The Last Mrs. Summers

by Rhys Bowen

  “What an awful thing to say,” Belinda said.

  He gave a high-pitched giggle. “Just a joke, you know. Anyway, must fly. Have to see a man about a dog before I catch the ferry back to Padstow with this lot. I have to repaint her bottom sometime. Toodle-oo. We must meet up at a pub while you are here. Catch up on the good old days at Trengilly, what?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but strode in the direction of the jetty.

  Belinda turned to me. “Sorry if I didn’t introduce you but I can’t stand the man. I never could. I never trusted him even when I was a child. He was one of those uncles who liked to sit you on his knee and let his hands wander while all the time pretending he’s playing a game with you.”

  “How awful,” I said.

  She nodded. “Luckily in those days he was rarely home. He always had some sort of get-rich-quick scheme he was promoting or would find someone to take him to the Continent. Granny despaired of him. She’d say, ‘That boy will be the ruin of me yet.’ But I wonder why he chose to come back here again. I don’t see him enjoying a pint with local fishermen. Of course, if there is still smuggling going on, then that would be more his style.”

  She started to walk away. “Come on. I think we’ve dallied long enough. We can head to the next unpleasant encounter at Trewoma.”

  Chapter 9

  OCTOBER 16

  A HOUSE CALLED TREWOMA, CORNWALL

  I’m not sure this is going to be an improvement on White Sails. Belinda isn’t at all keen, but we are stuck with it now, whether we like it or not. I have to confess I’m dying to meet Tony and see what he is like.

  We returned to Belinda’s motorcar and to my relief she agreed it might be a good idea to put the top back up before we were rained on. After we had managed this we set off back up the estuary toward the headland. Neither of us spoke for a while. The tide was coming in as great waves rushed up the estuary to swallow the sandbars. The boats that had lain pitifully on their sides were now bobbing in water again.

  We had left the last houses behind. Ahead of us was nothing but grassy headland on one side and a rocky shoreline going out to the point on the other. As the road started to climb we got the full force of the wind coming straight at us.

  “I’m glad we put the top up or my beret would have been long gone,” I said.

  “It’s certainly blustery enough, isn’t it? It’s hard to hold the steering wheel and not get blown over the edge. It’s a wonder Jonquil wasn’t actually blown off the cliff top. I wonder what she was doing there in the first place.”

  “It does seem strange,” I replied. “I mean, she had lived in that house all her life. She must have known it would be dangerous to go near the edge of the cliffs.”

  “Perhaps something happened down below,” Belinda suggested. “A boat ran aground or she heard a cry for help from someone cut off by the tide. She went to the edge to look over and it gave way.”

  “Possible.” I nodded. “How sad for Tony Summers. Only married to her for a year.”

  “At least he inherited a large estate,” Belinda pointed out. “Rather convenient when his own family fortunes had waned.”

  I glanced at her sharply, wondering what she might be suggesting, but her eyes were focused on the road ahead.

  “Ah, here we are,” she said. “And Rose has left the gates open for us. How thoughtful.”

  Again I couldn’t tell whether she meant what she was saying or was being sarcastic. We drove through the gates. The drive turned a corner so that it was impossible to see the house ahead of us. Instead it wound into a small wood so that we were passing through another avenue of trees that interlaced above our heads. In the summer it would have been a canopy of green, but at this time of year and with the sort of gales coming from the ocean most of the leaves had already fallen and it was bare branches that were entangled above us while a yellow and brown carpet lay underfoot and covered the driveway. It felt rather strange, like bony fingers reaching out over us and I was glad when we finally emerged from the trees. As we came out of the wood the drive turned again and this time was lined with tall bushes. I’m not exactly an expert on horticulture but I think they were all rhododendrons, of course not flowering right now but they were big enough that they hid any view beyond.

