Читать книгу Lady Gwendolen Investigates - ANNE ASHLEY, Anne Ashley - Страница 10

Jocelyn Northbridge numbered among the select few who were never denied admittance to Cranborne Hall, the principal seat of the Earls of Cranborne for centuries past. Nevertheless, the butler, highly trained and a stickler for adhering to accepted codes of conduct, requested the visitor wait in a small room off the main hall as a matter of course, before showing him into his master’s favourite retreat on the floor above a few minutes later.

The Earl, not attempting to hide his delight at this unexpected visit by one of his most well-respected and, in his considered opinion, sagacious of neighbours, rose immediately from behind his desk. More than happy to set aside estate matters for the time being, he drew the gentleman, whose reputation for selecting fine wines was second to none, across to the hearth and awaited judgement on what he himself considered a superior claret.

‘Well?’ he prompted when his welcome visitor, after sampling the liquid, merely held up his glass to the light, the better to study its contents’ deep rich colour. ‘Come, a little honesty, my friend. Isn’t it one of the finest you’ve ever tasted?’

Joss, never one to be pressed on matters of real importance, considered for a moment longer before nodding approval, and then immediately afterwards destroying his host’s understandable satisfaction by adding, ‘But certainly not the best tipple I’ve sampled this day.’

‘What?’ His lordship regarded the younger man as though his neighbour had taken leave of his senses. ‘You’re bamming me!’

‘Not at all, sir,’ Joss assured him, setting the glass to one side. ‘And that, in part, is why I’m here.’

‘Aha!’ His lordship was all avid attention. ‘Got yourself a new vintner, have you, and are willing to share the rogue’s fine stocks with an old friend?’

Joss wasn’t slow to set his lordship straight on the matter. ‘Not quite, no. What I have acquired is a new neighbour. And one who’s shown remarkable judgement in selecting wine. A very fine palate, I should say…for a woman, that is.’ He paused for a moment to stare blindly up at the portrait of the decidedly ill-favoured, though much missed, late Countess taking pride of place above the hearth. ‘Possibly the result of that time spent in Italy, I should imagine.’

‘And the name of the rare specimen?’ his lordship prompted, amused by the dry tone, and not just a little intrigued as well.

‘Old Warrender’s widow.’

In all probability it would have been at this juncture that his lordship’s interest in the unknown female would have swiftly begun to wane, had it not been for the odd flicker he detected, just for an instant, in his visitor’s eyes. He didn’t waste time in attempting to speculate on what the look might have denoted. If, however, it was a silent admission to a definite interest in the woman, then it would have been the first Northbridge had ever betrayed, at least in his lordship’s presence, for it was a well-known fact that his highly respected neighbour held all too few of the fair sex in high esteem.

One of the rare exceptions was, in fact, none other than his lordship’s favourite niece. A handsome young woman, with a fine figure and a quick mind, Anthea Kershaw appeared to be, on the surface at least, the ideal partner for a gentleman of Jocelyn Northbridge’s stamp. His lordship was very well aware that his youngest sister, Lady Florence Kershaw, had, for several years, nurtured the fondest hope of just such an alliance. Indeed, he himself wouldn’t have been averse to such a match, for he was as fond of this particular niece as he was his own sons, if not a deal fonder in many respects. Notwithstanding, he was not altogether sure that Anthea would make the ideal wife for his estimable neighbour. If the girl had one failing, it was a tendency to be a trifle too refined, a little too conciliating, and therefore would do almost anything to avoid confrontation. She would undoubtedly allow Northbridge his way in more things than would be good for him, with possible disastrous consequences.

His lordship regarded his companion steadily, as Joss, clearly in a world of his own that day, continued absently to contemplate the portrait of the late Countess.

‘Well, come on, Northbridge,’ he urged, after a further moment’s silence. ‘What’s the widow like? I seem to remember hearing someone mentioning once that she was young enough to be Warrender’s daughter.’

‘Ha! Granddaughter, more like!’ Joss returned with brutal frankness.

‘Good gad, the old dog! And is she pleasing on the eye?’

Surprising his lordship somewhat, Joss took a long moment to consider. ‘Not a beauty, no, at least not in my humble opinion,’ he revealed at last. ‘But well enough. Got what I’d call a sweet face. Damned disarming little thing, though,’ he went on, his heavy frown descending. ‘Turns out she was well acquainted with that governess I employed. She’s not at all happy nothing’s being done to track down the killer.’

