The Dead Queen's Garden (9 page)

Oh dear, thought Charlotte. She’s so very pale, I do hope she didn’t think talk of ratting was inappropriate when she is so
recently bereaved, but it couldn’t be helped. She turned to the boy. ‘Did you not promise to show me all the ghastly corpses?’ she joked – and bit her tongue as the boy shivered. In view of the recent death of his mother’s maid, her words were ill-chosen. Had he been particularly fond of the woman, she wondered, remembering that he had seemed disturbed at the previous day’s party.

He rallied at once and ten minutes later she was granted her wish as Oz and the stable boy proudly conducted her into the barn to admire the 23 rats that had met their doom. Prior to that, Oz had insisted on showing her round the yard and some of the outer buildings as well.

‘Look, Mrs Richmond,’ he told her, pointing to a rough patch of ground behind the piggeries. ‘That’s where we started. Mr Richmond let me have his own best terrier, Willow, on a lead, and the men had hold of the others, then at the word, “Go,” we all let the dogs loose. It was a famous sight, I can tell you.’ His blue eyes sparkled at the memory and he brushed aside her enquiries as to the scratches and bites on his own hands. ‘Oh yes,’ he admitted carelessly. ‘I did have gloves on, but they must have slipped off. It doesn’t matter. You never saw anything like it,’ he exulted. ‘Willow was the best of the dogs by a long chalk, and I saw him wriggling through a gap, looking just like a snake. It was beyond anything!’

When Charlotte had been treated to a blow-by-blow account of what seemed like the death of every individual rat, Oz determinedly marched her back to the barn to display the deceased rodents, where she gave considerable satisfaction by her
wholehearted
admiration.

‘You’re a great gun, Mrs Richmond,’ he exclaimed looking at her in surprise. ‘Most ladies don’t seem to appreciate ratting. I know my mother wouldn’t, which is why I was so pleased that you didn’t happen to mention it to her.’

‘I know,’ grinned Charlotte. ‘I’m an unnatural woman, but I’ve encountered deadly funnel-web spiders more than once, not to mention a swarm of locusts which is something I pray never to see again, so I have no qualms about getting rid of vermin.’ She nodded to the boy, ‘Remind me to tell you about the crocodile I once had to tackle; after that, rats hold no fear for me.’ She glanced
at the stable clock and then at the sky, which was looking dark and overcast. ‘We must not stay here enjoying ourselves, Oz, it’s time we set out for Brambrook Abbey or your mama will be getting anxious.’

Before they could set out, however, Barnard came hurrying out of the house. ‘My word, Char,’ he exclaimed. ‘If I hadn’t forgotten all about that murderous ruffian. He might even yet be skulking about the place as Lily reminded me.’

Charlotte opened her mouth to protest but was overruled. ‘Here,’ Barnard called to the stable boy. ‘Fetch my grandmother’s dog and my terrier, Willow, and accompany Miss Char to Brambrook Abbey and bring her back safe. Don’t you let her out of your sight, mind.’

Resistance was futile, she could not let Barnard worry, so Charlotte smiled at the stable lad and gave in with a good grace as he followed closely upon their heels, Oz proudly leading the terrier and Charlotte herself taking Lady Frampton’s stout old spaniel. By the time they had turned off Pot Kiln Lane and were walking up the drive to the Abbey, Charlotte and the Granville boy were firm friends and Charlotte had discovered the extent to which his mother’s anxieties hedged him in.

‘No,’ was the doleful reply to a query. ‘Mama won’t let me play cricket. She says it’s too dangerous as I might be hit by the ball.’ He glowered at the idea. ‘She can’t seem to understand that I’m not stupid.’

‘Well,’ Charlotte temporised. It was no business of hers to criticise his mama. ‘Perhaps when the warm weather comes we could get up some games of cricket at the manor? I know Barnard plays and so do some of the men about the place, there’s always a cricket match in the summer – village against the manor.’ She grinned at his sudden spurt of enthusiasm. ‘I was away in Bath last year when they held the annual match but I doubt I’ll be allowed to join in. Oh yes,’ she explained at his questioning glance. ‘My stepfather taught me to bowl straight and to hit hard. We practised on beaches and in fields and in the Outback, wherever he could rustle up a team.’

Oz had to be satisfied with the promise that she would certainly coach him, but he was doubtful if his mother would permit such a
thing. ‘It’s not fair though,’ he said. ‘Papa wouldn’t mind if I played cricket but, oh well….’ He sighed and kicked at a pebble. ‘Mind you,’ he brightened up. ‘At least my father did insist I must learn to ride,’ he added, ‘Mama didn’t dare go against him about that, but she makes such a fuss there’s not much pleasure in it.’

