Page 44 of Dare it all for Love

“I was his cook for most of his life,” the old lady interrupted. “Mrs Bertha Appleton, though most call me Pippin. I’m too old to work now, of course, but he’s not so cold and heartless as he looks, so he keeps me about.”

Montagu made an impatient tsking sound and gave the old lady a reproachful glare. “Pippin, do you think you might let me finish my own sentences? I was going to introduce you as a dear friend of the family.”

“I know, giving me airs I’ve no right to,” Pippin replied, waving this away.

“Telling the truth,” Montagu replied, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. “And giving you the respect you are due, you infuriating old woman, or do you not consider yourself our friend?”

Pippin folded her arms over her large bosom and looked somewhat mulish. “I’ve loved you like a son, and you know it, but I was your servant and there’s no need pretending otherwise.”

“I wasn’t—” Montagu began and then threw up his hands. “Mr Stanhope, these two wicked old harridans have more than a passing knowledge of the… the peculiar problems you are dealing with. I suggest you confide in them, take their advice, and do so quickly. The urge to throw things increases with proximity and every passing moment, I assure you.”

“If he wasn’t so easy on the eye, I’d send him out of the room for that,” Mrs Dharani murmured to her friend, staring at Montagu with undisguised admiration.

“Nani Maa, behave!” Ashton muttered, glaring at his grandmother with an anguished expression.

“Why?” Mrs Dharani demanded, looking genuinely perplexed. “I’m old, I’m entitled to be rude if I want to. I earned the right. Besides, it’s fun. Behaving is dull.”

Ashton groaned and rubbed his face with his hand while his sister looked at her grandmother with undisguised admiration. Going on the brightly coloured scarlet and yellow waistcoat Ashton was wearing, and what he’d heard about the rather forthright character of Miss Vivien Anson, Henry would wager the old lady had greatly influenced her grandchildren.

Henry decided he’d best intervene and quickly.

“I see. Well, I am delighted to make your acquaintance, ladies, but how do you think you can help me?”

“You’d best sit down, young man and tell us everything. And we’ll need to see the dolls.”

Rather to his amusement, Mrs Dharani waved at him to sit down as though he were the guest.

Henry did as he was told.

The two women studied him long and hard, making him want to tug at his cravat and fidget like a recalcitrant schoolboy about to receive a scolding.

“There’s something here, something about this old house,” Pippin said, and gave a shiver, though she didn’t take her eyes from Henry.

Mrs Dharani made a soft clucking sound and nodded her agreement.

Henry frowned. “Well, it’s very ancient, of course. Old houses often have a peculiar atmosphere and this one hasn’t been a family home for a long time. It’s been empty for years, so….”

“No, it’s more than that. It’s not a happy house,” Pippin continued, as if he’d not spoken. “There’s a dark presence, a sense of malcontent.”

“My family were not exactly close,” Henry admitted, frowning over her words, the certainty with which she spoke.

He’d often wondered at the different atmosphere between his home and Holbrook but had believed it was simply his perspective, the way he viewed both houses. He had been happy at Holbrook, but the coldness of his parents towards him and Harriet and how often he and his sister had been abandoned whilst their parents travelled the world must have coloured his attitude towards Saxenhurst. That others could sense something tangible was unsettling.

“We were not exactly a close family,” Henry began, determined that they not make something out of nothing. “But—”

“Vengeance,” Mrs Dharani whispered, closing her eyes.

“Aye,” Pippin said. “Vengeance.”

Henry turned to stare at Montagu, assuming the man would find this all as ridiculous as he did, though he could not deny the way the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Montagu, though, was frowning at the old women. He turned towards Henry, perhaps sensing his gaze upon him.

“I know,” Montagu said with obvious sympathy. “But you must hear them out. On the occasions I have failed to do so, I have regretted it. If nothing else, you must respect the opinions of these women who have seen much of life and are excellent judges of human nature. I trust their opinions, Mr Stanhope, whatever you think of their methods. I would strongly suggest you listen and pay attention.”

Henry had been away from England for some time, but when he had left Montagu had been one of the most powerful, respected, and feared men in the country. He’d heard nothing to suggest that had changed or the man had lost his marbles, so… he supposed he’d best hear what the women had to say.

“In that case, I had better begin at the beginning,” he said, and told them of everything that had happened since he returned.

They listened intently and with the utmost seriousness, making him feel increasingly foolish for not having taken the whole thing seriously from the outset. Florence had tried to warn him, but he’d been too pigheaded to listen, so certain of his own rightness he’d dismissed her concern. It seemed there was a good deal he’d been wrong about of late, though.