‘You know we did all we could,’ his lordship returned, far from annoyed, though slightly nettled by the accusation. ‘Spoke again to all the usual suspects, but no fresh evidence came to light. No one heard anything; no one saw anything. Even had an extra word with my gamekeeper. I know Furslow’s not liked by most hereabouts. He’s been a prime suspect in many people’s minds from the start, especially as the first girl was discovered only a matter of weeks after he came to work for me. What is more, there’s no denying he has something of a reputation where women are concerned. But there’s absolutely nothing to link him with these murders. In fact, the opposite’s true. Several people have come forward to swear he was elsewhere, attending a prize fight or cockfight, when at least two of the women were first reported missing.’

‘True enough,’ Joss was forced to agree, his heavy frown still very much in evidence. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that more could have been done…should have been done to find the person responsible.’

His lordship watched, appalled, as his guest, quite without warning, tossed the remainder of his wine down his throat and rose abruptly to his feet. ‘Good gad, Northbridge! That’s no way to treat a wine of that quality!’

Ignoring the stricture, Joss began to pace up and down, resorting for the second time that morning to running impatient fingers through his hair as he did so. ‘That damnable female’s got under my skin, so she has!’ he at last admitted, coming to a halt in the middle of the room. ‘Just as I was on the point of departure, she came straight out and said that had any one of the victims been some highborn lady, no effort would have been spared. And damn it, Cranborne, you can’t deny the chit’s right! Then, when I attempted to persuade her not to interfere, she totally floored me with the response. Asked if I’d just sit back and do nothing if a friend of mine had been murdered. And the truth of the matter is I’d move heaven and earth in an attempt to uncover the killer.’

‘So, what are you asking me to do?’ his lordship prompted, when once again his visitor relapsed into a brooding silence. ‘If you’re asking me to start fresh enquiries, I don’t honestly believe it would do much good.’

‘No, I was thinking more on the lines of bringing in someone from the outside, an ex-Runner who has for some years now undertaken private commissions. I happen to know he successfully aided a very close friend of mine in locating the whereabouts of his errant wife. Seemingly he’s extremely discreet. Furthermore, he has the knack of blending in, of going about a community without arousing suspicion, inducing people to reveal more than they might otherwise have done to someone they knew to be in authority. I could send an express to London, requesting my good friend Merriot Markham engages this person on my behalf—if you’ve no objection, that is?’

‘Not in the least, dear boy,’ the Earl agreed, urbanity itself, ‘providing you don’t keep me in the dark if any information is uncovered.’

‘Understood,’ Joss responded.

Deciding it was time to bring the visit to an end, he made his way across the room. As he reached the door, he bethought himself of something else, however. ‘You don’t happen to know if young Gilmorton’s still contemplating disposing of that new carriage and pair in order to pay those gaming debts?’

‘Can’t see him managing to do so otherwise, as his father steadfastly refuses to come to his aid this time. Why? Surely you’re not thinking of making him an offer?’

‘Not for myself, no. But I promised Warrender’s widow I’d look out for a decent carriage and pair for her. And I’ll do it too!’ A look of rock-hard determination momentarily gripped Northbridge’s features. ‘But that’s all I intend to do for the confounded woman!’ he declared vehemently. ‘

His lordship smiled to himself as the door was closed none too gently by the departing visitor. ‘I wonder now,’ he murmured, taking his time to savour the remaining contents of his glass, ‘how long it will be before our friend finds himself breaking that vow?’

Three days later Gwen had once again taken up the day-to-day running of her household. It wasn’t that she had recovered swiftly from the loss of her friend. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Jane was never absent long from her thoughts, and she once again returned to the forefront of Gwen’s mind the instant she had finished discussing the dinner menus for the following week with her now, thankfully, fully recovered housekeeper.

‘Before you go, Mrs Travis,’ she said, forestalling the servant’s immediate departure, ‘are you by any chance acquainted with the housekeeper at Bridge House?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am! Known Mrs Brice for a number of years. We both took up our posts at about the same time, though she’s a good deal older than me. Always exchange a word or two after the Sunday service, we do, and if we happen to bump into each other in town when doing the marketing.’

‘Sounds a pleasant, friendly sort of woman, Travis. Is that so?’

‘Indeed, yes, ma’am,’ she readily agreed. ‘Not a gossip, you understand,’ she added. ‘And very loyal to her master, she be. Mind you, not much goes on at Bridge House she doesn’t know about.’

Precisely what I was hoping to discover! Gwen thought, before her acute hearing picked up the sounds of an arrival, even though she was in her favourite retreat, the snug little parlour tucked away at the back of the house.

She watched Mrs Travis hurry out, and was astonished when the housekeeper returned a few minutes later to inform her that Lady Florence Kershaw and her daughter were now awaiting her in the much larger front parlour.

