweet. You see? I am recovered already. I am very sorry about your engagement. Extremely sorry indeed. Spencer, please send a message to Mr de Witt. I wish to speak with him at his earliest convenience, but do not feel quite well enough to go to Bridhampton, therefore I desire that he should come here.’

‘Yes, sir, I’ll send one of the grooms over immediately.’ Spencer bowed and left the room. Rebecca kissed her father and then followed him out. She did not wish to see Charles when he came to see Papa. She did not wish to see Sarah either. Her own bedroom with its tiny adjoining sitting room was the only safe place to go.

She was still ensconced in her little sitting room, trying but failing to concentrate on reading her book, her mind circling over recent events, when she became aware of noise from downstairs. She put down her book and ran out to the top of the stairs. Sarah was at the foot and called to her.

‘Rebecca! Come quickly; it is Papa!’ Her face looked stricken.

Rebecca picked up her skirts and raced down the stairs. Spencer was shouting for someone to send for the doctor. The housemaids were running hither and thither across the hallway and Sarah was standing at the door to the library, her hand across her mouth.

‘What is it? What has happened?’ Rebecca said.

Sarah’s only answer was a shake of her head. Rebecca pushed past her and into the library. Papa was slumped in the same chair she had left him in. His head lolled backwards and sideways; his face was a dark grey. She screamed and ran over to him, cradling his head in her arms. ‘Papa! Oh, Papa, no!’

‘Shh, Miss Winton, shh. Come away. There is nothing you can do for him. I’m so sorry.’ Spencer laid his hand on her shoulder and gently pulled her away. She sobbed and threw herself into his arms, where he held her and rocked her as though she was a small child and he was her father. ‘Shh, there now,’ he whispered to her, over and over, as he led her out of the room and into the drawing room, where he settled her onto a sofa.

Sarah followed them in. Rebecca watched, sobbing, as Sarah sat down on a chair on the opposite side of the room. Despite their recent differences, right now she felt she’d have given anything for a hug from Sarah. If they’d been close like sisters the way they used to be, Sarah would have sat beside her, held her close, let her cry on her shoulder. But it could not be. Rebecca realised she was alone in her grief. No Charles, no Sarah to lean on. Only good, solid Spencer, but he was a servant, not an equal. She was an orphan now. Like Sarah.

‘He’s gone, isn’t he?’ Sarah said.

Rebecca looked up at her. Tears were streaming down Sarah’s face. She felt a pang of pity for her. ‘Yes. He’s gone.’

‘We’re alone, now. No Papa.’

‘You have never had a father. It is I who have lost my Papa.’

Sarah looked away, and then back at Rebecca. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, then glanced at Spencer who was still in the room. With a jolt Rebecca remembered what she’d overheard as a child – the secret she’d sworn she would never mention, about Spencer being Sarah’s father. Her father had provided for Sarah as repayment for Spencer saving his life at Waterloo. She looked at the butler. He was gazing at Sarah with an expression of sadness and tenderness. Was he really Sarah’s father? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Papa was now dead, and she was left alone in the world.

Spencer’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Miss Winton, if I may suggest, it would be wise to take some refreshment to keep your strength up. The doctor has been sent for, though there is nothing he can do for poor Mr Winton. I will send also for your father’s solicitor, Mr Neville. He will help with financial arrangements. With your permission, Miss Winton, I shall also send for Reverend Theobald. We will need to make funeral arrangements, and perhaps he may be able to help comfort you a little.’

Five days later, Rebecca was still reeling from the shock of her father’s death. He had been buried in the family plot in the local churchyard, alongside her mother. She was glad that part was over. Papa had no relatives except herself, but many of the county gentry had attended the funeral along with the estate tenants, the servants, and Sarah and Charles, of course. As soon as Charles had arrived Sarah had flung herself against him, clinging to his sleeves and sobbing. He had gently prised her off, and approached Rebecca to offer his condolences. He had, she thought, promised to call on her again soon, but she’d been so upset she could not remember for certain. In any case, he had not called, so presumably he’d said it only for politeness’ sake.

The funeral had been an ordeal, but Papa was at peace now, Rebecca kept telling herself. Nothing more could hurt him. And he was reunited with dear Mama. She tried to derive some comfort from the thought of them finding each other, wherever they might now be.

Today Mr Neville was expected, to read through Papa’s will. It would be but a formality, telling her what she already knew – as her father’s sole descendant, and as he had no siblings or cousins, Red Hill Hall would pass to her. She was now a wealthy woman, Spencer had told her. She would be much sought after by eligible bachelors. He had promised to advise her, should she feel she needed it. Rebecca had felt numb. If she couldn’t marry Charles she didn’t want to marry at all. Perhaps she could simply run the estate herself. It was unheard of, for a young unmarried woman to run an estate the size of Red Hill Hall on her own, but why shouldn’t she try? With Spencer, the housekeeper and the estate steward to help, surely she could manage? What would become of Sarah she was not sure. Perhaps somehow she might find a husband. But not Charles – some respectable gentleman from the middle classes. Or she might become a companion to someone else, or a governess. There were plenty of suitable occupations for a well-educated young lady such as Sarah.

When Mr Neville arrived, Spencer showed him into the library and arranged for coffee to be brought in. Rebecca was already waiting, sitting in a chair beside the fire. She gestured to Papa’s desk.

‘Please, Mr Neville, do sit there if you need to spread out your papers.’ It was strange to see someone else sitting at Papa’s desk but she knew she must get used to it. Indeed, if she were to run this estate, she herself would need to sit there to manage her affairs.

