The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall: A gripping novel of family, secrets and murder

‘Duelling pistols? So was there, like, a duel there? Does a duel count as murder?’ Nat looked as though she wanted all the juicy details.

‘Well I don’t know yet, whether it was a duel or even if anyone died. I came across the pistols – very ornate ones – in their case, and there was a note saying something about an infamous shooting. Tomorrow’s job is to research it and try to find out what happened.’

‘Wow. Your job is so much more interesting than mine. Most excitement I get is to work out lifeguard rotas and arrange five-a-side tournaments for school kids.’ Ben’s job was manager of a sports centre. He shook his head and laughed.

‘I don’t know. I’d rather do what you do than faff around with dusty relics all day like Gemma does.’ Nat flashed him a look. ‘I reckon my new job’s the best one though. All day playing with make-up and doing people’s nails – like being a little kid at your mum’s make-up drawer. I love it. Well, I would love it, if only Bitchface Boss wasn’t always on my case.’

Gemma smiled but didn’t say anything. How she and Nat were such close friends was a mystery. If she was honest, they didn’t really have a lot in common, other than their shared memories of course. Nat liked gossip mags, reality shows and loud, modern nightclubs. Gemma preferred historical novels, costume dramas and quiet, ancient pubs. And she’d been with Ben for seven years whereas Nat’d had a string of boyfriends, none of them lasting more than a month or two. Still, ever since starting secondary school at the age of eleven they’d been best friends. They’d been put next to each other in maths class, and Gemma had whispered the answer to a question when the teacher put Nat on the spot. In return Nat had picked Gemma first for a netball team, and the two had become inseparable. Over the years they’d each spent time doing what the other one liked, and somehow their friendship had worked and indeed, had deepened. She would do anything for Nat, and knew Nat would do anything for her as well. Opposites attract – that was as true for friendships as it was for romance – and she and Nat were a great example of that rule.

‘Hey, I know!’ Nat turned to Gemma, her eyes shining. Gemma knew that look. It meant Nat had hatched a plan, and it was probably something Gemma wouldn’t feel completely comfortable with. ‘Why don’t I do your hair and make-up for Anna’s wedding? As the girlfriend of the bride’s brother you’re quite an important guest, you know. You’ll have to look stunning, but not so stunning you upstage the bride of course. I could put your hair up, in some sophisticated up-do, and shape your cheekbones, even out your skin tone, accentuate your eyes. Oh there’s so much I could do to improve your looks, Gemma! Do say yes!’

Gemma squirmed. Nat knew how she felt about too much make-up. She was happy wearing her usual subtle bit of mascara and lip gloss but anything else made her feel deeply uncomfortable. As well as making her skin feel itchy. She remembered how they’d experimented with make-up in their early teens, including going through a short-lived Goth phase of deep purple lipstick and heavy black eyeliner. Perhaps that was what had put her off make-up. ‘Well, maybe my hair, but I’m not sure I’d want it up…’

‘I love your hair left loose and long.’ Ben kissed the side of her head and she smiled at him gratefully.

‘Oh, well, if you don’t want me to, I won’t bother. Your loss.’ Nat drained her glass and smiled at Gemma. ‘More wine? It’s your round.’

Chapter 2

May 1830

Rebecca couldn’t remember a time when Sarah hadn’t been there. All her life, all ten years of it so far, Sarah had been at her side, her best friend, her confidante, her playmate and her partner in crime. Today was no exception.

‘Look at the sun shining!’ Sarah said after breakfast, when the two girls were supposed to be going upstairs to the schoolroom for their daily lessons with the governess, Miss Albarn. ‘It’d be wrong not to go out and enjoy it. Who cares about French, drawing and grammar? Rebecca, we must go outside and have a run around the gardens. Come on!’ She caught hold of Rebecca’s arm and tugged.

‘But Miss Albarn will be waiting for us. We can’t, Sarah!’ Rebecca was halfway up the stairs, and almost overbalanced as she tried to pull her arm free from Sarah’s grip.