‘Ordinarily, ma’am, I should have shown such visitors into the drawing room, it being the best room in the house. Except, as you know, you gave strict instructions no fire be lit in there until the chimney’s been swept, and I thought it would be a mite on the chilly side, even though it’s almost April.’

‘You did quite right, Mrs Travis,’ Gwen assured the slightly flustered housekeeper.

Clearly she was unused to inviting such high-ranking persons to cross the threshold, and Gwen couldn’t in all honesty say she was in the least surprised. The late Sir Percival Warrender, having enjoyed a distinguished military career, had undeniably been well respected. His standing in the area would undoubtedly have been reasonably high. All the same, he had been no aristocrat, merely the son of an affluent gentleman. So why had his insignificant little widow been so singularly honoured?

Amazed though she was, Gwen didn’t feel in the least overawed, simply because she had benefited from that recent, close association with one of the most endearing and unorthodox high-born ladies who had, over the years, rubbed shoulders with several crowned heads of Europe.

Consequently Gwen was able to greet her unexpected visitors with all the quiet dignity expected of a young widow, but without experiencing the least trepidation, while at the same time successfully concealing her natural curiosity.

On entering the comfortable, though undeniably faded, front parlour, Gwen experienced on odd mixture of surprise and slight disappointment. She didn’t quite know what she had been expecting to find awaiting her, but she supposed she would have imagined two members of the most influential family in the county to make rather more of an impressive spectacle.

Lady Florence was undeniably dressed in the height of fashion. Sadly the prevailing mode ill suited her thickening figure. The colour puce made her appear slightly liverish, and the ugly turban-styled bonnet did absolutely nothing to improve the strong-featured, aristocratic lines of a face that had long since lost any slight claim to beauty.

Her daughter, on the other hand, neither favoured her mother in looks, nor in stature. Taller than average height, and slender, Anthea Kershaw had been blessed with a good complexion; and although her features were regular, one would have considered her handsome rather than pretty. There was no denying either that her plain, unadorned gown suited her very well, and was undoubtedly of good quality. Nevertheless it was clearly the achievement of some competent seamstress and not the creation of a top London modiste, of which Gwen had seen numerous examples during her sojourn in the capital earlier in the year.

She was instantly drawn to the younger woman as much by the warmth of a full-lipped smile as the completely unaffected manner. As things turned out, it was none other than Miss Kershaw herself who gave the first inclination as to why Gwen had been honoured by the visit, once initial pleasantries had been exchanged:

‘I understand from my uncle that you were well acquainted with the latest unfortunate female to meet her end in Marsden Wood?’

‘That is true,’ Gwen confirmed, realising in an instant from whom Lord Cranborne must have attained this information, while in the next moment wondering just when Mr Northbridge had paid a visit to his illustrious neighbour and, more importantly, why.

It might have been purely and simply a social call, during which he had just happened to mention there was someone in the neighbourhood who wasn’t prepared to sit back and allow matters to rest. But even if this was so, his lordship, surely, would hardly feel so discomposed as to deem it necessary to send two close female relations to pay a visit on the person who just might stir up something of a hornet’s nest?

Thrusting the various puzzling possibilities to the back of her mind to mull over later, Gwen went on to explain the close bond she had enjoyed with Jane Robbins. Although both visitors expressed sympathy, Lady Florence wasn’t slow to change the subject in an attempt to discover more about Gwen’s life, her parentage and family history.

She betrayed a degree of surprise, not untouched by approval, when she learned that Gwen’s father had been a member of the old and very distinguished Playfair family heralding from Derbyshire; and that her mother had borne the name of one of the most influential families in the county of Shropshire before her marriage.

‘So your mother and one of my dearest friends, Constance Blanchard, that was, must have been related in some way. First or second cousins, perhaps?’ Lady Florence suggested, after taking a few moments to work out the possible relationship. ‘An excellent old family, the Blanchards. No title, of course, but worthy, all the same.’

Gwen was just silently debating whether or not to reduce drastically her standing in this aristocratic visitor’s eyes by revealing that her mother had not, in fact, come from the wealthy branch of the Blanchard family that owned a good portion of land in the county of Shropshire, when she was forestalled by Miss Kershaw, who took advantage of the temporary lull in the conversation by returning to the subject of the recent murders.

‘I mentioned to Uncle Charles only the other week that it’s getting to the stage where it’s unsafe for a female to walk anywhere unaccompanied.’

