Read The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall Online
Authors: Kathleen McGurl
‘I’d guess she did – that letter to the solicitor implied she would have inherited the hall when Sarah died in that shooting.’
‘Yes, although after so much tragedy there perhaps she didn’t want to stay.’
‘But if it was her ancestral home, belonging to her family for centuries, she’d have got over that, surely. She’d have kept it on even if she decided to spend most of her time somewhere else, in London or whatever. Did she ever marry?’
Gemma smiled. ‘Something else I’ve got to search for this afternoon. If she did end up inheriting the hall she’d have been quite a catch so I imagine she did. What a shame Charles died – with Sarah out of the picture perhaps they could have made it up. Like we did.’
‘There isn’t always a happy ending, Gem,’ Ben said.
‘Poor Rebecca. I’m becoming fond of her, somehow,’ Gemma replied.
‘That’s because you identify with her. She was treated badly by Sarah, just as you have been by Nat.’
Gemma nodded. ‘Yes. And you know, the more I think about it all the more I can’t wait to get on with the research. I can do a bit more online this afternoon although I’m going to have to make a start on another box of fossils before Roger gets fed up with me. The cataloguing is taking ages. There are still at least a hundred boxes to go. Anyway, I’ve got Wednesday afternoon off, and I’ll go back to Red Hill Hall then and try to go through more of the archive. Maybe Don will let me bring some of the papers home.’
‘You won’t get much done with me around,’ Ben said, winking at her.
‘You can be doing the cooking or the housework or something, while I work,’ she replied. She sighed and smiled. ‘Then life would be truly perfect.’
Ben laughed. ‘Dream on, sweetheart, dream on.’
That afternoon back at the museum, Gemma fetched a box from the archive and began unpacking, strewing its contents (fossils, of course, and some rusty Iron Age spearheads) across the table. She opened her cataloguing spreadsheet so she could quickly switch back to it if Roger came in, and then logged into the museum’s Ancestry account. Firstly she went to the 1841 census and searched for Red Hill Hall, to find its occupants. It took a while to work out how to find the records by place rather than by name but eventually she homed in on the census returns for the hall and its estate. There were several names listed – obviously some were live-in servants, or stables staff living in the attached cottages. She recognised the names of some from Henry Winton’s will – George Spencer the butler, Martha Mitchell the cook. No mention of Rebecca Winton. Perhaps she had married?
She then searched for marriage records for Rebecca Winton, between 1838 and 1841. Luckily for her, compulsory registration of marriages had begun in 1837. There were several likely records – it was a common enough name. One of them leapt out at her – the groom’s name was Charles de Witt.
Charles de Witt? But that was the name of the man whose body had been pulled from a well in 1838, according to several newspaper reports. How could he be living at Red Hill Hall? Unless it was a different Charles de Witt. But surely that wasn’t a very common name? No, it had to be the same one. The newspapers must have made a mistake. She reread the reports she’d found and downloaded, of the body found in the well. It had definitely been identified as being Charles. There was no mention of there being any doubt about the man’s identity, although one report said the body was partly decomposed having been in the water for a couple of weeks. Perhaps they had got it wrong then, and Charles had not been drowned at all? She realised she would need to trawl through the newspaper archives again, searching for later mentions of the story. Surely there would be something that said that Charles de Witt had not drowned, and had been found alive and well, and then some further news as to who the drowned man actually was?
The more she tried to resolve the mysteries of Red Hill Hall, the more mysteries seemed to appear. It was like peeling the layers from an onion. There was always another layer beneath. When would she get to the heart of it?
She looked again at the marriage registration entry. Charles de Witt and Rebecca Winton, the marriage registered in Dorset. It looked as though there had been a happy ending for Rebecca, after all.
But who had killed Sarah, and who was the man found drowned in the well? Why had the authorities identified him as Charles de Witt?
September 1838
Rebecca was exhausted after her walk to Dorothy Arthur’s cottage. She’d done too much, too soon. Her shoulder ached dreadfully and she was forced to spend the next couple of days resting. But even with only one usable arm it was still possible to read documents, so she had Tilly bring the bundle of Sarah’s books and papers to her in bed.