  Suddenly a figure stepped out between the bushes. Belinda gasped and slammed on the brakes. It was lucky that the driveway was winding so that she was not traveling at her usual speed or she would have hit him. I recognized him instantly as the old man I had questioned the day before and had given me a toothless grin when he said “Round Little Rumps.” He stood now in the middle of the driveway, staring at us with that not-quite-all-there expression on his face. He came up to the car and leaned over Belinda.

  “I know you,” he said. “You were the ones who were askin’ about the fishing place, weren’t you? Didn’t you find it?”

  “Oh yes, we found it perfectly, thank you.” Belinda’s voice was ultrapolite. He was leaning in a little too closely.

  “Her weren’t no sort of place for young ladies like yourselves, was her, now?”

  “A little run-down,” Belinda admitted.

  “See, I knew. I knew as soon as I tells ’ee. I says to myself, Harry, you big duffer, you should have told the young mistress that it weren’t the right sort of place for them. So now you’re visiting here instead, are you?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Summers has invited us.”

  He wagged a finger in Belinda’s face. “This is your sort of place, all right, although it’s not how it used to be. Not like when the old master was alive. He were a grand gentleman, he were. And his lady too. And the young one what had the fall. But now she’s taken over, ain’t she? And all the old servants gone. Got rid of Gladys, didn’t she? And Margie? And even Will, who was so good with the horses. All gone.” He paused, staring off into the distance. I could tell that Belinda was dying to drive on, but he had one hand on the side window of the car. “The old master, he used to give me odd jobs too, you know. A proper gentleman, he were. Now they don’t want me around no more. She don’t want me around. I don’t know why. I ain’t said nothing. But I know what I saw, all right.” He paused again, staring at something we couldn’t see. “But I expect you’ll be all right,” he said, “Strangers like you. No, you’ll be just fine.” And with that he turned and stomped back into the bushes again.

  “I wonder what he meant about expecting we’d be all right?” I shivered.

  “Obviously the village idiot,” Belinda said. She put her foot on the accelerator and we shot forward. Another bend and suddenly the driveway opened up and there was the house ahead of us. Unlike the plain Cornish stone of Belinda’s grandmother’s home this was an extravagant building. It might have started as a simple manor but had been added to by successive generations. There were towers on both corners, and gables and a broad flight of steps leading up to the front door. All in all a little Gothic and over-the-top.

  “It’s a bloody great monstrosity, isn’t it?” Belinda said. “You take the simple lines of Cornish stone and ruin the place. Those Victorians should never have been allowed to build anything.”

  I nodded agreement.

  We crossed a gravel forecourt with an ornamental pond and Belinda brought the car to a stop. As we pulled up beneath these steps a footman in livery came out to open the car door for me.

  “Welcome to Trewoma, my lady,” he said. “May I take your bags?”

  He assisted me from the car seat and then opened the boot to take out our modest suitcases.

  “Clearly he has been told that you are the important one and I am not worth bothering with,” Belinda muttered. She adjusted her cape and put her hand to her scarf as the wind threatened it. “Ah well.” She looked at me and took a deep breath. “Here goes, then.”

  I had to smile. “You make it sound as if we were entering a lion’s den.”

&
nbsp; “Far worse than that, darling. Still, one can endure anything for a couple of days. I have even been known to be civil to my stepmother over the Christmas holiday.”

  “I have learned to be civil to Fig for much longer than that,” I said. “I’m sure it builds character.”

  “I don’t know if I want my character built,” Belinda said.

  “Besides, you have to give your Rosie the benefit of the doubt,” I went on. “She may have been an awful child because she felt unwanted and insecure. Now she’s mistress of her own house she may be absolutely charming.”

  Belinda frowned at me. “When did you become such a sage? Has marriage really turned you into a sensible and mature person?”

  “Implying boring as well? I hope not. But being with my grandfather has been a good influence on me. He always sees the best in people and never hastens to a judgment.”

  “You’re right,” Belinda said as she picked her way daintily up the steps in her delicate kid shoes. “He’s a wonderful person. So was my grandmother, in her way. She was more correct and very hot on good manners and that sort of thing, but she was fond of me. The only person who was after my mother died.”

