The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (21 page)

Rebecca shook her head. ‘I am well enough.’ Might as well get this over with. She had spent her waking hours rehearsing her story, knowing that sooner or later she would be obliged to tell it.

The constable was rotund with copious side-whiskers, and in the warmth of Rebecca’s chamber beads of sweat quickly appeared on his forehead. He probably wasn’t used to interviewing ladies who lay in their beds, she thought, with a pang of pity for him that she quickly suppressed.

‘Erm, Miss Winton, thank you for agreeing to see me today. The magistrates, you see, with it being a murder case, want the evidence gathered as quickly as possible. It’s been several days already. And if our man is still on the loose the sooner we can get a description of him from you, the more chance we will have of catching him.’ Barnsworth coughed and shuffled his feet, twisting his hat in his hands as he awaited her reply.

‘What is it you need to know from me?’ she asked.

‘Erm, well, if you could tell me what you remember of the shooting. What the man looked like, where he came in, that sort of thing.’

So he had already decided there was definitely another person involved. That was interesting. He wasn’t even going to consider any other possibility. Presumably no one thought it possible that young ladies would know how to fire pistols, still less that they would fire at each other. Sisters don’t shoot each other, Sarah had said. She barely believed it possible herself. And only Spencer was aware they knew how to load and fire the guns. She hoped he’d have forgotten he’d ever shown them.

‘All right, Constable, I shall tell you what I recall, but I am afraid it isn’t very much and you will be disappointed.’ She fixed him with a firm look, which made him shuffle even more.

‘Anything you can tell me will be very helpful, I’m sure, Miss Winton.’

‘Very well. I remember going down to the cellar to check on stocks of wine. Sarah, that is, Miss Cooper, had asked me to do so. She came down after me, by the garden steps. We were discussing what stocks to order in.’ There would be no way anyone could refute the purpose of their meeting. But in case Sarah had been seen going down to the cellar, it was best to stick to the truth about her route there.

‘And then?’ prompted the constable. He had moved a little closer in anticipation of what she might reveal.

Rebecca shook her head. ‘There was a noise – footsteps, then a huge bang – and then the next thing I knew was waking up here, in this bed, with Tilly tending to me. I am afraid I did not see anyone, and I do not recall anything being said. I only remember that I heard footsteps, and perhaps I was turning to see who it was. The lamplight was very dim.’

‘From where did the sound of footsteps come, Miss Winton? I am sorry to press you, but it could be important.’

Rebecca remembered that the assumption was the intruder had come down the garden steps. So let them continue to believe that. ‘I cannot be certain, but from the garden steps, I think, following Miss Cooper.’

Barnsworth nodded. ‘It is as we believed. The murderer followed Miss Cooper down, and shot you both. He may have already had the pistols loaded and in his possession from an earlier visit. Or he may have taken and loaded them quietly while you were in discussion about the wine. Were you talking for long?’

‘A few minutes only. The pistols were not stored in a locked cupboard, more’s the pity. Now I wish I had spoken to her about that, and had them moved somewhere more secure. Oh, if only one could go back in time and have events play out differently!’ She put the back of her hand to her forehead.

‘Please, Miss Winton, do not upset yourself. The door to the garden ought to have been locked, but I suppose it was open because Miss Cooper had come down that way. It is not your fault. No one could have known what might happen.’ He coughed and shuffled a little more. ‘I shall keep you no longer, Miss Winton, for it is clear you need to rest as much as possible. Thank you for the information. We shall catch this scoundrel, never you fear. We shall catch him and he shall hang. That poor, poor young lady. Ah, I remember how she collapsed with shock when poor Mr de Witt’s body was pulled from the well. And just a fortnight later she herself has met with a sticky end. Who’d have imagined such a terrible thing? Ahem. I am sorry. I shall leave you in peace now.’ He bowed and finally made his way out of the room.

Rebecca heaved a sigh of relief. He seemed to have accepted her story. She could not, she had realised, give any details whatsoever of the fictitious attacker, in case the authorities arrested some innocent man who fitted her description. Better to plead amnesia. Better by far.

Within a week Rebecca was able to get out of bed and spend part of her day sitting wrapped in a shawl in the drawing room, or at her father’s old desk in the study. Tilly stayed within calling distance at all times. ‘In case you needs anything, miss, or if you feels tired.’

