The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (23 page)

‘Miss Winton, let me assure you,
I
think nothing of the sort. I only wished to warn you what others may think – indeed, are already thinking and gossiping. I would advise you to do all that you can to advance the search for Miss Cooper’s murderer. If it can be proven that her death at least was not at your hands then that will help quash the rumours.’

‘So people are thinking that I shot Sarah? And how do they think I came by my own wound?’ Rebecca widened her eyes and mustered the most indignant, incredulous tone she could manage. She sent up a silent prayer that he would not guess the truth.

‘Self-inflicted, they say, to throw the authorities off the true scent. Ludicrous, of course, but it is as well you are aware of the gossip. I am only sorry I could not get here sooner and advise you earlier, to prevent the rumours taking hold.’

‘Ahem, excuse me, Miss Winton, Mr Neville. I have brought coffee.’ Spencer entered the room bearing a tray, which he placed on a small table beside the fireplace.

‘Thank you. I will pour; you may leave,’ Rebecca said. How much had Spencer heard? If he did have suspicions about Sarah’s death, there was a danger that they’d be reinforced if he knew other people were also wondering what really happened. Mr Neville was right. Her only hope was for the hunt for the fictitious man to be successful. But how could that be? To be successful, someone would have to be caught or at least named. And that someone would be innocent. She would not be able to stand by and let an innocent man take the blame, would she?

She poured out the coffee in silence and handed Mr Neville a cup. She wished he would get down to the real business of the day, regarding ownership of the estate.

At last he put down his cup and took some papers out of his battered leather bag. ‘Very well then, if you are refreshed, we should continue with our business. I am sorry to have been the bearer of the bad news about the gossipmongers but I thought you needed to know. Now then, as to the estate…’

‘Yes?’

‘There are several considerations. Firstly, did Miss Cooper leave a will? Certainly she did not consult with me regarding this, but possibly she may have employed another solicitor. Her possessions, papers and her room should be searched, in case there is a document I was not a party to. However, as it was such a short time between her inheriting the estate and her death, I would think it unlikely.’

Rebecca stifled a gasp. It had not crossed her mind that Sarah might have drawn up a will. If she had done so, who on earth would she have named as her heir? Whoever it was, it would not be Rebecca – that was for sure.

‘Secondly, if we cannot find a will we must assume that Miss Cooper died intestate. We must then look back at your father’s will, to see if there is any provision in it for what should happen if Miss Cooper died unmarried and without issue.’ He began rifling through the papers he’d pulled from his bag. ‘I have a copy of his will here. Now then, let’s remind ourselves. I am sorry I did not have chance to check this before coming here today.’

Rebecca held her breath. Surely her father would have specified that the estate revert back to her if Sarah had no heir? Mr Neville was reading slowly and silently, running his stubby finger over the lines, occasionally muttering a few words aloud, though nothing Rebecca could make any sense of.

Finally he looked up at her. ‘Well then. It seems there is no provision for our current situation. I thought as much – I could not remember anything from when I read the will last, but had to be certain.’

‘What does that mean for the future of the estate?’ Rebecca asked.

‘It leads to our third consideration. If Miss Cooper left no will, then the estate passes to her next of kin.’

Rebecca felt a cold hand clutch at her heart. ‘And who is that?’

‘This is where we run into difficulties. Miss Cooper’s mother is dead, and no one knows for certain who her father is or was, though many have speculated as I am sure you are aware.’

Rebecca stared at him. What had people speculated? How well known was the rumour that Spencer was Sarah’s father? Was that what Mr Neville was referring to? Or could it be what Sarah had hinted at on that terrible day in the cellar, the allegation Rebecca had not allowed herself to think about?

‘If we can find any evidence as to who Miss Cooper’s father was, then the estate would pass to him or to his heirs,’ Mr Neville continued. ‘If no evidence can be found, we must then try to find relatives on her mother’s side.’

‘I do not remember any relatives being spoken of,’ Rebecca said, carefully. She did not dare allow herself to say anything more.

Mr Neville acknowledged her words with a slight nod of his head. ‘In that case, if there is no will, and no living relatives can be found, then I am afraid the estate would pass to the Crown. You would, in that case, be obliged to leave.’

