The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall (17 page)

Spencer and the doctor were still standing nearby. Now was not the time to have this discussion with Sarah. It must wait. She stood up. ‘Well, Sarah, if you don’t want my comfort then I will leave you alone. But please calm yourself. As the mistress of the household, you should set an example here, and take charge. You must grieve in private, as I will.’

The words seemed to hit home, for Sarah sat up, wiped the back of her sleeve across her eyes, and heaved a huge sigh. She set her lips into a tight line. ‘I shall grieve how I see fit, Rebecca. Now then, Dr Millbank, you must show me the body.’ She held out a hand and Spencer helped her stand upright.

‘Miss Cooper, as I have already explained to Miss Winton, I don’t think either of you should view the body, for it is a gruesome sight having been in the water some time…’ the doctor began, but Sarah raised a hand to cut him off.

‘Nonsense. I am made of sterner stuff than my sister, and I insist on seeing it. I need to make sure…’ Sarah broke off and shook her head sharply.

Rebecca frowned. What had Sarah been about to say? Whatever it was, she’d stopped herself.

The doctor was also frowning. But Sarah was striding across the hallway towards the servants’ corridor, apparently recovered from her hysterical outburst, and he and Spencer had no choice but to hurry after her. Rebecca followed, but at a distance. She had realised the doctor was right, and if there was no need for her to view the body she should keep away. You can’t un-see something once seen, and she had no desire to torment herself with memories of Charles’s waterlogged, decomposed body. Better to remember the handsome, charming, lively man he had once been. At this thought a sob rose in her throat and she had to breathe deeply to keep herself from wailing out loud, as Sarah had been doing just a few moments earlier.

She remained standing at the kitchen door, from where she could just see Sarah approach the cart. Spencer stood close beside her as if to catch her should she faint, and the doctor, after a nod from Sarah, lifted back the old blanket that covered the figure on the cart. Rebecca watched as Sarah took a step forward, her hand over her mouth and nose, and looked closely at the corpse. She gasped loudly, then stepped back.

‘It is indeed Charles de Witt. I recognise that jacket. He wore it so often when we went out riding. And the shape and size of the man are correct to be him. The hair colour, too. It is most certainly him. Oh, poor, poor Charles. To think he has come to this! Oh, the poor man, to be so thwarted in love he felt he had to take his own life.’ At this she turned back towards the house and glared at Rebecca, as if to accuse her once more of being the cause of Charles’s demise.

Rebecca turned and left. She would not be drawn into a fight with Sarah now, in front of witnesses. It must be left until later, and done in private. For now she felt the need to lie down, clutch hold of a pillow tightly, and allow herself to cry herself to sleep. And before she slept, to ponder – had there been a look of triumph in Sarah’s expression? Something like the expression she’d had when she was standing at the top of the stairs, on the day Rebecca’s dear mama had fallen and broken her neck?

Chapter 15

July 2015

It was a few weeks now since Ben had ditched her, but Gemma still could not get used to the idea that she was a single woman again. After being part of a couple for so many years she simply couldn’t get her head around the idea of being on her own. Nat had taken her out to the Men At Arms once and had tried to persuade her to flirt a little with any likely-looking lads, but Gemma had shaken her head. ‘No, mate. It’s too early. I’m not over Ben.’

‘You’ll have to start dating again sometime, you know,’ Nat said. ‘You can’t just sit at home and mope on your own. You’re in danger of ending up as an old woman smelling of cat piss.’

‘I’m so not!’ Gemma said, punching Nat on the arm. She was quiet for a minute, then added: ‘I’m more likely to get a dog.’

‘See what I mean? You’re already planning your non-human companions. Get yourself another man, and quick. Show Ben you’re over him, and that he hasn’t hurt you.’

But he
has
hurt me, Gemma thought. More than Nat would ever know. She had smiled briefly at Nat and changed the subject.

