The Housemaid

by Sarah A. Denzil

  I reached over and held his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s not much consolation—or maybe it is, I don’t know—but soon the world will know that you’re a hero.”

  He laughed. “Yeah right.”

  “I mean it,” I said. But he shook his head.

  I knew what it had taken for Ade to fire that gun. Unlike Bertie or Alex, Ade wasn’t the kind of man who sought out violence. But he’d fought for me.

  “I just wish we’d forced a confession out of them,” Ade said. “For Roisin.”

  “Me too. And I wish Alex hadn’t escaped.”

  We looked at each other, and he nodded. An unspoken agreement passed between us. I think we both realised at that point we wouldn’t be able to stop until Alex was behind bars along with his father. Ade squeezed my hand. We sat there for a moment, dirty, broken and exhausted, until a nurse interrupted us to say we could leave.

  “I think we’re stronger together,” I said after the nurse left. “I think we’re safer together.”

  “I think so too,” he said.

  Neither of us said anything more, but we both thought it. Alex was still out there, and he had a game to finish.

  Back in Paxby, in Ade’s cottage, I pulled the spare bedding out of his storage cupboard and tucked the sheets around the air mattress. Ade stuffed pillows into the pillowcases. We took turns showering with one of us standing guard outside the door. Ade had insisted on taking the airbed on the floor of his bedroom. He had a spare room, but we wanted to stay in the same room together. I was almost positive that Alex would have left the country by now, because that would be the sensible thing to do, and yet, I still couldn’t settle.

  Surely a rich sociopath like Alex would value self-preservation above everything else. But perhaps that way of thinking came from a motherless child who knew little more than how to survive her entire life. Another part of me wondered if he’d come back for us. And for as long as those thoughts were on my mind, I would be looking over my shoulder, unable to relax, unable to rest.

  I surprised myself by calling Aunty Josephine that night. It was late, and I hadn’t expected her to answer. But she had, and she’d listened and cried and apologised as I told her all about what had happened.

  “I never knew,” she said. “She went early one morning and left a note for me. It didn’t say where she was going, but it said not to look for her. And I believed it. I thought… I thought she ran away. Ruby, why didn’t you tell me you were going to Highwood Hall?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want you to stop me doing what I needed to do.” I tapped my forefinger against the phone case. There was so much to say, I needed time to collect my thoughts. “I read the letters she sent to Dad. You kept hanging up on her every time she called you. Why wouldn’t you speak to her?”

  “I was so mad at her,” she said. “She’d left me with a baby to take care of. I hadn’t finished grieving for my husband, and then I had you to worry about.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, but it was a hard time. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was stressed and mad, and I couldn’t speak to her. I thought if I refused to talk, she’d come home sooner. Which is… well, stupid. I know that now. We were young, Ruby. I’m so sorry. Not searching for her will forever be the biggest regret of my life. I’m so sorry. I wish your dad had contacted me while she was still at the hall. I didn’t know she was in trouble.”

  “He was in the middle of his addiction at the time,” I said. “When I went to see him, he told me that he read the letters again a few years later and barely remembered reading them the first time.” We cried together then. Tears dripped down my chin as I thought about poor Emily, my mother, living life as though she’d been forgotten by everyone around her.

  “Ruby,” Josephine said. “I just searched for your name online, and I think I might have found the video.”

  “Don’t watch it,” I warned. “It’s… It’s not nice.”

  “Okay,” she said. “What’s going to happen tomorrow? Your life isn’t going to be the same again is it?”

  “I know.”

  Despite feeling the exhaustion right down to the marrow of my bones, Ade and I stayed up late, setting up a website to track potential sightings of Alex. The police had checked airports and put out an alert on his passport. Margot had already told the police that the family didn’t own a private plane. They occasionally shared one with the owner of a Premiership football club, but his plane had been in the air at the time without Alex in it.