‘And I sincerely trust, Anthea, you would never consider doing such an outrageous thing!’ Lady Florence exclaimed, looking appalled at the mere thought. ‘Nor Lady Warrender, for that matter,’ she added, seemingly having already judged that there was, surprisingly, little difference in age between the young women. ‘A female must always adhere to accepted rules of behaviour, no matter how respectable her status.’

‘Very true, my lady,’ Gwen readily agreed, not knowing whether to feel amused or nettled by this quite unnecessary reminder of good conduct. ‘But you must remember that the majority of women in the land are not nearly so fortunate as we three. They cannot afford the luxury of maidservants or companions to bear them company whenever they choose to venture forth. Indeed, most are obliged to do so in order to survive.’

‘And they should be able to do so without fear of being attacked,’ Anthea Kershaw put in without hesitation, her views on the subject seemingly in complete accord with Gwen’s. ‘Furthermore, Mama, I have no intention of dragging along a reluctant maidservant whenever I wish to take a breath of air in the park. I would far rather have Felix to bear me company. And one could hardly consider him an ideal companion. Why, on every occasion we’ve ventured into the wood, he’s relapsed into a world of his own, quite oblivious to my presence. And do remember a goodly portion of the wood forms part of the Cranborne estate. Up until now all incidents have taken place in that far area, where people may roam quite freely. But there’s no saying, if there should be more attacks, in what area they might take place.’

‘Oh, Anthea, dear, pray do not!’ her mother implored, appearing genuinely distressed. ‘I do not know from where you get these callous notions and dark thoughts.’

The smile that pulled at one corner of Miss Kershaw’s mouth for once was not pleasant, and a decidedly uneasy, almost troubled, look appeared momentarily in her eyes as she said, ‘It’s undoubtedly inherited, Mama. A family trait, wouldn’t you say?’

The speed with which Lady Florence changed the subject took Gwen so completely by surprise that it was a few moments before she was able to respond to the question directed at her.

‘No, ma’am, I have no plans to spend any time in the capital this spring.’ She chose not to add that, although it wasn’t beyond her means now to do so, she had no intention of needlessly wasting money by enjoying the unlimited pleasures the capital had to offer in an attempt to alter her widowed state. ‘I fully intend to go into half-mourning and socialise a little from now on. But I’ve more than enough to occupy me here for the present,’ she added, glancing about her. ‘The house is sadly in need of refurbishing, and bringing up to date. I sometimes think I’ve been swept back into the past century when I walk through these rooms. Most all the furnishings, as you’ve possibly observed, are quite antiquated.’

‘If that is your objective, then, yes, you will have much to occupy you for the foreseeable future,’ Lady Florence agreed, rising to her feet, a clear indication that she had every intention of bringing the visit to an end. ‘Nevertheless, I sincerely trust you are not so busy that you cannot dine with us, before we make our yearly trip to the capital next month. I shall ensure you receive a formal invitation, Lady Warrender. If nothing else, it will offer you the ideal opportunity to recommence your socialising by meeting a few of your neighbours.’

It will offer me a great deal more than that, Gwen silently acknowledged, well pleased by the unexpected visit and the chance it would soon present to become acquainted with the local Justice of the Peace.

It wasn’t so much the formal, gilt-edged invitation card, which was delivered by hand the following day, that brought Gwen such gratification as the totally unexpected appearance on her driveway of a bang-up-to-date lightweight carriage, pulled by a superb pair of matched greys. Most surprising of all was that the carriage was being tooled by none other than Annie’s eldest brother, Ben, a circumstance of which Annie herself demanded an immediate explanation the instant she had accompanied her mistress outside.

‘Don’t work for the blacksmith n’more, Annie. Works for Mr Northbridge now,’ he revealed, looking well pleased with the change of situation. ‘Leastways, I reckon I do,’ he amended, ‘if Lady Warrender, ’ere, ain’t too keen to take me on.’

Gwen wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, and didn’t attempt to hide her puzzlement. ‘I’m sorry. Ben, I’m not altogether certain I know precisely what you mean.’

‘It’s this way, ma’am. Mr Northbridge seemed to s’pose you’d be in need of a groom, ’im not ’aving a good word to say about the man you’ve got now. Said as ’ow ’ee weren’t up to tooling a donkey, let alone a decent pair of ’orses. Besides, ’im being a lazy b—’

His sister’s warning cry was sufficient to remind Ben to mind his language. Gwen had, however, already grasped the general drift, and couldn’t say she was unduly surprised by her affluent neighbour resorting to colourful language. Nonetheless she felt the situation needed some clarification, so didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the big brother’s presence for the time being at least.