‘Don’t tire yourself out, miss. Let me plump up the pillows for you.’ Rebecca lay back and let Tilly fuss around until she was satisfied.
‘Thank you. Tie back the curtains, would you, to let as much light in as possible.’
Once the maid had gone, Rebecca picked up Sarah’s journal. She turned to the pages she had been reading before, where Sarah had written of how she had talked Charles into breaking off the engagement. Poor, dear Charles. If only she could go back to that day, convince him that Sarah was wrong and that she did love him, and then somehow keep him safe and away from the well! Why did he have to die? If he was here now she could go to him and show him the journal, and tell him she did love him with all her heart. There might have been a second chance for them.
She sighed. It was impossible to go back through time. But for her own satisfaction, she must discover the full truth. She began to read.
It is done! C has broken off his engagement to R! So that is the first part of my plan accomplished. But I have a way to go yet, before I have everything I want, nay, that I deserve. And my growing suspicion that I may be with child of course will make everything more difficult. It will mean I need to speed up my plans
.
With child? Sarah? Rebecca put down the journal and stared across the room in shock. Could it be true? If so, whose was the child? It meant – oh, she could hardly bear to bring herself to think the words – that she had not only killed Sarah but also her unborn child. Her own niece or nephew. She felt a wave of nausea at the thought of that tiny, unformed, innocent life that was lost through her own actions.
She forced herself to pick up the journal and read on.
I shall not tell Jed. He shall not know that the child is his. If he should ever come forward to claim it, I shall deny everything, and who would believe his word – an uneducated, rough farm labourer – over mine? I am an educated lady. I am a person of standing, who commands respect
.
But the child will have to be claimed by someone. I must waste no time in ensnaring Charles. He likes me; I know he does. He always did. I just need to turn that ‘like’ into ‘love’, or at least a moment of ‘lust’
.
I have realised I can use my pregnancy in other ways as well. If Papa won’t acknowledge that I am his daughter and threatening to make that fact public is not enough to make him bow to my will, I shall try another tactic. What would society think if it were to be known that Papa had seduced his young ward? The daughter of his one-time housekeeper, to whom he had very charitably given a home after her mother died? What if it became known that he had abused her, for years perhaps, and now she was pregnant by him? Even though he would of course deny it and claim there’s no proof, there would be my expanding waistline as evidence, and the mud, as they say, would stick. It is highly distasteful to me, but needs must, and I
shall
get my way! I shall pen another letter to Papa right away. One he won’t be able to shrug off. He will no doubt burn it but he will not be able to ignore it
.
This time there was no holding back the wave of nausea that engulfed Rebecca. She leaned over the side of the bed and vomited. The threat to tell the world of his illegitimate daughter had not worked, so Sarah had applied more pressure, threatening to accuse him of making her pregnant? And if she’d used the two threats together, that would mean incest. No wonder Papa had succumbed and altered his will in her favour. Rebecca thought too that the strain of dealing with Sarah’s blackmail attempts may have hastened his death. His heart had been weak for years. This kind of stress could certainly have had a detrimental effect on him.
She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, pushed the journal out of sight under her covers and reluctantly tugged on the bell-pull. Tilly arrived a minute later.
‘Yes, miss? Oh!’ She gasped in shock and instantly began clearing up the mess.
‘I am so sorry, Tilly. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘You are not well, miss. You look terribly pale. Should I send for the doctor?’
‘No need. I shall be all right when I have rested. Perhaps you could bring me some light refreshments to help settle my stomach.’
‘Yes, miss. I shall go straight away to see Cook.’
Rebecca was left alone with her thoughts. The affair with Jed Arthur had been real, and he had fathered a child on Sarah. Sarah had used the pregnancy to blackmail Papa into changing his will. She’d also planned to seduce Charles and then presumably pass the baby off as his, but he had died before she had chance to put this plan into place.
