The Secrets of Palmerston House

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “Yes! I was there the very day they met. The moment they laid eyes upon each other for the first time! Of course, it was at poor Dorothy’s funeral, but it was obvious even then those two were made for each other.” Daphne grabbed a drumstick and took a bite.

  A movement in the doorway caught everyone’s attention. It was Charlotte.

  “Come in, dear,” Elizabeth said quietly.

  Charlotte took just one step inside. Her hair was messy and her eyes were red and sad. She sniffed the air and almost sighed in pleasure. “I won’t disturb you.”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s lots for everyone.” Daphne got up to find another wine glass and plate.

  Elizabeth tilted her head at Charlotte. She looked so lost. “Charlotte?”

  Charlotte finally looked at Elizabeth with something akin to a plea in her eyes.

  “Daphne’s right. There’s lots here. Please join us.”

  Angus stood and pulled out a chair for Charlotte, then leaned down and kissed Elizabeth on the lips. In front of everyone. “I quite adore you, dear lady”

  Tears sparkled in Elizabeth’s eyes, and Daphne whispered to John, “I see another wedding in my future.”

  ***

  Cracks in the walls, a lumpy bed. A scarred benchtop holding thick, ugly mugs and a barely serviceable kettle. Bernie had stayed in plenty of motels like this one without considering their appearance, but after weeks at Palmerston House, the differences were stark.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  Yet, here he was. Checked in under Trevor Sibbritt’s supervision as though he were a criminal. The police officer even carried his bags to the room and offered to arrange a meal. All the time, Bernie stayed polite. Compliant. Regretful. And he should have accepted the meal because his stomach refused to stop grumbling after twenty-four hours without food.

  He moved the thin curtain to one side. The patrol car was gone. There were no cars in the car park and why would there be? Who in their right mind would stay in this dump? It looked as though someone had died in it.

  The terrible turn of events this evening threw all his plans into disarray and now he had to rethink some things. With a curse, he crossed to the bed and opened one bag. If he reread the diary, there might be a clue he’d missed. Some other way to fulfil his dreams. Mother’s dreams. One day he would take a piece of Eleanor’s jewellery to leave on her grave. A tribute to her.

  He found his phone at the bottom of the bag, its battery depleted. Piece by piece he piled up his clothing on the bed until the bag was empty. No diary. He repacked the bag, checking every pocket as he went.

  His camera bag was next. Three cameras, seven lenses. Smaller bags with accessories. A tripod bag. No diary.

  Bernie checked the clothes he was in. Nothing.

  Think. When did he last read it? A few days ago in his bedroom. But he’d checked under the mattress when he packed and, not finding it, assumed it was in amongst his clothing.

  Someone must have stolen it. Broken into his room and found it and now must know his secrets. Was it Lottie? Or Elizabeth? Yes, she had a key and would excuse herself as being in there to clean. Yet she’d stood there tonight with a stony expression as she’d evicted him from his own house.

  “Well, of course she did. Couldn’t reach my treasure with me still there.”

  It was clear now. Elizabeth had the diary and planned to conspire with Christie – the keeper of the key – to steal Harry’s treasures. My treasures. Bernie picked up one of his cameras. He had to find a way back in. Call the police. Except the local police were in collusion with Elizabeth. The whole town wanted him gone so they could get their dirty hands on the little left of his inheritance.

  Blood rushed to Bernie’s head and stars danced in his eyes. He’d burn the place down before he let them take everything he’d worked so hard to get. He’d burn the whole town down. With all his might, he threw the camera against a wall.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Following a night of fitful sleep, half-dreaming of Charlie leaving town without a word, Trev turned his patrol car into the motel car park. Bernie emerged from his room and, with little more than a grunt, climbed in.

  “Get any sleep?” Trev asked more cheerily than he felt. Better to keep things pleasant.

  “Some.”

  “Me, I slept like a baby.” One who stayed awake most of the night. “Got your car keys?”

  “Yup.”