One thing that had become clear was that all the staff seemed devastated by Sarah’s death. Spencer, in particular, appeared a broken man, confirming her belief that despite what Sarah had said, Spencer had indeed been her father. She entered the study one day to find him standing by her father’s desk, stroking the polished walnut. ‘It is so hard to comprehend, Miss Winton,’ he’d said, when she’d asked him if anything was the matter. ‘First your mother, then your father, God rest his soul, and now dear Miss Cooper. The people I loved best, Miss Winton, along with you, of course, if you don’t mind me saying so. All gone. But never forgotten.’ He had then pulled himself up straight, bowed to her and left the room, shaking his head sadly.

The whole house seemed subdued. Rebecca had to constantly remind herself to behave in a way befitting a woman who had lost a beloved sister. As her injuries healed that became harder and harder, and once or twice she had found herself being glared at by a maid for smiling. She’d come across groups of servants chattering but they had always stopped talking and gone about their business as soon as they saw her. She had the distinct impression they’d been talking about her, perhaps comparing her with Sarah.

She also wondered whether anyone suspected the truth. Or were they all still convinced there was someone else involved, someone who was still on the run? If anyone ever guessed that they had shot each other, and that therefore she was a murderer, her life would be over. Although at the time, down in the cellar, her only thoughts had been to defend herself if Sarah shot at her, now she realised that to rely on that as a defence would be a very risky strategy. Who would believe her? She needed the authorities to keep looking for that fictitious man. In time they would surely give up and the case would remain forever unsolved. If she was lucky. And meanwhile, she must act the part of the grieving sister.
Adopted
sister, she reminded herself. She refused to believe that what Sarah had implied in the cellar could be true.

Spencer was the only person who might suspect anything else, she realised. He had shown them how to load and fire the pistols. He had been first on the scene, and had seen where the pistols lay in relation to their bodies.

If he thought they’d shot each other, maybe as a duel, he was keeping quiet. At least, for now he was. But for how much longer?

Chapter 19

August 2015

Gemma woke the morning after the shocking phone call from Dad with a pounding headache. She had barely slept – she’d tossed and turned all night wondering why Nat would have done such a thing. Accusing her of failing to repay a fictitious loan, and then practically stealing five thousand pounds from her parents – it was incredible. And the credit card fraud had to be Nat’s doing as well. Today she had to contact Nat, and confront her about it. The thought made her feel sick. She’d eaten nothing for dinner the previous night, but had somehow managed to polish off most of a bottle of wine. It was supposed to be a drink to celebrate her first day going through the archives at Red Hill Hall, but had ended up being a drink to drown her sorrows. No wonder she had a headache this morning.

She didn’t feel like eating breakfast either, but forced herself to eat a bowl of porridge with a strawberry yogurt mixed in. Along with a strong cup of coffee that helped her begin to feel better. She resolved to make her number one priority today the confrontation with Nat. The more she put it off the less she would sleep. And there was a danger her father might go to the police after all, if Gemma didn’t do anything about it first. The research at Red Hill Hall would have to wait.

This was not something that could be tackled by a phone call, so after breakfast she set off in her car to Nat’s flat. She wasn’t sure what hours Nat was working, but there was a chance Nat wasn’t working today, so it seemed sensible to try the flat first. She parked outside, climbed the steps to the communal front door and rang the bell. Her heart was pounding, but she’d rehearsed her speech and had to go through with this.

There was no answer. She tried again, just in case, then retraced her steps and drove to Nat’s workplace. Perhaps she’d be able to catch her on a coffee break.

The salon was busy – there were several people having their nails done and two people waiting. The front desk was manned by Jasmine, who Gemma had met once or twice when she’d gone out with Nat’s work friends. Jasmine was wearing the longest false eyelashes Gemma had ever seen other than on a pantomime dame.

‘Hi, Gemma! What can we do for you? We’re busy but I bet we could squeeze you in somewhere.’ Jasmine ran a pink and silver talon across the open page of the appointments book.

‘I was looking for Nat. Is she working today?’

