Unlikely Traitors (27 page)

“Grace is repacking the trunks now. I think you should dress quickly—I will arrange for breakfast somewhere en-route—but Julia must stay since she has already been exposed.”

“Yes, of course,” Ursula responded.

“Then I will see you downstairs in about fifteen minutes—we’ll have the motorcar waiting for us. All the staff have currently been advised to remain in their rooms until we have left. Thank God we found out before either of us had spent any time here. Let us just pray, for your baby’s sake, we have both avoided infection.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE WINTERTON FAMILY ESTATE,

COUNTY MEATH, IRELAND

The journey to the old Winterton estate took nearly three hours, most of which Ursula spent huddled in the backseat of the motorcar watching the rain lash down. Ursula had her face pressed against the window but she saw neither the streaks of condensation nor the splatter of raindrops against the thin cold glass. She was lost in her thoughts for most of the journey—even when they crossed the river Liffey and drove through the Northern slums of Dublin and Lady Winterton pointed out the great houses of Henrietta Street that were now squalid tenements. As the car made its way along the busy streets, Ursula, normally sensitive to social issues, was so preoccupied she barely noticed the children racing alongside, barefoot despite the rain, hands outstretched as they begged for money.

Once they had left the city, the rain set in and the colors of the countryside ran down the window pane—streaming down the glass like watercolors on wet paper.

Ursula had a leather bag on her lap and at the bottom she could feel Lord Wrotham’s field book and her own notebook containing all of its contents deciphered. Ursula had decided not to tell Lady Winterton about the field book or the fact that she and Prendergast had discovered the true nature of Lord Wrotham’s mission in Germany. There was too much risk that Lady Winterton may inadvertently reveal the truth to James (more likely out of pique than anything else) and the possibility that James was a German spy could not be ignored. Nevertheless having Lord Wrotham’s field book with her provided some measure of comfort—he was innocent of treason after all. That comfort, however, was not sufficient to dispel the dread that came whenever she thought of him—for she may have found the truth too late to save him.

“We’re nearly there,” Lady Winterton said and the bleakness of her tone matched Ursula’s mood perfectly. Ursula’s glanced across, but Lady Winterton seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. She was staring dead ahead, her eyes glassy and cold, as if the thought of returning to a place that would be forever associated with pain and loss was almost unimaginable.

“I’m sorry,” Ursula said quietly. “I’m sorry to have made you come back. I can see how difficult it is for you.”

“Difficult?” Lady Winterton said dazedly. “I’m nearly home, that’s all…”

Lady Winterton laid her head against the window. “Nearly home,” she echoed, as a small child might.

As they pulled into a gravel drive, Ursula wiped the condensation from the window and peered out through the rain.

At the entrance to the estate stood two ivy-choked stone pillars. As they drove past Ursula could see the cracks in the stone and the ivy, which was growing rampant along the footpath, climbing ever higher, seeding these cracks with tenacious tendrils. Dark heavy-hanging branches of oak trees framed her first view of the house. She could see an overgrown front garden with the ruins of an old fountain, before the house itself loomed up quickly. A grey brick monolith with little in the way of architectural grace, the house was testament to some functional neo-Georgian aesthetic that favored structure and form above any kind of ornamentation. The windows were symmetrical, the entrance steps squat and uninviting, and the dark slate roof in urgent need of repair. Without the ivy’s determined encroachment, the house would be as uniformly grey as any Lancashire factory.

As the motorcar drew up, a small, cat-like woman emerged from the front door, clad in a black uniform and a white lace cap and apron that harkened back to Victorian times. She had a tiny round face and dark almond shaped eyes that may have once been considered exotic but which now seemed eerily feline beneath the folds of skin that now surrounded them. As the lady in the white lace cap ushered them inside, Ursula pinched the inner edge of her wrist to try and overcome the unreality of her surroundings. The strange dissonant appearance of both the house and its housekeeper made her feel as though she had stepped into a Beatrix Potter story book.

As she took off her coat in the hallway Ursula noticed that the grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs had stopped at ten past two. There were still sheets covering the furniture in the formal room to the right of the entrance way. In the small drawing room on her left there was a fire, but the whole house had been dormant and cold for so long that it provided little in the way of heat. Ursula and Lady Winterton quickly walked inside and huddled in front of the fireplace—rubbing their ice-cold hands in a futile attempt to get warm.

