House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  Margaret turned on Hugh, fury flashing in her eyes. ‘Are you ever going to stand up to her? Don’t you ever get tired of being beaten down by Mummy?’

  Defeated, Hugh sat down.

  ‘You’re both headed for trouble so deep I’m afraid even I won’t be able to get you out.’ Lady Rosalind sat back, crossed her legs and studied Hugh and Margaret with that inscrutable look that had brought stronger men than Hugh to their knees. ‘I know you rarely live together, and that Margaret is off doing god knows what with her friends while you stay at the flat in Edinburgh. I know that your creditors are tired of lending you money, and that Margaret has committed an offence that could land her in prison.’

  ‘Mother, what are you trying to say? Get to the point,’ Hugh said.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ Margaret said. She reached for Hugh’s hand, but he pushed it away. The gesture wasn’t lost on Lady Rosalind.

  ‘Very well. Let’s not beat around the bush. Hugh has done a miserable job at managing our family’s finances. If it weren’t for Mr Williams and his expertise in these matters, we would likely be ruined. As of now, Hugh is no longer at the helm, for lack of a better word. Mr Williams is going to manage the Bettencourt interests, with my close supervision, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Margaret said.

  Lady Rosalind continued. ‘In addition to paying your overdraft, I will give you both a very generous allowance.’

  ‘And what do we do in return?’ Margaret gave words to Hugh’s thoughts.

  ‘Simple. You will move to the family home and live as husband and wife. You, Margaret, will act like the wife of a Bettencourt. No more parties, no more leaving your husband alone for months on end.’ She turned towards Hugh. ‘And you, my son, will get your life and your house in order.’

  ‘And if we say no?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘I’ll give you a stipend for rent and food, but as for any other money, you’ll be on your own. Margaret will have to rely on your charity. That’s my offer.’

  Hugh stood, relieved at the lifeline his mother had tossed him. He wanted out of the marriage and would be grateful for his stipend, but he clung to his last shred of dignity as he faced his mother. ‘Thank you. I’ll think about it.’ He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Margaret and his mother staring after him.

  Taking the servants’ staircase, he went out the back door and walked the familiar trail around the Shorehams’ house, through the rose garden, the kitchen garden and back towards the front door. The cold night air knocked some sense into him. There was a small cottage near his mother’s house. His old nanny had lived there until her death a year ago. It stood empty now. He could fix it up and live there. Maybe grow vegetables, settle down to a simple life free of Margaret.

  A blast of warm air greeted him as he entered through the front door and followed the murmur of voices and the sound of ice cubes against crystal glasses. Pausing for a moment, he stood in the doorway of Martin Shoreham’s drawing room, surveying the well-heeled crowd, knowing there would be no more fancy drinks parties or opulent dinners. Hugh would be a social outcast. He didn’t care. God, he was tired. Tired of his mother, of Margaret, of trying to cope with responsibilities he was so clearly unable to handle.

  The Shorehams’ house had been full of guests since Friday. The weekend thus far had consisted of fine meals, good wine and bracing outdoor activities during the day. October was Hugh’s favourite time to be in Scotland. In another two months, the region would be covered with snow. Those who remained would be housebound. Here, in the bosom of his old friends, the war, the threat of bombs and the rationing seemed a long way away. For a moment, he wondered how Martin managed to ply his guests with a never-ending run of food and wine, even sweet desserts – just when sugar and everything else seemed to be at a premium. As far as he knew, no one had been asked for their ration card. He certainly hadn’t.

  Margaret had joined the party in Hugh’s absence. She stood in the corner with Hugh’s childhood friend and their host for the weekend, Martin Shoreham. Her dark hair fell in tresses down her back, still thick and full despite her age. Through the diligent use of expensive make-ups and potions, her skin retained the glow of someone twenty years younger. There was no denying, when Margaret Bettencourt walked in a room all heads turned. Hugh had been beguiled by her from the very beginning, but their twenty-four-year marriage had been more than tumultuous. It had started out reckless and full of gay weekends, dances, parties and ski trips to Switzerland. Now he could barely stand to look at her as she leaned towards Martin, giggled, and whispered something in his ear. What the devil was she up to?