Charlotte sympathised but said no more, merely cautioning him with a laugh, not to let his mama hear about the refreshments he had been offered that morning. ‘I don’t believe your mother would like to know that you have been drinking sloe gin,’ she grinned. ‘And I’m quite sure she would be shocked to learn that you stuffed yourself with plum cake in almost every house. My advice is that you should be discreet when you tell her about your visits. As my old nurse used to say,
‘what the eye don’t see, the heart don’t grieve over.’

She drew in a sharp breath at that, remembering the startling encounter with that very nurse, Bessie Railton, only that morning. Was Bessie going to be a nuisance, fond as Charlotte had been of her long ago in Australia? Charlotte racked her brains. I don’t believe Bessie ever knew of Will’s ‘eccentricities’ she told herself anxiously. Wasn’t it during that year when Bessie was housekeeper and nurse-cum-housemaid rolled into one, that Will was actually gainfully employed as chaplain to someone? She found a
likely-looking
husband just before we moved to the township that later suffered from Will’s depredations. From Bessie’s remarks, it seems that nobody thought of blaming Will for the theft. Perhaps it might be possible after all to be comfortable with Bessie, as an old friend? It would be such a comfort not to be afraid of a chance word, or a sudden memory that might destroy her peace.

As they approached the impressive drawbridge and portcullis at the entrance to the Abbey, Charlotte and Oz were hailed by Lord Granville as he emerged from round the corner of the house.

‘What’s this? What’s this? Been on an adventure, hey?’ He shook hands with Charlotte in the most genial fashion, clapping his son’s shoulder in an affectionate way.

‘I’ve been ratting at the manor, papa,’ confided Oz, looking guiltily over his shoulder as the great oak door creaked open and his mother’s anxious voice was heard within. ‘It was first rate, we caught twenty-three rats, sir.’

Charlotte caught his lordship’s small, twinkling blue eye and stifled a laugh. ‘Here, Oz, I’ll hand your old clothes over to the butler somehow. Let me have the bag.’

‘No need, my dear.’ Lord Granville whispered hastily as he relieved his son of the incriminating bag. ‘I’ll take it to the stables, lad, don’t you fret. Twenty-three of ‘em, eh? Upon my soul, I call that a triumph.’ He nodded to his wife as he disappeared. ‘Here he is my dear, safe and sound, and here is Mrs Richmond who has kindly delivered him back to us.’

Lady Granville took a moment to pass a gentle hand over her son’s tousled locks before she came forward to express her
gratitude
to Charlotte. ‘I was in my garden room,’ she apologised. At Charlotte’s pleasant nod, the lady went on to explain, ‘I spend a great deal of my time planting and potting and drying seeds, you know. I hope to develop some strains of my own in future.’

There was a flurry of thanks and handshakes, with Oz giving Charlotte’s hand a particularly grateful squeeze, while his mother expressed her relief at the safe homecoming of her treasure who was bubbling over with excitement about the people he had met on his outing with Barnard, as well as the other guests at Finchbourne Manor. Lady Granville halted in mid-sentence for a moment, listened and frowned and then, to her husband and son’s evident surprise, she held out her hand once more to Charlotte.

‘My dear Mrs Richmond,’ she said with a smile that, though cordial enough, seemed to Charlotte to be a little strained. ‘I have just had a thought. Were you aware that Boxing Day will be Osbert’s eleventh birthday? St Stephen’s day, of course, as it is otherwise known and indeed, Stephen is his second name for that very reason. I wonder if you and Lady Frampton, and Mr and Mrs Richmond at the manor, would care to come here for a birthday tea party on that day? I will give orders for a special cake to be made and I am sure Osbert would be delighted to play host.’

Her son stammered his thanks and turned to Charlotte with glowing eyes. ‘Oh, please say you’ll come, Mrs Richmond, and everyone else too. It will be famous sport.’ He turned to his mother anxiously. ‘But, Mama, did you not hear me say that Mr and Mrs
Richmond at the manor have guests staying in the house? They might not like to leave them.’

‘But naturally, Osbert,’ his mother tapped him lightly on the arm. ‘I shall send a written invitation to the manor entreating Mrs Richmond to be sure and bring her guests as well. It would not do for anyone to be left behind, you are quite right.’

As Charlotte, chatting amicably to the stable boy about the snow which was forecast, walked briskly towards home along Pot Kiln Lane under the darkened sky, she was hailed by a familiar voice.