“I’ve made up your old room, my Lady,” the housekeeper informed Lady Winterton in a voice that was dull and flat without any semblance of the usual beauty and lilt of the Irish accent. “And I lit fires in the rooms on the first floor. I’m afraid the second floor guest rooms are completely unusable. The ceiling subsided with damp some months ago.”

“Thank you Miss Cadogan,” Lady Winterton said. “I’ve no doubt you have done your best on such short notice.”

Ursula stood shivering by the fire. It seemed an ill-wind had brought her here and she felt as though she was far more likely to die of pneumonia in this bleak and decaying house than she would of any feared infection in Dublin. She turned and saw the motorcar draw away through the window—Mary’s chauffeur was already returning to Dublin and the thought of being stranded here depressed Ursula even further.

“I’m sorry, Ursula,” Lady Winterton said. “It’s hardly an auspicious welcome to my husband’s estate. But, as you must realize, he died penniless and the estate has been left for ruin. I try and spare what I can from the income my family gives me, but there is always so much that needs doing.”

“Please,” Ursula said, summoning all her good manners despite the fact that her teeth were chattering. “Do not concern yourself on my account…”

“Would you care for some tea?” Miss Cadogan, the housekeeper, inquired—her eyes were dark and shrewd as they looked Ursula over. Ursula knew by now that in her day dress any keen observer would soon recognize her current condition.

Ursula nodded gratefully. “Tea would be lovely.”

“Grace has gone upstairs to unpack the trunks and will be down shortly,” Lady Winterton instructed Miss Cadogan. “Perhaps after tea, you could show Miss Marlow to her room and make arrangements for us to have a light dinner. Grace knows her way around and can help you with anything else you may need before you leave for the night.”

Lady Winterton turned to Ursula as the Miss Cadogan left the room. “I’m afraid I cannot afford to have her on full time—she usually comes by three times a week to check on the house. I’m afraid we’ll only have Grace to look after us until Miss Cadogan returns on Wednesday.”

“Please don’t worry on my account,” Ursula assured her. Her face was pink with embarrassment, for she hated seeing Lady Winterton’s discomfiture regarding the state of her husband’s estate.

“You know that my family controls all my money and that they refuse to let me spend what I would like on restoring this house to its former glory,” Lady Winterton said, keeping her voice low as if she feared Miss Cadogan could hear. “Nigel left me with a considerable number of debts as well as the upkeep of this place—it’s all I can do to stop it from decaying completely. If my father had his way it would have been sold by now.”

“I can imagine you feel the need to hold onto the place,” Ursula responded quietly.

“I always thought I’d return and live here someday…though I confess there are also days when I wish I could just be done with it,” Lady Winterton admitted.

“Well I for one, am grateful that you brought me here…and for your compassion for both me and my baby. There aren’t many who would…”

“Nonsense,” Lady Winterton’s response was swift. “I only wish you could have seen this place when Nigel was alive—it was glorious.”

Ursula looked about her dubiously. She doubted such a place could have ever, in anyone’s imagination been considered glorious. Yet she understood, all too well, Lady Winterton’s need to revere the place that would forever be associated with her husband. In the current circumstances, how could she not? Ursula only hoped that word had gotten back to James about the reason for her abrupt departure from Dublin, and that he would contact her soon regarding McTiernay. Empathy she may have for Lady Winterton, but it was not enough to dispel the unease she felt being in this house. In her current state of anxiety she could well imagine the spirits of the dead haunting her here—in this place of decay and ruin—in this place that seemed as cold as a tomb. Ursula shivered, for her nightmares were desolate enough; she needed no further darkness to embrace.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

After tea, Miss Cadogan showed Ursula up to her room. As they progressed up the stairs and walked along the draughty corridor, Ursula noticed the bare walls bore the blanched outlines of where paintings had once hung. All of the rooms they passed still had cover sheets over what little furniture remained. There was a pervasive smell of damp in the air; a sense of decay and age that sent Ursula’s spirits lower than they had been for months. Instinctively she placed her hand on her belly as if protecting the unborn child within.