And now, at work, it seemed Nat wasn’t the only one trying to persuade her to get back into the dating game. Christine, the part-time member of staff, had spent half her lunch hour perched on the corner of the desk in the back office where Gemma was cataloguing a box full of Roman coins and pottery fragments, chattering on about how it was a good idea to go out with a few different men as soon as a long-term relationship ended. ‘So you quickly get over that awful first time out with someone new,’ she said. ‘When my marriage broke down I found myself a new fellow within a fortnight. It only lasted a short while, mind, but it got me over that fear that no one else would ever find me attractive. And I never looked back, you know. I had a lot of boyfriends, one after the other, and eventually found my lovely Steve. There’ll be someone out there for you, Gemma dear, if Ben wasn’t the one. Don’t you fret about it, but do get yourself out there. You’re hardly going to meet anyone eligible in this dusty old museum, are you? There’s only poor old Roger, and I don’t suppose he’s your type, is he, ha ha!’

Gemma smiled politely at this, but shook her head. Christine seemed delighted with her joke. She slid off the desk and patted Gemma on the shoulder. ‘Well, that’s your agony aunt Christine’s advice. I’d better be off back to work now.’

Gemma returned to her cataloguing. The school summer holidays had started, and Bridhampton was full of holidaymakers. The museum tended to be quieter on the sunny days, when everyone was at the nearby beach hunting for fossils, or walking the Jurassic coast path. But on wet days the museum could be very popular, and she would be kept busy out front, on the entrance desk or gift shop. On those days she got very little cataloguing done. Her research into the ruby duelling pistols had taken a bit of a back seat lately, but she hadn’t forgotten them, and was desperate to get back to Red Hill Hall and find out if they had any archives.

She’d barely started typing again when Roger interrupted her. He was wearing a particularly fetching pale yellow cotton sweater today, despite the weather being warm. One day she would have to take him out shopping and buy him some decent gear that suited him and wasn’t thirty years out of date.

‘Sorry, Gemma, don’t let me interrupt you,’ he said, as he began opening doors and drawers.

‘It’s all right, you already did,’ she said. ‘Looking for something? Can I help?’

‘Erm, well, some Sellotape. Blu-Tack. Whatever – I need to, erm, stick something up.’

‘Second drawer.’ Gemma pointed. He was being as odd as ever – it was clear he hadn’t actually come in for either tape or Blu-Tack. Why he couldn’t just come in and say what it was he wanted to say straight out she would never know.

He was still standing there, reel of Sellotape in hand. She tried to wipe the irritated expression off her face and looked up at him. ‘Was there something else?’

‘Erm, no, erm, yes. Well, sort of. Not work.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘So, erm, tonight, would you like to go for a drink after work? I mean, as colleagues. We rarely get to chat much. Thought you might like a visit to the pub, now that you don’t get out as much.’

Bless him, Gemma thought. He was so awkward in these situations. He’d more or less suggested she needed to get a life, now that she was on the shelf again. Well, she might as well go out for a drink with him. There were a few work issues she could talk about. It could be a useful meeting. She forced a smile. ‘That’s a nice idea. Shall we invite Christine as well? Make it a whole-team event?’

‘Erm, I think Christine needs to get home early. Her husband Stuart –’

‘Steve.’

‘Oh, is he called Steve? OK, her husband Steve is taking her out somewhere. Their anniversary I think she said. Wasn’t really listening.’

‘Aw, that’s nice for them. Their anniversary I mean. She didn’t mention it when she was in here a while ago. Anyway, yes, I can come. I wanted to talk to you about a few things anyway. See you later.’ Gemma smiled at him, and got a blush and a grimace, which was presumably supposed to be a smile, in return. As Roger left the back office, having put the Sellotape back in the drawer, she realised it would be the first time she’d ever seen him outside of work. They’d tried to arrange a Christmas staff meal out last year, but he’d had flu and hadn’t made it, and the year before he’d been on holiday with his mum. Gemma could hardly imagine him outside of the museum; he seemed so much a part of it – sweet, but as fusty and old-fashioned as the exhibits.

At six o’clock they closed up the museum, tidied the shop and put the takings into the safe. ‘I’ll do a bank run tomorrow,’ Roger said. ‘Right then, when you’re ready, shall we, erm, go to the Red Lion?’

Not her favourite pub, Gemma thought. Usually populated by old men supping pints of real ale. But it was just across the road from the museum, and had a small garden that might be nice to sit in. It did not serve food in the evenings so was unlikely to be full of holidaymakers. ‘Lovely!’ she said, brightly. ‘I’ll just get my bag and jacket.’

