House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  ‘Do you have any idea where Margaret is now?’

  ‘I do not. She’s taken a cottage near the high street. I’m finished with her. I don’t care if I never see her again, quite frankly. The last I time I saw her, she attacked me. Actually bit my ear.’ Hugh pointed to his bandaged ear.

  ‘I assume those scratches on your cheek are from her?’

  ‘They are. She went mad. I’m—’ He stopped speaking, and stared over Thomas’s shoulder, wide-eyed. ‘Vera. Good god. What are you doing?’

  Thomas turned around to see Vera Hinks approaching her husband, an intent look on her pale face. Her right hand hung at her side. It held a gun.

  ‘Kent,’ Thomas shouted.

  George Hinks didn’t see his wife until she came to a stop behind him.

  ‘Look at me, George.’ Her voice was calm.

  Hinks turned around to face his wife. As far as Thomas could tell, George Hinks hadn’t yet noticed the gun.

  ‘For once in your life, look at me. What do you see? Do you see a woman who has stood faithfully by you?’

  She pointed the gun at his chest. George Hinks dropped the biscuit he was eating and put his hands up in surrender.

  ‘Vera! What are you doing? I’m sorry. Oh, god. Please …’

  By the time Vera spoke, everyone in the vicinity noticed the gun. One brave constable tried to creep up to her, but DCI Kent held him back with a quiet shake of his head.

  Vera pointed the gun, her hand surprisingly sure.

  ‘I can’t do this anymore, George. You expect me to stand by you, ever faithful while you chase women. I’ve suffered a lifetime of humiliation.’ Vera looked at DCI Kent. ‘Lucy Bardwell came to our home looking for you. She looked down her nose at me, talked to me as though I were your servant. Can you imagine the humiliation?’ She turned her attention back to George. ‘I gave her money and drove her back to Rivenby. The way she looked at me when she got out of the car … I just couldn’t control myself. When she got out of the car and walked away, her back straight, her head held high, something snapped inside me. I followed her through the woods and—’ Tears ran down Vera’s face, but she kept the gun trained on George’s heart, her hand steady and sure. ‘She was so arrogant and sure of herself. It was as though I was possessed by the devil. I crept after her. She didn’t even know I was there. When she stopped and pulled a pair of boots out of the bushes, I grabbed a rock and struck her.’ Vera’s confession resonated through the room, clear and true. ‘I’ve sinned and will have to live with that. God help me, but I don’t regret it one bit.’

  Thomas slowly moved close to her.

  ‘I’m finished. Finished being humiliated, finished with you.’

  ‘I know, love. I’ve been rotten,’ George Hinks said. He stood up and faced his wife, his hands still up in the air. ‘I’ll go away. You won’t have to see me. I’ll divorce you—’

  ‘No. It’s too late for that. We can’t divorce.’ Spittle flew as Vera hissed at her husband. ‘And there will always be women. Men like you don’t change. You’ll meet someone new, tell her you love her, spend your nights with her. And when you’re finished, when you’ve used her up so she no longer satisfies you, you’ll come creeping home. I cannot take another second of this. Of you.’

  ‘Vera, please. I’m begging you,’ George said.

  Thomas edged a little closer. Behind Vera, everyone stood frozen, as though unsure what to do.

  Vera noticed Thomas. ‘Don’t come any closer. I’ll shoot you.’

  Out of the blue, Hugh Bettencourt sprung to action. He threw himself in front of George Hinks just as Vera fired.

  Chapter 20

  Pandemonium erupted. Policemen scattered everywhere. Some rushed to Hugh Bettencourt’s lifeless body, others went to the phones, and still others ran out of the room, in search of a doctor. Thomas’s ears rang. He couldn’t hear a thing. This wasn’t the first time someone had fired a gun near him. In a few moments, his hearing would return. Vera stood before Hugh’s fallen body, her mouth hanging open. Her scream pierced the room, echoed off the walls. Dropping the gun, she fell to her knees beside Hugh. George Hinks went to his wife, trying to put a comforting arm around her. Vera ignored her husband. She pushed him aside and lay down on the cold, hard floor next to Hugh, resting her head on his chest, heedless of the pooling blood that seeped onto her clothes and her cheek.

