The Art of Inheriting Secrets Page 18

  “Easily done. I know just the man. I’ll ring him when we are finished with our luncheon.”

  “I had a feeling you might know the right person,” I said with a smile.

  “Are there problems?”

  “I’m not sure. The reports I received from Haver are complicated, and it’s not always easy to trace the money. There’s an account in India that received funds for decades, but there’s no explanation for what it is or where that money is now.”

  “Hmm. Could it be to support a love child or cover something up, perhaps?”

  “Good question. I assume that’s where my uncle went, but no one can find him.”

  “It would be logical.” He touched his chin delicately with a napkin. “I gather he was dragged out of India kicking and screaming.”

  “That’s odd that both Violet and Roger wanted to stay there, even though they’d inherited Rosemere.”

  “Is it odd, though?” George asked with customary wisdom. “Did you want to come here when you inherited?”

  “Well . . . I didn’t mind. I didn’t really think I’d stay, though. I thought I’d come and get things settled and then go back to my life.” I lifted a shoulder.

  “India had been their home their entire lives. What use was England? Violet was widowed by cholera shortly after Roger was born, so she had the run of the place—heady freedom for a woman in those days.”

  “But wasn’t everything getting unstable in India then?”

  He wiggled his nose. “Perhaps excitement is preferable to boredom. I would say Violet always felt that way.”

  “She was a woman in charge when she returned to England too.”

  “Oh, but English society would never offer a woman like your grandmother the same power as India would have in those days.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” The woman who served all the meals, named Janet, cleared away our soup, piled the dishes on a rolling cart, and served a steaming portion of white rice and fish dotted elegantly with fresh green peas.

  “Kedgeree,” Janet said. “One of your favorites, my lord.”

  “How marvelous. We’ve been talking about India, and here we have an Indian dish for luncheon. Thank you, Janet.”

  She nodded and gave me a wink. They cooked his favorites so that he would eat. For dessert—pudding, I supposed—there would be rhubarb crumble, a child’s dish, but he loved it covered in thick custard. Rhubarb soup, I teased.

  “What else is on your mind, Olivia? The shine is not as bright today.”

  “Isn’t it?” I didn’t want to share the news of Grant suing me. Instead, I said, “I just can’t figure out what my mother was thinking—I told you that I think she had to have known I would discover the business of the house. I mean, everything was right in plain sight in her office. So why not tell me ahead of time, help me get a handle on what she wanted me to do?”

  “My guess is that she wished for you to decide for yourself.”

  “That would be like her. But I can’t help thinking she’s set up a last treasure hunt.”

  He peered at me. “D’you think so?”

  “Yes, I do. It was something she did for my birthdays and special occasions. She loved the anticipation of me solving the puzzle.”

  His hands were still. “Poor, dear Caroline. I’m glad to know her childhood didn’t ruin her.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Not very much. I’m not a man for gossip”—he cocked one wild eyebrow my way as he reached for his glass of water—“but it was plain things were not right in that house.”

  “The way I’ve heard it, from people who do gossip,” I said with a wink, “is that Roger was a cruel man, and Violet drank heavily, which made her mean and erratic.”

  He nodded. A single pea occupied his fork, and I watched him eat it, chewing with the thoroughness of a cat.

  I said, “I hate to think of my mother living that way. One of her old friends said that my mother was stuck with Roger when her mother died—she had no money of her own.” I frowned. “And that doesn’t actually make sense to me either. Why wouldn’t Violet provide for her daughter, give her the independence she valued herself?”

  “Violet was erratic at the end. Alcoholic. Ruined her looks.”

  It felt like something was right on the edge of my brain, a fact I’d overlooked, something that—

  “Oh!” I sat forward in my chair. “Maybe my mother left something in Violet’s room. All of the books and paintings in the house are gone, except for those in her old bedroom and everything in Violet’s room.” I slapped a palm down on the table. “That’s where it is, whatever the clue is.”

  He gave me a thumbs-up. “Start there, then.”

  “One more question, George, if I might.”

  “Ten more, a hundred more.”

  “Jocasta said none of these estates survive on the rents and crops anymore. How do you keep Marswick Hall so well?”

  “Ha! Not so well, girl. You saw the puddles in the entryway. It’s threatening to fall down at every turn. The plumbing knocks and screams. The windows are drafty. Everything drips and leaks. In the winter, it’s freezing.”

  “But?”

  “We allow weddings on the grounds and tours every third Sunday, which I hate, but it had to be done. But the main thing is a camp for children down on the shores of the lake.” He pointed toward the west. “Eight weeks, full every year. Science camp, I gather.”

  “I see.” I looked toward the blurry view of fields, thinking. “One of the tenants suggested a local farm market, and one of the others keeps chickens and pastures them. Obviously, there is lamb. Wonder if there’d be any value in going organic or something like that.”

  “It does seem to make a certain sense, with your background.” He coughed, the sound rattly and unproductive. “Crops and livestock are not always the most lucrative.”

  “Right,” I said, “but maybe we’d take it up a notch.” I was thinking maybe I could become the Alice Waters of Hertfordshire, something very high-end for all those discerning commuters in their gigantic kitchens.

