Читать книгу An Ideal Companion - ANNE ASHLEY, Anne Ashley - Страница 9

Chapter Three

The hand gently shaking her shoulder eventually succeeded in rousing Ruth from slumber; she opened her eyes to discover Agatha surprisingly standing by the bed. Only on those rare occasions when she had been unwell had she received the attentions of Lady Beatrice’s personal maid, so quite naturally Ruth’s first instinct was to suppose something must surely be wrong.

‘The mistress’s door to the passageway be locked,’ Agatha reminded her. ‘And as I was obliged to come this way I thought you might like to know some of the visitors be already enjoying breakfast.’ All at once a glint of mischief was clearly discernible in the maid’s dark eyes. ‘And—er—Colonel Prentiss be among them.’

‘And why, pray, should you suppose I might be interested to discover that?’ Ruth responded, striving for that air of sheer indifference she was definitely not experiencing.

‘Because, when I was about to go up to tend the mistress last night, he came out of the drawing room and asked particular-like if you were still about,’ Agatha revealed, much to Ruth’s surprise, though she was determined not to read too much into the startling disclosure. After all, hadn’t he made a point of saying his original intention had been to have a last word with his servant?

Aware that she was being regarded closely, she again strived for that air of detachment. ‘Colonel Prentiss is a well-mannered gentleman, Aggie. He sought me out to express his thanks, in person, for all the extra work he and his fellow travellers had obliged the servants to do. And so, too, did Mrs Adams, as it happens,’ she added in the hope of vanquishing any foolish notions the maid might be harbouring with regard to her and the Colonel. Because after today, she silently reminded herself, echoing her thoughts of the night before, she would be unlikely ever to see him again.

‘You’d best take that hot chocolate in to your mistress before it gets cold,’ she advised in a valiant attempt to gain a respite from those all-too-perceptive dark eyes.

Mercifully, it worked. Ruth was then able to swing her feet to the floor in order to get herself ready for the day ahead. She had just reached the washstand when the sound of breaking china, accompanied by a half-stifled scream, reached her ears. Naturally curious, she slewed round to discover Agatha already standing in the communicating doorway, her face ashen.

‘Oh, do come quick! It’s the mistress...I can’t wake her...I think she’s...’

Ruth didn’t wait for the explanation Agatha seemed unable to give. Sweeping up her dressing gown, she brushed past the maid to discover Lady Beatrice lying in bed, eyes closed, head lolling on one side. For all the world she appeared sound asleep, yet Ruth sensed something was very wrong. The curtains at the windows had already been thrown back and she could see quite clearly, even before she had reached the bedside, that the occupant looked deathly pale.

A shiver of revulsion trickled through her as she forced herself to reach for one of the hands lying limply on the bedcover. The flesh felt cold, lifeless, as she raised the wrist, then let it fall.

‘Yes, I think she is...dead,’ she managed to utter, before a kind of creeping numbness threatened to overcome her, and it was a moment or two before she was able to combat the shock sufficiently to concentrate her thoughts again. ‘If Dr Dent is not among those at present in the breakfast parlour, then go to his room, and inform him his presence is required here urgently.’

Ruth watched Agatha unlock the bedchamber door and disappear into the passageway before returning to her own room in order to change out of her nightwear. Surprisingly, her nimble fingers, though shaking slightly, worked speedily, but even so, she wasn’t granted the time to sweep her long tresses into the simple chignon she normally sported, before she surprisingly detected the sound of voices in the adjoining room.

Disregarding her irregular appearance, she returned to Dunsterford Hall’s most impressive bedchamber to discover not only Dr Dent, but also Colonel Prentiss, standing by the bedside. The sight of that tall figure had a surprisingly beneficial effect, instantly soothing Ruth’s troubled spirits. Yet, when he turned to look at her, there wasn’t so much as a trace of that warmth she’d so often glimpsed in his eyes. He appeared unusually grave, his gaze for once frighteningly piercing, as though he were attempting to discover her innermost thought.