  They drove through town. George sat outside his shop and Bernie stared at him. “Oh, there’s George,” Trev said. “He took my advice and got a whole new security set-up. Cameras, alarm going direct to me, both here and at his house. Can’t be too careful these days.”

  “He has some nice pieces. Pays to protect them.” Bernie smiled.

  Being nice now? A few moments later, Trev nosed into the driveway of Palmerston House. “So, grab your car and follow me back to the station for that chat. Then we’re done.”

  “Mate, I think I dropped something in my room last night. Wasn’t feeling too steady and think it might have gone under the bed. Any chance I can ask Elizabeth to let me run up and retrieve it?”

  Trev parked behind the SUV. “No chance. But I’ll ask her if she’s found it. You get behind your wheel and I’ll be right back. What did you drop?”

  “A... a leather bound book. But I can—”

  Trev strode to the front door and tapped.

  Elizabeth answered, glancing past Trev as Bernie opened the door to his SUV. He stood there, watching. “Ignore him, Elizabeth. He’s got a date at the station next so pretend he’s not there.”

  She dragged her eyes back to Trev. “You don’t think he’ll try and come back?”

  “I’m going to make it very clear what will happen if he does. I’m only bothering you because Bernie reckons he dropped something in his old room. A book.”

  She shook her head. “Angus helped me clean the room right out this morning. It was rather a shock to find a whole lot of empty water bottles under the bed. All crushed. But no books or any other personal items.”

  Water bottles? “Sorry to hear about the mess.”

  “No trouble. Angus did most of the moving and cleaning.” Her eyes lit up. Was everyone in River’s End in love?

  “Okay, well I’m going to get him off your property and I insist you have some fun today.”

  “Actually, Angus and I are going shopping in Warrnambool for a gift for the wedding. And lunch. So it will be fun.”

  Trev headed back to the cars. Bernie slowly climbed into his SUV. “Follow me. Okay?”

  “Of course.”

  As Trev got into his patrol car he glanced at his side mirror. Charlotte was watching from her bedroom window.

  ***

  “I don’t know about the reception counter. Do you have any ideas?” Christie stood in the centre of the partly constructed salon, staring at an empty space with a frown. “It has to be right.”

  “In keeping with the feel of the whole business,” Barry said, taking notes.

  “Exactly. It’s one of the first things clients will see and has to be perfect.”

  “I’ll give it some thought. Now, I’m waiting for some bamboo to arrive for the screen outside.”

  “Did you just change the subject? I’m worried about the counter and you are the most creative builder I’ve met so far.”

  Barry laughed. “Are you sure?”

  “Look at the cottage.”

  “Isn’t Martin more creative?”

  “Well, yes. But he’s not really a builder. Oh, you’re suggesting I ask him about it! Great idea.” She missed the look on Barry’s face indicating it was not what he meant.

  “Sylvia mentioned you might employ Belinda.”

  “There’s no might about it.” Christie headed for the back of the shop and Barry followed. “The minute she graduates from her course she’ll be coming here. Such a talent and the clients will love her sense of humour.”

  “Anyone else lined up? Can’t imagine
you can do it all yourself.”

  “I’m interviewing someone tomorrow and might rent part of the space out for specialists. There’s been some interest from remedial masseurs and some natural therapy practitioners, so they’ll use the private rooms on a booked basis.” Christie stopped at where there was once the old back door. Now, natural light streamed through glass walls. “I love this. Windows that are doors.”

  “Summertime you can open everything right up if you want.”

  “Perfect for evening special events. Invitation only of course.”

  “Of course. Say, will you do gift vouchers?”

  Christie turned to Barry with a grin. “Yes. And we will cater for men as well, Barry.”

  “No. Not for me. Quite happy with my level of beauty, thanks.”

  “I don’t know. Have you waxed lately?”

  Barry’s eyes opened wider. “Enough of that. I’d like to arrange a gift voucher. Or a few.”

  “And I will make sure Sylvia has the most beautiful, relaxing visits ever.”

