House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  ‘I don’t think people like us get to walk away from this life, friend,’ Timmer said. ‘Grenville will never stop searching for you. It’s a matter of pride for him. Your walking away will undermine his authority.’

  ‘You let me worry about Grenville,’ Alex said. ‘What about the safe house?’

  ‘Arranged. Of course, you can’t go there right away.’ Timmer removed an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to Alex. ‘You’ll stay two to three nights at each of the addresses listed in there. Once you memorise the list, burn it. Each house will take you closer to London. Once it’s determined you’re not being followed, you’ll be moved to the next safe house. I’ve arranged someone to come and bring you food every other day. You’ll have to take care of domestic duties yourself. If you are careful, you’ll be out of Grenville’s reach. The bombs are another thing.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances against Hitler’s bombs, as long as Michael Grenville can’t find me.’

  ‘I’m sorry you fell in with him, mate,’ Timmer said.

  Alex shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s a blessing. If I survive, I’ll be able to live a quiet, law-abiding life.’ Alex opened the envelope and fanned through the notes. After removing the list of addresses, he tucked the envelope away in his pocket before he turned his attention to the addresses of the safe houses. Once those were memorised, he tore the page up into tiny pieces. ‘What of Lady Trevelyan’s diamonds?’

  ‘Everything broken up and sold, except this brooch.’ Timmer handed Alex a small velvet box. Alex swept it away and put it in the pocket of his coat. ‘And the sisters have been relocated to a very fine boarding school in Scotland.’ Timmer laughed. ‘You should have seen Lady Trevelyan’s face when she discovered the girls had inherited money. Demanded to be made their guardian.’

  ‘And the other matter?’

  Timmer raised his eyebrow. ‘I’ve never seen you so concerned for a woman before, Alex. Have you fallen in love?’

  ‘I just need to see her sorted. Her family will step in when they realise her situation.’

  ‘Whatever you say. Sir Kettering almost didn’t speak to me. His clerk reiterated how careful he is about which clients he takes. Of course, they capitulated when I named your price. Are you sure you want to do this?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t want to deal with this woman, but I feel obligated. She needs help before she hurts herself or someone else.’

  ‘Your charitable deeds will be your undoing, mate,’ Timmer said.

  Alex chuckled. ‘Thank you, Timmer. You’ve been a good friend to me. I won’t forget you.’

  ‘Just do me a favour and stay alive, will you? I won’t see you for a while. You realise you can’t contact me?’

  Alex nodded. He finished the last of his tea and reached for his wallet.

  ‘This one’s on me. Now get out of here.’

  Timmer watched as his old friend put on his hat and hobbled out of his life.

  Chapter 18

  Thomas sprinted back to the house, his thoughts on his sister and her violent past. His anguish was fuelled by the idea of Margaret at Saint Monica’s and the danger she could have posed to Cat. By the time he reached the converted stable, his lungs were burning. He jumped into his beloved Hornet Coupe and went flying down the drive, gravel spraying behind him. The old girl sputtered a bit. Not her fault. Thomas hadn’t been driving much since he moved to Rivenby. He eased off the accelerator and gave her a chance to collect herself before he barrelled down the lane, past the high street, and onto the dirt road towards Saint Monica’s. Hands gripping the steering wheel, he skidded to a stop in front of the house. The front door was locked. He pounded on it. Weren’t there constables there? Why the devil didn’t they answer the door? He continued banging away until a voice came to him through the thick slab of wood.

  ‘Go around the back, sir. Get the key from underneath the flower pot. We need to assume we’re being watched. And you know the house is to look empty.’ Thomas didn’t miss the irritation in the young man’s voice. Feeling like an idiot for jeopardising the scheme to catch Michael Grenville, Thomas pretended to jiggle the handle for the benefit of anyone watching before he hurried around to the back of the house, found the key, and let himself in. Two constables were drinking tea at the kitchen table. The man who had spoken to Thomas through the front door stepped into the kitchen wearing an exasperated look. ‘Does DCI Kent know you’re here, sir?’