It took a stupendous effort, but somehow she succeeded in breaking the hold of that intense gaze and transferred her attention to the much-less-impressive figure who had already begun his examination. She waited a moment or two, then somehow managed to demand the answer to the question she very much feared she already knew only too well.

‘Yes, of course she’s dead,’ the doctor responded almost testily, as though he felt his time had been wasted by being asked such an obvious thing. ‘Been dead for several hours, I should say.’ He turned at last to look at her. ‘I recall she left the drawing room quite abruptly last night. Did she make mention of feeling unwell before finally retiring?’

‘Quite the contrary,’ Ruth assured him. ‘I brought her the hot toddy she’d requested. She was sat up in bed, looking remarkably bright and cheerful in the circumstances.’ Ruth frowned, as she recalled something else. ‘In fact, she gave me the distinct impression there was something she wished to discuss with me. But I was feeling weary myself, so sought my own bed quickly. The only thing I can tell you, Dr Dent, is that Lady Beatrice did suffer indifferent health and had done so for some few years. Her own doctor visited frequently. In fact, almost weekly. She admitted to me herself, quite recently as it happens, that her heart was not strong.’

He nodded, as though he had expected something of the sort. ‘It has been my experience that it is much the same with many of these highly strung middle-aged ladies, prone to nervous conditions and weaknesses. Died in her sleep, as most of us would choose to do, given the choice,’ he continued, matter of factly, as he wandered back over to the door. ‘There’s nothing more I can do here, Miss Harrington, so I’ll continue preparing for my departure. We all wish to be away as soon as may be. Apparently your groomsman is taking the cart into the local town this morning to pick up supplies, and my sister and I, together with our fellow travellers, have begged a ride. I trust you don’t object?’

It was only then that Ruth appreciated fully for the very first time the significance of the sad and totally unforeseen event. It was only natural the good doctor would seek her approval. He must have supposed that she would automatically take command of the household until such time as Lady Beatrice’s heir took overall control. He wasn’t to know, of course, that she was Lady Beatrice’s chief beneficiary and that Dunsterford Hall, together with the majority of Lady Beatrice’s private wealth, would come to her.

For a moment or two she toyed with the idea of offering him the use of the comfortable, if somewhat antiquated, carriage that seldom left the shelter of the coach house, then thought better of it. For the time being she felt it might be wise to keep her good fortune to herself, at least from the vast majority.

‘Of course I don’t object,’ she assured him. ‘Sadly, the groom will have several extra errands to run in town this morning. I shall pen some necessary letters without delay so that I do not keep you kicking your heels here for longer than necessary.’

To her intense surprise she won a look of approval from the normally taciturn Dr Dent before he left the room. Unfortunately, she glimpsed no such expression on the Colonel’s face as he continued to bend over the cold, lifeless figure between the sheets, seeming to examine far more thoroughly than the doctor had done.

As she approached the bed she saw him slip a hand into the pocket of his jacket, before he moved over to the cupboard by the bedside and picked up the vessel that had contained the hot toddy. He raised it to his nose and appeared, if anything, grimmer than before.

‘Is something amiss, sir?’

When he turned to look directly at her again it was with the same fierce intensity, which made her feel hopelessly unprotected, as though she could conceal absolutely nothing from those eyes of his.

‘Was Lady Beatrice in the habit of taking strong opiates?’

Hugo could see at a glance that his question had taken her somewhat by surprise. All the same, she answered promptly enough. ‘Her own doctor prescribes a draught, I believe. She keeps it in the top drawer, there by the bedside. But I cannot imagine she would have needed it last night, not after the hot toddy I made her. It was very strong. Although she sometimes had trouble sleeping,’ she added after a moment’s thought, ‘so she might have added a few drops.’

Hugo continued to study her as intently as before. ‘And her sudden demise doesn’t come as a shock to you at all, Miss Harrington?’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, sir,’ she confessed, appearing distinctly troubled herself now. ‘Lady Beatrice admitted to me only quite recently that her constitution had never been strong. She frequently requested her own doctor to visit her here. As I mentioned before, she suffered a weakness of the heart and felt she might go at any time. Nevertheless I...’

