The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (20 page)

‘Dad! Hi. How are things?’ It was unusual for her dad to call her. It was usually Mum. She felt a sudden pang of worry that perhaps something was wrong with Mum. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, love, we’re all fine. Are you having a good week off? I’m surprised you didn’t go away anywhere, but I suppose with this weather it wouldn’t have been much fun.’

‘I’m having a great week. I’m doing some research…’ She’d been about to outline her work when he interrupted her.

‘Sorry, love, there’s just something we needed to talk to you about.’

That cold hand of dread clutched at Gemma again. She knew it. One of them had cancer or something awful like that. ‘Go on, I’m listening.’

‘The thing is, well, it’s a bit awkward really, but your friend Natalie wrote us a letter.’

‘A letter?’

‘Yes. A very strange one. We’re not quite sure, your mum and I, what to make of it. In the end I said, well we have to phone Gemma and tell her, and get her side of the story. You’re our daughter, after all, so we should believe you over Natalie. If it came to that, I mean – your word against hers.’

‘Dad, what are you talking about? What did the letter say?’

‘Well now, she said that at the end of last year she loaned you some money, as you were short, and were struggling to buy Christmas presents… Now you must know, love, that we don’t care whether or not you buy us a present. It’s enough that you come to Christmas dinner…’

‘Dad, she didn’t loan me any money. I wasn’t short. Well, no more than usual.’

‘…and she said that you’d promised to pay it back by March at the latest, but despite reminders she was still waiting for it, and you were refusing to see her now. I know that last bit’s true – your mum said you must have fallen out as you’d not seen her as much lately.’

‘We haven’t fallen out,’ Gemma protested, but he was right, she had not seen as much of Nat. Not since the wedding. She hadn’t told her parents about Nat and Ben kissing, or about the credit card fraud.

‘So, listen, we’ve been talking, your mum and I, and we’ve said we’ll pay your debt to Natalie. I hate to think of my girl owing money. We’ve got enough in the savings account…’

‘Dad, I never borrowed any money from Nat. She’s making it up.’

‘Making it up? Why on earth would she do that?’

‘I don’t know, Dad.’ Gemma sighed. She honestly had no idea why Nat would do such a thing.

‘You’re
sure
you don’t owe her anything? I mean, could you have forgotten?’

‘Dad! I’d remember something like that! I never borrowed a penny off her.’

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. Her dad sighed, and then said decisively, ‘OK, I believe you. Because you know, if ever you were short of a bob or two, you can always ask us. We’d not see you go without. But this is all a bit awkward now…’

‘Why?’

‘Your mum, she went straight off and wrote out a cheque. I said we should talk to you first but she wanted it dealt with.’

‘Has she sent it to Nat?’

‘I rather think she posted it straight away. Oh dear. We’ve known Natalie so long, of course. At times she was like a second daughter – always round our house at the weekends. Came on holiday with us a couple of times, didn’t she? That time in the caravan in south Wales, and the holiday cottage in Cornwall. You two lived in each other’s pockets when you were at school. Oh, love, I can’t believe she’d be defrauding us like this. It just seems too incredible for words.’

‘The alternative is to think I’m lying now, when I tell you I never lent her money. Who do you believe, Dad?’ Gemma struggled to control her voice. Her mind was racing. If Nat was trying to defraud Gemma’s parents out of some money, it made it seem more likely that she’d also stolen the credit card details.

‘Erm, well of course we don’t think you’re lying, love. But what should we do? We’ve posted the cheque already.’

‘How much was it for?’

‘Five thousand.’

Gemma gasped and almost dropped the phone. ‘Five thousand? For a few Christmas presents?’

Dad sounded sheepish now. ‘She said you were behind on your mortgage payments as well, and had a large credit card bill. She said the loan was to get you back on top, and that she’d been happy to help, but needed you to start repaying it now before she ran into financial trouble herself. Oh, love, you can see why we decided to pay her back straight away, can’t you?’

‘Without checking with me first?’

‘I thought we should talk to you first. But we knew you were out all day and your mother just wanted to put things straight. You know how she feels about debt.’

‘You need to ring your bank and get the cheque stopped, Dad. Right away.’