Delaying only for as long as it took to collect a cloak, put on a bonnet and secure Gillie’s services, Gwen then set out on what she considered was the most comfortable carriage ride she had experienced in her entire life. Cushioned by thick and luxurious velvet upholstery, she felt not the slightest rut, and arrived at Bridge House in a surprisingly short space of time feeling hugely satisfied with her latest acquisition, completely uncaring as to the amount of money that would be required to reimburse Mr Northbridge, and more than ready to forgive and forget any past grievances she might still have retained with the man himself.

Unfortunately she was denied the opportunity to offer her personal thanks, but wasn’t unduly dejected to discover the master of the house away from home, for the information was relayed by none other than the housekeeper, who showed no unwillingness in allowing the visitor to step over the threshold in order to write a note.

Gwen soon found herself in what was surely Mr Northbridge’s private sanctum. Smelling faintly of leather, cigars and fine old brandy, the room was a representation of its owner’s personality—solid, reliable and wholly masculine.

Settling herself behind the desk, she easily arrested the housekeeper’s immediate departure by saying, ‘Please don’t rush away. It won’t take many moments just to scribble a few lines…It’s Mrs Brice, isn’t it?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am!’ she responded, appearing surprised.

‘I wish to thank you for ensuring that Jane Robbins’s belongings were safely packed away until such time as your master was able to dispose of them. Did you know I was a particular friend of hers?’

‘The master did mention it, ma’am, when he gave orders for the box to be brought down from the attic.’ She was quiet for a moment, then, evidently feeling she ought to say something further, added, ‘All very sorry we were, ma’am. Miss Robbins was a real nice young woman. There wasn’t a servant here who didn’t think well of her.’

Even though Gwen was much moved by the tribute, simply because she believed it had been totally sincere, not uttered merely as a formality, her mind was working rapidly in order to turn the conversation to her advantage, and maybe uncover something, anything, that might offer a clue as to why Jane had lost her life on that particular day in January. Was it simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had she, perhaps, arranged to meet someone in secret, which would necessitate in her having to venture forth alone?

The latter was unlikely, and yet anything was possible, Gwen decided, striving to keep an open mind as she said, ‘Yes, dear Jane always attempted to get along with people, no matter their station in life. I cannot recall anyone who didn’t like her. She was both trustworthy and hardworking. And so sensible too! That’s why I cannot understand what could have possessed her to go out walking on what I’m reliably informed was such a damp and dismal day, by herself and in such a lonely spot.’

Mrs Brice wasn’t slow to agree. ‘Truth to tell, ma’am, it surprised us too. Never mentioned to anyone she meant to go out. Which was most odd, not like her at all. She’d always let one of the staff know, even if she was just going for a walk in the garden. And she was never late for meals. Always so considerate to Cook, she was.’

‘Perhaps something had upset her, and it slipped her mind,’ Gwen suggested, and watched a slightly troubled expression flit over the housekeeper’s face.

‘Now, it’s strange you should say that, ma’am. Because, unless I’m much mistaken, it were on that very day the young parlourmaid happened to catch sight of Miss Robbins coming along the passageway from the nursery. Said as how she looked upset, red eyed and sniffing, and whisked herself into her room without speaking. But I don’t see as how she could have been upset, because she was fine earlier when I spoke to her, and I know for a fact she was looking forward to beginning lessons with the girls again the following morning.

‘She’d done wonders with those girls, ma’am,’ she went on to reveal, her mind seemingly locked in the past, ‘especially Miss Amy, who can be something of a handful at times. Both Miss Mary and Miss Amy had grown right fond of her, so they had. So I can’t see as how a visit to the nursery to see them would have upset her. No, I think it’s much more likely she’d picked up a touch of the influenza herself, and maybe thought to walk it off that afternoon.’

‘Or maybe she’d agreed to meet someone, and chose Marsden Wood so that the assignation wouldn’t be witnessed,’ Gwen suggested, and then watched as Mrs Brice’s expression of gentle concern changed at once into a decidedly guarded look.

She easily guessed the reason for the slight withdrawal. ‘I’m not suggesting for a moment that Miss Robbins’s behaviour was in any way improper,’ she assured the servant. ‘I suppose I’m just trying to think of some reason why she should have taken it into her head to visit such a place alone, when she knew of its unfortunate reputation.’

The explanation evidently satisfied Mrs Brice, because she visibly thawed. ‘That I couldn’t say, ma’am. But what I can tell you is Miss Robbins never had any callers…followers, as you might say. And never received any letters, at least none that weren’t picked up in a proper manner from the receiving office, with the master’s own. And she received a few of those during the many months she were here.’