‘You’re still shocked by the turn of events,’ he finished for her and she nodded. ‘In that case, Miss Harrington, it might be wise to permit Lady Beatrice’s own practitioner to examine her. After all, he would have been more familiar with the state of her health than anyone else.’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ she agreed after a moment, and then went directly over to the corner of the room to seat herself before the escritoire. ‘I shall send a letter with the groom. I need also to make arrangements for the funeral and get in touch with Lady Beatrice’s man of business.’

Hugo, who had been heading back across to the door, checked at this. ‘Yes, of course, you must,’ he agreed. ‘It might also be wise, as the lady was a person of some standing in the locale, to apprise the local Justice of the Peace of the unforeseen turn of events.’

The hand moving smoothly back and forth across the page stilled and a pair of soft brown eyes, clear and questioning, not to mention surprisingly trusting, surveyed him again. ‘If you consider that necessary, Colonel, then of course I shall.’

It was at that moment Hugo found to his surprise that he was not proof against that innocent, trusting look. ‘If it will help, Miss Harrington, I can visit the worthy myself and apprise him of what has taken place here. He will perhaps require the names and directions of those strangers residing under this roof last night. I see no reason why they cannot leave, however.’

‘Indeed, not, sir. After all, not one of you was ever really acquainted with Lady Beatrice, and none of you benefits by her death.’ A sigh, clear and carrying, floated across to the door. ‘Only I can be accused of being guilty of that, as will be revealed when Lady Beatrice’s lawyer is consulted.’

She was silent for a moment, then seemed to shake herself out of a brown study, and even managed a semblance of a smile as she looked in his direction again. ‘Thank you, Colonel. I have more than enough to concern me at the present time, without having to call on the Justice of the Peace. Sir Cedric Walsh lives in a large, stone-built house a mile or so out of town. I should be very grateful if you could visit him on my behalf and explain.’

Once again Hugo studied her for a long moment before finally leaving the room and returning downstairs to the breakfast parlour. One glance at the congealed mounds on the plate was sufficient to convince him that his breakfast was now cold, but he wasn’t unduly troubled. His appetite had deserted him completely, so he merely reached for the coffeepot as he resumed his seat.

‘Devilish thing to have happened,’ Tristram Boothroyd announced, thereby breaking the subdued silence. ‘Didn’t know the lady very well, of course... Well, hardly at all, really. But it just don’t seem right sitting here, eating her fare, while she’s—’

‘Oh, please don’t, Mr Boothroyd!’ Miss Dent implored. ‘It’s such a dreadful thing to have happened. And Lady Beatrice so kind to open her home to us all, too!’

Hugo refrained from remarking that, in his opinion, it was quite a different person altogether who was deserving of their gratitude. Instead, he drew their attention to the fact that, given the circumstances, they ought not to depart the house without at least leaving their directions in the event that contact with any one of them again became necessary.

‘But why should it, sir?’ The lawyer seemed all at once a little put out. ‘Dr Dent has given us every reason to suppose Lady Lindley died of natural causes.’

‘That might, indeed, be the case,’ Hugo conceded. ‘None the less, given the—er—suddenness of the lady’s demise, I think it might be wise to obtain a second opinion and suggested to Miss Harrington that she make contact with Lady Beatrice’s own practitioner without delay.’

‘Oh, that poor girl!’ Appearing genuinely distressed, Julia Adams rose from her chair. ‘I feel so wretchedly guilty having to leave her to deal with all this by herself. I shall go to her now and see if there’s anything I can do before we depart. And,’ she added on reaching the door, ‘I, for one, have no objection to leaving a note with my direction, if it’s of any help.’

* * *

Detecting the light knock on the bedchamber door, Ruth paused to bid enter, before sealing the missive she had been writing with a wafer. She then turned to see Mrs Adams slip almost tentatively into the room.

By her own admission the widow was no stranger to death. She had witnessed her father being placed in the ground only a few short days before and had buried a husband tragically not many weeks after their marriage had taken place. So it came as something of a surprise to see the look of almost stunned disbelief flickering over the attractive widow’s features, as though she was having the utmost difficulty in coming to terms with the sight that met her gaze.

