by Rhys Bowen
I ran ahead of her to Brutus. Belinda started the motor and we shot forward. I realized I should never have suggested that she drive fast. Screeching around corners on a lane with granite stone walls on either side. I held my breath, also wanting to get to Trewoma quickly—in one piece if possible. As we swung in between the gateposts another motorcar was coming at speed up the drive. I opened my mouth to scream. Belinda jammed on the brakes, swerved and missed a Scots pine tree by inches. The other car almost wound up in a ditch. It came to a stop and Detective Inspector Watt wound down his window.
“What the devil do you think you are doing?” he yelled. “Driving like a madman.” Then he saw it was Belinda. “Madwoman,” he corrected. “What in God’s name are you doing here? I told you to stay away.”
I got out. “We were looking for you, Inspector. We have new evidence that shows that Rose Summers is innocent. You don’t need to question her.”
That was when I peered into the backseat. Rose was seated there with the sergeant beside her. She was staring at me in a sort of horrified fascination as if I was an apparition.
“What is this nonsense?” DI Watt demanded. “What sort of evidence, pray?”
“Can you get out of the car and go somewhere where we can talk?”
“Back to the house?”
“No, not back to the house,” I said. “Away from the house. Where we can’t be seen from the house.”
He frowned as he got out of his motorcar. “I hope you know what you are doing, young woman,” he said.
“I do. Please trust me. I think we may finally have got to the bottom of this.”
I looked back at Belinda who was about to get out of Brutus. “You stay where you are. I’ll be back.” She went to say something, then realized the benefit of my suggestion.
The inspector and I walked together into the Scots pine trees. The wind made the branches above us creak and groan, but here there was no breeze and the ground was soft underfoot with pine needles. Above our heads a squirrel clucked an angry warning.
“Well?” he asked me.
I told him the story of Colin. He listened with growing impatience.
“You’re trying to say that a boy’s death, a summer visiting boy, not even one who lived down here, twelve years ago, has anything to do with this murder?”
“Everything to do with it,” I said. “I have contacts within the Home Office. It has just been confirmed to me that the boy’s real mother’s name was Alice Mannering.”
“Mannering?” He paused, frowning. “The housekeeper?”
“Yes.”
He considered this while the wind rustled above us.
“You think this is revenge for the death of her son? A son she gave up at birth? After all this time? But it doesn’t make sense.”
“What if something finally pushed her over the edge?” I asked. “What if blaming Tony and Jonquil and Belinda for Colin’s death has festered all these years, but recently something happened—” I broke off. “Tony was talking about selling up the house, turning it into a hotel and he said ‘She’ll have to go.’ She loved to snoop. What if she overheard this and having Belinda in the house was perfect for her?”
“This seems like a long shot to me, young lady.”
“The house is her life. She rules the roost here. If she was really going to have to leave—” I broke off. It would be in her interest to keep Rose in residence or she’d have no job.
He stared long and hard at me. “I hope you’re right about this, young woman.”
“I hope so too,” I said.
Chapter 32
OCTOBER 21
BACK AT TREWOMA, HOPEFULLY FOR THE LAST TIME!
We walked back to the motorcars. “It’s also possible that she killed the late Mrs. Summers,” I said, “but that would be hard to prove.”
“The one who fell over a cliff?”
“That’s right.”
“In revenge for letting her son die?”
I shrugged. “Partly. Maybe in revenge that she had had to give up her son and Jonquil had led the most privileged life with everything she wanted. Who knows what can fester in a lonely person’s mind?”
He looked at me long and hard. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“A big reader of crime novels, then?”
“No, Inspector. A big observer of crime,” I said. “And I do know what living in a dark and isolated house like this can do to the mind. I grew up in a castle in Scotland. Luckily I had a kind nanny.”
We reached the cars. He instructed his driver to turn around and drive slowly toward the house and told Belinda to stay well back. We did as we were told.
“Did he accept your story?” Belinda asked.
“Let’s just say he’s skeptical,” I replied. “But he’s willing to pursue it.”
The police car drew up outside the front steps. Inspector Watt got out. We parked farther away.
“Perhaps we should stay here, out of sight, until the inspector has questioned her,” I said.
“Are you joking? If she’s guilty she would have gladly let me go to the gallows. She’s a vile woman and I want to hear what she’s got to say for herself.”
We walked slowly forward as the inspector reached the foot of the steps. He had hardly started to ascend when the front door opened and Mrs. Mannering herself came out.
“I am so glad you returned, Inspector,” she said. “I took the liberty of packing a small overnight bag for Mrs. Summers. Her basic toiletries and nightwear.” Then she noticed Rose who had emerged from the vehicle. “Mrs. Summers? You are back. What has happened?”
“You are Alice Mannering?” The inspector stepped up to intercept her.
She looked surprised. “Yes, Alice is my Christian name. Why do you ask?”
“Mother of Colin? Colin Hucklebee?”
Her face had always looked white and featureless to me. Now she had gone even whiter, if that was possible. “Who told you about . . . ? How could you possibly know? Nobody knew.”
“We have our ways,” he said smoothly. “Suffice it to say that we know everything.”