  He was out there somewhere. As we finally gave in to sleep, I thought of him shutting me in the priest’s hole. I thought of us pressed up close in the cupboard above the stairs. I’d had no idea then how depraved he and his father were. I thought of him sitting back and watching as his father tortured a young woman.

  That night in Huxley’s private office, she hadn’t held back from the details. I’d reached for a second glass of whisky when she explained to me how Bertie tended to keep the girl locked up a week or longer, depending on whether anyone cared that she’d disappeared. He would take two or three a year, depending on his desires at the time. Chloe had been the last to die in the red room. I made sure of that.

  Roisin had never been destined for the red room because she had a family who cared about her. She had parents and friends in Sligo. I still didn’t know what had happened to her. But it had to be Bertie. Mrs Huxley suspected that Roisin either became too needy, and he lost his temper, accidentally killing her. Or she uncovered his secret and needed to be killed. Either way, Roisin died because Bertie was a psychopath.

  I missed her. My biggest regret was not uncovering what Bertie was doing before she died. Should I have told her that my mother never came home from Highwood Hall? I’d grown so used to keeping my own secrets that I’d failed to let her in. She’d deserved more. From me, from life, from the Howards. I fell asleep, crying softly into Ade’s pillow, hoping to at least dream of nothing.

  Chapter 46

  I found a photograph on an online news site of Margot and Lottie walking down the street. Margot in full protective mode, her arm slung over Lottie’s shoulder. Typical, right? There were two male serial killers, but the mother-in-law, sister, daughter or whatever gets the attention. I scanned through the article for any mention of Alex. Given his wanted status, several celebrities had come out and condemned Alex and Bertie’s crimes, expressing shock that two monsters lived beside them in polite society. To me, it wasn’t surprising; to them, their bubble of safety had been burst.

  “There are a ton of messages on here,” Ade said. “Not many sightings, but I’ll forward what we have to that detective from the police station.”

  I nodded, my body numb. Weirdly, I wanted to go back to Highwood to be where my mother was. Where did they bury her? They had to bury their bodies somewhere. Mrs Huxley hadn’t told me that. She said they had a system, and she didn’t know what it was.

  Would Bertie talk? No. He’d be Ian Brady, always hinting that he knows where the bodies are buried, ensuring a television crew go with him to the moors—or woods or river or wherever they took the maids—to point at different areas, none of which would be right. Maybe he’d use it as a bargaining tool to get a better cell. I paused for a moment to dwell on my bizarre thoughts because they didn’t feel real.

  Ade came downstairs at that moment and filled up the kettle. On his way past the table, he flicked on the television, and to both our surprise, Pawel’s face appeared. In his thick, Eastern European accent, he told them about Roisin and her suspicious death.

  “They’re reopening the case,” Ade said, tapping the volume button. “That’s great!”

  I nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

  “You okay?”

  I watched the tears glisten in Pawel’s eyes and wondered how Roisin’s parents were coping. I decided to call them once I’d pulled myself together.

  “Yeah. Still processing things. How’s your shoulder?”

  Ade tapped the top of his sling. “I
t’s actually not that bad. What do you want to eat?”

  “I should make it—”

  “Hell no.” He grinned at me. “You have no idea what kind of magic I can perform one-handed.” He tilted his head. “That sounded dirty.”

  I shook my head, amazed that he could make me laugh despite everything going on and watched him pour oats into a bowl with his healthy arm. He made porridge with honey and two cups of strong tea. But I couldn’t finish it. I was… not quite there. Almost, but not quite, and I think Ade saw that.

  After breakfast he chatted to me as he tended to the houseplants, telling me which plants needed the most sunlight and water. Every now and then, I helped him spritz palm fronds with water. But I was so distracted that they either ended up soaked or I moved on to the next plant before finishing.

  We went into the garden where the sky was blue and the sun was warm, and we watered, deadheaded and pruned. In a baking greenhouse, Ade picked tomatoes for lunch while I held a basket for him, staring out into space and nodding along as he talked. I tried to listen. I tried to keep my eyes focused on him, but my gaze roamed around the garden, searching for danger. For Alex.

