There is quite a strong wind today, which makes it rather chilly.’ He made an inviting gesture towards the open door.
Alkmene looked at Jake. ‘You can get the bags in, Parker.’
Jake’s jaw set, but he did what he was told without showing any clear signs of rebellion.
Alkmene covered the few yards slowly and with her hand still resting on the small of her back. ‘I do find travelling so very exerting,’ she said to nobody in particular, but surely the butler would be all ears. If a hitherto unknown member of a family showed up, it was usually a momentous occasion for the staff. Who was this? What were they doing here? She had no doubt they would assume her arrival was associated with a will somewhere that might benefit her.
She did feel like a scavenger again.
Inside the cool hallway she looked with admiration at the oil paintings, the mounted deer, the hunting rifles casually hung upon the far wall and over the stairs. The house breathed a true country atmosphere.
The door to her left opened, and a strikingly beautiful tall dark woman came out. ‘What is this?’ she asked in a deep, slightly throaty voice. ‘I told you we would not allow visitors in this week.’
‘Excuse me, my lady.’ The butler bowed his head. ‘This is the late Lord Winters’ niece. Lady Alkmene Callender.’
Alkmene flashed her brightest smile, then remembered she was here because of a death, and wiped the smile away again. She said demurely, ‘I read about Lord Winters’ death in the paper and felt it pertinent to travel here at once to pay my respects to his children. Especially to Anne, who wrote to me several times since your return to England.’
The woman seemed insecure a moment as if she wasn’t certain what to say or do next. Apparently she had not known about Anne’s letters. She glanced at Jake and the bags he was carrying. ‘You intend to stay here?’
It sounded cold and hostile, as if that was the worst plan Alkmene could ever have come up with.
Alkmene resisted smiling too wide again to cover up for the rudeness of this intrusion and said, ‘I came all the way from London. Quite a tiring journey. I intend to stay for a few days and enjoy the country air. So very good for the lungs, you know.’
The woman’s eyes flashed, but she gestured at the butler. ‘Have rooms prepared at once. Lady Alkmene can have the blue room.’
The butler’s eyes went wide. ‘But my lady… The blue room is… Was…’
She waved her hand again. ‘Do as I tell you.’ And to Alkmene she said, ‘Come in. You must wish to have some tea.’
She turned back into the room she had come from, calling over her shoulder at the butler, ‘Have Ms Deeds bring tea and sandwiches at once.’
Alkmene nodded at Jake. ‘You can put the bags in the blue room, Parker. Then you may move the car. The butler can tell you where to put it.’ With a careless, dismissive hand gesture, she entered the room.
It was large with golden curtains, several delicate cherrywood chairs, a desk with inlaid ivory and a large piano with music on top of it. The woman walked over and sat down. She ran her fingers across the keys producing a soft haunting tune.
Alkmene stood listening for a few moments, then seated herself in a chair. She had not been invited to, but then her back was really a little stiff from the long ride and her hostess didn’t seem intent on inviting her to sit at all.
She frowned. The woman’s behaviour was very odd. One moment she was in total command, acting like she ruled the household; the next moment her behaviour changed and she seemed insecure, as if she was only present on the scene by mistake and had no part at all in playing hostess to the sudden visitors.
There was the sound of hoof beats outside and as Alkmene looked out of the window, she saw a tall attractive young man on a black horse racing across the lawn. As he came from the shadows into the sunlight, he threw his head back as if he wanted to feel the sun’s warmth on his face. Could this be George, the younger of the two sons?
He halted in front of the house and dismounted, throwing the reins carelessly to a stable boy who had come running at the sound of his approach.
‘Helena! Helena!’ Bellowing as if he was calling for his dog, the handsome man ascended the steps in front of the house, banged the front door open, then shut, and entered the room where Alkmene sat. He only had eyes for the woman at the piano. He called, ‘The police keep saying the burglar did not have the stones on him. But that is impossible.’
Alkmene froze at the mention of the stones. Jake had said his friend Mac had been hired by George Winters to steal the stones. What on earth could George have intended with that action?
And had this woman been in on it? Was she George’s wife?
Alkmene could not recall whether George had married but then she might have missed the announcement.
At the sudden entrance the woman had stopped playing, rising abruptly. The look on her face made the new arrival fall silent. He followed the direction of her warning gaze and saw Alkmene. She smiled up at him, not bothering to rise. ‘Good afternoon. I am Lady Alkmene Callender, the late Lord Winters’ niece.’
‘I know no one by that name. Get going.’ He gestured at the woman. ‘Come with me. We have to talk.’
The woman flushed. ‘George, please, don’t be so rude. This is really your father’s niece.’
George stood, his feet planted apart, surveying Alkmene with his deep set dark eyes. ‘So what?’ he asked at last. ‘My father is dead, and I don’t care for any niece of his. You sure never bothered to come here before.’
Alkmene blinked at the blunt statement, at the same time acknowledging it was true. Anne had written to her, and she had simply ignored the letters, not really sure what to do with them. Maybe George knew that Anne had written and never received a reply?
Or this rudeness could just be George’s way of dealing with his father’s violent death.
‘My father is away in India,’ she said hurriedly, intending to use his absence as some sort of an excuse, but the young man grabbed at his head, saying, ‘I don’t want to hear anything about that accursed place. That is where it all began, that…’
He looked at the woman, his expression suddenly vaguely panicky. ‘We really have to talk.’
The woman smiled at him and spoke in a slow, soothing tone as if to a child, ‘Of course we will. Please excuse me, Lady Alkmene. I will be back as soon as I can.’
She left the room together with the impetuous young man.
Now at least she had met two family members. Alkmene wished Father had told her more about family relations, but realizing in the same thought that if Father had any idea of what she was doing here, he would be appalled. He had carefully kept from her what exactly had happened to her aunt. There had to be some reason for it.
Nothing good.
Alkmene shifted her weight uncomfortably. Perhaps it was her own pressing awareness of duplicity in coming here. But there seemed to be something odd to this house. Unbalanced.
Vaguely