  Ignoring the incessant ringing in his ears, after-effects of the gunshot, Thomas moved towards Vera. Hugh Bettencourt stared at Thomas with lifeless eyes, a bloom of crimson spreading across his chest. Thomas didn’t have to take the man’s pulse to know he was dead.

  Squatting down next to Vera, Thomas put a gentle hand on her shoulder. Careful to keep his voice calm, he said, ‘Come on, Mrs Hinks. You need to come with me now.’ He sensed George Hinks behind him.

  ‘She’s my wife. I’ll take care of her.’

  ‘Did you know she had a gun?’ DCI Kent said.

  ‘The gun’s mine. It was my service revolver. I kept it hidden in a shoebox. My wife’s a good shot. Learned in the war. She doesn’t talk about what she did, but I can tell you she knew her way around a gun.’

  ‘Step aside, Mr Hinks,’ DCI Kent said.

  Together he and Thomas pulled Vera to her feet, trying not to grimace at the splatters of blood that covered her face. Crimson stains were scattered over her jumper, yet she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes had a dull, unseeing look. They lingered on Thomas before they went to her husband. When she spoke to him, her voice sounded rough.

  ‘Stay away from me, George. I don’t want you. Go home. Leave me be.’

  ‘Vera, don’t say anything. I’m going to get you a solicitor.’

  Vera shook her head, locking her eyes onto Hugh. Her eyes filled with tears. They flowed unchecked down her pale checks, dripping off her chin and onto her clothes, mingling with Hugh Bettencourt’s blood.

  ‘Mrs Hinks, you need to step away from the body,’ DCI Kent said. He spoke to a woman constable who appeared behind him. ‘Get her into a holding cell, please. Photograph her with her clothes on before you give her something clean. I don’t need to tell you her bloody clothes are evidence.’

  ‘No, sir,’ the WPC said.

  ‘And don’t leave her alone. Do you understand? I want an officer on a chair outside her cell until I say otherwise.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the WPC said. Thomas recognised the woman and remembered the calm and level-headed way in which she helped secure the crime scene after Lucy Bardwell’s murder. She moved over to Vera Hinks and put a gentle arm around her shoulder. ‘Come on, Mrs Hinks. It’s time to step away.’

  DCI Kent turned to another uniformed constable. ‘Get a doctor to see to Mrs Hinks. After she’s tended to, report back to me.’

  Vera stared down at Hugh, tears streaming down her face.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Hugh. Please forgive me.’ She turned away from him and allowed herself to be led away.

  ‘I need to make a phone call, arrange a solicitor,’ George said. ‘She’s not in her right mind.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Hinks. Use the phone in my office to call a solicitor. After that, you’ll need to make a statement. I’ll get a lad to take it down now. Once you’ve signed it you’re free to leave.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ George Hinks said. He was crying now.

  ‘What do you want me to do, sir?’ Thomas said.

  ‘Write up a report of your conversation with Hinks, Thomas. You’re a witness now, so you are officially off this investigation. Your statement should contain the circumstances regarding how the dead man wound up back here, and the events leading up to the shooting. Don’t leave anything out. I’ll assign a detective to the case. He’ll want to interview you. Have the report on my desk first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll trust you to write the report at home. After that, it’s best if you take a few days off.’

  ‘Very well,’ Thomas said. He knew better than to argue.

  ‘At least we know who killed Lucy Bardwell.�
� DCI Kent shook his head. ‘We should have seen that. I should have seen that. Mrs Hinks was the most likely suspect, but I didn’t give it a second thought.’

  ‘It’s hard to suspect a woman,’ Thomas said.

  ‘It is indeed,’ DCI Kent said. ‘I’m going to have a swallow of brandy before I telephone the Chief Superintendent. He’ll probably have my job. God, I’m tired.’

  ‘This isn’t your fault, sir,’ Thomas said.

  ‘I know it’s not,’ DCI Kent said. ‘It’s no one’s fault. It’s a horrid, unfortunate set of circumstances.’

  Once DCI Kent shut his office door, Thomas hurried home.

