chaise longue, with a piece of embroidery in her hands. She listened quietly as Rebecca told her what had happened, then she carefully put away her stitching before pulling Rebecca to her in a brief embrace.
‘Oh, child. I am sorry you had to witness Mrs Cooper’s passing. But perhaps it is for the best that she is gone. She will suffer no more. And the child Sarah, where is she now?’
‘Spencer carried her away. I don’t know where. Mama, I would like to go and see her and try to comfort her. May I?’
‘Of course. In good time. Sit here with me until your father comes. We will keep each other company in the meantime.’
Rebecca sat on the chaise beside her mother, feeling very grown-up to be asked to keep her mother company. Normally she spent just half an hour before tea in her parents’ presence, answering questions on what she had been learning with Miss Albarn. Sometimes Sarah was with her on these visits, and other times Rebecca was alone. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was just after eleven. Miss Albarn would be wanting to start on another lesson.
‘Mama, I am worried that Miss Albarn will wonder where we are. She did not come down when the maid came to fetch Sarah.’
‘Don’t worry, child. I will send someone to tell her. Lessons are cancelled for today.’ Mrs Winton stood, and crossed the room to tug on the bell-pull by the fireplace.
It seemed hours before Rebecca’s father joined them, but he entered the room just before the clock struck a quarter past the hour. Rebecca stood and curtseyed when he entered the room but he seemed not to notice her there. He flung himself down in a chair opposite his wife and wiped a hand across his brow. ‘You have heard the news, Charlotte?’
‘I have. Where is Sarah?’
‘Resting. The doctor has given her something to help her sleep. She is very distraught, as you might imagine.’
Mrs Winton sighed. ‘I fear for what will become of her, the poor mite. It is not her fault she had the misfortune to be born out of wedlock. And now she is all alone in this world at such a tender age.’
Mr Winton stared at her. ‘She is not alone. She has us. And of course she has Spencer. She will remain here, under our care, as she has been all her life. There is no question about it. What would you have me do – throw her out?’
‘No, no, of course not. She is welcome to stay. It will look odd, though. While her mother was working here it made sense for us to house her and educate her, as a playmate for Rebecca. But to keep her here on her own, after a suitable mourning period of course, well, that would look odd, wouldn’t it? We have never publicly acknowledged that Spencer is, well, you know.’ Mrs Winton raised her eyebrows at her husband.
Rebecca kept quiet. Both parents seemed to have forgotten she was there. What had they not publicly acknowledged about Spencer? She had no idea what her mother meant by it looking odd if Sarah continued to live with them, but all she could think of was that Sarah must stay! They’d grown up together. They were like sisters. Sarah meant everything to her, and a life without Sarah at her side was not one Rebecca cared to contemplate. But she instinctively knew that nothing she could say right now would influence events. All she could do was watch and listen.
Papa was cross. ‘Charlotte, there is nothing to discuss here. We cannot throw out a motherless child. Sarah must stay under our roof. Spencer, of course, adores her. He saved my life at Waterloo. The least I can do to repay him is to continue to provide a home for Sarah. Besides, Rebecca would be heartbroken if she were to go. The girls can continue to share a governess, and when they are older Sarah can remain as Rebecca’s companion, until such time as she marries or leaves us of her own accord. As we’ve discussed before it is my wish that Rebecca marry the de Witt boy, Charles, when she grows up.’ Rebecca put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from reacting to this. She had met Charles de Witt on a couple of occasions when the de Witts had visited the Winton estate, or vice versa. The boy was the son of her father’s oldest friend and was several years older than herself. She had paid him very little attention. So her father intended her to marry him when she was older? That was interesting, and a little bit frightening.
Mama nodded, but didn’t look sure.
Mr Winton continued speaking. ‘So, Sarah stays with us. Agreed, Charlotte?’ Mr Winton stood and towered over Mama as he spoke. Rebecca had seen him do this before to signal the end of a discussion. There was never any point trying to argue further.
Mama looked up at him. ‘Yes, of course my dear, whatever you say.’ But her lips were firmly pressed together, in a gesture Rebecca knew meant she didn’t agree but would not argue any further.
Papa nodded and left the room. Rebecca waited a moment and then followed him out. She ran to Sarah’s room in the housekeeper’s apartment, and found her friend lying tucked up in bed, asleep. Spencer must have put her there. She sat beside her and stroked a stray lock of hair from her face, considering all that she had heard. Was Sarah perhaps not an orphan after all, and Spencer was her father? She tucked the secret away inside her head.
‘One good thing has come of this, Sarah,’ she whispered. ‘You are to be my sister. Papa said so. I will be married to Charles de Witt, and you are to be my companion. You will stay with me for the rest of my life, Sarah. Isn’t that truly wonderful?’
April 2015
‘So did you find out anything more about those duelling pistols today?’ Ben asked, as he paid the bill. Gemma and Ben had eaten out in their favourite Italian bistro, as was their habit on a Friday night.
Gemma pushed back her chair and slipped on her leather jacket. ‘I made a start. There’s a sketchy history of Red Hill Hall on the hotel’s website, but it’s only a couple of paragraphs and doesn’t mention a shooting.’
‘Did you try googling “Red Hill Hall” and “duel” together?’ Ben held the door open for her and they walked out into the mild spring evening.
‘I did, yes. I know how to do this research lark, you know!’ Gemma laughed. ‘Couldn’t find anything about it.’
‘Aw, shame. Erm, shall we walk the long way back to yours? Via the park?’ Ben shuffled his feet as he spoke and seemed unwilling to catch Gemma’s eye. She wondered why he wanted to go that way round. It was certainly a lot further. Usually they went straight back to her flat, drank a glass of wine and spent the night together if neither of them was working on the Saturday. Although very often one or both of them would be working – that was the trouble with jobs in public services like museums and sports centres.
‘OK then, if you like,’ she said, and linked her arm through his. It was certainly a pleasant enough evening for a night-time stroll.
‘So, is that it? If nothing comes up on Google about the infamous shooting does that mean you won’t be able to find out any more about it?’ Ben asked.
‘Not at all. Next step is to search the newspaper archives. Thankfully a lot of old newspapers have been digitised and are available to search online. You need a subscription though, and the museum doesn’t have one. So I need to talk to Roger on Monday, and see if he’ll agree to fund one. If he doesn’t, I’ll probably buy a month’s subscription myself and research it from home.’
‘Do you think