“Here you are then,” Miss Cadogan said as she led Ursula to the last open doorway. “I’ve tried to make it as comfortable as I can, though truth be told, it was one of the few rooms in any fit state to be used. I only sorry I haven’t had a chance to remove all the old things that were stored in here.”

“I’m sure it will be more than adequate, thank you, Miss Cadogan,” Ursula replied as she followed her into the small narrow room. The windows, though they had been cleaned, were still opaque with age and disuse, and let in little in the way of sunlight (which, on this day there was precious little anyway). The iron four poster bed had been dusted and reset with fresh linens, yet the thick Victorian bed spread folded on top looked as though years of filth and despair had irredeemably altered and darkened the fabric so that whatever pattern it once held could no longer be distinguished. The walls of the room must have once been painted a pale yellow, but they too had darkened over time, till they had become the color of dried birch leaves.

In the corner of the room was a large wooden trunk covered with a dust sheet. Once Miss Cadogan had left, Ursula lifted the lid cautiously only to find, to her horror that inside the trunk lovingly packed in straw were the obvious reminders of childhood: a button-eyed Teddy bear; a wooden train set, a book of Mother Goose tales; baby clothes in tissue paper, and a lace christening cap wrapped in a silk handkerchief.

Ursula stepped back quickly, letting the lid bang close and the dust sheet crumple to the floor. Surely this was not the proposed nursery, she thought in horror, as she sat down heavily on the bed. Her eye caught the faint outline of a frieze along the top of the walls—the barest outline of what had been planned—shepherds and trees, sheep and roosters. Ursula could not hide her dismay.

“Will that be all?” Miss Cadogan’s voice from the doorway jolted Ursula from her thoughts. “Yes,” she stammered. “Yes, of course…You should go see to Lady Winterton,” Ursula said. “I am sure I am quite capable of splashing some water on my face before supper.” She looked around searchingly.

“Water jug’s over there, Miss, on the cabinet.”

“Thank you.”

“I can remove the trunk if you’d prefer,” Miss Cadogan said, in her funny abrupt tone. “This was the Master’s room when he was a boy and we had hoped…”

Ursula’s face paled even further with the reference to Lady Winterton’s lost baby and Miss Cadogan nodded sagely. “I can see why it might distress you…but I was not to know you were with child.”

“No…No…Of course…” Ursula wasn’t sure what else to say.

“It’ll all be put to rights one day of course. Her Ladyship will see to that. One day the house will restored to its rightful place.”

Ursula’s face must have revealed her skepticism.

“You just see!” Miss Cadogan insisted. “I know she has grand plans!”

Ursula bit her lip. Lady Winterton could hardly have ‘grand plans’ when her family refused to let her use any money to restore the place. Ursula found herself staring helplessly into space, trying to think of a suitable response while Miss Cadogan made a great show of fluffing the pillows on Ursula’s bed and straightening the bed linen.

“It was such a pity,” Miss Cadogan continued. “For her Ladyship I mean. It should have never have ended the way it did.”

“No,” Ursula said awkwardly.

“He was still so young, but then the doctor always warned that it would be the drink that would take him in the end.”

Ursula frowned, she had assumed Miss Cadogan had been referring to Lady Winterton’s unborn child. Now she looked at the floor, embarrassed at the thought of that her few careless words could now discredit Lady Winterton’s husband’s name.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Cadogan said hastily, perceiving Ursula’s discomfiture. “I thought you knew.”

“Just that he died,” Ursula said shaking her head. “That’s all Lady Winterton told me.”

“So she didn’t—” Miss Cadogan stopped herself.

“Didn’t?” Ursula prompted.

“She didn’t tell you that he committed suicide?”

Ursula awoke in the middle of the night with a raging thirst. The room felt stuffy and yet still cold. The fire in the grate seemed to have sucked all the oxygen from the room but its heat dissipated so quickly that it failed to make its way across the room to where the bed was situated. Ursula huddled beneath the sheets until her thirst finally drove her from her bed. She shrugged on a cardigan over her nightgown, grabbed a shawl and pulled on a pair of woolen socks to keep herself warm as she ventured out. The hallway outside was positively glacial—a damp, icy darkness now seemed to consume the house.