  “Perhaps. Janet,” he called over his shoulder, “let’s adjourn to the study, have our crumble there.”

  I wheeled him back down the drafty, drippy hallway. It was a place that should have been alive with dozens and dozens of people, not just one old man and his niece and their servants. It seemed sad somehow. If I were to make a go of the estate, I’d want Rosemere to have lots of people in it somehow—a school, perhaps, or something along those lines. People would bring it back to life, chase away the ghosts.

  When we arrived in the study, my phone was buzzing in my purse. I ignored it, but a moment later, it came again. “Sorry,” I said. “I just need to make sure this isn’t an emergency.” As he laboriously moved his body from the wheelchair to the armchair by the fire, I glanced at my screen. It was the contractor’s number. “Hello?”

  “Good afternoon, Lady Shaw. Do you have a moment?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news. Two bits of bad news, actually, both related to the rain.”

  I sank into the other chair. “Tell me.”

  “We’ve lost a part of the roof on the main house. It’s on the north end, which was the worst part of the house anyway, but the collapse hit one of the walls, and I’m afraid we’ve got a bit of a mess on our hands.”

  For one long minute, I let the information sink in. Not that I knew what “a bit of a mess” meant in real time or how much more money it would cost, but the understatement wasn’t understated enough for my tastes. I thought of the hold on the money from my mother’s house, and anxiety squeezed its way up the back of my neck, landing at the base of my skull with a fist. “What else?”

  “There was also a substantial collapse in the ruins. The abbey.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s not as bad, right?”

  “Unfortunately, a skeleton was revealed, and we’ve had to call the authorities out to take a
look, so all work is at a standstill until they sort it out.”

  “Did they bury people in the abbey? Was it a grave?”

  “There is”—he cleared his throat—“some concern that it might be the body of a girl who disappeared in the seventies.”

  “Oh.” I took a breath, blew it out like a puffer fish. “I see. All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. It will be an hour or so, I’m afraid.”

  “No worries. We’ll be here.”

  I hung up and held the phone loosely in my palm, hands in my lap. “They’ve found a skeleton at Rosemere, at the abbey. They think it might be the girl who disappeared in the seventies.” Her name came to me, Sanvi. “That would have been my friends Pavi and Samir’s aunt.”

  He nodded, eyes clear as they ever had been. “What else?”

  I rubbed a hand around my neck. “Part of the ballroom roof collapsed and took down a wall. I don’t know which one.” I shook my head. “I am in so far over my head. What made me think I could do this, tackle such a huge job? I just don’t have the resources or the knowledge or—”

  He held up one large hand. “No point worrying until you have the facts. I’ll have Robert take you over there. Ring me later, and let me know what you’ve learned.”

  “Right. I will. And I also need the accountant’s name.”

  “Done.” He stood, and I crossed over to him so that he wouldn’t have to walk on his aching feet. “You needn’t fret, Olivia. You’ve a fine mind and plenty of friends. The estate is your legacy, and you’ve stepped up to the challenge brilliantly.”

  I touched my heart. “Thank you.”

  “You know,” he said, raising his chin ever so slightly, “what might help in the long run is an advantageous marriage.”

  I half smiled. “You’re teasing me, right?”

  “A little,” he conceded. “Only a little. The wealthy have always married for reasons of dynasty, my dear. You’ll want the right sort of person when the time comes, and a brilliant marriage could be of help.”

  On one level, I understood his intentions and the reality of the world he had occupied for the whole of his life. Given my “love” connection with the man who was now suing me, maybe it couldn’t get much worse. On another level, the American one, it was completely absurd. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Go now. See to your home.”

  My home. Fat chance.

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the way to the house, in the insanely pouring rain, we passed a brutal smashup on the A1, and as Robert was holding forth on the overcrowding of the roads, my phone blipped with a text.

  Samir wrote, Is it true they found bones at Rosemere?

  Yes, I texted back. Not the house but the abbey. I’m headed there now. Roof down in ballroom, wall down, all rain related. Terrible day!

  Want moral support?

  I closed my eyes momentarily. YES please. It’s been one thing after another. Tell you more later.

  All right. I’ll see you soon.

  You use complete sentences in texting.

  Can’t help it. Reading background. What’s your excuse?

  Editor.

  I like it.

  :)

  For the first time since I’d heard the news about the lawsuit last night, some of the tension eased in the back of my neck. I desperately wanted to talk this all out—the problems with the house, the challenge of the eventual purpose, how to support it, and how to get it into shape in the short term. Was I out of my mind?

  Maybe. Real doubt plagued me, carried by the dark weather and the new challenges.

  But I couldn’t leave until I figured out what my mother wanted me to know, and I had to start with exploring the things in my mother’s and grandmother’s rooms. She’d left those for me, and I needed to explore them, but the thought of being in the house alone unnerved me. Even having construction workers in some parts wouldn’t be enough.

  I needed help.

  The road into Rosemere was sloshy with rain, puddles and potholes making the journey from the main road through the trees slow and jolting. All the heavy trucks and equipment, coupled with the abundant rain, had made a mess of it. Mentally, I added another task to the endless list in my head—the roads needed to be graded and filled or whatever one did to make the potholes go away. The task fluttered in my imagination, leading off into the faraway distance, unconquerable.

