House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  Out of the corner of her eye Cat saw DCI Kent watching their embrace, a bemused expression on his face. Thomas held Cat at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. ‘There’s a body.’

  ‘Whose?’ Cat asked.

  ‘We’re not sure. Might be Lucy Bardwell.’

  Cold seeped up through the ground and coursed through Cat’s veins. Thomas held her fast as she took a deep breath, deliberately steadying herself by sheer willpower.

  ‘How?’ Cat asked, surprised she could bring herself to speak.

  ‘Bludgeoned.’ Thomas led her away from the policemen, away from the talk of dead bodies, and searches in the woods. ‘Bede’s in the house. She’s rather shaken. You can go to her in a minute.’ DCI Kent had followed them. He and Thomas exchanged a glance. ‘Would you mind identifying her? If you’re not up to it, I understand.’

  ‘It would help us, Mrs Carlisle,’ DCI Kent said.

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ Thomas said.

  Knowing she could face anything as long as Thomas was with her, she said, ‘I’ll do it.’

  ‘Come with me.’ Thomas held out his hand. Cat took it and allowed herself to be led into the woods. The sun was going down quickly now, taking the warmth of the day with it. Cat’s gloves were tucked away in her purse. She craved their protection, wanted them to shield her skin from death and cold. But she didn’t have the energy to put them on. The leaves crunched underfoot. Somewhere an owl hooted. As they approached the body, everything seemed to still.

  Lucy Bardwell lay on her back. Cat recognised the blue suit. She almost laughed, not surprised Lucy had stolen it. Letting go of Thomas’s hand, she moved closer to the body, taking in the beautiful bone structure. Lucy’s face, white in death, had frozen into a lopsided grimace. When a fly landed on the blue of Lucy’s eye, Cat looked away.

  ‘It’s her,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you,’ DCI Kent said. He stepped away from Cat and Thomas and spoke in a soft, almost reverential tone to a man who wasn’t dressed in a uniform.

  ‘Come on,’ Thomas said. ‘Let’s get you back to the house.’

  Thomas didn’t let go of Cat’s hand. Once they were on the smooth mowed grass, he put an arm around her, propping her up as they walked to the house. Cat was grateful for him, as her legs had turned to rubber.

  ‘What have I done? Is this my fault?’ Cat moved away from him, claustrophobic all of a sudden. She sucked in deep gasps of air.

  ‘Of course it’s not,’ Thomas said. ‘Cat. Stop.’

  The front door opened. Bede stood in the doorway, framed in the warm glow of the house, a linen handkerchief in her hands, a worried look in her eyes.

  ‘Bede, there you are. Let’s get her some tea. She’s had a shock.’

  ‘Is it Lucy?’ Bede asked.

  Cat nodded. She had so many questions, but she couldn’t make her lips move.

  ‘Have the police found anything?’ Bede asked.

  ‘Best not to discuss anything right now. DCI Kent will be up in a few minutes. He’ll take Cat’s statement and I’ll take yours, Bede.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bede said.

  ‘Sit down. This is a horrible shock for both of you.’ He pulled out a chair for Bede. ‘How about a brandy and a cup of strong tea? I’ll get it, Bede. You sit.’

  Thomas put the kettle on, moving as comfortably in Cat’s kitchen as if it were his own. Soon Bede and Cat had tea and a plate of yesterday’s biscuits before them. DCI Kent let himself into the kitchen.

  ‘Everyone all right?’

  ‘They’re both shaken,’ Thomas said.

  ‘Of course they are. Mrs Carlisle, do you mind if my men search Lucy’s room?’

  ‘Not today,’ Thomas said before Cat had a chance to answer. ‘The women have had a shock and don’t need policemen trampling under foot tonight.’

  ‘May I remind you I’m your senior officer,’ DCI Kent said.

  ‘Sorry, sir. No disrespect. What difference does it make? No one else is in the house tonight. Can’t we take their statements now and postpone the search until morning?’

  ‘You understand, both of you, you are not to go into Lucy’s room until we’ve had a chance to search it? There could be information among her possessions that could lead us to her killer. I cannot impress upon you the importance of staying out of her room and not touching her things.’

  Cat and Bede nodded.