‘Thank you, Miss Winton.’ Mr Neville settled himself and pulled some papers out from his leather satchel. ‘Now then, where is Miss Cooper?’

‘Sarah is in her room, I believe. Why, is she needed here?’

‘Yes, she is. There are elements of the will that concern her and I should like her to hear them at first hand. Spencer, would you send for Miss Cooper, please? And then return here yourself, as you also are mentioned in the will.’

Spencer went out to the hallway and had a word with a footman, then returned to the library where he stood near the door, awaiting Sarah’s entrance. Rebecca sat in silence. The only sounds were the ticking of the mantelpiece clock and the occasional shuffle of Mr Neville’s papers.

At last Sarah arrived. ‘I’m needed here, I understand?’ she said, looking from Spencer to Mr Neville and back, but avoiding catching Rebecca’s eye.

‘Apparently so,’ Rebecca said, and Sarah took a seat near Papa’s desk.

Mr Neville cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for attending. As you know we are here today to read the will of the late Mr Winton. I shall read it straight through, and then will summarise the salient points. I should warn you, it is not, perhaps, quite as you might expect. Very well. I shall begin.’

He picked up a sheaf of papers, placed a pair of spectacles on the end of his nose, and once more cleared his throat. It was, Rebecca thought, as though he was putting off the moment when he needed to divulge the contents of the will. What did he mean by it not being what they might expect? She had no idea.

Mr Neville began to speak, his voice droning on in the rambling and unintelligible jargon that was typical of legal documents. Rebecca struggled to make any sense of what he was saying. She thought she had the gist, but then again, what she thought he was saying could not possibly be correct. She must have misunderstood something fundamental. She glanced at Sarah, who looked shocked but triumphant. Spencer too seemed as though he was struggling to comprehend. Mr Neville was now listing a string of minor legacies for the staff of Red Hill Hall. Rebecca could bear it no longer, and interrupted him.

‘I am sorry, Mr Neville. Could you please summarise the main points so far, before finishing reading it out? I am not sure I have understood it at all…’

He looked at her with what appeared to be an expression of pity. ‘Of course, Miss Winton. Perhaps I should have summarised it first. Very well.’ He put down the sheaf of papers he’d been reading from, and picked up another.

‘In summary, then, Mr Winton’s will, which was made just a few short weeks ago and witnessed by myself and my clerk, says this: On the assumption that Miss Rebecca Winton will marry Mr Charles de Witt, the owner of Carlstone Hall, Mr Winton leaves the Red Hill Hall house and estate to his adopted daughter, Miss Sarah Cooper, in the hope that she will manage it herself until such time as she marries, and thereafter her husband will manage it. Miss Winton receives a legacy of two thousand pounds, which is to be used for her wedding expenses, trousseau and a tour of Europe with her new husband. Mr Spencer receives a legacy of one thousand pounds for his long and faithful service, and in particular recognition of special services rendered. Each of the servants receives…’

‘Wait. Red Hill Hall is to be Sarah’s?’ Rebecca could not believe what she had heard.

Mr Neville looked over his spectacles at her. ‘That is correct. As you are to marry Mr de Witt, Mr Winton wanted to keep the two estates separate.’

‘But I am not going to marry Mr de Witt! The engagement is off!’

‘Ahem. I am indeed sorry to hear that. However, at the time Mr Winton drew up this will, he believed you were to marry. He knew he was unwell and wanted to make sure both you and Miss Cooper would be well provided for. His fear, as he voiced to me several times during the course of our meetings about his will, was that Miss Cooper might find herself penniless and homeless, if Miss Winton did not continue to give her a home, or if Miss Winton died.’

‘So he gave her
my
home? Sarah’s the daughter of a housekeeper!’

‘He loved you both, Miss Winton. Very much. He believed you were very happy at the prospect of marrying Mr de Witt and as Carlstone Hall is a substantially larger estate than this one, you would still be socially superior to Miss Cooper. He had no idea your engagement would not last.’ Mr Neville looked at Spencer as though asking for support.

‘What can be done? Can I contest the will? It is not what he would have wanted. Had he time to amend it after I told him of the end of my engagement I am sure he would have done so.’

‘Rebecca, there’s nothing you can do. Papa wanted me to have the house. Not you. It’s a shame you and Charles have broken up but he wasn’t to know that.’ Sarah smirked. ‘Listen, Rebecca, I shall not throw you out. You can stay here with me. Perhaps as my paid companion. But
I
shall be the mistress.’

‘You! Mistress of this house? Never!’ Rebecca stormed out of the library and ran upstairs to her bedroom. She would not stay in the house if Sarah were its mistress. That would be too much to bear. If she could not marry Charles to escape it, she would find some other way. She would go to London, be presented at court, do a season and find a husband in that way. Or perhaps she would not marry – she would find a way to keep herself. She could become a governess perhaps, for a good family. Or a companion – but not Sarah’s. Someone else’s. In her room she threw herself onto her bed, pulling a cushion onto her face to sob into. How had it come to this? All those possible futures she’d considered suitable for Sarah were now hers to choose from, and didn’t seem nearly so attractive. What had Papa done? It was unthinkable! There must be some clause buried in the will that would provide for her should her marriage to Charles not go ahead. Papa would not have left her destitute. He had cared for Sarah, and admirably wanted to provide for her after his death, but not at the expense of his own daughter, surely.