‘Miss Albarn can wait. It’s the first sunny day for months and there’s a blackbird’s nest I want to show you. Come on!’

As usual, Sarah won the battle and Rebecca followed her outside, through the kitchen garden and into the park beyond. In a hedgerow that marked the perimeter of Rebecca’s father’s estate, there was indeed a blackbird’s nest. The tiny, naked baby birds cheeped loudly, their beaks open wide in expectation of food.

‘What do they eat?’ Rebecca asked. Sarah was almost a year older than her, and as far as Rebecca was concerned, she was the font of all knowledge. Miss Albarn was all very well for piano and drawing lessons, but if you wanted to know something about the real world, Sarah was the person to ask.

‘Beetles,’ Sarah said, with conviction. ‘If we found some, we could drop them in their mouths.’

‘Where would we find beetles?’

‘There are woodlice in the stables. Those will do.’

Rebecca stared at her friend. ‘How can we carry woodlice all the way back here? In our hands? Ugh!’

‘We can take the birds there.’ Sarah reached into the hedge and grasped the nest with both hands. As she pulled it free it fell apart, and the baby birds tumbled into the depths of the hedge.

Rebecca felt a pang of sorrow for the tiny, helpless creatures. ‘You’ve broken their home. What will their parents think when they come back?’

‘Serve them right for leaving their babies alone. Pah! They’ve fallen right down now. I can’t reach them.’ Sarah flung the remains of the nest on the ground and started running off across the park. ‘Come on. Let’s find something else to do. Race you to the climbing tree!’

Rebecca peered into the hedge and whispered an apology to the little birds, then gathered up her skirts and began running after Sarah. They weren’t allowed to climb the climbing tree – ever since Sarah had fallen and had only been saved from broken bones by her skirts catching in the lower branches and tearing. Sarah’s mother, the housekeeper at Red Hill Hall, had been furious. Rebecca had stood with her head bowed while Mrs Cooper shouted at Sarah. Mrs Cooper had been cross with her too – Rebecca could tell, but she’d not dared to shout at the daughter of her employer. There were some advantages to being the child of the master of Red Hill Hall, Rebecca had learned. Sarah, as the daughter of the housekeeper, had some perks – she shared a governess with Rebecca and had the run of the house and garden – but she was never allowed to forget that she was of a lower class.

Sarah was already at the climbing tree. It was a large overgrown flowering cherry in full bloom. Sarah jumped up to catch hold of one of the lower branches and hung off it, shaking blossom confetti all over both of them. Rebecca laughed and spun around, her arms outstretched and her face tilted upwards. ‘It’s raining petals!’ She grabbed a whole blossom that had been shaken loose and tucked it in her hair. ‘I’m Titania, Queen of the Fairies!’

‘You are no such thing, Miss Rebecca. You are a naughty girl who has skipped her lessons for the morning. As are you, Miss Sarah. Now brush yourselves off, and come indoors, the both of you. I shall have to mention this to Mr Winton.’

Rebecca looked at Miss Albarn in alarm. They’d been having so much fun. Why did the governess have to come and spoil it all? She pouted, and began brushing the petals from her clothes.

Sarah let go of the branch and landed with a thump on the lawn. ‘Sorry, Miss Albarn. We were on our way but Rebecca wanted to come and play in the tree as it is so beautiful when it is in full bloom. I wondered if perhaps we could make some watercolour sketches of it this afternoon? That’s if you haven’t already planned a lesson, of course.’ She dropped a pretty curtsey, eliciting a smile from the governess.

Rebecca watched in dismay. It wasn’t the first time she’d gone along with something Sarah had suggested, and ended up in trouble for it. And why had Sarah said it was her idea to play in the tree? It wasn’t fair. But she knew that if Sarah shouldered the blame, she’d be punished. She’d probably be made to stand in the corner of the schoolroom all day, or perhaps miss her supper. Whereas apart from the few stern words Miss Albarn had already voiced, Rebecca would receive no further admonishment. Another advantage of being the daughter of the master. Still, it hurt to always be the one to take the blame. Miss Albarn must think she was such a bad girl. And she wasn’t sure how much of it went back to her father and mother.