  I followed her up the steps, pondering on this. Earlier in our relationship I had come to Belinda with my problems. I had relied on her as being older and wiser and certainly more worldly. Now it seemed our relationship had changed. I was the one with a stable life and she needed me. Interesting.

  I had no more time to weigh these facts as we reached the front door and stepped into a vast dark wood-paneled foyer. On one side a curved staircase ascended to a balcony. An enormous wooden chandelier hung above the stairs. The floor was composed of black and white marble squares. On the walls various hunting trophies, ranging from stags to buffalo, stared down at us. It was one of the most gloomy entrances I had ever seen and I’d grown up at Castle Rannoch, which ranks extremely high on the gloom scale.

  I didn’t notice the woman standing beside a tall potted palm until she spoke.

  “Welcome to Trewoma, my lady and Miss Warburton-Stoke. I am Mrs. Mannering, the housekeeper. I hope your stay here will be a pleasant one. James will take your coats,” she said and the footman now stepped forward to assist me off with my overcoat and then took Belinda’s cape.

  “I remember your grandmother with great respect, Miss Warburton-Stoke. A true lady. Sorely missed,” the housekeeper went on as the footman whisked our garments away. She turned to me. “And I understand that you are Lady Georgiana Rannoch, sister to the duke and cousin to the king. It is a great honor to have you at our house, my lady.”

  “Thank you, it’s most kind of you,” I said. “But I’m actually now married and a simple Mrs. O’Mara.”

  “A lady is always a lady, is she not?” the housekeeper said. “If you would come this way, I believe Mrs. Summers is awaiting you in the morning room.”

  She was almost a caricature of a perfect housekeeper. She had an old but unlined and expressionless face. Her hair was set into a perfect cap of gray waves. She wore a black dress with a white collar, the combination of which removed all the color from her face, giving the impression of a skull floating above blackness.

  She led us across the foyer; down a long, dark paneled hallway; round a couple of corners; and opened a door ahead of her. We stepped into a delightfully warm room with tall arched windows that looked out onto manicured lawns and a view of the headlands beyond. Armchairs and sofas were arranged around a massive marble fireplace in which a log fire was blazing. Rose had been sitting in one of the armchairs but she sprang up as we came in.

  “Oh splendid. You found us. So what do you think? Isn’t this a lovely room? It’s my favorite in the house. I expect that’s because it’s not too big and overwhelming. Shall we have some coffee first or would you like to see your rooms?”

  “I expect the young ladies would like to attend to their hair, after having been out in the wind,” Mrs. Mannering said. “Would you like me to take them to their rooms, madam?”

  “Oh no. That won’t be necessary. I can do it. Why don’t you arrange for some coffee and some of Cook’s gingerbread for us?”

  “Very good, madam.” The voice was flat.

  “You’ve put them in the west wing, I hope?”

  “No, madam,” the housekeeper replied, her voice still calm and expressionless. “I have put them in the east wing. In the pink room and the lavender room.”

  I was watching Rose’s face. It was flushed with annoyance and embarrassment. “But I expressly told you . . . I wanted them to have the good view across the headlands.”

  “The young ladies are from London and therefore not used to our brisk climate. The rooms I selected are smaller and therefore easier to heat. I am sure they will appreciate that when they awake and have to dress in the morning.”

  “I suppose you are right.” Rose clearly wanted to say something different but she was not going to fight in front of visitors. I thought that wise of her. From what I had seen of the housekeeper it would have been a losing battle.

  “I take it the young ladies did not bring a maid with them,” Mrs. Mannering said. “I will assign young Elsie to unpack and take care of their clothes. She seems to be coming along nicely in her training. Willing to learn.” As we went to walk away she added, “And please do show the young ladies that there are oil lamps in each of the bedrooms, just in case we lose power, which happens all too frequently in our part of the world during storms.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Mannering.” Rose couldn’t hide the annoyance in her voice. I had to admit it did sound as if the housekeeper was the one giving the orders.