  Hugh stepped into the room as Martin’s wife, Hermione, weaved her way through the crowd. Martin, Hermione and Hugh had been friends since childhood. Although he and Martin had jokingly vied for Hermione’s love, there was no denying Martin and Hermione were made for each other. They had married young and still treated each other with love, affection, a deep friendship. Hugh had always been envious of their solid marriage and their easy way with each other, especially in light of his own marriage, which had been its own special hell. God, how he wanted out.

  Hermione’s eyes found Hugh. She waved as she walked towards him. The years had not been as kind to Hermione as they had to Margaret. Smile lines had formed around her eyes. Her skin had a weathered look to it, from hours spent riding horses and golfing. Her waist had thickened, and she was a wee bit too plump through the hips. But Hermione still had her beautiful blonde hair – the silver that laced through it only added to its shimmering beauty – which she now wore piled high on her head. Physical attributes aside, all one had to do was look into Hermione’s eyes to see the innate kindness there. She was the woman to turn to in times of trouble, the solid foundation to be leaned on. Hugh couldn’t count how many times he had come running to Hermione when Margaret had been gallivanting in London with her friends, doing god only knew what.

  They met at the drinks trolley. Filling two crystal glasses with ice and pouring just the right amount of Scotch, he handed one to Hermione just as she reached him. She took it and raised her glass to him in a silent toast.

  ‘Another successful house party,’ Hugh said.

  Hermione gave him a tired smile as she wove her free arm through his. ‘We’ve just about depleted the wine cellar. We’ve made a deal with the butcher. Every three months he gets a case of our fine claret, and we in turn get fresh beef. I don’t know how long the arrangement will continue. When the wine’s gone, we’ll be eating tinned beans like everyone else. I’m afraid this will be the last party for us.’

  The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder surveying the crowd. Hugh was grateful for the weekend house party; at least he knew he and Margaret would be fed, have a roof over their head and a bed to sleep in. Despite his utter failure as a husband, he still felt responsible to provide Margaret these basic necessities.

  Tongues loosened and the laughter got louder as more alcohol was consumed. The lights had been dimmed and silver candelabras had been placed strategically around the room, casting the guests in warm flickering light, their voices hushed by the thick carpets and opulent velvet curtains. For a moment, Hugh pretended that the world was right again. That there was no war. No threat of invasion. But even those thoughts couldn’t overcome the feeling of ruination that settled over him. Hugh’s eyes lit on Margaret and Martin, who were still engaged in conversation. Margaret leaned over to Martin, talking to him in that certain way of hers, gesturing with her hands. Margaret had a knack for making you feel like you were the only person in the world. That was her special charm, the facet of her personality that allowed her to manipulate so completely. Margaret was doing all of the talking, while Martin stood by, his expression running the gamut of attentive, serious, concerned, and – finally – upset. When he wobbled on his feet, placing a hand against the wall as though to steady himself, Hugh became concerned. But Martin recovered, his waxy pale cheeks mottling red with anger. He said something to Margaret b
efore he turned and left the room. Ever relentless, Margaret hurried after him.

  Hugh set down his glass and started after Martin, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘Wait. I need to talk to you.’

  He turned to face her, startled by the look of concern in her eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m worried about you. You’ve been skulking around this house, hardly speaking to anyone and avoiding your wife. I know you and Margaret have drifted apart over the years. God knows, she’s got the energy of a twenty-year-old – just being around her exhausts me. But there’s more to it. What’s going on, Hugh? Margaret’s been hell for leather to get Martin alone since you two arrived. He’s been avoiding her – until now. Something’s wrong, dear friend. I can see it in your eyes.’ She turned away from Hugh, tactfully giving him time to compose himself as she freshened their drinks. Handing Hugh his glass, she asked, ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Between my mother and my wife, I’m at my wits’ end. Turns out my wife has managed to saddle me with a monumental overdraft. When the bank wouldn’t give her any more money, she forged my name and helped herself to a chunk of my capital.’