‘Nat? No, erm, hasn’t she told you? Haven’t seen her for ages. She left, or was sacked or something. I don’t know the details – she wouldn’t say – but she did go through a phase of turning up late and hung-over every day. I think the boss got fed up of it. Anyway, she’s off on holiday this week, she told me. In Tenerife. With her new man, no less!’

Gemma was startled. She had no idea Nat had lost her job. If she’d been fired that might explain her being short of money. ‘Ah, no, I didn’t know that. Haven’t seen her for a few weeks, to be honest. Her new man? Who’s that, then? Have you met him?’

‘No. She’s been very secretive. His name’s Ben, apparently. Oh, look I’m going to have to see to these ladies now, sorry, Gemma. See you around, yeah?’

‘Yeah, see you.’

Gemma left the salon feeling numb. Nat, on holiday with Ben? Her Ben? How could he? So soon after breaking things off with her! It was one thing to have a drunken snog at his sister’s wedding – she could imagine forgiving him for that – but to go away with the woman who was supposed to be her best friend? Just two months after dumping her? The more she thought about it the more her numbness turned to rage.

And as for Nat… she shook her head in sorrow. It was as though Nat was trying to take everything from her. Money, her parents’ trust, and now Ben. It was unbelievable. And probably unforgivable, although Gemma did still feel she wanted to give Nat the chance to explain it all.

But if Nat and Ben were away in Tenerife there was no chance of confronting Nat about the letter to her parents, or anything else, until she got back.

She couldn’t resist pulling out her phone and sending Ben a text, though. ‘Have a nice holiday.’ Just so he knew that she knew. She pressed ‘send’ before she had chance to change her mind.

There was nothing more she could do about the ‘Nat’ problem now, so she returned to her car and drove to Red Hill Hall. Hopefully getting stuck into the research would help take her mind off things. She found herself quietly looking forward to the prospect of seeing Don again. Perhaps they’d have another drink and chat together. She rather liked the idea of that becoming a regular feature of her visits. He was very easy to get on with, not to mention easy on the eye.

Don was in reception when she arrived. Almost as though he’d been waiting for her, she thought, with a smile.

‘Gemma! Good to see you. I realised something after you’d gone yesterday.’ He came out from behind the reception desk and gave her a peck on the cheek.

‘Hi, Don. What was that, then?’

‘We missed going to the cellars on the tour. I’ve not had chance to do anything with them yet, so they’re a bit dark and dingy. But didn’t you say something about that shooting taking place in the cellars?’

‘I did, yes, and in all the excitement about the boxes of papers I completely forgot to ask you about them. Ooh, can we go down now?’ Gemma felt a rush of excitement at the thought of seeing the exact location where the mysterious shooting took place.

‘We certainly can!’ Don produced a couple of torches from his pockets. ‘Look – I’m all prepared!’

She laughed. ‘Like a Boy Scout. Is there no lighting down there, then?’

‘Nothing that works. Some lights were installed before the Second World War but the wiring has never been replaced. It’s on my list. I want to store the wine down there, and if I can get it dry enough, I’ll store some of the more seasonal stuff there. Hey, you’re not afraid of the dark, are you?’

‘Of course not! I’m a woman, not a wuss. Lead the way!’

He grinned and set off towards the old servants’ corridor, past the room where she’d spent the previous day rooting through the archived papers. At the end of this corridor was a locked door. Don took a heavy iron key from his pocket and unlocked it. The lock was stiff. ‘I must get this oiled before anything else,’ he muttered, as he shouldered open the door. ‘Mind the steps.’

Gemma switched on her torch and followed him down the steep brick steps. Once she was at the bottom she shone her torch around. She was in a smallish room with a low ceiling. There were two doorways leading off it, into deep darkness. A wooden cupboard was built against one wall, its doors hanging off their hinges. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dirt, and the air smelt stale and damp.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she imagined Sarah and Rebecca confronting the murderer down here in the dark. They’d only have had an oil lamp at best, or perhaps just candles to light their way. Was this the room where the girls had been shot, she wondered? She was being fanciful, she knew, but she felt as though she could detect a presence here – the violence of the past perhaps keeping the spirits of the girls trapped here. She shivered and glanced over to the doors on the other side of the cellar. What lay beyond?