Читать книгу The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall: A gripping novel of family, secrets and murder - Kathleen McGurl, Kathleen McGurl - Страница 14

Chapter 4

November 1834

‘I am so bored,’ Sarah grumbled. ‘I wish something would happen. Anything. Or at least if it stopped raining we could go out riding.’

Rebecca gazed out of the window. They were each sitting on a window seat in their old schoolroom, on the second floor of Red Hill Hall. Their governess Miss Albarn had been dismissed a couple of months previously – now that they had both turned fifteen the girls were deemed to have learned all that she could teach them. They now used the old schoolroom as a kind of sitting room. Rebecca didn’t mind the rain as much as Sarah. Sarah always seemed to become stressed and fretful if she had to stay indoors, whereas Rebecca was quite happy to sit with a book or in front of the piano, for hours on end. In fact a rainy day was sometimes a good thing, as it meant they were expected to stay quietly indoors and Sarah could not drag her outside on some crazy scheme.

Last week, against her better judgement, she’d allowed Sarah to persuade her to ride their ponies out of the estate, through the woods and across farmland. They weren’t supposed to leave the estate without a groom accompanying them, but Sarah had insisted, and had said she would go alone if Rebecca didn’t go with her. Rebecca had had no choice. She’d followed Sarah galloping across the fields, but her pony had shied at a jump and she’d fallen. She was still bruised.

‘I don’t know that I shall ever want to go riding again, after last time,’ Rebecca said.

‘Spoilsport. Who will I go out riding with, then? If only the grooms were more handsome, I shouldn’t mind having them as companions. If only they were more like that handsome farm labourer, Jed Arthur. He smiled at me last time. And winked. I believe he thinks I am beautiful.’ She paced around the room and sighed, dramatically. ‘Oh, being cooped up in here is so tedious. If only there was something to do.’

With Sarah in this mood Rebecca realised she would not progress with reading her novel. She stood, and held out her hand. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go and find something to do.’ Although Sarah’s plans sometimes went wrong, as Rebecca’s bruised shoulder could testify, Rebecca knew that her life would be far more boring without Sarah around. She loved Sarah for the excitement she brought to what would otherwise be too quiet a life.

They went downstairs, and visited the kitchens where Cook gave them each a finger of shortbread before making it clear to them that they were in the way. When they were younger they’d been allowed to linger in the kitchen, sitting by the fire toasting bread or marshmallows, but now they were supposed to behave like ladies, and ladies shouldn’t be in the kitchens.

‘What now?’ said Rebecca, as she followed Sarah out of the kitchen and back into the main hallway of the house. Sarah stopped in front of a glass-fronted cabinet, which stood opposite the foot of the stairs. It housed two ceremonial swords and a mahogany display case containing a pair of pistols.

‘Those.’ Sarah pointed to the pistols. ‘Papa brought them home last week. I should like a closer look at them.’

Rebecca frowned. Sarah had recently taken to referring to Mr Winton as ‘Papa’. But he wasn’t Sarah’s Papa, he was hers. Sarah had no Papa – at least not one that was acknowledged. While Rebecca loved having Sarah as a constant companion, almost a sister, and she loved her dearly, she did not want to share her parents with her. It was very sad when Sarah’s mama had died, but that was years ago, and Sarah should think herself lucky that Mr and Mrs Winton had continued to care for her all this time. Rebecca knew it was just so that she, Rebecca, had a suitable playmate, and that when Rebecca married Sarah would become her paid companion. She didn’t want to think about that, though. She couldn’t imagine being Sarah’s employer, instead of her sister.

‘The cabinet is locked,’ Rebecca said.

‘Let’s ask Spencer. I want to know how to use them.’ Sarah turned with a toss of her hair and a swish of her skirts, and strode off in search of the butler. Rebecca scurried along after her. It may be a rainy stay-indoors kind of day but it seemed Sarah was still able to concoct wicked plans that could get them into trouble. Not with Spencer – Sarah seemed able to do no wrong as far as he was concerned – but with Papa or Mama, if either of them discovered what they were up to.

Spencer was in his little office in the servants’ wing. He was filling in some figures in the household’s accounts book. He looked up with a scowl when Sarah pushed open the door, but his expression quickly changed to one of fond indulgence when he saw who it was.

‘Well now, Miss Sarah, what brings you here?’ The butler twisted round in his chair and smiled broadly at the girls. He was middle-aged, greying, kind but firm with the servants. He’d worked for the Wintons for as long as Rebecca could remember.

Sarah flashed him a bright smile. ‘We were wondering whether you might show us Papa’s new duelling pistols. The ones in the display cabinet. They are so pretty, set with those rubies. We would so like to take a closer look at them.’

‘Well, I’m not too sure whether Mr Winton would allow that…’ Spencer rubbed his hand across his eyes.