‘Char? Is that you? I thought I could not be mistaken.’ Kit Knightley hurried to catch up with her, calling to his retrievers to behave themselves as they bounded up to the terrier and spaniel, then leaped up at her in delighted welcome.

‘No, don’t worry, Kit,’ Charlotte laughed, bending down to greet the dogs who were both old friends. ‘Have you been walking by the river? I see these two gentlemen have been swimming, cold as it is.’ She straightened up, only to step backwards when the dogs shook themselves over her.

‘Indeed they have,’ Kit agreed, falling into step with her. ‘If you were any other young lady, I believe I should feel obliged to
remonstrate
with you about going abroad at such a time without someone more formidable than that skinny lad as protection.’ She could hear the amusement in his voice as he added, ‘However, as I am quite aware that you could probably rout any evil doer with one hand tied behind your back, I shall be wise and leave well alone. Besides, the dogs would kick up a racket enough to scare off most suspicious characters. So then, Char? How goes it? Are you happily settled at Rowan Lodge now? And getting on well with the old lady?’

‘Oh yes.’ She turned a smiling face towards him in the gloaming. ‘Gran is the delight of my life, you know. Having lost what little family I had of my own, I cherish the one I acquired so
unexpectedly
and I love them all so much, even Lily.’

He smiled and asked, ‘Has everyone recovered from the shock you caused by painting all the rooms in pale colours? Elaine was most entertained by the furore but she wasn’t surprised; she said you were craving for light and space after your Australian upbringing.’

‘She was quite right,’ Charlotte nodded. ‘Oh yes, they were shocked to the core and Gran refused to let me do the same with her rooms, so she is snug in her crimsons and dark blues, while I relish the light in every other room.’ She grinned reminiscently. ‘I suppose you heard what the blacksmith’s aunt said? “They say ’tis like a place where you’d lay out a corpus, natural for decent folks.” Sadly she died before I could invite her to see for herself.’

She walked along a little way then turned back to him, her expression grave. ‘Tell me, Kit, how does Elaine go on? I was sorry she was not up to a visit today, I long to see her. I’m hoping to call on her tomorrow morning, for a brief Christmas greeting if you think it would tire her?’

‘She’ll welcome your visit,’ Kit assured her. He hesitated then shrugged, ‘She’s not at all well, Char, I cannot pretend otherwise. Dr Perry refuses to commit himself to a prognosis, saying with truth what I can observe for myself, that her condition varies greatly from one day to another and the morphia keeps the pain at bay, for the most part. Yesterday, for example, she was busy about her room, wrapping up small gifts for all the servants, yet today, perhaps not surprisingly, she had to keep to her bed.’ He stalked ahead, swishing his stick at the bare straggles of brambles along the hedgerow, carefully not glancing at his companion, as he said: ‘Come tomorrow, Char. You know how much she … she loves you. You won’t do her any harm and who knows? A visit might take her out of herself.’

They continued in silence until Charlotte roused herself from her introspection. It would do Kit good, she decided, if he had something else to think about, so she told him about the dramatic events following upon the christening of his small godson.

‘Surely you are making it up?’ Kit looked aghast as – after a moment’s hesitation – she confided in him the disturbing comment made in farewell by Bessie Railton. ‘No, of course not; I beg your pardon, you would not do that, but what are you saying, Char? A young woman dies of a sudden indisposition, you start to feel uneasy because Lady Granville is an obsessively cosseting mother and says someone pushed the Granville boy so that the curate ended up feet first in an open grave? It’s far-fetched, my dear girl,
there can be no connection. No, Char,’ he spoke with authority. ‘This is mere speculation from an overwrought woman who has been seriously overset by an actual murder at her own door. You’re not giving this any credence?’

She said nothing and he frowned at her, ‘Forgive me, Char, but is it possible that you are pining for some excitement? You know Elaine told me of your adventures in Bath and you are living such a quiet, restricted life with the old lady; does it pall after tripping over dead bodies and uncovering a murderer? I know you value your secure and tranquil life but surely, after your adventurous youth, there must be times when you find village life interminably boring?’

‘I don’t know.’ She spoke frankly and hunched her shoulders as they halted at the gate to Finchbourne Manor. ‘You’re quite right, of course, life
is
very dull sometimes, even though we have our little card parties and other such revels. Oh, Kit,’ she held out her hand in farewell as she shook her head and smiled at him. ‘You may be right to suggest I’m hankering after excitement, but even so, call me foolish indeed, but I do have a real sense of unease. And there’s something else; something that struck me yesterday when the Waits were singing and everyone was eating and drinking, but for the life of me, I cannot remember now what it was.’