A short time before Agatha had returned to the room and had respectfully drawn the sheet over Lady Beatrice’s face. Which was perhaps just as well in the circumstances, Ruth decided, studying her visitor intently, for a female closer to swooning she had yet to see!

‘Was there something you required of me, Mrs Adams, before your departure?’

The gently voiced enquiry, thankfully, seemed to break the trancelike state the widow had appeared to be under. She finally drew her eyes away from the direction of the bed only to place a hand momentarily across her forehead.

‘Oh, what must you think of me, Miss Harrington? I’m not usually so easily overset.’ She not only looked, but also sounded, now, deeply ashamed of herself. ‘It must have been the shock that perturbed me so much. The last time I saw Lady Beatrice she was so very much alive and well. I would never have supposed such a thing could happen. And without any prior warning, too!’

‘It was unexpected, certainly,’ Ruth agreed, feeling slightly uncomfortable herself now. Whilst her mind had been fully occupied writing those various urgent letters, she’d hardly been conscious of Lady Beatrice’s body lying just a few short feet away. She could appreciate Mrs Adams’s reaction now. It did give one a distinctly uncomfortable feeling sharing a room with a corpse.

‘Dr Dent informed us all that—that it was her heart,’ the visitor revealed hesitantly.

Having been imbued by Colonel Prentiss’s obvious scepticism, Ruth wasn’t altogether sure herself now. ‘Or some kind of seizure, we can only suppose. No doubt we shall learn more when her own practitioner conducts a second and more thorough examination.’

Having sealed the last of her letters, she rose to her feet. Time was pressing and she didn’t wish to be the cause of delaying anyone’s departure, though it had to be said this particular visitor seemed in no great hurry to leave. ‘If there’s nothing particular I can help you with, Mrs Adams, I must go down to the stables to ensure our groom has these before he sets forth.’

‘Oh, Julia, please.’ She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘This has disturbed me more than I can say. And it is somewhat foolish of me as I never met Lady Lindley before yesterday! And unforgivable, too,’ she added, ‘because I came, specifically, to see if there’s anything I can do to help. I feel so guilty leaving you with all this to deal with. You only have to say the word and I shall be more than happy to remain for a few days.’

Ruth felt moved by the offer, because she didn’t doubt it had been sincerely meant. ‘That is most kind of you, but I’m sure you must be longing to return to your daughter. Lady Beatrice was no blood kin of mine, though naturally I’m saddened by her unexpected demise. The servants here at the Hall are all very loyal and shall provide all the assistance I need, I feel sure.’

‘Well, at least allow me to take those letters down to your groom. My bags are packed and I believe everyone is keen to leave as early as possible, so I’ll take this opportunity to bid you farewell, Miss Harrington. I intend leaving my direction with Colonel Prentiss. London might seem a long way away. But should you feel the need to make contact with me in the future, I should be only too happy to assist in any way I can.’

* * *

Thankfully, this sentiment had eventually been echoed by everyone, and an hour later, armed with the necessary information he required, Hugo was making the final preparations for his own departure.

After securing his overnight bags to the packhorse himself, he was on the point of mounting his sturdy bay, when he caught sight of a slender figure emerging from the kitchen doorway.

Dressed respectfully now in sombre black and with her hair appropriately confined at the nape of her neck, she glided across the cobbled yard towards him. As she drew close he could see there was little colour in what otherwise would have been a flawless complexion. Thankfully, apart from the unusual pallor, there were no other telltale signs of grief. The large brown eyes were bright and free from any suggestion of redness, and the perfect contours of a lovely feminine mouth were even curled in a semblance of a smile.

‘I’m glad I’ve managed to catch you, Colonel, before you leave,’ she said, while handing him a folded sheet of paper. ‘I’ve written down Sir Cedric Walsh’s precise direction for you, though his house isn’t at all difficult to locate. Simply stay on the main coastal road and you’ll see it, standing by itself on a slight rise. Julia Adams informed me that you asked for everyone’s direction,’ she added, when he made no attempt to speak.