  ‘Not now, lad. Carry on. I’ll be out of your way in a moment.’ Thomas took the stairs two at a time. He opened the doors to the bedrooms, searching for the one most recently occupied. He recognised his sister’s perfume immediately, a strange combination of orange and vanilla she used to steal from their mother. This scent from his childhood invoked memories of a family long forgotten, emotions so rich and full, Thomas nearly fell to his knees.

  Margaret, five years his senior, had been advanced for her age. Her friends – what few she had, given the rural village in which they lived – were often much older than she. The few times Thomas had tried to tag along on their shenanigans, he had been sent home. He understood siblings didn’t often like each other. He knew from an early age that his birth had forced Margaret to give up her position as the singular apple of their parents’ eyes. He had wanted to love his sister. In fact, he remembered trying over and over to prove he was worthy of her time and affection, but she always pushed him away. As Thomas grew older, Margaret became cruel, destroying Thomas’s toys and blaming him for her troublesome acts. Thomas didn’t dare tell on his sister. He feared her wrath more than he feared his mother’s switch.

  Always a pretty child, Margaret’s tall lanky body developed curves during the summer of her fifteenth birthday. Suddenly the boys Margaret and Thomas played with changed towards his sister. They backed away from friendship, they pulled closer and tried to steal kisses. One by one, Margaret rebuffed them. One boy, whose name he couldn’t remember, had tried to pin Margaret’s arms so another boy could kiss her. The boy who had tried to kiss her got sent home with a black eye. After that, Margaret turned her attention to the boy who had held her arms and tried to subdue her. She beat him with a rock, leaving him so damaged the boy’s parents had demanded Margaret be held accountable for her actions. Despite his youth, Thomas knew the situation with his sister was not going to end well.

  Shortly after that incident, Thomas was awakened one night by voices coming from the kitchen. Getting out of bed, he crept by Margaret’s room. She lay on her side with her back to the door, but Thomas was certain she was awake. Careful not to step on floorboards that he knew creaked, Thomas hid in the shadows, eavesdropping on his mother and father as they sat before the fire. His mother’s despair broke his heart, for he was helpless to do anything except stand quietly by while his father did his best to comfort her.

  ‘We’ll have to send her away,’ his mother had said. ‘I don’t know what else to do.’

  ‘She needs treatment, love. Something’s not right with her.’ Thomas’s father, usually so stern and commanding, held his wife while she sobbed. He recalled the tracks of tears on his mother’s cheeks as clearly as if it were yesterday. They never noticed the little boy on the stairs, a silent witness to their anguish. After what seemed an eternity, Thomas had crept up to bed, but he hadn’t been able to fall asleep. The next morning, two men had come for Margaret. She had refused to go, and had kicked and screamed and had even bitten one of the men so hard she drew blood. Finally one of them subdued her, while the other gave her an injection of something that caused her to slip into lethargy. Thomas’s last view of his sister was as she was being carried out of the family home, in the arms of an orderly, while his broken-hearted mother sobbed uncontrollably.

  The time after Margaret left blurred in Thomas’s mind. Without Margaret’s disquieting presence, family life slipped back to normal. Every now and again, he would catch his mother eyeing Margaret’s place at the family table. His parents spoke of their daughter in hushed whispers aft
er they thought Thomas was in bed. Although he had vague memories of his mother crying over his sister’s picture, he didn’t remember much else. Memories of Margaret grew dimmer with the passage of time. Thomas had gone to university and had nearly been killed in the war. After his parents passed away, he had sold the family land, tucking Margaret’s share away in the bank, where it had earned interest all these years. As an adult, he had tried to find her. Obligated by an outdated sense of family, Thomas had hoped he and Margaret could mend their fences, perhaps be friends. She was his only living relative, and at times he wished for a connection to his childhood and his roots. His attempts had been in vain, however. Now she was back. And – if this Alex was to be believed – she was dangerous.

  He moved over to the wardrobe and ran his fingers over the battered coat Margaret must have left behind. What game was she playing? How did she find her way into Cat’s house? More importantly, just how psychologically damaged was she? As he turned his attention to her dresser and did a quick search with no results, Thomas acknowledged he was trying to cope with a situation that he didn’t understand. He surveyed the room one last time. With a sigh, he closed the door behind him and headed home to Cat.

