The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (4 page)

‘Spencer carried her away. I don’t know where. Mama, I would like to go and see her and try to comfort her. May I?’

‘Of course. In good time. Sit here with me until your father comes. We will keep each other company in the meantime.’

Rebecca sat on the chaise beside her mother, feeling very grown-up to be asked to keep her mother company. Normally she spent just half an hour before tea in her parents’ presence, answering questions on what she had been learning with Miss Albarn. Sometimes Sarah was with her on these visits, and other times Rebecca was alone. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was just after eleven. Miss Albarn would be wanting to start on another lesson.

‘Mama, I am worried that Miss Albarn will wonder where we are. She did not come down when the maid came to fetch Sarah.’

‘Don’t worry, child. I will send someone to tell her. Lessons are cancelled for today.’ Mrs Winton stood, and crossed the room to tug on the bell-pull by the fireplace.

It seemed hours before Rebecca’s father joined them, but he entered the room just before the clock struck a quarter past the hour. Rebecca stood and curtseyed when he entered the room but he seemed not to notice her there. He flung himself down in a chair opposite his wife and wiped a hand across his brow. ‘You have heard the news, Charlotte?’

‘I have. Where is Sarah?’

‘Resting. The doctor has given her something to help her sleep. She is very distraught, as you might imagine.’

Mrs Winton sighed. ‘I fear for what will become of her, the poor mite. It is not her fault she had the misfortune to be born out of wedlock. And now she is all alone in this world at such a tender age.’

Mr Winton stared at her. ‘She is not alone. She has us. And of course she has Spencer. She will remain here, under our care, as she has been all her life. There is no question about it. What would you have me do – throw her out?’

‘No, no, of course not. She is welcome to stay. It will look odd, though. While her mother was working here it made sense for us to house her and educate her, as a playmate for Rebecca. But to keep her here on her own, after a suitable mourning period of course, well, that would look odd, wouldn’t it? We have never publicly acknowledged that Spencer is, well, you know.’ Mrs Winton raised her eyebrows at her husband.

Rebecca kept quiet. Both parents seemed to have forgotten she was there. What had they not publicly acknowledged about Spencer? She had no idea what her mother meant by it looking odd if Sarah continued to live with them, but all she could think of was that Sarah
must
stay! They’d grown up together. They were like sisters. Sarah meant everything to her, and a life without Sarah at her side was not one Rebecca cared to contemplate. But she instinctively knew that nothing she could say right now would influence events. All she could do was watch and listen.

Papa was cross. ‘Charlotte, there is nothing to discuss here. We cannot throw out a motherless child. Sarah must stay under our roof. Spencer, of course, adores her. He saved my life at Waterloo. The least I can do to repay him is to continue to provide a home for Sarah. Besides, Rebecca would be heartbroken if she were to go. The girls can continue to share a governess, and when they are older Sarah can remain as Rebecca’s companion, until such time as she marries or leaves us of her own accord. As we’ve discussed before it is my wish that Rebecca marry the de Witt boy, Charles, when she grows up.’ Rebecca put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from reacting to this. She had met Charles de Witt on a couple of occasions when the de Witts had visited the Winton estate, or vice versa. The boy was the son of her father’s oldest friend and was several years older than herself. She had paid him very little attention. So her father intended her to marry him when she was older? That was interesting, and a little bit frightening.

Mama nodded, but didn’t look sure.

Mr Winton continued speaking. ‘So, Sarah stays with us. Agreed, Charlotte?’ Mr Winton stood and towered over Mama as he spoke. Rebecca had seen him do this before to signal the end of a discussion. There was never any point trying to argue further.

Mama looked up at him. ‘Yes, of course my dear, whatever you say.’ But her lips were firmly pressed together, in a gesture Rebecca knew meant she didn’t agree but would not argue any further.

Papa nodded and left the room. Rebecca waited a moment and then followed him out. She ran to Sarah’s room in the housekeeper’s apartment, and found her friend lying tucked up in bed, asleep. Spencer must have put her there. She sat beside her and stroked a stray lock of hair from her face, considering all that she had heard. Was Sarah perhaps not an orphan after all, and Spencer was her father? She tucked the secret away inside her head.

‘One good thing has come of this, Sarah,’ she whispered. ‘You are to be my sister. Papa said so. I will be married to Charles de Witt, and you are to be my companion. You will stay with me for the rest of my life, Sarah. Isn’t that truly wonderful?’