  Rose led us out of the room, back down that long hallway and up the stairs. A balcony ran across linking the two wings. Rose hesitated, looking to the right, then turned to the left and strode angrily in that direction. When we approached that wing she glanced back to see the hallway below us was empty before she muttered to us, “That woman is going to drive me mad. I give her an order and she goes and does exactly what she wants to anyway. I really wanted you to enjoy the view from the west wing. It is quite spectacular. But she doesn’t like using those rooms because those were Jonquil’s when she a girl.”

  “She came with the house, then?” Belinda said. “She was here when Jonquil was a child?”

  “Oh yes. She’s been here for donkey’s years. Who knows how old she is? I suspect she’s actually a witch and is probably several hundred years old and takes some kind of rejuvenating potion.” She gave a nervous little chuckle, and I noticed she glanced over her shoulder in case she could be overheard. “She looked after Jonquil when she was a little girl. Adored her. She thought the sun shone out of Jonquil’s head. Miss Jonquil was such a pretty child, such a good horsewoman, so clever, played the piano so well. Talk about rubbing it in that I am none of those things.”

  We had entered a long hallway with windows along one side, looking down onto a formal garden between the two wings.

  “The trouble is,” she went on, “that she is so blooming efficient. The house runs like clockwork. Everything is in its place, everything shines and gleams. She comes to me every morning with the menus for the day and they are always perfect. There is nothing for me to change or add. She seems to know exactly what Tony would like to eat at a certain time. It’s uncanny.”

  She stopped outside one of the first doors to our left. “Wait. Is this the pink room? I can never remember.” She opened the door, peered inside then went in. “Ah yes. See. What did I tell you? Bed made up, fire in the hearth, fresh flowers on the dresser, even though it’s October. From the greenhouse, of course. Everything perfect.”

  “Having just had to deal with a crew of hopeless staff I’d be grateful if I were you,” I said.

  Rose sighed. “I know I should be grateful, but it leaves nothing for me to do except rattle around this big place all day. Tony is busy with running things
—we have a large farm farther inland as well as the estate here and the properties abroad. So he’s completely busy and happy and I have nothing to keep me occupied.”

  “I know just what it’s like,” I said. “I’m going through the same sort of thing. I’ve inherited this big house and there is very little for me to do when my husband is away. It’s lonely, isn’t it? Darcy was urging me to entertain—give luncheons and tea parties and get involved in the local society but it’s hard to take that first step.”

  “It’s all right for you,” Rose said. “You’re a real lady, aren’t you. Anyone would be happy to come to your parties or to have you involved in their local charities. But me—everyone knows I was the cook’s daughter. They are polite enough to my face but I know what they are saying behind my back. Besides, we’re rather remote here. It’s mostly fishing families. It’s too bad that nobody actually lives at Trengilly anymore.”

  “We heard it’s someone from London? A banker or something?” Belinda looked inquiringly at Rose.

  “I’m not exactly sure. It’s mostly rumors floating around. Some say he’s Greek, others that he’s a Jewish financier. Stinking rich, wherever he comes from. Tony thinks he’s up to no good. Shady money. He’s had the whole interior redecorated. I believe he’s only been down a couple of times. He brings a house party with him and all his food and drink. The locals aren’t very pleased about that. They get nothing out of it. Not a good way to endear oneself. But he probably doesn’t care.”

  “If he’s in banking, presumably Tony knows him?” I said. “Didn’t you say his father was in something like that?”

  “Until he lost it all,” she replied. “Tony’s parents upped and moved to Italy. They live quite simply in Florence these days. I’ve only met them once. I suggested to Tony that we go for a visit this winter, but he seems so occupied with all the business of the estate.” She looked at Belinda. “He’ll be so surprised when he sees you’re here, Belinda. I’m sure he won’t recognize you. You are so glamorous these days.”