‘We might come and sketch the tree, Miss Sarah. Or we might not. For now, we are going inside to read some poetry. With your poor mother taken so poorly, one would have thought the two of you would have more decorum than to be running around the park.’

‘Miss Albarn, whose mother is poorly?’ asked Rebecca. Oh please don’t let it be hers, she thought, though the idea of Mrs Cooper being sick was not a good one either. Sometimes Mrs Cooper felt more like a mother to her than her own mother, who was often too busy to take much notice of her.

‘Sarah’s. Poor Mrs Cooper. It’s come on so suddenly, this time.’ Miss Albarn dabbed at her eye with a handkerchief.

‘Is it Mama’s chest again?’ Sarah asked.

‘Yes, the poor dear. She can barely catch her breath. Mr Winton has sent for the doctor. She’ll be all right I’m sure, but in the meantime, we must not let her ailment distract us from our lessons. How am I going to make young ladies of you both if you insist on missing lessons and running off around the park like wild village children? Now come along, quickly.’ Miss Albarn tucked her handkerchief up her sleeve and marched across the lawn towards the house, the hem of her grey gown dragging cherry blossom in her wake.

For the next week the girls were not allowed to leave the house. Mrs Cooper was seriously unwell and it seemed the entire focus of the household was on caring for her. The butler, Spencer, had to take over many of Mrs Cooper’s responsibilities, delegating as much as he could to the cook and upper housemaids. Dr Millbank was an almost constant presence in the house, and two nurses had been employed to tend to Mrs Cooper day and night. Sarah was allowed to visit her mother once a day, for a few minutes only, for fear of tiring her too much. On these occasions Rebecca lurked in the doorway of the sickroom and watched with tears in her eyes as Sarah sat at her mother’s side, clutching her hand and imploring her not to die, while the nurse hushed her and dabbed at Mrs Cooper’s forehead with a cool, damp cloth. Rebecca couldn’t help but imagine how awful it would be if it was her own mother lying sick and fading.

Rebecca’s own parents walked about the house with grim expressions. Her father was a frequent visitor to the sickroom and had insisted that no expense be spared if it would help Mrs Cooper recover.

On the tenth day of Mrs Cooper’s illness, the girls were in the schoolroom with Miss Albarn, trying but failing to concentrate on French verbs, when a housemaid tapped at the door.

‘Excuse me, Miss Albarn, but the doctor said I should fetch Miss Sarah to see her mother right away.’ Her face looked drawn, and Sarah immediately leapt to her feet, her hand clasped to her mouth.

Miss Albarn scowled. ‘This is most irregular. Sarah usually visits her mother after tea. Why must she go now in the middle of our lessons?’

‘Excuse me, miss, but I don’t know. All I know is Mr Winton agreed and said Sarah must indeed come at once.’ The maid gave a small curtsey and held the door open. Sarah rushed through, followed by the housemaid. Rebecca hesitated for a moment then made up her mind. It was more important to be with her friend right now, than learning about the past perfect tense. She glanced at Miss Albarn, shrugged an apology and ran off, ignoring the governess’s protests.

Mrs Cooper had been put in one of the main bedrooms on the first floor. It was easier, Mr Winton had said, to nurse her there than in her usual apartment in the servants’ wing, where Sarah also slept. Rebecca ran down to the first floor and along the corridor to the sickroom. There was a crowd of people in the room and in the corridor, all speaking in hushed tones, their faces worn and worried. All the upper servants were there, and Spencer, his eyes sad and tired, was trying to keep them calm. Rebecca pushed through them to the door, but was held back by the butler.