Chapter 3

April 2015

‘So did you find out anything more about those duelling pistols today?’ Ben asked, as he paid the bill. Gemma and Ben had eaten out in their favourite Italian bistro, as was their habit on a Friday night.

Gemma pushed back her chair and slipped on her leather jacket. ‘I made a start. There’s a sketchy history of Red Hill Hall on the hotel’s website, but it’s only a couple of paragraphs and doesn’t mention a shooting.’

‘Did you try googling “Red Hill Hall” and “duel” together?’ Ben held the door open for her and they walked out into the mild spring evening.

‘I did, yes. I know how to do this research lark, you know!’ Gemma laughed. ‘Couldn’t find anything about it.’

‘Aw, shame. Erm, shall we walk the long way back to yours? Via the park?’ Ben shuffled his feet as he spoke and seemed unwilling to catch Gemma’s eye. She wondered why he wanted to go that way round. It was certainly a lot further. Usually they went straight back to her flat, drank a glass of wine and spent the night together if neither of them was working on the Saturday. Although very often one or both of them would be working – that was the trouble with jobs in public services like museums and sports centres.

‘OK then, if you like,’ she said, and linked her arm through his. It was certainly a pleasant enough evening for a night-time stroll.

‘So, is that it? If nothing comes up on Google about the infamous shooting does that mean you won’t be able to find out any more about it?’ Ben asked.

‘Not at all. Next step is to search the newspaper archives. Thankfully a lot of old newspapers have been digitised and are available to search online. You need a subscription though, and the museum doesn’t have one. So I need to talk to Roger on Monday, and see if he’ll agree to fund one. If he doesn’t, I’ll probably buy a month’s subscription myself and research it from home.’

‘Do you think he’ll agree? Better if you can do this during work hours, isn’t it?’

Gemma laughed. ‘Better for me, definitely! The more time I spend on this the less time I have to spend on boring fossils. Yes, I think he’ll probably go for it. He seems as interested as I am in finding out the background to these pistols.’

They turned away from the street and into the park. An inviting path meandered through well-kept flower beds, and the scent of early roses filled the air. Ben led the way, and Gemma realised they were heading towards ‘their’ bench. It was where they had sat for an hour or more on the night they first met. Gemma remembered it so clearly. She and Nat had been sharing a bottle of wine in the pub, when Ben and some of his colleagues from the sports centre came in and sat at the next table. Nat had been chatted up by a hunky lifeguard, and had left early with him, leaving Gemma feeling stranded amongst people she didn’t know. She’d ended up talking to Ben, and when he’d offered to walk her home she leapt at the chance.

On that occasion it was Gemma who’d led him the long way home, just so she could spend a bit more time with him. They’d sat on this bench in the rose garden at the edge of the park and talked for hours under the moonlight. It wasn’t until the early hours that they decided they ought to go home. By the time Ben left Gemma at the door to her flat, kissing her deeply as they said goodbye, she’d fallen well and truly in love with him.

At the bench, Ben stopped. ‘Shall we sit down for a moment? Remember the night we met and sat here talking for hours?’

‘I’ll never forget it,’ Gemma said, snuggling up to him. It was a cool, clear night, with a crescent moon casting just enough light to see by. But Ben pushed her gently away.

‘I, erm, there’s something I want to say, Gem.’ Once again he was looking shifty. Gemma wondered what he was holding back. Surely he didn’t want to call time on their relationship? They were good together, they never argued, they made a perfect couple – all their friends said so. Nat always said they were made for each other. And he wouldn’t have chosen to come here, to this bench with so many memories, to finish with her, would he?

He clasped her hands on her lap. ‘Gem, darling, it’s been six years…’

‘Seven,’ she interrupted.

‘Seven? OK then, seven years. Gem, they’ve been the best years of my life. But, it’s not enough for me any more.’

Oh God, he was going to say he didn’t want their relationship to be exclusive, wasn’t he? Gemma felt a pang of dread course through her.

Suddenly he dropped to his knees in front of her. ‘Gemma, darling, will you marry me?’

‘Marry you?’