Rebecca slumped back in her seat. After all that had happened, she could still end up homeless. If Sarah had left a will, or even if she hadn’t, Red Hill Hall might not legally pass to her. It seemed so unfair. She had been born here. Surely she had the right to continue living here? She realised with a shock that her only chance was if what Sarah had said in the cellar should turn out to be true. The thing she most wanted to forget, she now had to prove, in order to inherit the hall.

Mr Neville left after lunch, advising Rebecca to put all her energies into searching through Sarah’s belongings in case she had left a will, or any other document that might help sort out the inheritance. She had nodded, and promised to contact him the moment she found anything.

She felt exhausted after the busy morning with the solicitor, and although she was keen to begin the search immediately, she was obliged to rest a while first. Her shoulder ached mercilessly. It was late afternoon before she felt able to begin the search. She rang for Tilly to help her.

‘It is time,’ she told the maid, ‘to begin sorting through Miss Cooper’s possessions. There are items I need to find. It is a difficult job and I would like you to help me, as I cannot make much use of my right arm.’

‘Of course, miss,’ said Tilly. ‘Where are we to begin?’

Rebecca sighed. It would be such a big job. Sarah had moved things around such a lot in the short time she had been mistress of the house. There could be relevant papers in the study, the library, Sarah’s bedroom or private sitting room, or indeed anywhere else. Including the cellars. She shuddered as she thought of the cellars. She had not been back down there since the shooting. ‘Tilly, to be perfectly honest I don’t really know where to begin.’

‘Perhaps, miss, if I may be so bold, if you could say what it is you are searching for that might help us determine where to look. Miss Cooper did employ me to help organise some of her belongings, a few weeks ago.’

‘Ah, did she? Well then, Tilly, we are looking for documents. Letters, papers. Anything written by Miss Cooper or addressed to her. Anything she might have considered private.’

‘Ooh, miss, I am not sure I could look at her private things…’ Tilly said, with a hand over her mouth.

‘Don’t be silly. Miss Cooper is dead and gone. It falls to me to sort out her affairs and I cannot do it without seeing her private documents, and I cannot sort through them myself with my bad shoulder. I am not asking you to read any of her papers – just find them and pass them to me. Can you do that? We shall begin upstairs.’

‘Yes, miss. Sorry, miss.’ Tilly looked close to tears but gave a quick curtsey and followed Rebecca upstairs to Sarah’s small sitting room, which adjoined her bedroom – the room that had previously been Rebecca’s. She’d had a large bureau moved in there after Papa had died, and Rebecca considered it was perhaps the most likely place to find important documents.

It felt very strange entering Sarah’s room. As children they had spent much of their time running in and out of each other’s rooms. Rebecca had known exactly what Sarah owned and where she kept everything. As they had grown up they had begun to value their privacy more, and by unspoken agreement had begun to tap on the door if either wanted access to the other’s room. Of course in recent months they had kept very much apart, and Rebecca had not entered this room since Sarah had taken it over. She felt nervous. It was as though she could feel Sarah’s presence there, forbidding them from entering.

It seemed Tilly could feel it too, for once they were inside she stood wringing her hands in the middle of the room. ‘I’m sorry, miss, I shall try to help but it does feel so wrong.’

Tilly’s reluctance made Rebecca all the more determined to push on with the job at hand. ‘Come on. We shall start with the bureau in her sitting room.’ She led the way through the connecting door and stood before the bureau, which was situated on one side of the fireplace. It was made of walnut and had a lid that opened out to be used as a desk, and three drawers beneath. Rebecca knew that behind the lid were several more drawers. It used to belong to Mama. She pulled on the lid but to her frustration found that it was locked. ‘Oh, where might the key be?’ she pondered aloud.

Tilly was fidgeting behind her. ‘Miss, I believe Miss Cooper kept small valuable items in a little box in her bedside cabinet. When I helped her dress I had to make sure her brooches and rings were put in there, and I do remember seeing a key…’

‘Well done, Tilly. Fetch the box, please.’

