ANNE ASHLEY - An Ideal Companion

Ruth watched Agatha unlock the bedchamber door and disappear into the passageway before returning to her own room in order to change out of her nightwear. Surprisingly, her nimble fingers, though shaking slightly, worked speedily, but even so, she wasn’t granted the time to sweep her long tresses into the simple chignon she normally sported, before she surprisingly detected the sound of voices in the adjoining room.

Disregarding her irregular appearance, she returned to Dunsterford Hall’s most impressive bedchamber to discover not only Dr Dent, but also Colonel Prentiss, standing by the bedside. The sight of that tall figure had a surprisingly beneficial effect, instantly soothing Ruth’s troubled spirits. Yet, when he turned to look at her, there wasn’t so much as a trace of that warmth she’d so often glimpsed in his eyes. He appeared unusually grave, his gaze for once frighteningly piercing, as though he were attempting to discover her innermost thought.

It took a stupendous effort, but somehow she succeeded in breaking the hold of that intense gaze and transferred her attention to the much-less-impressive figure who had already begun his examination. She waited a moment or two, then somehow managed to demand the answer to the question she very much feared she already knew only too well.

‘Yes, of course she’s dead,’ the doctor responded almost testily, as though he felt his time had been wasted by being asked such an obvious thing. ‘Been dead for several hours, I should say.’ He turned at last to look at her. ‘I recall she left the drawing room quite abruptly last night. Did she make mention of feeling unwell before finally retiring?’

‘Quite the contrary,’ Ruth assured him. ‘I brought her the hot toddy she’d requested. She was sat up in bed, looking remarkably bright and cheerful in the circumstances.’ Ruth frowned, as she recalled something else. ‘In fact, she gave me the distinct impression there was something she wished to discuss with me. But I was feeling weary myself, so sought my own bed quickly. The only thing I can tell you, Dr Dent, is that Lady Beatrice did suffer indifferent health and had done so for some few years. Her own doctor visited frequently. In fact, almost weekly. She admitted to me herself, quite recently as it happens, that her heart was not strong.’

He nodded, as though he had expected something of the sort. ‘It has been my experience that it is much the same with many of these highly strung middle-aged ladies, prone to nervous conditions and weaknesses. Died in her sleep, as most of us would choose to do, given the choice,’ he continued, matter of factly, as he wandered back over to the door. ‘There’s nothing more I can do here, Miss Harrington, so I’ll continue preparing for my departure. We all wish to be away as soon as may be. Apparently your groomsman is taking the cart into the local town this morning to pick up supplies, and my sister and I, together with our fellow travellers, have begged a ride. I trust you don’t object?’

It was only then that Ruth appreciated fully for the very first time the significance of the sad and totally unforeseen event. It was only natural the good doctor would seek her approval. He must have supposed that she would automatically take command of the household until such time as Lady Beatrice’s heir took overall control. He wasn’t to know, of course, that she was Lady Beatrice’s chief beneficiary and that Dunsterford Hall, together with the majority of Lady Beatrice’s private wealth, would come to her.

For a moment or two she toyed with the idea of offering him the use of the comfortable, if somewhat antiquated, carriage that seldom left the shelter of the coach house, then thought better of it. For the time being she felt it might be wise to keep her good fortune to herself, at least from the vast majority.

‘Of course I don’t object,’ she assured him. ‘Sadly, the groom will have several extra errands to run in town this morning. I shall pen some necessary letters without delay so that I do not keep you kicking your heels here for longer than necessary.’

To her intense surprise she won a look of approval from the normally taciturn Dr Dent before he left the room. Unfortunately, she glimpsed no such expression on the Colonel’s face as he continued to bend over the cold, lifeless figure between the sheets, seeming to examine far more thoroughly than the doctor had done.

As she approached the bed she saw him slip a hand into the pocket of his jacket, before he moved over to the cupboard by the bedside and picked up the vessel that had contained the hot toddy. He raised it to his nose and appeared, if anything, grimmer than before.

‘Is something amiss, sir?’

When he turned to look directly at her again it was with the same fierce intensity, which made her feel hopelessly unprotected, as though she could conceal absolutely nothing from those eyes of his.

‘Was Lady Beatrice in the habit of taking strong opiates?’

Hugo could see at a glance that his question had taken her somewhat by surprise. All the same, she answered promptly enough. ‘Her own doctor prescribes a draught, I believe. She keeps it in the top drawer, there by the bedside. But I cannot imagine she would have needed it last night, not after the hot toddy I made her. It was very strong. Although she sometimes had trouble sleeping,’ she added after a moment’s thought, ‘so she might have added a few drops.’

Hugo continued to study her as intently as before. ‘And her sudden demise doesn’t come as a shock to you at all, Miss Harrington?’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, sir,’ she confessed, appearing distinctly troubled herself now. ‘Lady Beatrice admitted to me only quite recently that her constitution had never been strong. She frequently requested her own doctor to visit her here. As I mentioned before, she suffered a weakness of the heart and felt she might go at any time. Nevertheless I...’

‘You’re still shocked by the turn of events,’ he finished for her and she nodded. ‘In that case, Miss Harrington, it might be wise to permit Lady Beatrice’s own practitioner to examine her. After all, he would have been more familiar with the state of her health than anyone else.’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ she agreed after a moment, and then went directly over to the corner of the room to seat herself before the escritoire. ‘I shall send a letter with the groom. I need also to make arrangements for the funeral and get in touch with Lady Beatrice’s man of business.’

Hugo, who had been heading back across to the door, checked at this. ‘Yes, of course, you must,’ he agreed. ‘It might also be wise, as the lady was a person of some standing in the locale, to apprise the local Justice of the Peace of the unforeseen turn of events.’

The hand moving smoothly back and forth across the page stilled and a pair of soft brown eyes, clear and questioning, not to mention surprisingly trusting, surveyed him again. ‘If you consider that necessary, Colonel, then of course I shall.’

It was at that moment Hugo found to his surprise that he was not proof against that innocent, trusting look. ‘If it will help, Miss Harrington, I can visit the worthy myself and apprise him of what has taken place here. He will perhaps require the names and directions of those strangers residing under this roof last night. I see no reason why they cannot leave, however.’

‘Indeed, not, sir. After all, not one of you was ever really acquainted with Lady Beatrice, and none of you benefits by her death.’ A sigh, clear and carrying, floated across to the door. ‘Only I can be accused of being guilty of that, as will be revealed when Lady Beatrice’s lawyer is consulted.’

She was silent for a moment, then seemed to shake herself out of a brown study, and even managed a semblance of a smile as she looked in his direction again. ‘Thank you, Colonel. I have more than enough to concern me at the present time, without having to call on the Justice of the Peace. Sir Cedric Walsh lives in a large, stone-built house a mile or so out of town. I should be very grateful if you could visit him on my behalf and explain.’