  ‘Very well. We’ll wait until tomorrow to do the search. But I do think it would be best – if you ladies are amenable – to take statements tonight, while events of the day are fresh in your minds. I’ll take Mrs Carlisle’s statement. Thomas, can you please speak to Mrs Turner?’

  After Thomas and Bede relocated to the drawing room, Cat reached for the teacup full of brandy and sipped it. The acrid burn cut through the numbness and shock but did little to dispel the image of Lucy’s lifeless face.

  ‘Would you like some tea or something?’ Cat stood. ‘Brandy?’

  ‘I’m on duty, so tea, please. Would you like me to do it?’

  Cat gave DCI Kent a wan smile. ‘No, thank you. I’m not as helpless as Thomas likes to think.’

  ‘Thomas tells me you are running some sort of refuge for women?’

  ‘I suppose you could call it that,’ Cat said. She filled the pot with fresh leaves and put the kettle on. ‘It all happened by chance. There was a need, what with the women coming from London. Some of them were fleeing horrible situations. Emmeline Hinch-Billings refers them to me.’

  ‘Them?’ DCI Kent asked.

  ‘Women who live with batterers have certain …’ Cat paused, looking for the correct words. ‘Certain symptoms. Often the evidence of abuse can be hidden by clothing, but the psychological aspects can’t be so readily ignored. Emmeline Hinch-Billings and I can tell if a woman is living in an unsafe situation. They are often shy, apologetic and they have a frightened look.’

  ‘Did you?’ DCI Kent stared at Cat inscrutably as she set the teacup down before him.

  ‘Beg your pardon?’

  ‘Did you have a frightened look in your eye when you were married to your abusive husband? Don’t look so surprised, Mrs Carlisle. I know about your life in London, in more detail than you can imagine.’

  Cat sipped her tea. ‘No, DCI Kent. I didn’t have a frightened look in my eye. When my husband was abusive, I gave it right back. My parents taught me from an early age not to kowtow to bullies. Luckily for me, my husband grew tired of me and took a mistress. As such, we were rarely under the same roof.’ Her voice took on a hard, challenging tone. ‘Do you have any other questions about my abusive husband, or do you want to ask me about Lucy Bardwell?’

  ‘You’re not a victim, are you, Mrs Carlisle?’

  ‘God no,’ Cat said, without thinking. ‘At least I try not to be. I admit to having a soft spot – Bede and Thomas will tell you it’s a blind spot – for these poor girls with no way out. I got lucky with the money, at least.’

  ‘So you try to help these women?’

  Cat nodded. ‘My husband would be furious to know what I’m doing with his money. I take pleasure in that, DCI Kent. I’m muddling through. Mistakes have been made. But I’m learning. I help them, with money if they need it. Mostly they need a safe place to stay while they train at Emmeline’s school. When they graduate, they get jobs on their own, away from their husbands.’

  ‘Aren’t you afraid one of those husbands is going to find out where his wife is and come looking for her? Like Michael Grenville.’

  ‘I see Thomas confided in you.’

  ‘I haven’t told anyone, and I will continue to keep your secret. Thomas was duty bound to tell me. Michael Grenville is a notorious criminal. By harbouring his wife, you put yourself and everyone else in your household in danger.’

  Cat sighed, exhausted all of a sudden. ‘Honestly, sometimes I think I’ve taken on too much.’

  ‘Where is Alice Grenville now?’

  ‘She’s gone, far away. I’ll tell you she’s safe. He
won’t find her.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Do you think Michael Grenville could have killed Lucy?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible. Although I’m sure if Michael Grenville set foot in this village, I would know about it.’

  ‘I’ve just thought of something,’ Cat said. ‘It might not be important, but …’

  ‘Best to tell me everything and let me decide what’s important.’

  Cat nodded. ‘Alice Grenville and Lucy Bardwell resemble each other. Granted, Alice is a good fifteen years older than Lucy, but they both have dark hair, and are built the same. And for an older woman, Alice carried herself very well. From a distance, it would be easy to confuse the two women.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ DCI Kent looked around the kitchen. ‘You’re taking a huge risk, Mrs Carlisle.’

  ‘Not now I’m not,’ Cat said. ‘I don’t have anyone left in residence.’

  ‘Tell me about Lucy Bardwell,’ DCI Kent said.