  He fried up the fresh tomatoes with some bacon and hash browns for lunch, smiling broadly as he handed me my plate. It was piled high with delicious food, but I didn’t find any of it appetising at all.

  After Ade finished his meal, his dark, sad eyes rested on my hands. I’d pushed my food around the plate for about ten minutes, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Come on. Eat as much as you can.”

  “I can’t.” I leaned my head against a fist, a fork hanging loosely from my fingers. “My stomach’s in knots.”

  “I know,” he said. “I don’t feel much better.”

  “He’s still out there.”

  His voice was soft. “I know. Hey, you’re in shock. Take it steady. This will take some time to get over, but you will, and I will. You saved a lot of people’s lives.” He put his fork down, squirming in his chair. “Look, this is sappy as all hell, but you should know how fucking brave it was to do what you did.”

  I shook my head and made a scoffing sound. “No way. You were the brave one.”

  “Ruby, you offered yourself up as bait. To a serial killer.”

  Alex’s face appeared on the television and I flinched. He stood proudly in his cap and gown, Bertie smiling next to him. The ivy-clad walls of a university behind them. He was so handsome with those perfect white teeth and piercing blue eyes.

  “You were right about his smile,” I said. “It doesn’t reach his eyes.”

  “I’ll turn it off.” Ade adjusted himself to stand, but I stopped him.

  “No, we should keep it on so that we know when he’s found.”

  “Okay.”

  The report mentioned finding Alex’s Ferrari dumped in Edinburgh, just outside the city. We watched in silence, both of us stiff as two boards, bated breath trapped in our lungs. But there were no other leads. Alex hadn’t been sighted near his car. No one had been found with it.

  “Christ, he must’ve floored that thing all night,” Ade said. “You reckon he’s trying to leave the country?”

  “I guess I would if I were him.”

  Ade nodded. Once the report was over, he turned the TV off. “I’m surprised they found it. I thought the Howards would have some sort of apocalypse bunker nearby. You know, with a garage for sports cars and a decade’s worth of tinned food. Guns lining the walls and hazmat suits.”

  “Rich people.” I smiled before reality hit me again. “I still can’t believe what we did. I can’t believe it worked.”

  “It did.”

  “Except for Alex.” I sighed, deciding to force down some food. I jabbed a tomato and popped it into my mouth, chewing quickly, afraid I’d spit it out. “Please tell me they won’t win. They can’t win this time, right?”

  “They can’t.” Ade reached over and took my free hand in his. “They can’t.”

  But I experienced the portentous sense of a tide turning. I felt our advantage slipping away, like Alex slipping through the door in the north wing. A fundamental element, a part of the puzzle, remained elusive, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

  Chapter 47

  I waited until the evening, and then I told Ade what I needed to do. He said exactly what I thought he’d say: that I was crazy, that I was making a mistake and that it wouldn’t achieve anything. But he also insisted on coming with me, which I agreed to because we needed to stick together.

  The press had been on top of Lottie and Margot like flies on shit, and yes, I sympathised with them to a point. However, the line had been drawn in the sand when it came to Margot. I knew for certain that Margot understood who Bertie was. Lottie, I wasn’t sure about.

  With all the attention on the two women, the name of their hotel had been mentioned several times on the internet. Neither woman had been arrested, though I believed they’d been questioned individually. That wasn’t enough for me. I needed to see them.

  Ade’s shoulder still hurt, and I hadn’t driven for a long time, so we took a taxi to the hotel. The driver frowned at us from the rear-view mirror as he saw the bustle of the paparazzi on the streets.

  “Do you want to stop here?” he asked.

  “Take us a bit further up the road, would you?” Ade said. He sensed me tense up and flashed a look of concern my way. We didn’t need to say it, but I knew he was worried. I nodded, hoping to ease his worries even though I felt like I was about to walk into the lion’s den.

  “Deep breaths,” he said as we paid the driver and got out.