“There is nothing to know.” She tossed her head defiantly. “I had a child. I had to give him up. But there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about him, wonder what he was doing, how he looked.”
“And then he came here. Right on your doorstep, so to speak,” the inspector said calmly. “That must have been hard for you—to have him so close and not be able to speak to him.”
The look she gave him was of pure defiance. “You have no idea what I have endured, Inspector. No idea at all.”
“But how did you find out the names of his adoptive parents? They normally keep them from the mother.”
“I hired a private detective,” she said, staring at him coldly. “I saved my stupid, hard-earned wages and I paid for him to find out. I used to visit the area in my summer holidays, just to catch glimpses of Colin. He turned into a lovely young man. His adoptive parents were so proud of him. Scholarship to the grammar school and talk of university.”
“Was it pure luck that he came down here?”
She looked at him with scorn. “Of course not. I sent his family the brochures. I quoted them a ridiculously low rate on a bungalow. I paid the rest myself. And they took the bait. They came.”
“Why did you want him down here? Just to see him a bit more?”
“I had a plan, Inspector,” she said. “If you know everything else, then you must know that his father was Mr. Trefusis, the master of this house.” I heard a tiny gasp come from Belinda. “I was a young, innocent housemaid. He took advantage of me. One does not refuse the master of the house, and it struck me that if I was a special favorite, maybe I’d get special treatment. Foolish notion, of course, but as I said, I was young and naïve.”
Sh
e paused. “Then I found I was in the family way. Mr. Trefusis arranged to send me away to have the baby. I was a Catholic so he found this Catholic home for unmarried mothers run by nuns near Coventry and sent me there. It was awful. Like the workhouse but worse. Like prison, but worse. We were tormented, worked to death, treated like vermin. And as soon as I had the baby it was taken from me. I was given a week to recover and then sent back to work. I never saw my little boy again.”
“But you came back to work for the Trefusis family?”
“I had nowhere else to go,” she replied. “Beside, Mrs. Trefusis was now pregnant. I was offered the post of nursemaid to the child. An offer of appeasement, wouldn’t you say? And so Jonquil became mine. Her parents were often away traveling or in London and I raised her. Such a beautiful child.” Her face had become soft and wistful and I could see for a moment that she might have been a pretty young girl once. Then the look was gone in a flash. “Then she went away to school, and she changed. She became reckless, daring, foolhardy and to be honest ruthless. I did not like what I was seeing and I told her so. That was when she told me I was a servant and thus not entitled to an opinion. And I realized the truth. She didn’t care about me at all.”
“So your thoughts turned to Colin?”
“They were never far from him, but it occurred to me that Mrs. Trefusis had not been able to produce an heir. If I introduced Mr. Trefusis to his son, and he saw what a fine boy he was, maybe he might adopt him and make him the heir. So I brought Colin here, hoping for a fortuitous meeting. But before I could set one up, he was dead.”
“An accident, though?”
“Was it?” Her voice was hard now. “I learned later that Jonquil knew Colin couldn’t swim. And she always did have a sneaky side to her nature. I had caught her once before reading my diary. Had I expressed any of my thoughts for her to read? Quite possibly. I had nobody else to discuss things with. And she saw Colin as a rival, to be snuffed out.”
“Why did you wait so long to kill her?” I asked, before I realized I should have stayed silent.
She glanced across at me, as if she hadn’t even realized I was there. “Old Harry told you, didn’t he? I knew he could never stay silent. Stupid old fool. I was sure nobody had seen, but he was always skulking around in the woods. I threatened him and I thought that had done the trick. But apparently not.”
“So you killed him too?” the inspector asked.
She nodded. “After the first death it’s never so hard anymore. You can only go to hell once, can’t you?” And she actually smiled. “The truth was, Inspector, that Jonquil grew into a horrible adult. Maybe I spoiled her, maybe she was born with a personality flaw. But she started bringing men down here, making love to them under her husband’s nose. She loved the danger, you see. One of these men had a splendid sailing boat. I heard them talking together, down at the dock. She said that she was already bored with Tony Summers and told this man she’d get a divorce and they’d sail off together. Sell the properties, buy a lovely yacht on the Med. She was standing on the cliffs one evening, gazing down the estuary, waiting for him. I came up to her. She said, ‘Isn’t it a lovely sunset, Manny? I feel so happy this evening.’ I wanted to ask her what would happen to me if she sold the property, but while I was plucking up the courage she said, ‘Go inside. It’s rather cold.’ And I said, ‘Very good, Mrs. Summers.’ And the moment she turned to gaze out to sea I pushed her over the cliff.”
She looked almost triumphant. “I don’t regret it for an instant. An eye for an eye. Isn’t that what the Bible says? And she had not turned into a person of whom I could be proud.”
“And Tony Summers?” DI Watt asked. “Was he killed for the same reason?”
“I quite liked him,” she said. “He was well brought up and willing to learn, I thought. Then he married her—a cook’s daughter. He brought disgrace to this house.”
“Well, of all the ungrateful . . .” Rose said.
