The Devil's Feather - Minette Walters [32]
“Death duties,” she said. “Grandfather had to sell it off when his father died. He got virtually nothing for it, of course, but the developer who bought it made a fortune.”
“The one who built the houses at Peter’s end of the village?”
“Yes.” It was obviously a sore point with her. “That used to be our land until Haversham was given permission to build on it. Now his family owns one of the biggest building firms in Dorset while we’re left with an acre of garden.”
“Did Haversham buy the whole valley?”
She nodded. “Grandfather was lazy. He couldn’t be bothered to farm himself, or even find tenants, so he let Haversham take the lot and sell the agricultural land in piecemeal plots for twice what he’d paid for it.”
“Who did he sell to?”
“I don’t know. It happened in the late forties. I think my mother said it was split between four of the local farmers, but it’s changed hands several times since. The north acreage was bought by a cooperative from Dorchester about three years ago.”
“What about the Derbyshires? Did they buy any?”
“Of course not. They couldn’t have afforded it.”
“Except Barton Farm’s quite big, isn’t it? Peter told me it’s one and a half thousand acres.”
Madeleine shook her head. “She’s a tenant…owns about fifty acres and the rest is rented. Jess’s family were humble people. Her grandmother worked as a maid in our house after the war.” She looked at the fireplace. “Old Mrs. Derbyshire used to clean out that grate every day. Mummy said she had a squashed nose and flat face and looked like a mongol or someone with congenital syphilis.” She caught my eye. “She wasn’t either, of course, but it’s obviously genetic or Jess wouldn’t have the same problem.”
I blew smoke in her direction. “And it was this lady’s husband who owned Barton Farm in the fifties?”
I could almost hear the words “She was no lady” forming in Madeleine’s head. “No, it skipped that generation. The husband contracted polio during the war and died of it shortly after he returned home—and there was a younger brother who died in Normandy, I think. Jess’s father inherited it from his grandfather. Then he died, and Jess took it over…although what’s going to happen when she goes is anyone’s guess.”
“Perhaps she’ll have children.”
She threw me a scornful glance. “They’ll be virgin births, then. She’d sooner lie with her mastiffs than a man.”
Ss-ss-ss! “So what happened to Jess’s grandmother?”
“When her son took over, she went to Australia to live with her brother. Before that she kept house for her father-in-law. He was a drinker…drove his wife to an early death and then made his daughter-in-law’s life a misery. According to Mummy, it soured her relationship with her son—which is why she emigrated—although I expect the hope of a better life had something to do with it as well.”
“Did you ever meet her?”
“Only when she came back to help Jess through the funerals. She stayed about three months, but the whole thing was too much for her and she died of a stroke soon after she returned home.”
“That’s sad.”
Madeleine nodded. “Mummy was upset by it. She saw quite a lot of Mrs. Derbyshire while she was over. They were different generations…and from very different backgrounds, of course…but she said it was fun reminiscing about the old days.”
“It must have been terrible for Jess.”
“It was,” she agreed, holding my gaze for a moment before looking away. “She came up here with a carving knife and slit her wrists in front of Mummy. There was blood everywhere…although the doctors said it was a cry for attention rather than any serious attempt to harm herself. The cuts weren’t deep enough to do any real damage.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Poor Mummy was petrified,” Madeleine went on with a hint of apology in her tone as if she regretted having to tell me. “She thought the knife was meant for her. It was such an odd thing to do…come all the way to Barton House to kill herself in front of an audience.” She paused. “It’s why I was so appalled yesterday when Peter said Jess was helping you settle in. He should have warned you about her mental state instead