  Cat thought about the vivacious girl who had no respect for rules. ‘Lucy wasn’t afraid. In fact, she wasn’t the least bit timid. She was reckless and irreverent, almost fearless. She was a liar, changed her story regularly. The girls would sit at this table for breakfast every morning and Lucy would regale them with stories of adventure and travel, all of them lies.’

  ‘How do you know she was lying?’ DCI Kent asked.

  ‘Because I actually have travelled a bit, and I can assure you Lucy had never visited the places she claimed. She didn’t know what she was talking about. But she could tell a story, DCI Kent. The girls would be enraptured with her tales of love and adventure.’ Cat shook her head. ‘She was also a thief. The suit she was wearing belonged to me. I actually caught her in my bedroom trying on my clothes. Can you imagine having the temerity to sneak into my room and try on my clothes? When I caught her in the act, she pretended to be ashamed of her behaviour. She obviously wasn’t. She came back and stole the suit and heaven knows what else.’

  ‘But you liked her,’ DCI Kent said.

  Cat let his statement sink in. ‘I did. Her joie de vivre was contagious. People liked her right away.’

  ‘Did you know she was pregnant?’

  ‘Bede certainly thought she was. Honestly, I was in the process of making other arrangements for her. She clearly didn’t need my help.’

  ‘Do you know anything of her home life or where she came from?’

  ‘Not sure if this is true, given Lucy’s penchant for making up stories, but she said her brother kept her under his thumb. Apparently, he lost a leg at Dunkirk and came home with a chip on his shoulder and an ever increasing love of drink. When he drank, he hit her. I wouldn’t be surprised to find she made up the whole thing.’

  ‘One more question. Do you know who her lover was?’

  ‘I don’t, but Bede’s seen him. Do you think he may have—’

  ‘Anything’s possible, Mrs Carlisle.’ DCI Kent stood, taking his cup over to the sink. ‘As far as I’m concerned, everyone is a suspect. We will eliminate people one by one. I would like to know who she was involved with.’

  ‘How do we go about that? A sketch artist?’

  ‘My sketch artist enlisted three months ago. And there is no we, Mrs Carlisle. You’re to stay out of this investigation. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘You do,’ Cat said.

  ‘Very well. I’ll have a constable outside your door until we determine whether or not Michael Grenville is involved in this nonsense. If he is, you could be in danger. Be careful when you’re out and about and keep your doors locked, please.’

  ***

  Later that evening, Cat soaked in a hot tub until the tips of her fingers wrinkled like prunes. She put on a dressing gown and went down to the kitchen where she found Bede chopping piles of vegetables.

  ‘What are you going to do with all of those?’ Cat asked.

  ‘Making vegetable soup. We’ll just have to eat it for a week. Once I started chopping, I just couldn’t stop.’ Bede put her knife down, wiped her hands on the front of her apron, and turned to face Cat. ‘I just can’t believe Lucy is dead. Honestly. I simply cannot believe it.’

  ‘If Michael Grenville is somehow behind Lucy’s death, I’ll never forgive myself,’ Cat said.

  ‘You’re to stop thinking this is your fault. Lucy brought about trouble. That’s no secret. Sneaking out to go dancing – what? You didn’t know she sneaked out at night?’ Bede shook her head. ‘I knew Lucy Bardwell was trouble the minute I laid eyes on her. So don’t you go blaming yourself for whatever she got up to. You do a lot for the women who stay here. Heaven knows you can’t watch over them every minute of every day.’

  ‘She didn’t deserve to die, Bede,’ Cat said.

  ‘I know. And we have to find a way to live with that, don’t we? Now, what you need is some nourishment. Tea will be ready in half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll go and change.’ Cat headed back up the stairs, a dark yoke of guilt sitting heavily on her shoulders. Could she have done more to protect Lucy? If the girl had been sneaking out, shouldn’t Cat have known? Was Thomas right? Had she simply taken on a project – albeit with the best intentions – for which she wasn’t qualified? She came to a stop as she passed Lucy’s bedroom door, testing the knob and discovering it wasn’t locked. Surely there would be no harm in a quick search. She wouldn’t disturb anything. The young woman had been murdered while staying at Saint Monica’s under Cat’s care. Besides, no one would know …