‘Oh please, Spencer, dear! Just for a minute. Papa doesn’t need to ever know. He’s still away in London, isn’t he? And Mrs Winton is closeted away in her private sitting room. She won’t come out till dinner time. She never does. Please, Spencer?’ Sarah had clasped her hands in front of her, and was bouncing up and down in front of him like an overexcited child. Rebecca watched, in awe of the way Sarah seemed able to manipulate him into doing whatever she wanted to do. She remembered the secret her parents had let slip after Mrs Cooper had died, and once again wondered whether Sarah knew the truth.

‘Well…’

‘Please?’

‘Very well. We will take them out and you shall look at them. But only for a moment, mind, Miss Sarah.’ Spencer fixed her with a look that was supposed to be stern, but that wasn’t at all. Rebecca couldn’t help but let out a giggle.

‘I suppose you want to see them too, Miss Rebecca?’

‘Yes please, if it isn’t too much bother,’ she replied.

‘Don’t be silly, Rebecca. It’s never too much trouble for Spencer, doing something for us. He’d do anything for us. He loves us, don’t you, Spencer?’

‘That I do, Miss Sarah.’ He got to his feet with a weary sigh and crossed the office to his key-board, where he selected a bunch of small keys. ‘Come along, then.’

Sarah gave a small skip of excitement as she followed the butler back through to the main hallway. Rebecca trailed behind, keeping a watch in case someone came along and saw them. Although it would only matter if Mama saw them, and as Sarah had said, she was unlikely to leave her room until dinner time.

Spencer unlocked the cabinet and reverentially took out the mahogany box. ‘Mr Winton bought this as a display piece,’ he said. ‘In the last century, owning a set of duelling pistols was a kind of gentleman’s status symbol. I don’t think they have ever been fired. The pistols and their case are really just a decorative item.’

‘But could they be fired?’ Sarah asked.

‘Certainly. They are fully functioning pistols. Let’s take them somewhere we can lay them out and I’ll show you all the pieces.’ Spencer led the way back towards the servants’ wing, and into the servants’ dining hall. It was deserted. He closed the door behind them and laid the box on the table. He seemed almost as excited as Sarah was by the thought of taking them out of the box. Rebecca watched as he removed first the two pistols, then a rod, a brush, a flask and a small box, and some other items. He checked the mechanism of one pistol then handed it to Sarah to hold, before doing the same with the other, which he handed to Rebecca.

‘They’re unloaded, so they’re perfectly safe,’ he said. Nevertheless she felt her heart pound as she turned the pistol over in her hands. This was a weapon capable of killing a man at a distance. It was heavy, and felt unbalanced, as though it would be an effort to hold it pointing straight. The dark wooden stock was set with engraved silver plates and studded with rubies, and the mechanism was made of shiny brass.

‘What are all these other things?’ Sarah asked, indicating the items Spencer had removed from the box.

‘The ramrod, cleaning brush, shot, and the gunpowder,’ he replied, indicating each item. ‘And tools for maintaining the pistols.’

‘Real gunpowder?’ Rebecca gasped.

Spencer opened the flask. ‘Yes, there is some in there. The set is complete, in readiness for a duel. The two pistols would be primed and loaded by the duellists’ seconds, men who’d been chosen to ensure the duel was carried out fairly. The gentlemen would then take a pistol each, stand back to back and take an agreed number of paces away from each other before turning and firing. The paces would be counted out loud by the seconds.’

‘It’s barbaric.’ Rebecca felt slightly sick at the idea of two men, men such as her father, wanting to shoot and kill another man just to settle a point of honour. She glanced at Sarah. The other girl’s face was flushed, her eyes bright with excitement.

‘Can you imagine having two men fight a duel over you, Rebecca? Wouldn’t that be the ultimate declaration of love? Suppose, for example, a gentleman fell in love with you, but you are promised to Charles de Witt so he challenged the other man to a duel! Wouldn’t that be thrilling? I should simply adore it if men fought to the death over me!’

‘Ah no, Miss Sarah. Duels are rarely fought to the death. Often the duellists will purposefully miss their targets. The point is to prove you were prepared to put yourself in danger for the sake of your honour.’ Spencer smiled indulgently at the girls.

‘But sometimes people would be shot?’ asked Rebecca. She put her pistol back into the box.

‘Yes, sometimes, and occasionally a duel would result in a death. Thankfully duels are rare nowadays. If a man is killed in a duel then his opponent is deemed guilty of murder and should be tried accordingly. Although I must admit, very often if the duel is considered to have been fought fairly, he will be let off lightly.’ Spencer held out his hand to take the second pistol from Sarah, but she did not pass it back.

‘I would very much like to learn how to prime it,’ she said quietly.

‘Sarah! We mustn’t load them! It mightn’t be safe!’ Rebecca was horrified. It was bad enough holding a dangerous weapon but if it was actually loaded… She had heard Papa read out newspaper reports of pistols that had misfired and injured their owners.

‘It would be perfectly safe, Miss Rebecca,’ Spencer said. ‘Duelling pistols are the most reliable flintlocks there are. And I assure you I know how to prime it safely.’

