The Daughters Of Red Hill Hall. Kathleen McGurl

Sarah to persuade her to ride their ponies out of the estate, through the woods and across farmland. They weren’t supposed to leave the estate without a groom accompanying them, but Sarah had insisted, and had said she would go alone if Rebecca didn’t go with her. Rebecca had had no choice. She’d followed Sarah galloping across the fields, but her pony had shied at a jump and she’d fallen. She was still bruised.

      ‘I don’t know that I shall ever want to go riding again, after last time,’ Rebecca said.

      ‘Spoilsport. Who will I go out riding with, then? If only the grooms were more handsome, I shouldn’t mind having them as companions. If only they were more like that handsome farm labourer, Jed Arthur. He smiled at me last time. And winked. I believe he thinks I am beautiful.’ She paced around the room and sighed, dramatically. ‘Oh, being cooped up in here is so tedious. If only there was something to do.’

      With Sarah in this mood Rebecca realised she would not progress with reading her novel. She stood, and held out her hand. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go and find something to do.’ Although Sarah’s plans sometimes went wrong, as Rebecca’s bruised shoulder could testify, Rebecca knew that her life would be far more boring without Sarah around. She loved Sarah for the excitement she brought to what would otherwise be too quiet a life.

      They went downstairs, and visited the kitchens where Cook gave them each a finger of shortbread before making it clear to them that they were in the way. When they were younger they’d been allowed to linger in the kitchen, sitting by the fire toasting bread or marshmallows, but now they were supposed to behave like ladies, and ladies shouldn’t be in the kitchens.

      ‘What now?’ said Rebecca, as she followed Sarah out of the kitchen and back into the main hallway of the house. Sarah stopped in front of a glass-fronted cabinet, which stood opposite the foot of the stairs. It housed two ceremonial swords and a mahogany display case containing a pair of pistols.

      ‘Those.’ Sarah pointed to the pistols. ‘Papa brought them home last week. I should like a closer look at them.’

      Rebecca frowned. Sarah had recently taken to referring to Mr Winton as ‘Papa’. But he wasn’t Sarah’s Papa, he was hers. Sarah had no Papa – at least not one that was acknowledged. While Rebecca loved having Sarah as a constant companion, almost a sister, and she loved her dearly, she did not want to share her parents with her. It was very sad when Sarah’s mama had died, but that was years ago, and Sarah should think herself lucky that Mr and Mrs Winton had continued to care for her all this time. Rebecca knew it was just so that she, Rebecca, had a suitable playmate, and that when Rebecca married Sarah would become her paid companion. She didn’t want to think about that, though. She couldn’t imagine being Sarah’s employer, instead of her sister.

      ‘The cabinet is locked,’ Rebecca said.

      ‘Let’s ask Spencer. I want to know how to use them.’ Sarah turned with a toss of her hair and a swish of her skirts, and strode off in search of the butler. Rebecca scurried along after her. It may be a rainy stay-indoors kind of day but it seemed Sarah was still able to concoct wicked plans that could get them into trouble. Not with Spencer – Sarah seemed able to do no wrong as far as he was concerned – but with Papa or Mama, if either of them discovered what they were up to.

      Spencer was in his little office in the servants’ wing. He was filling in some figures in the household’s accounts book. He looked up with a scowl when Sarah pushed open the door, but his expression quickly changed to one of fond indulgence when he saw who it was.

      ‘Well now, Miss Sarah, what brings you here?’ The butler twisted round in his chair and smiled broadly at the girls. He was middle-aged, greying, kind but firm with the servants. He’d worked for the Wintons for as long as Rebecca could remember.

      Sarah flashed him a bright smile. ‘We were wondering whether you might show us Papa’s new duelling pistols. The ones in the display cabinet. They are so pretty, set with those rubies. We would so like to take a closer look at them.’

      ‘Well, I’m not too sure whether Mr Winton would allow that…’ Spencer rubbed his hand across his eyes.

      ‘Oh please, Spencer, dear! Just for a minute. Papa doesn’t need to ever know. He’s still away in London, isn’t he? And Mrs Winton is closeted away in her private sitting room. She won’t come out till dinner time. She never does. Please, Spencer?’ Sarah had clasped her hands in front of her, and was bouncing up and down in front of him like an overexcited child. Rebecca watched, in awe of the way Sarah seemed able to manipulate him into doing whatever she wanted to do. She remembered the secret her parents had let slip after Mrs Cooper had died, and once again wondered whether Sarah knew the truth.

      ‘Well…’

      ‘Please?’

      ‘Very well. We will take them out and you shall look at them. But only for a moment, mind, Miss Sarah.’ Spencer fixed her with a look that was supposed to be stern, but that wasn’t at all. Rebecca couldn’t help but let out a giggle.

      ‘I suppose you want to see them too, Miss Rebecca?’

      ‘Yes please, if it isn’t too much bother,’ she replied.

      ‘Don’t be silly, Rebecca. It’s never too much trouble for Spencer, doing something for us. He’d do anything for us. He loves us, don’t you, Spencer?’

      ‘That I do, Miss Sarah.’ He got to his feet with a weary sigh and crossed the office to his key-board, where he selected a bunch of small keys. ‘Come along, then.’

      Sarah gave a small skip of excitement as she followed the butler back through to the main hallway. Rebecca trailed behind, keeping a watch in case someone came along and saw them. Although it would only matter if Mama saw them, and as Sarah had said, she was unlikely to leave her room until dinner time.

      Spencer unlocked the cabinet and reverentially took out the mahogany box. ‘Mr Winton bought this as a display piece,’ he said. ‘In the last century, owning a set of duelling pistols was a kind of gentleman’s status symbol. I don’t think they have ever been fired. The pistols and their case are really just a decorative item.’

      ‘But could they be fired?’ Sarah asked.

      ‘Certainly. They are fully functioning pistols. Let’s take them somewhere we can lay them out and I’ll show you all the pieces.’ Spencer led the way back towards the servants’ wing, and into the servants’ dining hall. It was deserted. He closed the door behind them and laid the box on the table. He seemed almost as excited as Sarah was by the thought of taking them out of the box. Rebecca watched as he removed first the two pistols, then a rod, a brush, a flask and a small box, and some other items. He checked the mechanism of one pistol then handed it to Sarah to hold, before doing the same with the other, which he handed to Rebecca.

      ‘They’re unloaded, so they’re perfectly safe,’ he said. Nevertheless she felt her heart pound as she turned the pistol over in her hands. This was a weapon capable of killing a man at a distance. It was heavy, and felt unbalanced, as though it would be an effort to hold it pointing straight. The dark wooden stock was set with engraved silver plates and studded with rubies, and the mechanism was made of shiny brass.

      ‘What are all these other things?’ Sarah asked, indicating the items Spencer had removed from the box.

      ‘The ramrod, cleaning brush, shot, and the gunpowder,’ he replied, indicating each item. ‘And tools for maintaining the pistols.’

      ‘Real gunpowder?’ Rebecca gasped.

      Spencer opened the flask. ‘Yes, there is some in there. The set is complete, in readiness for a duel. The two pistols would be primed and loaded by the duellists’ seconds, men who’d been chosen to ensure the duel was carried out fairly. The gentlemen would then take a pistol each, stand back to back and take an agreed number of paces away from each other before turning and firing. The paces would be counted out loud by the seconds.’

      ‘It’s barbaric.’ Rebecca felt slightly sick at the idea of two men, men such as her father, wanting to shoot