  “How did you... never mind.”

  “I keep telling people I’m good with secrets and mysteries. Will nobody ever believe me?”

  “Everyone does. So what’s your take on the secrets of Palmerston House?”

  “Don’t you start. It’s bad enough Bernie Cooper thinks he is owns the place, and then Thomas is suspicious of everyone he doesn’t know. Oh, and Daphne with her various theories.”

  “I’m serious.” Barry leaned against a wall. “I’ve only heard bits and pieces so might be completely off base. But if Cooper was looking for a key in the pond, what does it unlock? Who put the key there anyway and what does it have to do with you?”

  Christie bit her lip, thinking. “You know, we think he broke into the cottage and might have moved the trunk. Martha was sure it was further along on the dining room table when we left for dinner that night. But the trunk is empty.”

  “The one your Gran left?”

  “Yes. Now, the trunk came from Palmerston House. Martha remembers it being in Gran’s bedroom when they were children. It must have had the key then and Gran ended up with it. She left me the key, along with one to the cottage and one to her little tulip box. But the skeleton key only opens the trunk.”

  “Does it?” Barry checked his watch. “Locks can be duplicated so how do you know there isn’t a door or cupboard somewhere your key will open? I’ve got to run some plans into Green Bay.”

  “Where should I start looking? For the appropriate keyhole?”

  He shrugged. “I’d be checking the lock on the trunk for any details and work from there.”

  After Barry left, Christie wandered around the shop. So much still to do. Unfinished framework. Plumbing inside for sinks and outside for a hot tub. Wiring dangled from the ceiling and everywhere was dust and offcuts. Hard to imagine in a couple of months she’d be opening the doors.

  Before then though, her wedding. Not long now and she’d be Martin’s wife and begin her new life less than a year since coming here to River’s End.

  As she locked the front door behind herself, she took a closer look. A simple lock. Barry was right, she should see if it gave up any information and then look for clues. A little rush of excitement began in her stomach.

  ***

  What were you thinking? Charlotte gazed out of the window of Trev’s car as the landscape changed from coast to hills. One moment of weakness and she was on a road trip.

  An hour earlier, alone in Palmerston House after Elizabeth and Angus took the road to Warrnambool for their day out, an older sedan had drawn up out the front and Trev had climbed out.

  She’d opened the door in surprise. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his smile was infectious, encouraging her agreement when he’d made his invitation. “We won’t get back here until early evening, so if you have other plans...” Of course she didn’t.

  “You’ll love Mum.”

  Charlotte glanced at Trev. “Are you sure she’s okay with me arriving on her doorstep unannounced?”

  “I am. And it isn’t her doorstep we’re visiting. It’s her bookshop.”

  “She owns a bookshop?” Now it was making sense. When Trev asked her to go with him to the Macedon Ranges on a day trip to check in on his mother, she’d worried he might be expecting more from her than the sort-of friendship they shared. “And you know I love books.”

  “Exactly. So even if you don’t feel up to socialising, you’ll have free run of the place whilst I do.”

  Relief had flooded through Charlotte. He’d mentioned his mother was thinking of selling up and needed a bit of his time to talk things through. With Bernie out of Palmerston House it was an opportunity for him to have a rare day off. And he liked company on the long drive. So she was here as company and could then immerse herself into the wonders of a small town bookshop.

  “You’re smiling.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “You are, Charlie. You know, they say food is the way to a man’s heart, so are books the way to yours?” He chuckled. “Don’t answer.”

  She hadn’t intended to. Books were her escape. The world she could rely on when the real world fell apart. So perhaps a man who understood this, and bought her lots of books, might be... attractive. She sneaked a look at Trev. There was so much more to him than his muscular arms, six pack stomach, and good looks. But those were definitely the icing on the cake.

  “I saw you earlier. With Bernie.” Anything to redirect her silly thoughts.

  “He thought he’d left a book in his room. All Elizabeth found was a pile of crushed water bottles.”