  The rain also made it difficult to navigate to a position where I could see the damage to the back of the house. Looking up meant a face full of water, and the mud was deep. I was glad of my wellies as I gathered my coat and umbrella. “You can let me out here, Robert. I’ll walk up to the abbey.”

  “In this mess, my lady? I’d be happy to wait and carry you up there.”

  I shook my head. “The road is going to be a mud pit. Easier for me to walk than you to drive. Thank you so much.”

  Opening my own industrial-strength umbrella, I stepped out of the car and into its shelter and sloshed my way across the back garden to the base of a great old oak. It didn’t stop the rain entirely, but at least it was enough to give me a chance to look up—

  To the gaping hole now scarring the entire northwest corner. The roof had collapsed inward, leaving only the beams, and stonework had crumbled beneath it, taking down most of the third story wall and some of the second story. Rain poured through the hole. I imagined a pool of muck forming in the ballroom.

  What was I thinking with this place? How could a woman who had never even owned an ordinary house even consider taking on the renovation of a six-hundred-year-old manor house with thirty-seven bloody rooms? Standing in the rain, staring up at the house my mother had fled, I felt like a fool. I’d let myself be seduced by a vision of myself as lady of the manor, lady savior. Vanquisher of darkness.

  Ridiculous. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to be back in my office at the Egg and Hen, going over copy and photos; planning a big, beautiful issue; or drinking handcrafted cocktails in some self-consciously hip bar where the gay server had a man bun or a beard or both.

  What the hell was I doing here on this quixotic journey? What did I think I would find?

  The gnawing hollowness in my lungs expanded and expanded until I wanted to scream, expanding until—finally—I recognized what it was.

  In taking on this quest, I was somehow expecting to get my mother back. Not the idea of her, but the actual her—a flesh-and-blood being who would walk through some portal in the perfectly restored house wearing her favorite wool slacks and say, “I had every faith in you, my dear.”

  What a fool I was!

  “Madam?”

  I turned toward the polite voice to find a policeman in a black uniform. He was middle-aged, with a heavy jowl born of too many pints on late nights at the pub. “Yes?”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to run along. We’ve a police investigation going. I know there ain’t much excitement round these parts, but you’ll have to wait on official word like everyone else.”

  “I’m Olivia Shaw,” I said, and when his face remained blank, I added—hating myself for it—“the Countess of Rosemere.”

  “Ah.” He covered his surprise, took a step back. “Well, then. I expect you’ll want to follow me. We’ve found something.”

  I considered asking questions, but better to wait until we weren’t huffing and puffing all the way across the muddy fields. He didn’t seem to feel the need to make small talk, and I was relieved. My boots splatted and sank and made sucking sounds as I yanked them out. “Cold, wet, miserable England,” my mother had often said, but I hadn’t understood how San Francisco with its fogs and rainy seasons could be much different.

  This was different.

  Even in the rain, a crowd gathered at the abbey ruins, their array of umbrellas blooming against the deluge. I saw police and some of the construction workers and even a couple of faces from the garden club. The rest were tenants and villagers drawn by the commotion.

  T
he policeman led me to a man in a suit who stood beneath the shelter of one of the large pines surrounding the abbey. A crew had erected a tarp over a portion of the interior of the abbey, and I could see the scar of fresh dirt around it.

  “Sir, I’ve found the countess.”

  “Ah. Hello, Lady Shaw,” the man said in a blurry northern accent. “Inspector Greg. Quite a day for you.”

  “You found a skeleton, I hear. Do you think it’s the girl who disappeared in the seventies?”

  “Hard to say just now. We’ve not found all the remains just yet, and it’ll all have to be dated and photographed and examined before anyone will say anything.” He had very sharp features, as if they’d been carved from a tree and never sanded into kinder angles. “Given the location, the probability is that it’s much older.”

  “How long will all of this take? You might not have heard that part of the roof came down. I’m anxious to get the crew on it, cover it up.”

  “The local historical council will have my head if I don’t follow archeological protocols.”

  I nodded.

  In the pocket of my coat, my phone buzzed with a text. “Sorry,” I said and pulled it out, hoping for a ride home.

  It was Samir. Where are you?

  Up by the abbey, I typed. “Someone has come to give me a ride,” I said to the detective. “I was planning to go inside the house and collect some things before the crews start the next rounds of gutting. Is that all right?”

  “I’d wait if I were you. Too much chaos, and if the body is more recent, the house will be part of the investigation.”

  For one moment, I looked at him in disbelief. “Of course,” I finally said. “Because it’s that kind of a day.”

  Unexpectedly, he smiled. “You’ve taken on quite the Herculean task, Lady Shaw. Surely the gods will smile.”

  “Or smite me,” I said, narrowing my eyes at the abbey, wondering if such things as curses really held any truth. And if this was the girl who had cursed the place, did her discovery nullify it, or would she rise like a zombie to punish the new generation?

  Samir pulled up in his small blue car. “There’s my ride. Let me know what you discover.”