  ***

  By the time Thomas tucked the coupe away, he had worked himself into a state of worry. Would he even recognise Margaret if he saw her? These thoughts whirled through his head, as he stepped into his house, where Beck hurried to meet him. After Thomas handed over his coat and hat, Beck said, ‘Mrs Carlisle is in your room, sir. She asked for dinner on a tray for the both of you, if that suits?’

  Thomas exhaled, soothed by the idea of dinner with Cat before a warm fire. In his bedroom, no less. His hand went to the Webley he wore holstered under his jacket. There would be no sleep for him. Not until Margaret and Michael Grenville were dealt with. Keeping Cat safe was his priority. His stomach rumbled. ‘Thank you, Beck.’ He hurried up the stairs to the woman who had his heart.

  He found Cat in his bedroom, still wearing his dressing gown, her red hair glimmering like burnished copper in the firelight, as she arranged the plates on the small table.

  ‘Tom!’ She gave him a bright-eyed smile as she walked over to him. The dark half-moons under her eyes had diminished. To his relief, the look of fear had faded as well. ‘I must have been exhausted. Look how long I slept.’ Taking his hand, she led him to the table. ‘You’ll be pleased to know I’ve come to a decision about Saint Monica’s.’ Cat sat down across from Thomas and tucked her legs underneath her. ‘You were right. I should never have taken on a project of that magnitude by myself. It was a dangerous undertaking. After my encounter with Mr Grenville, I’ve learned my lesson.’

  ‘Thank god,’ Thomas said.

  ‘I realise the worry I’ve put you through, darling. And I’m sorry for it. Apparently I’m one of those women who learns by failure.’

  ‘You didn’t fail. You’ve accomplished what you set out to do, helped those women by providing training for jobs and a fresh start,’ Thomas said. He ladled vegetable soup from the tureen into the bowls.

  ‘Thank you for not saying I told you so.’ Cat untucked her legs, pulled her chair up to the table, and tasted the soup. ‘I thought to close up the house and be finished with it. But I have a better idea.’

  Oh, no. Here it comes. Thomas forced a smile.

  ‘Surely you can understand how difficult it is for me to walk away from people who need help.’ She paused, watching him, as if gauging his response. ‘What about hiring a board of directors to manage Saint Monica’s, along with a proper security detail to ensure all those who are involved stay safe? I can provide the financing, thereby using Benton’s money in a beneficial way. But I will step away from the day-to-day running, maybe limit my involvement to a behind the scenes, titular level. What do you think?’ She watched him, waiting for his response.

  Thomas resisted the urge to leap out of his chair and jump for joy. ‘I think that’s a brilliant idea.’ He understood Cat’s need to help the wretched women who had been beaten down by domineering families, be it husband, father, brother, or even – as on one occasion – an overbearing mother. He imagined during the course of their life together, Cat would stumble across other people who needed help, and it would be incumbent upon him to let her navigate her way through these scenarios as well. Cat wouldn’t have her wings clipped. Any attempt to do so would likely result in disaster, or – even worse – chip away at the love they held for each other. Thomas closed his eyes and exhaled. He had to tell Cat about his sister. There was no getting around it.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ She put her spoon down and looked at him with that all-knowing penetrating gaze.

  ‘I – something’s happened.’

  ‘What is it? Tell me.’ The panic in her voice broke his heart. ‘It’s not Michael Grenville, is it? Surely DCI Kent will have—’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh, god. You’re not going to tell me you have a long-lost wife, are you?’

  Thomas chuckled in spite of himself. ‘No. But I do have a sister. The woman that was living in your house.’

  ‘What? Margaret?’ Cat looked at Thomas, her brow furrowed as it always did when she was deep in thought. ‘You know, now that you mention it, she looks like you. I wondered how she found me.’ Cat dabbed her mouth with her napkin. ‘I knew she wasn’t being honest. Why didn’t she tell me who she was?’

