A Death at Fountains Abbey by Antonia Hodgson Page B

like a flower with a ruby at its heart. It was small and exquisite. ‘Mr Aislabie bought this for his first wife.’ She rocked her palm and the diamonds sparkled, catching the light. ‘It was the only jewel Molly kept. She sold the rest. Bought a house near the sea in Lincolnshire. And lied and lied and lied.’
    She tucked the brooch back into her pocket and gazed into the hearth. ‘I have always been afraid of fire,’ she murmured. ‘A memory of that night on Red Lion Square, I suppose – though it is all lost to me now. Except in dreams. Sometimes I dream that I am burning.’ She waved the thought away with her hand. ‘Well, sir, what do you say now? Do you still think me a fraud?’
    A hodge-podge of lies and truth, that is what you are, madam. ‘I am not here to judge you, Mrs Fairwood.’
    ‘But you must have an opinion, one way or the other.’
    I rubbed my jaw. I could see that she would be happier – and safer – if she were not Aislabie’s daughter. This suggested she was not dissembling. Then again: one should never forget the lure of money. Mr Aislabie had, purportedly, been stripped of his wealth after the South Sea disaster. But, looking about me, he seemed to have recovered in a swift and quite spectacular fashion. ‘I should like to see your mother’s letter.’
    ‘Then you shall. I welcome your doubt, Mr Hawkins – it is to your credit. I am aware that my story must seem quite fantastical.’
    ‘Has Mr Aislabie formally recognised you as his daughter?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘Has he spoken with his children on the matter?’
    ‘Not to my knowledge.’
    I drained my glass. Poured another. ‘They might stand to lose a portion of their inheritance, if you are proven to be their sister. Your brother William, at least.’ Both Mary and Jane were long married, and settled with fortunes of their own.
    ‘My brother will not lose a farthing. I have no interest in Mr Aislabie’s wealth.’ She saw my scepticism and laughed, drily. ‘Ask Mr Sneaton. I ordered him to draw up a waiver the day I arrived here. I have renounced all rights to a settlement, or any other gifts, in writing and in front of witnesses. I will not take a single coin from Mr Aislabie. Not an inch of land. I want nothing from him.’ She propped her chin upon her hand. ‘You must know how he came by his fortune.’
    ‘The South Sea Scheme.’
    Her dark eyes flashed. ‘The greatest fraud ever played upon a nation.’
    ‘Playing with stocks is a gamble. Some won, some lost.’
    ‘You cannot be so naive! It was corruption at the highest level! The enquiry proved that Mr Aislabie was bribed with free shares—’
    ‘—which he denied—’
    ‘—because he is a liar !’ She dropped back in her chair. ‘Well,’ she relented, ‘I suppose he has convinced himself of his innocence. No man can bear to cast himself as the villain. D’you know, I followed the scandal from the beginning. I read all the pamphlets, and his ridiculous defence in the Lords. I came to Studley Hall expecting to loathe him, but I find that I can’t. He has been very kind to me.’ She picked up her grey gloves. ‘Why are you here, sir? Truly?’
    ‘You know why, madam. Mr Aislabie asked the queen for help.’
    Her brow crinkled. There were faint, permanent lines forming upon her forehead, I saw – and deeper ones about her mouth. She frowned a lot, furrowed her brow a lot. She would mar her good looks with her ill-temper. ‘Strange,’ she observed, ‘that he should still have such influence at court.’
    It wasn’t influence; it was blackmail. A slim green ledger, filled with dangerous secrets.
    ‘Would the queen mind so very much if you failed in your task?’
    ‘She would – most certainly.’
    ‘You should leave, even so. Return to London. There is something evil about this place: I felt it the moment I arrived. Something in the atmosphere, an invisible mist that taints the air. One cannot help but breathe it in, like a poison. Can you