House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  ‘Lover?’ Cat asked.

  Elaina blushed. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Lucy says she’s got an older lover who wants to marry her. But she talks a big game, so I don’t know if she’s telling the truth. Everyone at school says she’s a liar.’

  Jennie remained suspiciously quiet.

  ‘What do you mean when you say Lucy talks a big game?’ Cat said. A knot formed in her stomach. What in god’s name was Lucy Bardwell playing at?

  Elaina hesitated. She looked at Jennie, as if for confirmation it was okay to speak. Out of the corner of Cat’s eye, she saw Jennie give a subtle nod.

  ‘When she first arrived, she said she had fled her abusive brother, who forced her to work like a slave and who had kept her inheritance. But her clothes were new, even though they weren’t a rich person’s clothes. And she was always buying silly things for herself and eating at the café. She even wanted to take the bus to Hendleigh to go dancing.’ Elaina shook her head and set her fork down on her plate. ‘All of us who come here have fear, especially at first.’ She looked at Jennie, as if looking for confirmation. ‘It’s hard to explain, but we’ve escaped something. Being here helped us overcome those feelings of being scared all the time, but it takes a while.’ Elaina shivered. ‘Not Lucy. She wasn’t afraid of anything, not men, not rules, nothing. She didn’t seem beaten down emotionally. I always wondered about that.’

  Elaina’s words resonated in Cat’s mind, as she thought of Lucy’s initial appearance at Saint Monica’s. The girl had been tearful and pleading, her histrionics convincing. She had raised her skirt and shown Cat a generous bruise on her thigh, claiming her brother had hit her. But the injury could have easily been obtained by falling or bumping into something. As Cat replayed her first interview with Lucy, she realised Elaina was right. The girl wasn’t harbouring the same deep-seated fear the other girls had. Lucy’s psychology was all wrong. And Cat, in her blind eagerness to help all the young girls in distress, had failed to notice that subtle detail.

  Jennie, a shy, sweet-natured girl who didn’t gossip or speak ill of others, said, ‘She’s right, Mrs Carlisle. I’m betting Lucy’s brother didn’t do anything to harm her. If you want proof, go look in Lucy’s room. Her bed hasn’t been slept in. Her purse is gone, and her night gown is still under her pillow.’

  Thirty minutes later, Cat and Bede stood in the lane, waving goodbye as a taxi whisked Jennie and Elaina to the railway station, on to their new lives. After the cab pulled away, Cat and Bede stood in the lane for a moment, as though in a vacuum.

  ‘Well, at least those two are sorted. Come on, Bede. I’ll help with the breakfast things.’ Cat and Bede headed back into the house. ‘I’ll admit to being conned by Lucy Bardwell, but I still stand by my position that Saint Monica’s is a safe place. We are in no danger. One lying girl doesn’t change that.’

  Bede followed Cat indoors, shut and locked the front door, double checking the windows in the foyer were also locked. ‘I understand why you want to help these women. Since I’ve started to work for you, I find myself wanting to help them, too. But everyone who reads the newspaper knows what Michael Grenville is capable of. He’s a bad man, if you don’t mind me saying so. And he’ll come hunting for his wife, you mark my words.’

  She followed Cat into the kitchen and started collecting the dirty dishes from the table while Cat filled the sink. ‘As for Lucy Bardwell, admit it, Mrs Carlisle, she pulled the wool right over your eyes, didn’t she?’ Bede set the last of the dishes on the work top. ‘You need to admit you’ve made a mistake and ask yourself if you’ve made any others. Because a mistake in this situation could get us all killed. I’ve seen what a wife beater can do, the terror they can inflict, which is why I spoke to Mr Charles. I’m sorry if I overstepped my position, but truth is truth. You’re so anxious to help these women, you are putting too much stock in your intuition. We need a man on the premises to guard us!’

  Angry all of a sudden, Cat said, ‘These women are not going to tell anyone where they are. We’ve been at this for over a year and nothing’s happened. Of course, Lucy Bardwell will have to go. But what about Alice? What do you want me to do? Turn her away?’

  ‘No,’ Bede said. ‘Can’t you just move these women to a different house, so they don’t have to live with us?’