“I stayed silent, but then he talked of becoming bored, of turning this house into a hotel, of selling it and then I heard him say that I’d have to go. To go. After I have given my life to this house. Cast me out as if I were last year’s fashion. So I saw that the timing was perfect, with Miss Belinda here.”
“What could you possibly have against me?” Belinda asked.
Mrs. Mannering gave her a look of utter dislike. “Your grandmother. The wonderful Lady Knott. When I found that they planned to send me to that home for unmarried mothers to have my baby, I went to her. I had always seen her as a kind person. I told her I’d work in any capacity for her if she let me stay and keep my child. And she told me that girls with my low morals got exactly what they deserved. And she had me shown to the door. And then I saw her granddaughter that night. Flirting with a married man. And Mr. Summers went to her bedroom. He came out soon after but I knew he’d be back, and she’d welcome him back.”
“That’s not true,” Belinda said. “I turned him away.”
“Women always give in. Such weak creatures.” She gave a snort of contempt. “So you gave me the perfect alibi, Miss Warburton-Stoke.”
“We know exactly how you did it,” I said. “You took Jonquil’s little cart.”
She gave me a cold stare, making me feel so uncomfortable that I wanted to look away. It was like the gaze of a snake. “I already knew it could carry several small children. I thought it would hold up and the rubber wheels made no sound. I hid it in the linen closet outside Mr. Summers’s bathroom. Then I looked through his keyhole until he was lying back in the bath, eyes closed. I came in silently. He opened his eyes just at the moment I grabbed his ankles and yanked upward. Too late. His head went underwater. He thrashed for a bit but it was no use, of course, as long as his feet were in the air, his head could not rise above the surface. When he was unconscious, I put towels all over the floor to mop up the water, dragged him out onto a towel and pulled him down the hall on the wagon. Then I put him on her bed and I stabbed him in the chest.”
“Where did you get the dagger?” I asked, remembering that we couldn’t find where that particular one had come from.
“I keep one by my bed, for self-defense,” she said. “I selected such a pretty one.” She looked at the inspector. “Now, if you will give me a moment I will pack myself a small suitcase, like the one I prepared for Mrs. Summers, then I shall be ready to come with you.”
“Go with her, Smith,” the inspector said.
She gave him a hostile look. “It is not seemly that a man should watch a woman selecting her undergarments. I shall return right away.” She stalked into the house. The young policeman went after her, standing at a respectful distance at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’ll go and keep an eye on her,” Rose said, stepping forward. “It’s my house. She is my employee.”
I watched her with appreciation. It was the first time I had heard her speak with confidence. They went up the stairs. We stood and waited inside the foyer. And waited. Just when I felt that they had been gone for a long time DI Watt said, “What can the woman be doing? She doesn’t strike me as the type who would spend a lot of time choosing her knickers.” He glanced at the constable waiting in the doorway. “You don’t suppose she’s given us the slip, do you? Gone out through the back door?”
“She didn’t come back down the hall, sir,” the constable said.
“What floor is she on?”
“I think the first floor.”
“Aren’t servants’ rooms usually on the top floor?” Belinda asked.
The inspector shot her a worried look. “Go and check she hasn’t come out of any back door, Williams.”
“Right you are, sir.”
“And we’d better see she hasn’t done herself any harm.” He started up the stairs. “Mrs. Summers, are you up here?”
He stood at the end of the first hallway, listening. Then he shook his head and started
up the next flight. “Mrs. Summers?”
I don’t know what instinct drove me but I went down the hall toward Jonquil’s rooms. As I got closer I could hear hammering on a door, a muffled voice yelling “Help. Somebody help me.”
“Inspector!” I yelled. “This way.”
I tried the door. It was locked and no sign of the key. What’s more, I could smell smoke. I shouted again. The sergeant came running. He tried hurling himself into the door with his shoulder but it was good solid English oak and didn’t budge. Then he ran back down the hall and returned with a brass statue. “Stand back,” he shouted and rammed it against one of the panels. It splintered. Smoke poured out and Rose’s frightened face appeared. “Quick. Save me,” she begged.
It took several more blows with the statue before enough of the door was broken to drag her out. I saw then that Jonquil’s beautiful dresses were ablaze. So were the lace curtains.
“Where is she?” the sergeant shouted.
“I don’t know. I followed her in here. She was already holding the oil lamp. She threw it at the dresses and lit a match. Then she shoved me to the floor and ran out.”
I put a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Where can she have gone? She didn’t come back toward us. Are there stairs at the end of this hall?”
“The servants’ staircase.”
We both ran down the hall to the end, to be greeted by more smoke. “What has she done?” Rose gasped. “Oh no.”
We emerged onto the minstrel gallery above the big hall. Fire was now burning up the tapestries and across the floor.
“She’s not trying to escape. She’s setting the whole house on fire,” Rose exclaimed “There are so many little servants’ corridors she can get through.”
“Call the fire brigade and get the servants out to safety,” I said. “There’s nothing we can do from here.”
“I must find my mother,” Rose said, suddenly realizing. “Oh God. I hope she’s all right.” She darted away from me shouting, “Mummy, where are you? There’s a fire.”