As they crossed the road, Roger took hold of her elbow to steer her across. Gemma resisted the temptation to shake him off. He was just trying to be courteous, and behave towards a lady as he thought a gentleman should. It irritated her, but he couldn’t help being so old-fashioned. His chivalrous ways worked in her favour once inside the pub, however, as he found her a table, pulled a chair out for her and insisted on buying the first round. ‘Gin and tonic for me, please,’ she said. A change from the gallons of Prosecco she normally drank with Nat, which didn’t seem the right choice for an evening out with the boss.

Roger nodded and smiled as though he approved of her choice, and returned a few minutes later with the drinks. His was a pint of the local brew.

‘Well, this is lovely,’ said Gemma. ‘Cheers!’

‘Erm, cheers,’ Roger replied, sloshing his beer as he clinked glasses with her. He fell silent as he took a sip, and then seemed unsure how to begin a conversation.

After a minute or two Gemma stepped in with some waffly chat about the museum: the themed displays they might exhibit, the layouts they could consider. ‘I’d love to do something on local mysteries and scandals. We could use the duelling pistols’ story as the centrepiece. We’ve got that hoard of Roman coins that was found buried in a medieval pot, and I’m sure somewhere there’s a bloodstained nightie that’s supposed to have come from a haunted house. It’d go down a treat with school parties. What do you think?’

‘Erm, yes, great idea. You can work on that after the summer season is over. But let’s not talk work, eh Gemma?’ He blushed and took a sip of his beer. ‘How are you?’

‘Me? I’m fine, Roger.’

‘No, I mean, how are you really? It must have been hard since you lost your boyfriend. I want you to know, Gemma –’ he reached out across the table and put his hand, which was cold and slightly wet from holding his pint, over hers ‘– that I’m always here for you. I, erm, care about you, Gemma. As your boss, but also, I hope, as a friend. A true friend.’

Gemma looked in confusion at his hand on hers. He must have taken her expression as one of distaste, for he removed his hand quickly and reddened again.

‘Sorry. Erm, well, that’s what I wanted to say to you. Why I asked you out tonight. So. Yes, let’s talk about this mysteries and scandals exhibition. Sounds like an excellent idea. You can design it. I’ll agree to any reasonable suggestion. Yes. Splendid.’

He was waffling again. Gemma smiled indulgently and chatted on about her ideas. Might as well make good use of this time when she had his attention and he seemed willing to agree to her plans. She’d knock up a proposal tomorrow and get his agreement in writing in case he backtracked later. The more she talked through her outline plans the more she felt excited by the idea, even though it had only really come to her this evening. She found herself becoming more and more animated, and realised Roger was sitting back smiling benignly at her. Was she making a fool of herself? No, the idea was a good one. The only fool here was Roger, bless him, with his social awkwardness. It still wasn’t entirely clear to her why he’d invited her out this evening.

They had a second drink, also bought by Roger who insisted on it. ‘I don’t like to see a lady standing at the bar,’ he’d said, and Gemma had gritted her teeth.

When the second glass was empty she shrugged on her jacket and picked up her bag. ‘Well, thanks so much, Roger. It’s been a lovely evening and I’ve enjoyed having the chance to talk about my ideas. I’ll send you a write-up by the end of tomorrow.’

‘You’re leaving already?’ He looked horrified.

‘Well, I’d better not drink any more without eating something. No telling what might happen if I have three gins on an empty stomach, ha ha!’

‘I’ll walk you home, then.’ He got up, and pulled out her chair. Gemma realised she could not say no to him without offending him, even though it was daylight, she only lived ten minutes’ walk away and she always walked to and from work alone.

‘All right, if you want,’ she said.

They walked the short distance more or less in silence. Roger took her elbow when they crossed roads, but otherwise walked beside her, with a careful gap maintained between them. When they bumped shoulders on a narrow part of the pavement he apologised and immediately stepped back to let her go first. Finally they reached Gemma’s building, and she stopped outside the door to fumble in her handbag for her key.

‘Well, here we are. Thanks once again. I’d invite you in, only the place is a mess and…’ She broke off. What was she saying? She didn’t want her boss in her flat. She preferred to keep things separate. She was about to apologise some more when suddenly Roger’s hands were on her shoulders, his nose was bashing into her cheek and his teeth were clashing against hers. Good grief, he was trying to kiss her! Her mind raced as she worked out how to push him away without hurting his feelings or ruining their working relationship, but at the same time making it very clear that no, this was not what she wanted, not at all.