Perhaps she
had
tried to seduce Charles, and he had spurned her, and that was why she had pushed him into the well?
August 2015
Wednesday afternoon took for ever to come around but at last it was time to go back to Red Hill Hall for another look at the archive. Gemma realised that had she not spent most of her holiday week with Ben she would have had the chance to read through much of it by now. But she didn’t in any way regret the days they’d spent repairing their relationship.
So it was with a happy heart that she packed up on Wednesday lunchtime and headed out of the museum and off towards the hall. The sun was shining and she sang along to the radio for the whole journey.
‘You’re on good form today,’ Don said, as she skipped through the entrance hall. ‘Things are going well with Ben, then?’
‘Yes, and I’ve also managed to find out some more about the events that happened here,’ she replied. ‘But let me get a bit further and pull it all together before I tell you about it.’ She grinned at his crestfallen expression.
‘You get me all excited and then let me down,’ he said, pulling down the corners of his mouth. ‘But whatever you think best. I can’t wait to hear all about it. Well, I won’t keep you chatting any longer.’
She made her way to the old butler’s pantry and got straight to work, pulling out the boxes of papers. The preparation work she’d already done – putting letters into date order etc. – paid off and she was able to continue reading through, jotting down the most interesting points. They should all be scanned, transcribed and stored digitally, but for now it was enough to read through and make notes. She marked each document with a reference code written in soft pencil as she progressed. She concentrated mostly on the documents relating to 1838 – that was when most of the major events had happened at the hall. The rest of its history could wait a little longer to be discovered.
One document was a journal of some sort. It spanned the years from 1835 to mid 1838 where it ended abruptly. It was written in a scrawly copperplate, which Gemma recognised from some of the letters she’d already read – the one from Sarah Cooper to Charles de Witt, advising him to break off his engagement. Could this be Sarah’s journal? If so, she must have kept it right up until the time she died. Gemma flicked to the last entry – it was dated 3rd August 1838. She checked her notes – the newspaper reports of the shooting were from various dates in the first week of August 1838.
She should, she knew, read the diary in sequence. But instead she began by reading the final entry. It might even have been written on the day Sarah died, or the day before.
The Constable is convinced the body they pulled from the well is C, for it was wearing one of C’s jackets. I insisted on viewing the body, and reacted as they would expect a lady to react, and confirmed it was indeed him. I would not let R go near in case she contradicted my identification. It was decomposed enough to make recognition difficult – hard to think this was once a man of flesh and blood – but the jacket and my confirmation were enough to satisfy them
.
I look back on my diary entries for these last months and realise how far I have come and yet it is not over yet, and not everything has worked out according to plan. I am now mistress of Red Hill Hall as I wanted. Papa did me the favour of dying naturally, conveniently just after writing his will naming me as his heir. I shall cast Rebecca out as soon as I can do so without it appearing vindictive. One has to consider one’s reputation, when one is a lady!
C remains the problem that cannot be resolved. It suits my purposes for now for the Constable to think it was he who drowned. But I had wanted him to be engaged to me by now. I wanted us to have become bound to each other physically. In another week or two I would have told him of my condition and he would have been happy to accept his future role as the father of my child
.
I don’t know whether to write this next part. No one will find this book – I keep it under lock and key, and the key well hidden. Lord knows there are enough incriminating secrets within it. Even so, this is hard to write. But writing in here helps set my thoughts in order and helps me find ways to achieve what I want. So I shall continue
.
I fear that R will be in my way. Even if I send her away from Red Hill Hall, she will always be tied to this place of her birth. People will ask about her. People will assume we are still the closest of friends as we used to be – as she thought we were. I acted the part too well for so many years. I loved her once, when I was younger, and before I was able to see clearly the differences in our situations in life
.
I fear that she will begin to guess at my part in her misfortunes. She might take it into her head to hurt me in some way. To repay me. She is not as clever as I am – she would not be able to concoct any kind of plan to destroy me. But what if she took a more direct route, and tried to harm me physically?