  Grateful Bede kept the door hinges oiled – one of her many housekeeping pet peeves – Cat slipped into Lucy’s room and shut the door behind her. She crept over to the window and peered out from behind the heavy curtains to the front door, where a constable sat smoking a cigarette, oblivious to Cat’s presence. She rifled through Lucy’s wardrobe, surprised to find one of her old winter coats hanging in a back corner. Three pairs of Cat’s leather gloves were tucked away under a stack of expensive chemises. Thank goodness we don’t wear the same shoe size. Cat spoke too soon. On the top shelf, she found a pair of flat silk evening shoes, along with a matching beaded evening bag. The shoes and the bag had been a long-ago gift from Cat’s husband, Benton. Moving over to Lucy’s vanity, Cat opened the drawer, surprised by the array of cosmetics it contained, along with a fine brush and mirror. Did Lucy steal those, too? Lucy’s nightstand contained a stack of letters wrapped in a green ribbon and tied with a bow. Cat undid the bow and looked through them. All the envelopes were written in the same masculine handwriting. She took the most recent letter and held it under the light.

  Dear Sister,

  I hope this letter finds you well and your studies at the secretarial college are keeping you busy. I often try to visualise you taking down shorthand and typing letters, but somehow can’t quite manage it. For some reason, I see you as a movie star or aeroplane pilot. In any event, I’m terribly proud of you for setting out on your own. Things have been difficult since I came home. Believe me when I say how sorry I am.

  Money is enclosed. Please let me know if you need more. As we discussed, I’m happy to find you a house of your own if you wish. I’ll do anything to help you.

  Have you made any decisions about Christmas? Please do say you’ll come home. I could do with some cheering up, and it’s not too far to travel.

  Warm Regards,

  Ambrose

  Cat read the rest of the letters, which all had the same kind and generous tone. Ambrose – at least in his writings – seemed like a loving and concerned sibling, who took responsibility for his shortcomings. Cat searched between the lines for hints of violence. It wasn’t there. I’ve been duped, Cat thought.

  Taking note of Ambrose Bardwell’s address, she tucked the letter back into the envelope, re-tied the bow and set the letters back in the nightstand.

  ***

  Unable to sleep as thoughts of Lucy Bardwell lying dead in the woods ran through her head, Cat tossed and turned, finally giving up on sleep at 5.30 a.m. She wondered if Alice Grenville�
�s husband had killed Lucy. Had Mr Grenville been lurking outside Saint Monica’s? Had he mistaken Lucy for Alice? Alice wasn’t terribly forthcoming about her husband’s occupation or his penchant for violence. Cat had been shocked when Thomas told her the horrid truth about Michael Grenville. How could she have been so utterly stupid? If she kept Saint Monica’s open, which was highly unlikely given the current state of affairs, she would need to conduct a more rigorous vetting of potential residents. Bede Turner was an excellent judge of character. Cat would certainly involve her. As much as she hated to admit it, she would probably have to hire a man to serve as guard and protector.

  She shook her head, as if to clear the cobwebs, and headed downstairs, desperate for tea. Things could be worse, Cat reasoned. She could have a house full of frightened women in residence now, who would be scared to death by Lucy’s murder and the police presence. Funny how things work out. Cat didn’t have anyone in the house now, and she was well and truly inclined to walk away from this business while she could. Rather than crusade to help women who had suffered at the hands of men who should have cared for them, Cat could step back from the drama, the heartache and – she hated to admit it – the danger. Maybe it was time to turn her attention back to photography and her upcoming wedding. Could she be satisfied without a challenging project to occupy her time and her restless mind? She put the kettle on the hob and pulled her dressing gown tighter against the morning chill.

  The kettle boiled. With her mind made up, Cat poured the tea. Bede would be happy. And if the rooms were empty, she may as well offer to take in an evacuee family, maybe with young children. It would be nice to have a child’s laughter in the house. As she sipped her tea and contemplated her future, a figure passed by the window, pausing before the kitchen door. Heart pounding, Cat looked for something she could use as a weapon. Grabbing a knife, she crouched on the floor, hoping whoever was outside hadn’t seen her.

  ‘Hello?’ A woman’s voice called out. ‘I know someone’s in there. I saw you through the window. Please. Help me.’