‘Have you acted as a second, perhaps, in a duel?’ Sarah asked.

‘No. But I have not always been a butler. As you know, I was previously in the army. I fought at Waterloo and have a medal to show for it.’ Spencer pulled himself upright as though standing to attention in front of a superior officer. ‘Therefore I am well acquainted with weapons such as these, although it has been a long time since I handled one.’

‘So will you show us?’ Sarah pleaded.

Spencer regarded her for a moment, then nodded. ‘Very well. You may watch but don’t touch anything.’ He picked up one of the pistols and twisted the cock on the top, which held the flint. ‘There, that is in the half-cocked safety position, which means it can’t accidentally fire. Now it is safe for me to prime and load it.’

Next, he opened the little flask and measured out a small amount of gunpowder, which he tipped into the muzzle end of the pistol. He added a ball of lead shot encased in paper from the little box, and pushed the whole lot down the pistol with the ramrod. ‘The gun is now loaded but not primed,’ he told the girls. ‘It is still safe.’

He then opened the flash pan lid on the top of the pistol and tipped a little more gunpowder onto the pan, before closing the lid. ‘And now it is primed. But it still cannot fire in this half-cocked position. The cock must be fully back in order for the trigger to work. If fired, the trigger releases the cock, which causes the flint to strike the frizzen – look, this piece here. That causes a spark, which ignites the gunpowder in the flash pan. The flash passes through a hole into the barrel, igniting the main gunpowder and thus discharging the gun.’ He looked at the two girls as though to see if they had followed all this.

Rebecca was not sure she understood how the mechanism worked, but she knew she’d seen enough. ‘Thank you, Spencer, that was most informative. I think perhaps you ought to unload the weapon now, and we should put it all away.’

‘No, Rebecca, don’t be a spoilsport. I think we should all go outside and Spencer should fire the gun. It doesn’t look as though it is possible to get the shot and all the gunpowder out unless the pistol is actually fired. Isn’t that right, Spencer?’ Sarah stared at the butler, and Rebecca thought she saw her wink.

‘Well, the shot should come out if you tip the gun upside down, and the flash pan is easy enough to empty. But you are right, not all the gunpowder can be extracted from the combustion chamber. I do not think Mr Winton would be very happy if I fired his gun, however.’

‘Mr Winton isn’t here so won’t ever need to know. Come on, Spencer, look, the rain has eased off so we could go outside and fire it? Please? Dearest Spencer, I would so like to see it fired, just once!’ Sarah was in full persuasion mode again, Rebecca noted, and it was working. ‘And now that it is loaded, you might as well. You can’t put it away like this, for that certainly wouldn’t be safe.’

Spencer sighed, and then smiled indulgently at her. He put the other pieces back in the box, but kept the loaded pistol out. Handing the box to Sarah to carry, he led the way out of the servants’ dining room, along a corridor and out through a side door. This led into the kitchen gardens, which they skirted round and left through a gate, emerging into the wide open parkland. Spencer stopped about twenty yards from a large spreading oak tree. ‘I shall discharge the weapon at the tree,’ he said.

Rebecca gasped. ‘But what if someone gets in the way?’

‘Miss Rebecca, look, there is no one in the way now. You and Miss Sarah shall stand behind me, a good distance back. No one can possibly approach without us seeing.’ He stood sideways on, raised his arm and pointed the pistol at the tree. With his other hand he cocked it and then fired, before either girl had a chance to say anything more. There was a flash, then an enormous bang, and a shower of bark fragments flew from the tree. A crow flapped frantically away cawing loudly and a pair of pigeons followed, from higher in the tree. Rebecca couldn’t stop herself from squealing and clasping her hands over her mouth, while Sarah was jumping up and down clapping her hands. There was a sharp, acrid smell and a puff of smoke rose and dispersed on the breeze.

‘There, my ladies. I have defended your honour and fired my pistol. The tree is injured, though not mortally so, but he will not dare cross me again!’ Spencer’s face was flushed, and Rebecca realised he’d enjoyed the feeling of holding and firing a pistol again. Perhaps it was the first time since Waterloo, almost twenty years earlier.

‘Thank you, dear Spencer! Thank you! What a wonderful loud noise it made. It was simply thrilling!’ Sarah flung her arms about the butler to his astonishment.

‘Miss Sarah, this is no way to behave! I must remind you I am still holding the pistol and it must now be cleaned and returned to its case. Come along now, and watch this part of the proceedings too. And then I really must return to my duties.’ He extricated himself from her embrace and picked up the case that she’d put down on the ground, tutting over the water marks from the wet grass. ‘I hope those don’t show when it’s dry or we shall all be in trouble.’

He set off back to the house, and Rebecca followed him with relief. That was quite enough excitement for one day. She hoped after the pistols were put away Sarah might settle to some quiet reading or embroidery, or some other occupation more suited to young ladies.