the story, we try to cover up matters, they will write a far worse account than if we issue a plain statement of the facts.’
‘What are the facts?’ asked Helen.
Silence fell.
‘We shall have to wait for the result of the post-mortem examination for positive identification,’ said the Earl, uncertainly.
Ursula stared at him. Did he have a faint hope that the body was not that of Polly Brown? If it was not hers, whose could it be?
‘Why, we have driven Belle and William into the conservatory,’ said Helen in a tone that signalled this conversation was at an end. ‘Charles, do go and bring them back amongst us.’
* * *
In her bedroom, Ursula continued her letter:
I am not sure why the Earl and Countess appear to favour a match between Belle and the Colonel, who to my eye seem wildly unsuited.
Ursula paused and looked at her last sentence. After a moment, she gave a little nod and continued:
As I have mentioned before, William Warburton’s charms seem to have made a deep impression on Belle. The Colonel paid her no attention before dinner but during the meal studied her with close, though unobtrusive, attention. It could be that he is making up his mind as to her suitability for the position of his bride. Whether Belle would succumb to a determined wooing, remains to be seen. I will keep you informed.
Ursula signed her letter, folded it and addressed the envelope. Benson would organise its despatch.
Then she wondered if allowing the butler to know how frequently she was sending letters to his mistress’s father was a good idea. At the moment, however, with the immobility brought by her sprained ankle, what alternative did she have?
She suddenly felt very tired. Balancing her travelling writing desk on her knee while working in the poor candlelight of her room had been exhausting and her ankle was now throbbing badly.
She tried to keep movement to a minimum as she put away her writing impedimenta and got ready for bed. Today had been a marathon. What would tomorrow be like?
Ursula blew out her candle and, not for the first time, longed for the electric light of the Seldon mansion. Were all English aristocratic houses living in the past? She wondered if she could request an oil lamp. Over everything, though, there loomed the big question she needed to find an answer to: what was Helen doing with her dowry?
Chapter Nine
The following morning Ursula, using her crutches with increasing skill, managed to negotiate the stairs and the corridor along to the breakfast room; a much smaller and even shabbier version of the stately dining room.
Belle came in some twenty minutes later. She was dressed in a dark green riding habit, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She stopped in the doorway and surveyed the room.
‘Ursula, I didn’t expect to see you. Aren’t you tired after yesterday? Shouldn’t you be staying in bed?’ She sounded almost resentful that this was not the case.
Ursula helped herself to another piece of toast and more of the dark, thick marmalade. The Mountstanton preserves were outstanding.
‘I slept well last night,’ she lied. ‘The idea of staying in bed and wondering exactly what had happened to that poor girl was not attractive. Much better to be up and about.’
‘Oh, you are always so positive!’ Belle sat herself at the table. There were just three places laid. The arrangement suggested that earlier there had been more. Belle eyed the still unoccupied place.
‘Is that Helen’s?’
Ursula shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
As was customary, staff were not in attendance in the breakfast room. Silver dishes, equipped with domed lids and laden with cooked items were kept warm by little paraffin heaters gently flaming beneath them. Breakfasters helped themselves to their contents. There were rolls in a covered basket and fresh coffee had been produced soon after Ursula came into the room, with an inquiry as to whether there was anything
‘What are the facts?’ asked Helen.
Silence fell.
‘We shall have to wait for the result of the post-mortem examination for positive identification,’ said the Earl, uncertainly.
Ursula stared at him. Did he have a faint hope that the body was not that of Polly Brown? If it was not hers, whose could it be?
‘Why, we have driven Belle and William into the conservatory,’ said Helen in a tone that signalled this conversation was at an end. ‘Charles, do go and bring them back amongst us.’
* * *
In her bedroom, Ursula continued her letter:
I am not sure why the Earl and Countess appear to favour a match between Belle and the Colonel, who to my eye seem wildly unsuited.
Ursula paused and looked at her last sentence. After a moment, she gave a little nod and continued:
As I have mentioned before, William Warburton’s charms seem to have made a deep impression on Belle. The Colonel paid her no attention before dinner but during the meal studied her with close, though unobtrusive, attention. It could be that he is making up his mind as to her suitability for the position of his bride. Whether Belle would succumb to a determined wooing, remains to be seen. I will keep you informed.
Ursula signed her letter, folded it and addressed the envelope. Benson would organise its despatch.
Then she wondered if allowing the butler to know how frequently she was sending letters to his mistress’s father was a good idea. At the moment, however, with the immobility brought by her sprained ankle, what alternative did she have?
She suddenly felt very tired. Balancing her travelling writing desk on her knee while working in the poor candlelight of her room had been exhausting and her ankle was now throbbing badly.
She tried to keep movement to a minimum as she put away her writing impedimenta and got ready for bed. Today had been a marathon. What would tomorrow be like?
Ursula blew out her candle and, not for the first time, longed for the electric light of the Seldon mansion. Were all English aristocratic houses living in the past? She wondered if she could request an oil lamp. Over everything, though, there loomed the big question she needed to find an answer to: what was Helen doing with her dowry?
Chapter Nine
The following morning Ursula, using her crutches with increasing skill, managed to negotiate the stairs and the corridor along to the breakfast room; a much smaller and even shabbier version of the stately dining room.
Belle came in some twenty minutes later. She was dressed in a dark green riding habit, her blonde hair pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She stopped in the doorway and surveyed the room.
‘Ursula, I didn’t expect to see you. Aren’t you tired after yesterday? Shouldn’t you be staying in bed?’ She sounded almost resentful that this was not the case.
Ursula helped herself to another piece of toast and more of the dark, thick marmalade. The Mountstanton preserves were outstanding.
‘I slept well last night,’ she lied. ‘The idea of staying in bed and wondering exactly what had happened to that poor girl was not attractive. Much better to be up and about.’
‘Oh, you are always so positive!’ Belle sat herself at the table. There were just three places laid. The arrangement suggested that earlier there had been more. Belle eyed the still unoccupied place.
‘Is that Helen’s?’
Ursula shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’
As was customary, staff were not in attendance in the breakfast room. Silver dishes, equipped with domed lids and laden with cooked items were kept warm by little paraffin heaters gently flaming beneath them. Breakfasters helped themselves to their contents. There were rolls in a covered basket and fresh coffee had been produced soon after Ursula came into the room, with an inquiry as to whether there was anything
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