He continued not to do so for a further moment or two while he studied the openness of a sweet face; a face that for all the world betrayed only two things to his searching gaze—trust and honesty.

Not for the first time during his short stay did he experience something deep within him stir, only this time it seemed stronger, reminding him of a feeling he had not experienced in many a long year.

‘Believe me when I tell you I’m more than willing to remain if you imagine I might be of service to you, Miss Harrington, should the local Justice of the Peace consider a further investigation into the death of Lady Beatrice is required.’

For a moment he thought he detected a glint of what might have been hopeful expectation in those lovely eyes, only for it to disappear a moment later as a distinctly wry smile this time touched her lips.

‘That is kind of you, sir,’ she uttered softly in a kind of resigned sigh. ‘But you must be longing to return to the comfort of your own home...and family. Should Sir Cedric choose to bestir himself and look into the matter of Lady Beatrice’s death, though I’m not altogether certain he will given his reputation for indolence, then I’m sure Dr Maddox and Lady Beatrice’s lawyer will offer me all the assistance I require.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, sir. It has been a sincere pleasure making your acquaintance, and...and safe journey.’

Releasing the slender fingers the moment he felt the first sign of withdrawal, Hugo then watched her until she had disappeared into the house. Not once did she attempt to look back over her shoulder, but as he reached the front gate and chanced to glance back over his, he saw that slender form staring out at him from the drawing-room window.

Unwillingly urging his mount onwards, he headed down the lane that led to the market town. Throughout his adult life he had been a man given to decisive action, someone continually admired for his clarity of thought and discernment, yet he felt anything but resolute now. Torn between a strong sense of righteousness and a surprising feeling of protectiveness towards a female he scarcely knew his thoughts were in turmoil.

Plagued by such drastically contrasting feelings, he rode on in stony silence until he had reached a pair of impressive wrought-iron gates, flanked by two hideous gargoyles mounted on tall, brick pillars. Beyond stood an impressive stone-built mansion, undoubtedly the property of Sir Cedric Walsh. Hugo was only too aware of what he ought to do, what was demanded of any man of honour. Yet he made no attempt to gain access to the sweeping driveway. Instead, he took out several folded sheets of paper from his pocket and stared at them with an expression of intense loathing.

‘Is something amiss, Colonel?’ his manservant asked tentatively, wondering if he had done something to put his master into such an obviously unsociable mood. Raising a hand, he thoughtfully scratched the grizzled hair beneath the edge of his misshapen hat. ‘Not done something wrong, ’ave I, sir?’

‘No...but I’m about to do just that,’ Hugo announced, before resolutely thrusting the several sheets of paper back into his pocket, and urging his mount to move off down the road once more. ‘Come on, Ben. Let’s away from here. How I wish I’d never come to this place... And the sooner I forget I ever did the better for my peace of mind!’

* * *

Ruth gazed out of the drawing-room window, experiencing a distinct feeling of pleasure at the clear signs of spring to be seen everywhere. Although not particularly hard, the winter had seemed interminably long, starting as it had on that never-to-be-forgotten day at the beginning of October. On numerous occasions in recent months she had recalled that particular day. Not only had it brought into her life, for a brief period, one of the most personable gentlemen she’d ever encountered, but it had also been, of course, the prelude to a drastic change in her lifestyle and personal circumstances.

As a mark of respect for her late benefactress, Ruth had continued to observe strict mourning for very many weeks, only recently donning more cheerful hues, though still avoiding anything that might be considered unbecomingly bright.

Although she had avoided socialising on a vast scale, she had been determined not to live like a virtual hermit, as the previous owner of Dunsterford Hall had done. She had made several new friends and acquaintances in recent months and, as a consequence, the house saw many more visitors crossing its portals. One frequent visitor was the late Lady Beatrice Lindley’s man of business. He had worked tirelessly on Ruth’s behalf, most especially during those early weeks, when Lady Beatrice’s two sisters had attempted to contest the will. They had been unsuccessful and now Dunsterford Hall was legally hers to do with as she chose.