  The photographers already knew who we were. Though we’d managed to avoid a lot of the scrutiny from the press, our identities had already been leaked. Never had I been so glad that I kept my social media accounts private, meaning no drunken or drugged-out pictures made it into their news articles. But now they had a photo of us walking, our heads down, hands shielding our faces. The unflattering camera flash drawing out every flaw in the drizzling rain. It didn’t matter, but I still felt like a deer, cold and shivering in the centre of an empty road, one car coming straight for me.

  Inside, the open foyer shone like gold with a grand chandelier glittering over our heads. The hotel was beautiful, opulent even. I didn’t know there were any that looked like this outside London. It made my resolve weaken. My damp shoes slid across the marble floor, squeaking with each step. When heads turned, blood rushed to my face. We hurried over to the front desk to get away from those judgemental faces.

  “I’d like to speak to Margot Pemberton. Is it possible for you to call her room?” I asked. Call it an instinct, but I had a feeling she’d want to talk to me. “Tell her it’s Ruby Dean.”

  The concierge nodded his head and did as I asked. If he knew who I was, he was excellent at hiding it. I craned my neck, gaping at the moulded plaster on the ceiling, feeling almost exactly like I had the first day I arrived at Highwood Hall. Did it matter? Truly? A home was a home. All this was extra. All this was unnecessary. And yet I kept staring.

  “She’s in the penthouse,” he said. “I’ll take you up there.”

  I glanced at Ade with a slight eye-roll. Of course she’s in the penthouse. Why would I expect anything less?

  Trainers still squeaking, we made our way to the lift, and the concierge used a swipe card to access the top floor. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, not even bothering with dinner, and yet my stomach still managed to churn. Margot and I had once shared a sensitive moment together, but it was possible she’d see me close up and turn defensive. I needed her to be open with me. I needed to relate to her again.

  The lift opened up inside the penthouse, next to a small entryway. I’d certainly never stayed in a hotel room with its own entryway before. Then again, I could count the number of hotel rooms I’d stayed in on one hand. The concierge pointed us in the direction we needed to go before closing the lift doors. Ade and I glanced at each other. I wondered if we should tip the man, but I didn’t have
much cash on me, and he seemed to disappear before we had the chance.

  “He’ll spit in our soup later,” Ade whispered, thinking along the same lines.

  I tried to smile at the joke, but it faded quickly. We walked deeper into the apartment and then stopped, unsure.

  They were waiting for us. Margot with a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Lottie stood with her shoulders hunched. A baggy woollen cardigan covered her hands. She ran at me, and for half a second, I thought she was going to kill me. Instead, she wrapped her arms around my neck.

  “Rita!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I can’t believe Daddy…”

  Gently I extracted her arms. “It’s Ruby.”

  Her eyes were empty when she gazed at me. “It is? Oh, sorry.”

  I turned my attention to Margot, who frowned. The elder woman sighed and waved me through to the next room, cigarette smoke trailing her.

  “Would either of you like a drink?” she asked. “I had room service bring up a pitcher of martinis. It’s going to be a long night.” She gestured for us to sit down on a white sofa, pointing towards the glass pitcher resting in a bucket of ice. “Don’t mind Lottie. She’s on her third.” She smiled. Her red lipstick bled into the cracks.

  “No, thank you. I’m clean and sober, remember?”

  “Oh yes,” she said. “My apologies.” She sipped her cocktail. “And what about you?” She raised her eyebrows towards Ade.

  “No, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am. Dear Lord. Who am I, the queen?” Margot leaned back. “Oh, let’s just get to it, shall we? I didn’t know as much as you think I knew. Lottie knew nothing.”

  My eyes flicked over to Lottie, who was chewing on a thumbnail, staring hard at the windows. She hadn’t sat down; instead, she sort of hovered over by Margot’s chair.

  “That’s not why I’m here,” I said. “But I am interested in what you knew. What did you think was happening when all the maids kept disappearing?”