  Thomas launched into his story, starting with his encounter with the mysterious Alex and backtracking to the day Margaret was taken from their childhood home, against her will. He replayed those events of long ago in his mind one more time, filling in details he missed earlier. He told Cat about the fear that his sister, so reckless and wild as a young girl, had become damaged and dangerous in her adulthood.

  Cat didn’t speak until he finished. ‘She’s rather beautiful. And just so you don’t think I am foolishly gullible, Bede Turner and I were suspicious of her from the beginning. That’s why we wanted you to help us vet her.’

  ‘I’ve not seen her in over thirty-five years. You’ve spent time with her. Do you think she’s dangerous?’

  Cat studied him for a moment before she gave the slightest nod. ‘Maybe. If she was pushed. The man in the woods – this Alex – said she’ll act like she wants money? If she comes here, can’t you just give her what she wants and send her on her way? Now that we know she’s coming, we can be ready for her.’

  ‘That seems a logical way to proceed. In my experience, logical plans often fail when dealing with someone who is not quite sane.’ Thomas finished his soup and pushed the bowl away. ‘There’s something fishy about this whole situation, and I don’t know what it is. When we were little a boy held my sister down while another boy tried to kiss her. She beat the boy who held her down with a rock. His parents were furious. My parents sent my sister to an asylum. I’ve hired investigators to find her, but they couldn’t. There’s much I do not know about her.’

  ‘Understood. So what will we do? Can we inform the police?’

  ‘And tell them what? I have a sister I haven’t seen in thirty-five years, and the man who broke into my house and stole a valuable relic ambushed me on the moors to warn me she’s dangerous?’

  ‘You don’t think she had anything to do with Lucy Bardwell’s murder, do you?’

  Thomas thought of that battered child from so long ago. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘So we wait for her to show up demanding money. We’ll tell the missus and Beck.’ Cat served them each a spoonful of potato souffle and green beans. ‘At least she won’t have the element of surprise.’

  Thomas agreed. There was really nothing else to do but wait. After dinner, they passed the evening reading before the fire. While Cat prepared for bed, Thomas checked his service revolver and placed it in the drawer of his nightstand, within easy reach. Later, when they lay together, entwined in each other’s arms, Thomas bit back a frisson of fear and enjoyed what to him felt like the quiet be
fore the storm.

  ***

  Frustrated that he hadn’t found any actionable evidence against Margaret, Hugh decided to get satisfaction from knowing that he had returned the chalice to its rightful owner. After penning an inquiry to his solicitor in Scotland about divorce proceedings, he decided to go to the cottage where Margaret lived and search for her ill-gotten gains. If he found the money she blackmailed from Martin, he would take it to the police, explain how Margaret had come to have it, and instruct them to return it to Hermione. And then he would step away and figure out what sort of life he could have with Vera.

  Hugh stepped off the bus, glad for his warm coat. There were no more buses this evening, but Hugh didn’t care. He’d dressed for the weather and would sleep rough if he had to. With fresh resolve, he walked around the village green on the lookout for Margaret and her lover. It wouldn’t do for them to catch him out before he had a chance to actually find the money. But once he did, and once it was safely stowed away in his pocket, he would welcome a long overdue confrontation. It was time Margaret realised she hadn’t gotten the best of Hugh Bettencourt. Win or lose, Hugh needed this fight.

  When he reached the row of redbrick cottages, he sat on one of the benches and pretended to read the paper in the dimming daylight. Before darkness fell, Hugh hurried around to the back of the cottages, careful to walk like he knew where he was going, just in case anyone saw him loitering and became suspicious. As luck would have it, there was a tall wooden fence between the back of Margaret’s cottage and her next-door neighbour’s, which provided him a bit of privacy from inquisitive neighbours. Hugh stood on his toes and peered in the windows at the tiny kitchenette and open living area. A rumpled bed sat in the middle of the bedroom. Surprised at the dingy conditions, Hugh circled the cottage once, just to make sure no one was home. The back door was a glass-panelled affair. It didn’t take long for Hugh to find a rock and use it to break the panel of glass nearest the doorknob. Within seconds he let himself in.