‘That’ll cost…’

‘Yes, but a lot less than five thousand! Bloody hell. What does she think she’s playing at?’ The more Gemma thought about it the more furious she became. Nat, trying to defraud her parents out of so much money? She’d been willing to consider that the credit card fraud had not actually been Nat, but not after this. Definitely not after this. It was too much of a coincidence.

‘Dad, there’s something else you should know. I had a problem with my credit card…’

‘So that part’s true? That you were in debt?’

‘No! Just listen a moment.’ Why did he have to jump to conclusions? ‘There were some transactions on it last month that were not mine. One was from
La Belle Femme
. And the dress Nat wore to Anna and Jake’s wedding came from there. It had cost a bomb, but she said it had been reduced.’

‘What are you implying, love?’

‘I think she stole my credit card details to pay for it.’

‘Oh, but she wouldn’t do such a thing, surely?’

Gemma rolled her eyes. Was Dad being deliberately obtuse? ‘Just like she wouldn’t write to my parents accusing me of failing to repay a loan I’d never had?’

‘But why?’ Dad asked yet again.

‘I have no idea. I don’t understand it at all. But I can see I am going to have to confront her and ask her what she’s playing at. Meanwhile, please do get that cheque stopped. I’m still waiting to hear from the credit card company who are investigating that purchase in
La Belle Femme
as well as a few others that weren’t mine. They’ve sent me a new card already.’

‘All right, I’ll phone the bank helpline now. What a mess, eh?’ Gemma could imagine him shaking his head sadly and bemusedly.

‘Yes. And I’ll go and see Nat as soon as possible. That’ll be fun, I don’t think.’

‘Do you want me to come with you, love? Moral support and all that?’

‘Aw, Dad, thanks for the offer, but no. I think I’d be better off going on my own. Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation.’

‘If there isn’t, and you’re right about the credit card fraud as well, then we should call the police, don’t you think? I mean, I know it’s Natalie and we’ve known her since she was a child, but…’

‘It’d ruin her, Dad. I know, you’re probably right, but I feel as though I want to give her a chance to explain it all first. I’ll let you know what happens, all right?’

‘All right. Well, love, I’d better get off the phone and get on to the bank. Bye, love.’

‘Bye, Dad.’

Gemma hung up. Her pasta had gone cold. She scraped it into the bin, no longer feeling like eating. Why was Nat targeting her like this? What had she ever done to Nat to deserve it? What on earth would she say to her?

Chapter 18

August 1838

She was drowning. Underwater in her bath. Water flowed through her veins, filled her lungs and dulled her senses. Yet the bath was soft – not the hard enamelled tin she was used to. The softness of whatever she was lying on, the warmth of whatever covered her, were the first sensations she was aware of. And then came the pain. Unimaginable pain. There was a spiky ball of pain, and she was wrapped tightly around it.

The sensation of drowning lapsed, but the pain remained. She was not in a bath. She was in a bed. People were talking – she could hear a blur of voices behind the incessant buzzing and pounding noises that filled her brain – but what they were saying she could not make out. There was a metallic taste in her mouth. Her lips were dry. She tried to moisten them with her tongue but the small movement just expanded the ball of pain. She moaned aloud.

‘I think she’s waking up.’ Someone said that. She had been asleep, then. Was it morning? Why were people in her room? Why was she drowning in pain?

She forced open her eyes. There was light, and some dark shadows moving around in the light. It hurt, everything hurt, so she closed them again. She wanted to sleep some more so that the pain might stop.

‘Give her some laudanum to lessen her pain, if she is able to swallow it,’ said the voice.

Something to lessen the pain. Yes. She wanted that. She wanted the pain to go. She forced open her eyes and mouth, and tried to speak. Tried to say yes, give me laudanum, but all that came out was a croak. If indeed the croak came from her.

A cup was brought to her lips, and a hand behind her head, to lift it from the pillow. A wave of pain cascaded over her, but it was necessary to endure so that she could take the painkiller. She sipped the bitter liquid. Some dribbled out of the corner of her mouth. How strange that she could still feel such a delicate sensation, when her entire existence was defined by a mountain of pain.

She tried to remember what had happened to her. A vision of a gloomy cellar came to mind. The cellar, and another person, and in her hand – oh, in her hand she had held a ruby pistol. She had held it, and she had squeezed the trigger, and there had been an enormously loud bang, and then the pain had hit and she had collapsed on the floor. They had both been on the floor.