  Cat thought about Bede’s suggestion. ‘I’d have to build something, Bede, as there isn’t a vacant house within miles of here. And to build a house I would need workers. All the men are out fighting. How do you propose we work around that?’

  ‘Why don’t you build the bloody house yourself?’ Bede says. ‘You could probably do it, if you set your mind to it, Miss I Don’t Need a Man, I Can Do Everything Myself.’

  In spite of herself, Cat laughed and shook her head. Bede didn’t share her humour, and Cat realised her friend and housekeeper was well and truly frightened. She picked up a dish cloth and started to dry the dishes as Bede washed them.

  ‘We just need to continue to be vigilant, Bede.’

  Bede nodded. ‘You’re an unusual woman, Mrs Carlisle. Stubborn, independent, but you’ve a good heart.’

  ‘Thank you for the compliment. Now, why don’t I lay a tray for Mrs Grenville? She and I need to have a little chat.’

  ‘I’ll be glad when she moves on, I’m not denying my feelings,’ Bede said.

  Me too. Cat thought the words as a nascent thread of self-doubt sprouted deep within her.

  ***

  Cat set the tray laden with tea, toast and eggs on the hall table and knocked on Alice Grenville’s door. She had an idea concerning Mrs Grenville’s situation. Now all she had to do was convince Alice of its merits.

  ‘Come in,’ a soft voice said.

  Hoisting the tray on her hip, Cat let herself into the darkened room and set the tray on the table under the window. Alice Grenville sat in the corner, a silent shadow, still as a statue.

  ‘Do you mind if I let some light in?’ Cat didn’t wait for an answer. The window had been shut since Alice arrived, and the room had grown musty. When she swept the curtains open, Mrs Grenville cowered in the corner, flinching at the bright light.

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Grenville, but the light will do you good.’ Cat opened the window, taking deep breaths of clean, cold air before she poured a cup of tea. ‘How do you take your tea?’

  ‘Milk, two sugars,’ the woman said.

  Cat gave Mrs Grenville her tea and sat across from her on the bed. The woman’s eyes, both of them blackened by her husband, were swollen into slits. The bright red bruises had morphed into a deep purple, a sign – at least according to the nurse Cat had consulted – of healing. A nasty lump had formed on Mrs Grenville’s forehead, and a spray of bruises trailed up her right forearm.

  ‘Can you see okay?’ Cat asked.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Mrs Grenville’s voice was raspy and tired.

  ‘I’m happy to ask the nurse back, if you’d like.’

  ‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. And, please, call me Alice.’ With a shaking hand, Mrs Grenville set her tea down. When she stood, her legs wobbled. Cat reached out to help her, but Mrs Grenville shrugged her away.

  ‘I’ll be all right. Just need to get my bearings.’ She moved over to the window, staring out over the green lawns and the woods beyond. ‘I’m wondering if I’ve made a mistake. Maybe it’s best if I go home and try to sort things with my husband.’

  ‘It’s normal to feel that way,’ Cat said quickly. ‘Guilt, shame, it’s part of the process.’

  Mrs Grenville turned around to face Cat. ‘Process? I don’t know what you mean.’

  Cat held up her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. The women I’ve helped have all felt a bit of guilt leaving their relationship. All I’m saying is there are no judgements here at Saint Monica’s. I want to keep you safe and help you start a new life. What do you think your husband would do if you were to return home?’ Cat knew the answer to her question, but she also knew Alice Grenville needed
to see the reality of her situation before she would consent to let Cat help her. ‘Is your husband a forgiving man?’

  Mrs Grenville shivered. The colour drained from her face. ‘He’d kill me. If he finds me here, he’ll kill me. I’ve put you in danger just by being in your home. I should leave.’

  ‘Please, wait. I’ve come up with a scheme. You’ve nothing to lose by listening.’ Cat rose and led Mrs Grenville back to the chair. Once the woman was seated, Cat said, ‘I know about your husband, what people say he did to your brother.’ She waited, gauging Alice Grenville’s response to her harsh words. ‘The whole purpose of Saint Monica’s is to help women like you. We can help you train for a job and help you get situated in a place where your husband can’t find you.’