  ‘Dear god,’ Hermione said.

  ‘Oh, it gets worse. You see, I’m so out of touch with Margaret, I had no idea of the forgery. Would you like to know how I found out?’ Hugh didn’t wait for a response. ‘My mother told me. Seems she’d hired an investigator to keep an eye on Margaret.’ Hugh downed his drink. ‘Just now, Mother sat us both down and issued an ultimatum. We’re to move home and behave like a normal married couple.’

  ‘And if you don’t?’ Hermione asked.

  ‘I’m to receive a stipend to live on and will otherwise be disinherited. And you know what, Hermione? I don’t care. I am going to divorce my wife and retire to Nanny’s cottage. God knows, I’m ready to live a quiet life.’ Hugh sighed. ‘Just saying those words gives me relief.’

  ‘You poor dear,’ Hermione said.

  ‘How’s Martin? I haven’t had a moment alone with him all week.’

  ‘I’m not sure. He’s been distant of late, but I assume he’s worried about the business and the war, like we all are. We don’t talk like we used to.’ She sighed. ‘But we’ve been married a long time and things can’t stay perfect forever.’

  Across the room, the Shorehams’ housekeeper beckoned Hermione with a wave.

  Hermione set her drink down. ‘If you’ll excuse me. It seems I’m needed.’ She turned to face Hugh. ‘If there’s anything I can do for you, I hope you’ll ask. You’re a dear friend, and Martin and I will always help you. You’d do the same if the circumstances were reversed.’

  After giving Hugh’s arm a reassuring squeeze, Hermione hurried off to speak to the housekeeper, leaving Hugh alone to wallow in his problems.

  ***

  Alex Bradshaw, also known as Bradley Alexander, Jeffrey Bradford and Ford Jefferson, was born the fourth son of an alcoholic wastrel who squandered his family fortune and beat his children until they systematically left home. An intelligent young man who had a knack for all things mechanical, Alex had suffered a bout of scarlet fever when he was fourteen, which left him homebound and bedridden for nearly a year. During this time he taught himself locksmithing from a book he found in his father’s vast and underused library. Practising on every lock in the house, including the various safes scattered around his family home, Alex soon became a master safecracker. When he was eighteen, he started sneaking into other fine homes near his own, practising on the safes and lockboxes of his neighbours. By the time he was twenty-two, there wasn’t a lock he couldn’t tame.

  On this October morning, he woke just as the autumn sun shone through his window. His bedsit, on the top floor of a luxury Edinburgh hotel, was just big enough to hold a bed, a desk and a comfortable chair. A small kitchen area provided a kettle for his tea and room to store a tin of biscuits. He smiled as he put the kettle on. Last night’s job couldn’t have gone better.

  A small velvet bag lay on the table beside his bed. He dumped the contents – a strand of pearls, a diamond brooch and a dozen loose stones – on the forest-green counterpane, pleased at the size and quality of the goods he had stolen. The loose diamonds would be easy to sell. It would be days, maybe weeks, before Vanessa Trevelyan realised her precious jewels were no longer in residence. He thought of her as he went through his morning ablutions – imperious, bossy and condescending to all who crossed her path. Alex didn’t begrudge the woman her shortcomings. After all, no one was perfect. But she was greedy and cruel, a terrible combination for someone in a position of power.