She realised with horror that they had both pulled the triggers. They must have done it at precisely the same moment. They had shot each other.

Another memory surfaced – of lying in the pain and the blood, and reaching out, and being comforted by the touch of a hand: the hand of her sister.

Her thoughts were swimming in the laudanum now, and the ball of pain was muffled as though the drug had wrapped it in thick wool. She let out a sigh and allowed herself to drift off, to a place where the pain subsided and the memories evaporated like gun smoke on the breeze.

This time it was the pain that she felt first. Centred in her shoulder, but spreading its tentacles into her arms, her neck and her abdomen. She moaned and opened her eyes.

‘Hello, miss. It is good to see you awake.’ A hand squeezed hers gently. She followed the sound of the voice and saw a young woman in a plain grey dress, with a maid’s cap on her head. Tilly.

‘Do you want more of the laudanum? It will ease the pain but will send you to sleep. The doctor said you could have it if you wanted it, when you woke again.’

She nodded. The pain was everywhere. She took a draught of the drug, and settled back once more to wait for it to take effect. What of her sister? she wanted to ask, but could not find the words or the strength to voice them.

The next time she woke it was better. The pain was there still but it was not submerging her. She could see and feel beyond it. She tried to speak. ‘Tilly?’

‘Yes, miss?’

‘What happened?’ Her voice was but a croak.

‘I’ll fetch Spencer, miss. Better that you hear it from him.’ Tilly turned and almost ran from the room.

Tilly returned with Spencer in moments. His face looked drawn and tired. He seemed to have aged twenty years since she last saw him. She realised she had no idea how long she had been lying in the bed. How long since the shooting?

‘Spencer, tell me, what happened?’

He sat in the chair by her bedside, where Tilly had been, and took her hand. It was a strange, rather familiar gesture for him to make but she did not pull away. His touch was comforting. ‘You were shot in the shoulder. The surgeon has patched things up as best he could. You should make a full recovery, in time, although your right arm might always be a little weaker than it was. Meanwhile you must rest as much as possible.’ He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I heard the shots, and came rushing down to the cellar. You were both lying there, in pools of blood. I’ve been to war, as you know, but this was the worst thing I have ever seen.’ He gulped and breathed deeply, as though trying to compose himself. ‘Whoever did this got away. The door to the kitchen garden was open. He must have got in and then escaped that way. The constables are out looking for him. He’ll be caught, whoever he is.’

‘But…’ She stopped herself just in time from saying there was no need to look for anyone else in connection with the shooting. She should hear all the other facts first. Especially – what had happened to Sarah? Was she still alive, perhaps being cared for in another room?

‘Miss Winton, I am so sorry. Miss Cooper did not survive the attack. She was dead by the time I reached you.’ There were tears in Spencer’s eyes as he said this. Sarah had always been his favourite.

She turned her face away as she considered the implications of what she’d heard. So Sarah was dead. That made her, Rebecca, a murderer. She could hang for that. But the authorities were assuming that someone else, a man, had shot them both. As long as she kept quiet, no one need know who had pulled either of the triggers.

Sarah, dead. Her lifetime friend, and recent enemy. Did that mean the estate would now be hers again? She, Rebecca, was her father’s only living relative, so surely it must pass to her now. As it should have done in the first place. A memory surfaced. Something Sarah had said – that her father hadn’t abandoned her… No. She pushed that memory out of her mind. It could not be true. She would not allow it to be true. The old rumour, her belief that Spencer was Sarah’s father – that had to be the truth. It had to be. The rest was Sarah’s lies.

She would need to speak with Mr Neville as soon as she was well enough. She winced as a wave of pain rushed through her shoulder. It would be some time before she’d be able to get out of bed. Time to think things through, and plan for her future. At least she had a future. Unlike Sarah, or Charles. But what would her future be like, on her own here at Red Hill Hall?

The following day Tilly gently woke her from an afternoon nap, with the news that Constable Barnsworth had been waiting for some time, hoping to ask her what she remembered of the shooting. ‘Miss, are you well enough to see him now? Spencer will tell him to come back tomorrow if you would prefer it.’