  ‘I don’t have any money,’ Alice said. ‘I inherited a nice bit from my brother, but my husband controls the account. The bank won’t let me do anything with my money without my husband’s approval. I have tried to leave him before. The bloody fool at the bank wouldn’t even give me my bus fare. And let me tell you, my husband wasn’t happy when he found out I’d been to the bank without him.’

  ‘You have to trust me,’ Cat said. ‘I’ve got a solicitor who has more progressive views about women and money. A letter from him will be sufficient to get your money transferred to a different bank. After we get your finances handled, you could move somewhere and rent a house under a new name. The solicitor can send you the money each month and your husband wouldn’t be the wiser. I know what I’m doing, Alice. You’ve taken the first step. Don’t you want to be free of this man?’

  ‘Once I take the money out of his control, he’ll find me. You don’t know my husband. He has very influential friends. He’ll find a way to trace the money. He’ll find me. I’m certain. And once he finds me, you won’t be able to protect me.’

  Cat shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve done this before. We’ll get your money and get you out of here.’

  ‘Could you get me to America?’

  ‘If you want to risk the crossing,’ Cat said. ‘Does your husband have friends or family in Scotland? You could wait there until the war is over, and then go to America. We’ll get you some new clothes, and maybe a different hair style.’

  ‘Like a disguise you mean?’ Cat couldn’t help but notice the colour coming back into Alice Grenville’s cheeks.

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. A new look and a new identity.’

  ‘If I go back to my husband now, he’ll kill me. If he finds me, he’ll kill me. I’m dead one way or another. You’re giving me a chance, aren’t you? Stupid of me not to take it.’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll make a call. We can take the bus to Hendleigh. When can you be ready to leave?’

  Alice hesitated.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘If you don’t mind, miss, I’d like to leave for Scotland tonight, if possible. Would you mind very much if I just took the train from Hendleigh to Edinburgh after we meet the solicitor? The faster I get away, the better.’

  ‘Of course,’ Cat said. ‘Maybe one day you’ll be in a position to help someone in trouble.’

  Alice gave her a weak smile. ‘Maybe.’

  Cat hated to admit it would be safer for everyone if Alice were to move on as soon as possible. ‘I’ll make a call and arrange for a hotel. David Masterson-Smith handles my legal affairs, and he’s got quite a bit of influence. In fact, he also has an office in London. He’ll take care of everything. I trust him implicitly.’

  ‘Why do you do this?’ Alice asked. ‘You risk so much for people you don’t know. Why?’

  ‘I was once in a similar position. Luckily, things worked out okay for me, but the experience left me wanting to help others.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Carlisle.’ Alice Grenville said. She wiped her eyes with a shaking hand. ‘You’ve given me a glimmer of hope.’

  Chapter 8

  By the time Thomas arrived at the constabulary, he had worked himself into a state of worry. The idea of Michael Grenville turning his considerable influence on Cat and Saint Monica’s caused him grave concern. If there were men available, he would have hired security for Saint Monica’s without Cat’s knowledge. Before the war, he could have used his connections to populate the property surrounding Saint Monica’s with a stronghold of protection, and Cat would have been none the wiser. But times had changed. All the capable men were either off fighting or dead. With these worries on his mind, Thomas was not in the mood for George Hinks, who took one look at him and snapped, ‘You’re late.’ As if Thomas needed reminding.

  DCI Kent had his own struggles with manpower. DS Wallace – whose quiet strength had been a perfect buffer against DCI Kent’s no-nonsense and rather aggressive approach to police work – had left a month ago. He’d hedged about where he would serve, and Thomas wondered if he was working on some clandestine project. The entire constabulary was feeling the loss of the competent officer with a promising career. In an act of desperation, DCI Kent had hired half a dozen older men, many of them veterans of the previous war. One of those men was George Hinks, a ne’er-do-well with no previous police experience, a condescending attitude and a knack for going missing when there was work to be done. On more than one occasion, Thomas had heard the constables complaining about Hinks, who would often slip away from the constabulary and go to the pub. For his part, Thomas did his best to treat Hinks with professional courtesy, a difficult task at the best of times.

  Ignoring Mr Hinks now, who tapped his watch as though he were chastising a school boy, Thomas walked by him towards his desk, only to find Hinks had eaten his breakfast there and had left the dirty plate and teacup for Thomas to clean up.