  Alex had stumbled across Vanessa Trevelyan quite by accident, hearing her name mentioned at a cocktail party months before. A quick investigation revealed Vanessa’s husband had died with considerable wealth. A generous man by nature, he had left respectable legacies to his loyal servants, along with an even larger chunk of his money to Saint Agnus’s Orphanage. Vanessa Trevelyan had been outraged by her husband’s generosity and had threatened to contest his will, claiming her husband was not in a fit state of mind to leave so much money to the servants. Word of this got out, and after said servants received their money, they left en masse, leaving Vanessa Trevelyan a huge house to run and no one to help her do so. After trying without success to hire help from the closest village, she went straight to Saint Agnus and offered to care for two sweetly disposed sisters, whose parents tragically died in a car accident. Saint Agnus, always short of funds and grateful for two fewer mouths to feed during this time of rationing, took Vanessa Trevelyan up on her offer. In reality, the girls were no more than slaves. No schooling was provided for them. Alex heard, but hadn’t been able to verify, that the girls shared an attic bedroom and were often sent to bed hungry.

  He picked up one of the diamonds and held it up to the morning light, where it glistened and glimmered and seemed to grow hot in his hand. Lady Trevelyan would most certainly not be happy when she discovered her diamonds had been stolen. He smiled. If only I could be there when she discovers her loss. Now all he had to do was arrange for money to be transferred for the care of the orphans. Maybe a legacy from a long-lost relative? The sisters would receive enough money for an education and room and board. Neither of them would be treated poorly again. Not if Alex had any say in the matter. Timmer Ashcourt, Alex’s trusted friend and man of business would see to it.

  ***

  Two hours later, with the diamonds properly disposed of, money in pocket, and assurance the girls would be extricated from Vanessa Trevelyan’s care as soon as possible, Alex had ordered breakfast at his favourite café and was just settling in to read the morning paper when an over-dressed gentleman in a camel-hair coat, silk scarf and leather gloves sat down across from him. The waitress hurried over with a smile on her face.

  ‘Can I get you some tea, sir?’

  ‘Only some privacy,’ the man growled. Once the waitress scurried away, the man turned his attention to Alex. ‘Mr Bradshaw?’

  Alex recognised Michael Grenville immediately. A frisson of fear ran down his spine. Michael Grenville was a notorious criminal. A master of theft, murder, arson and any combination of the three, Michael Grenville had never been found guilty of a crime. Witnesses slated to testify against him often turned up dead. The last thing Alex needed was involvement with a man like Grenville.

  Unsure how to proceed, Alex pretended to be annoyed and said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Michael Grenville’s the name. I have a job for you.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’ve a well-paying job that demands a certain level of expertise.’

  Alex feigned ignorance. ‘Forgive me, sir. You must have me confused for someone else.’

  The man recited a detailed precis of every single thing Alex had stolen over the past year, including Lady Trevelyan’s diamonds, and even knew Alex had attended a dinner party at Martin Shoreham’s estate, accepting a last-minute invitation and turning it into a reconnaissa
nce mission. The evening had been fruitful, and Alex had come away with some ideas for future jobs.

  ‘You steal from the rich and give generously to the poor. Lady Trevelyan won’t be happy when she discovers her diamonds are missing. Rather embarrassing for you if the police came and arrested you in front of all those fancy people.’ The man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘Do I have your attention now? Very good. Now listen closely.’

  The job was rather straightforward: intercept a medieval relic, which had been smuggled out of France and was soon to be transported for safekeeping to a small village.

  ‘You’ll impersonate the assigned guard. After the chalice is safely stored, you’ll return to the house and extricate it.’

  ‘Why not take it during transport?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Because I want you to check out the house and see if there is anything else of value there.’

  ‘You are going to rob a house twice?’ He shook his head. Foolish mistake.

  ‘No. I am interested in the house’s occupant. No need to concern yourself with that. I’ll see you have appropriate credentials and explain how I want the job handled.’

  ‘I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,’ Alex said.

  ‘You’ll do as I say and be paid well for it.’ Grenville reached into his coat pocket and put a picture of a middle-aged woman on the table between them. ‘I want you to be on the lookout for this woman while you’re in Rivenby.’

  Alex took the picture and studied it. The woman had a thin face, with prominent cheekbones and full lips. She wore a dowdy hat, a frumpy jumper and a tweed skirt with an uneven hem. Her eyes had a beseeching look in them, as though she were trapped and trying to escape.