The maid scurried off and returned with a small lacquered box. Once again Rebecca recognised it as having once belonged to Mama. Inside was a jumble of costume jewellery and, as Tilly had said, a small key. It was indeed the key to the bureau. Rebecca took it out and unlocked the desk. ‘Tilly, you will need to open the lid for me. My shoulder is too painful.’

Tilly stepped forward and pulled down the lid, sliding out the runners that supported the lid when used as a writing desk. Inside was a muddle of papers, untidily stacked and folded. Rebecca picked up one, and found it to be the rough draft of a letter, full of crossings out. She felt a pang of excitement. This looked promising. It would take a while to sort it all out, but it would be worth it. Who knew what she might uncover? But was there a will? Rebecca was not even sure if she wanted to find one. If there was one and it did not mention her, she would be homeless.

She realised Tilly was still standing behind her, twisting her apron in her hands. ‘Tilly, I need you to look through all the other cupboards and drawers in these rooms. If there is any paperwork gather it up and bring it in here. I shall take a seat and begin sorting through it. My future, and perhaps yours too, depends on what I might find.’

Tilly’s eyes widened at these last words, but she curtsied and set to the task assigned.

Rebecca began working through the papers, straightening them out, trying to put them into some sort of order before she read them all. The drawers beneath the desk held writing paper, wax, blotters, ink bottles, pens and nibs. No written documents. Still, there was enough to be getting on with for now.

She had made a neat pile of letters, some addressed to Sarah and some obviously Sarah’s rough drafts, when Tilly, who was in Sarah’s dressing room, let out a gasp.

Rebecca looked up. ‘What is it, Tilly? Have you found something?’

‘Yes, miss. I’ll bring it to you.’

Tilly re-entered the sitting room holding a battered leather-bound book, and handed it to Rebecca. She opened it and flicked through a few pages. It was a journal, with entries from this and the previous year, every page covered in Sarah’s untidy scrawl. Rebecca felt a flutter of excitement mixed with trepidation. What secrets would be revealed within its pages?

Chapter 21

August 2015

Gemma left Anna and Jake in the bar to return to the little room she was using for her work on the archives. Her head was reeling after what Anna had told her, and she walked through the hotel in a daze.

‘Hey, Gemma! Is everything OK? You look a bit shell-shocked. Can I do anything?’ Don caught up with her just as she was entering the archive room.

‘No, erm, I’m all right. Just had some strange news, that’s all.’

‘Not bad news I hope?’

‘No, it’s more like – interesting news, I suppose you could say.’ She sat down heavily and stared straight ahead, still trying to process the news.

‘Do you want to talk about it? Or should I leave you in peace? I’m guessing this has come from your friends in the bar.’

‘Yes, Anna told me something… No, you don’t need to leave. To be honest, I’m going to struggle to concentrate on going through the documents for a while, until I can get my head around this.’ Should she confide in Don? She barely knew him, but he was so open and friendly, and she had a feeling he’d be good at giving advice. Maybe an independent observer like him was exactly what she needed right now.

‘OK, so although you’ve just had a coffee, I think you need another one. With a shot of whiskey in it. Stay there, I’ll be right back.’

He was as good as his word, and returned with two Irish coffees a few minutes later. ‘Here. Now, you don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but I’m getting the feeling that you might need a friend to talk things through with. I’m here and I’m free, if you need me.’

‘Thanks.’ He was right. She did need to talk about it. She quickly outlined the history of her friendship with Nat and relationship with Ben, their brief engagement and the way Ben broke things off. ‘Then, at Anna and Jake’s wedding here, I saw them kissing.’

‘Anna and Jake?’

‘Well, they were entitled to, being just married, but no. I meant Ben and Nat.’

‘A drunken mistake?’

‘That’s exactly what Anna says it was, and that’s what I was prepared to believe, but Nat told me Ben had been the one to start it, and she’d had to push him off. And today her work colleague told me she was on holiday with Ben. But Anna says Ben’s at home, moping, and hasn’t seen Nat since the wedding. Apparently Ben thinks that I’d never wanted to marry him and had only said yes to him because we’d been together so long and I didn’t want to hurt him.’ She felt tears prick at her eyes at the memory of their break-up. It still felt raw.