‘Yes, you know, I mean, like, put rings on each other’s fingers, walk up the aisle of a church together, all that stuff. Live together. Have kids. Grow old together. The works.’ He looked up at her, his deep brown eyes beseeching her to say yes. Relief flooded through her like a tsunami. Well of course she was going to say yes! She’d been making up her mind to propose to
him
, next leap year, hadn’t she?

She slipped off the bench to kneel in front of him, and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘Darling Ben. Of course I would be absolutely delighted to marry you! I’ve been hoping you’d ask me for the last six years!’

‘And now I have! Oh wow, you said yes! Really? You’ll marry me? Wahey!’ He pulled her to her feet and enveloped her in a huge hug. Gemma couldn’t help herself – she began bouncing up and down with joy and Ben joined in, his arms still wrapped tightly around her, the two of them jumping up and down together, squealing with laughter.

A late-night dog walker passed by, staring at them. ‘We’re getting married, we’re getting married!’ Gemma squealed. The dog walker grinned and gave them the thumbs up. When he was out of sight, Ben pulled Gemma still closer and kissed her, deep and lingering.

‘Mmm,’ said Gemma. ‘You are the best, and soon you will be mine.’ She sighed happily. ‘I can’t wait to tell Nat that we’re engaged! And Mum and Dad, and your parents! And Anna and Jake!’

She skipped, clinging on to Ben’s arm and stopping every few steps for another kiss, all the way back to her flat, which occupied the top floor of a converted Victorian terraced house. A sweet elderly gent named Alan lived downstairs, and it was all Gemma could do to stop herself from banging on his door to tell him she’d got engaged. But it was too late in the evening, and Alan would be tucked up in bed by now.

When to tell Nat was Gemma’s first thought the following morning. She wasn’t working but sadly Ben was, so although he’d spent the night at her flat he’d had to get up early to go to work. Gemma got up at the same time, then spent a couple of hours mooching around the flat, waiting until it was a decent enough time to call Nat on a Saturday morning. She knew her friend loved her weekend lie-ins, followed by long bubble-filled baths. She waited till nine-thirty then couldn’t stand to wait a moment longer.

The sound of gentle splashing warned her she’d called too soon and Nat was still in the bath, hopefully gripping the phone tightly so she didn’t drop it in the water.

‘Nat, hey, good morning!’

‘Hey, Gemma. Bit early, isn’t it?’

‘Sorry. I was just desperate to talk to you. You’ll never guess…’

‘We’re meeting up later, aren’t we? To start the hunt for outfits for Anna and Jake’s wedding. We’ll be talking all day, Gemma.’ Nat sounded weary. Possibly hung-over.

‘Yes, sorry. Did you have a heavy night?’

There was a huge sigh and the sound of gentle splashing, as though Nat had shifted position in the bath, before she answered. ‘Yeah. Met a hot bloke in a nightclub, tried to pull him, but he went off with another fella in the end, who was equally hot. So I drowned my sorrows in vodka.’

‘Oh, Nat. You don’t half pick ’em.’ Gemma suppressed a giggle. That was the trouble with the phone – if they were together in a coffee shop or something she’d be able to judge whether to laugh or not by Nat’s body language. But on the phone she didn’t dare. If Nat was still feeling fragile and rejected she wouldn’t appreciate Gemma having a laugh at her expense.

‘I do, don’t I?’ Nat replied, and Gemma was relieved to hear a note of humour in her voice. ‘Thing is, Gemma, I need to find a bloke. My invitation from Anna and Jake was for “Natalie plus one”. I need to find that plus one. It’s bad enough they had to write that on the invite – I
hate
being the single friend everyone’s trying to pair off – but it’ll be even worse if I end up going to the wedding on my own. I need a man and I need one now – one who’ll last at least till after the wedding. Come clubbing with me, Gem? Then if you pull and I don’t, you can shove him in my direction.’

Gemma couldn’t help herself but laugh this time. The idea of her pulling a bloke when Nat couldn’t was crazy. And the last time she’d been clubbing was years ago. In fact she couldn’t remember if she’d been at all since she got together with Ben. Before then, she and Nat had gone to nightclubs every couple of weeks – when it was Nat’s turn to choose the night out. When it was Gemma’s turn they’d usually spent the evening chatting in the Men At Arms.

‘Well, it’s all very fine for you to laugh, Gem. You’ve got Ben; you’re all smugly coupled up. But a bit of sympathy wouldn’t go amiss. I’m getting on. I’ll be thirty soon – and no boyfriend.’