‘Miss Rebecca, I’m afraid I don’t think it is wise for you to go in,’ he said, gently. Rebecca liked Spencer. He was a kind and capable man, who had helped defeat Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo, fighting alongside her father. He’d been the Wintons’ butler ever since he’d retired from the army. He and Mrs Cooper had managed the house for as long as she could remember. There was a time when she’d thought they were married to each other, until Sarah laughed at her and told her they were not.

She pulled away from him. ‘But Sarah’s my friend – she’s like my sister. She’ll need me if something awful happens.’

‘She will indeed, and you are a kind lass for recognising that. But right now her poor mother, poor dear Isobel, is in her final moments, and Sarah needs to say a quiet goodbye. You may watch from the doorway but I cannot allow you to enter the room.’ Spencer led her through to the door of the room, which stood ajar, but he kept a hold of her shoulder.

Inside the darkened room, Rebecca could just make out Mrs Cooper’s form under mounds of bedclothes. At her head stood one of the nurses, who was constantly dabbing at her brow with a cloth. Dr Millbank and Rebecca’s father stood at the foot of the bed in silence, their hands clasped behind their backs. But it was Sarah who drew Rebecca’s eye. She had climbed onto the bed beside her mother, and had tucked her head onto her mother’s shoulder, draping her arm across her chest. She was whispering something in her mother’s ear, but Rebecca could not hear what she said. As she watched, Mrs Cooper weakly raised a hand and laid it on her daughter’s face. Sarah turned her head to kiss her mother’s palm, and Rebecca could just see the glint of tears running down her face.

The room was silent, apart from the harsh but feeble sound of Mrs Cooper’s breathing. Rebecca could not take her eyes off her friend. How she longed to go over and place a comforting hand on Sarah’s shoulder. If only there was something she could do, or something she could say. It was too awful to have to watch your own mother die. But Spencer still had hold of her although she could feel his hand shaking, and with her father in the room she dared not disobey. She could only stand and watch.

How long she and everyone else stood there she could not say, but she gradually became aware that the harsh breathing was growing ever quieter. Mrs Cooper’s hand slipped off Sarah’s face. Sarah gave a little cry and clasped her mother’s hand. The doctor took a step forward and placed his fingers on the housekeeper’s other wrist. He stood for a moment, then shook his head sadly. Sarah seemed not to have noticed his approach for she did not move at all. Spencer, still holding Rebecca’s shoulder, gave a stifled sob, and she looked at him in surprise. The butler was usually so calm. It was odd for him to show any emotion.

She watched as her father approached the bed. He put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. ‘Come, child. Leave her. There is nothing more you can do. Let her rest in peace now.’

‘Nooooo!’ Sarah wailed as she realised what he meant. ‘No! It cannot be! Mama!’ She threw herself across her mother’s body and curled into a ball, as though she was a small child being cradled on its mother’s lap. Rebecca’s heart broke for her friend. She could not imagine being left motherless. And Sarah did not have a father – at least not one anyone knew about. Her mother had always said that Sarah’s father had ‘gone away’. Sarah was now an orphan.

‘Come, child,’ said Mr Winton, again. ‘It’s time to leave.’ He looked over to the doorway and beckoned to Spencer, who let go of Rebecca and went in. Spencer bent over and scooped Sarah into his arms, and carried her out of the room. Sarah was clinging to him tightly.

She tried to go after him but her father pulled her back. ‘Spencer will look after her. He will send for you when the time is right for you to see her. Go and find your mother now, and tell her Mrs Cooper has passed away. I shall be downstairs shortly.’

Rebecca glanced inside the sickroom once more, and saw the doctor raising a bed sheet up over Mrs Cooper’s face. Mr Winton gently pulled the door closed, then spoke to the gathered servants. ‘It is over. Return to your duties, everyone.’

The servants began to disperse, many of them wiping their eyes. Mrs Cooper had been a popular member of staff, firm but fair. Rebecca set off to the morning room in search of her mother. She wondered whether her parents would employ a new housekeeper. She supposed they would have to, but she couldn’t imagine anyone else running the household. And what would become of Sarah?

Mrs Winton was in the morning room, sitting by the window on a green silk 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?’

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