  “A book? It would be Harry Temple’s diary, I imagine. Maybe he dropped it in the pond.”

  “Don’t say that! Elizabeth won’t tolerate anyone else in there, even if it’s evidence.”

  “Probably in the bottom of a suitcase. Did you say crushed water bottles?”

  Trev shot a look at Charlotte. “Why?”

  “Habitual. His mother refused to allow him any bottled drinks growing up. No soft drink or even bottled water. Had some sort of phobia about the sound they make being crushed. He told me the day after she died he bought a twenty-four pack of bottled water, emptied them all and crushed them one by one.”

  “And now he can’t stop.”

  Charlotte looked at her hands. “I thought water bottles were the focus of his anger. But the way he was with Christie...”

  “Inhibitions disappear when alcohol’s involved, you know it. Had he not drunk too much we’d not have known.”

  “I should have spoken up earlier.”

  “You should have trusted me to use your knowledge to evaluate the situation. But I admire your ethics, Charlie.”

  You might not if you knew why. Really why. “Why do live so far from your mother?”

  “Do you always change the subject if you don’t like what you hear? ‘Yes, Trev, I do’ is the correct answer so don’t screw up your face at me. Moving right along then, when I was looking for a post there was nothing closer to home. She and Dad always lived there. Knew everyone and will never leave the Ranges. I grew up playing local football and club cricket, went to the local schools, all that kind of stuff. Always hoped I’d find something close by.”

  “And you’ve stayed in River’s End ever since?”

  “Love it. Never a day I’ve regretted accepting the job there.”

  “Except you don’t get to see your family so much.”

  “True. I do miss Mum. Dad’s long gone but she’s surrounded by friends and refuses my twice a year offer to bring her to River’s End to live.”

  With a soft sigh, Charlotte turned her eyes back to the passing scenery. A coherent, loving mother. And father, once. One home growing up in a place where everyone knows everyone. A bit like River’s End. How different Trev’s upbringing was from hers. How perfect it sounded. And how completely out of her reach to ever experience.

  Chapter Thirty

  More than an hour after hiding in bus
hes on the opposite side of the road, Bernie was certain Palmerston House was deserted.

  First, Angus and Elizabeth drove off in his over-priced, showy Range Rover. They turned toward Warrnambool so hopefully would be out for the day. Then, something unexpected happened. Lottie got in Trevor Sibbritt’s car and they drove off. She’d carried her handbag, a book, and a jacket. They’d even laughed as they walked to his car.

  Well well. Won’t he be interested in what you really are?

  Bernie darted over the road and sprinted up the driveway. He let himself into Palmerston House through the back door, using a key Elizabeth kept hidden beneath a pot full of herbs. At least, she thought it was hidden but he’d made it his business to know about it. He replaced the key, careful to leave the pot exactly as he’d found it.

  The keys to each room dangled from the hooks near the door to the cellar. He grabbed them with a laugh. Why bother locking anything?

  Elizabeth’s rooms were first. She had a bedroom with a walk in robe, a small sitting room, and ensuite. Quite elegant and most likely the room he would make his own when the time came. He wanted to linger over photographs lining the walls but knew time was against him. Lots of knick-knacks, old books, a diary of her own, but no evidence of his. Not even under the mattress.

  Lottie was tidy. Her clothes were folded in drawers or hanging neatly and there wasn’t a lot to go through. He held one of her jumpers against his cheek. So soft. Then looked under her bed, under the mattress, in the empty suitcase. No diary.

  Room by room, Bernie searched the bottom floor. After no success in the kitchen – the final room – he hung the keys back in their place. Then he opened the door to the cellar.

  Down here, the light was so bad he could miss the diary if it was against a wall or under a box. Another pointless search ended at the door to his treasure. So close. Before he had time to think it through, Bernie pulled the cupboard away from the small stone door.

  He hurried back up the steps and across to the old stables where he collected a heavy hammer and small crowbar, excited about this unexpected opportunity.