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Charles?’ A police constable – one of the newly hired men, whom Thomas had yet to meet – stood by his desk. ‘There’s a woman to see you. I put her in the office back there.’ He pointed at one of the empty offices in the back of the room.

  ‘And you couldn’t bother to tell me this, Hinks?’

  ‘How was I to know?’ Hinks said. ‘I just got here myself.’

  Thomas picked up Hinks’s teacup and plate and carried them to the desk where Hinks now sat, a newspaper spread before him. He set the dirty dishes on top of the newspaper. ‘Deal with this.’

  ‘I’m not your cleaner—’

  ‘Now,’ Thomas said. ‘And see that you don’t leave the premises when you’re finished.’

  George Hinks gave him a surly look before he stood, tucking the dirty plate under his arm, scattering crumbs everywhere, and headed for the canteen. That’s the last I’ll see of him for a while. The lazy bugger would spend a good hour on this simple errand, anything to avoid work.

  Thomas took a deep breath, thanked the constable, and went to the office with the closed door. He knocked before he entered, surprised to find Bede Turner waiting for him.

  ‘Bede? Is Cat all right?’ He closed the door behind him.

  ‘Oh, she’s fine. One of our girls has gone missing, and I think I should report it.’

  ‘Not—’

  Bede waved her hand. ‘Oh, no. Mrs Grenville is doing fine. And you’ll be pleased to know that Mrs Carlisle has become more careful about keeping the place secure. You’ve put the worry in her, and I thank you for that. The girl that’s gone missing is Lucy Bardwell. She didn’t come home last night. Her bed hasn’t been slept in. Her handbag has gone, and her nightgown is still under her pillow. I am worried something’s happened to her.’

  ‘Are you wanting to file an official report?’ Thomas knew Bede Turner to be a level-headed, practical woman. If she thought this young woman had come to harm, Thomas believed her.

  ‘Yes, sir. It seems the logical thing to do.’ She sat upright in the chair, her hat securely pinned into place, her gloved hands clutching the handbag on her lap.

  Thomas sat down opposite her, put a fresh piece of paper on the blotter and uncapped his fountain pen. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Bede. Tell me from the beginning. Give me as much deta
il as possible.’

  ‘When those girls come to us at Saint Monica’s, they have a frightened, haunted way about them. They’ve been treated miserably and it shows in their faces. They have horrible nightmares, more often than not they wake up screaming, at least for a week or two. A door slams and they jump. Frightened of their own shadows, they are.’

  ‘And Lucy?’ Thomas understood where Bede was going.

  Bede snorted. Thomas hid his smile. ‘Saucy, impertinent, not afraid of a thing. Just the other day Mrs Carlisle caught Lucy in her bedroom trying on her clothes. Can you believe it? I thought she would have been asked to leave right then, but Mrs Carlisle has a soft heart and a blind spot where these girls are concerned, if you’ll pardon me for saying so. It is my belief Lucy Bardwell wasn’t in difficult circumstances when she came to Saint Monica’s.’ Bede’s eyes flashed as she leaned close to Thomas. ‘I think she just wanted to stay in our beautiful house and not have to pay her way. She told us her brother abused her. Lost his leg at Dunkirk and stays home drinking all the time. Two days later, she tells the girls her brother is a priest and wants her to get married and start having children. Her story changes, if you get my meaning. She always seems to have enough pocket money for the cinema. Always bragging about her older lover and sneaking out to go dancing in Hendleigh. Not that Mrs Carlisle would notice. She’s rarely home of an evening anymore.’ Bede flashed Thomas a look that made it very clear she knew Cat spent her nights in his bed.

  ‘I thought maybe she had run away, but she would have never left her clothes. Not Lucy Bardwell.’ Bede paused, collecting her thoughts. ‘And she was pregnant.’ She met Thomas’s eyes, looking for his reaction.

  ‘Pregnant? Are you sure?’

  ‘My sister works as a midwife, sir. I’ve been around my share of women in the pudding club, if you’ll excuse the expression. Lucy Bardwell was in the family way. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You didn’t happen to hear any of the other girls talk about who the father is?’