  ***

  Cat sealed the last envelope, set it on the pile of outgoing post and stood up from Thomas’s writing desk, relishing the sweet freedom that was now hers. Michael Grenville had been captured, and there was much to do before the wedding. She looked around the room she would share with Thomas after they were married, surprised to find she would be pleased to call this house home. Truth be told, home was where Thomas was. Who would have thought a woman of her age would get a second chance at happiness? Donning old trousers and comfortable walking shoes, she decided to go for a nice long walk. What better way to work through the anxiety of the past few days?

  Half an hour later, the letters were posted and Cat was walking briskly on the path towards the moors, a canteen of water over her shoulder. As she walked, she thought about the logistics of Saint Monica’s and the steps necessary to hand its management over to a proper board of directors. Papers would need to be drawn up, potential board members would have to be approached. Cat knew from experience many people didn’t agree with Saint Monica’s purpose. They argued women should stay married, submit to their husbands and be good wives. If their husbands beat them, it was probably their own fault. The very idea made her angry. With a little luck, she hoped to find six or eight people who would be as passionate about Saint Monica’s as she was.

  Emmeline Hinch-Billings would be the first candidate Cat approached. In addition to a managing board of directors, three or four trusted men would need to be enlisted to serve as a security detail. Cat paused on the trail, turning her face to the sun. As the warm light bathed her face, Cat pushed worries about Saint Monica’s away. Winter would be here soon. She and Thomas would be married. Smiling to herself, she took a sip of fresh water and headed along the trail, wishing she had brought her camera. There was something about the way the subdued autumn light bounced off the red and orange leaves that struck her artist’s eye.

  Hours later, Cat arrived back at the house, wiped her shoes on the mat outside the kitchen door, and let herself in. ‘Hello?’ Something wonderful simmered away on the stovetop, and two fresh loaves of bread sat on the worktable. The missus was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Hello?’ Cat called out again.

  ‘In the study. Help!’ the missus yelled.

  Cat broke into a run, skidding to a stop in her stockinged feet when she reached Thomas’s study. Margaret sat behind the desk. Her hair had been styled and a sizable diamond on a delicate chain hung from around her neck. The blue-green wool dress she wore accentuated her eyes. Piles of papers lay scattered in front of her, as though Margaret had been rummaging through the drawers.

  The missus stood off to the side, fidgeting with her hands, a worried look on her face. ‘I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t—’

  ‘Get us some tea, please,’ Margaret ordered.

  The missus looked at Cat for approval.

  ‘Now,’ Margaret said.

  Cat gave the missus a slight shake of the head. To her credit, the missus stayed put. ‘Where’s Beck?’

  ‘He’s gone to fetch chicken wire.’

  ‘That stupid old man?’ Margaret inspected her cuticles. ‘You think he can protect you?’

  Cat’s cheeks flushed red, a zig-zagged vein throbbed on her forehead. ‘Get up from behind that desk before I forcefully remove you.’

  Margaret chuckled. She leaned back in Thomas’s chair and crossed her legs as she put her feet up on the desk. ‘Aren’t you the lady of the manor. You’re so smug and self-righteous, acting like you want to save all the injured women, yet you’re about to marry a bully yourself. Did you know my little brother used to beat me when we were children?’

  Cat gasped and immediately regretted the display of emotion.

  ‘Surprising, isn’t it? He also used to watch me in the bathtub.’

  This time the wild accusations didn’t faze Cat. She didn’t believe Margaret. ‘What do you want?’

  Margaret took her feet off the desk. ‘I’ve come for what’s rightfully mine.’ With a gleeful laugh, she swept Thomas’s papers onto the floor before she turned to the missus and said, ‘Clean that up.’

  ‘She’s not going to take orders from you, Margaret.’

  ‘You’re not married yet, are you?’

  ‘That’s none of your business,’ Cat said.

  Margaret gave Cat a sardonic look. ‘You realise as Thomas’s next of kin, if he were to die, I would inherit all this.’ Her eyes travelled around the room. ‘Maybe I’ll come back and kill him.’

  The missus gasped.

  In an instant Cat understood the relentless desire of protectiveness Thomas felt towards her. Margaret would never be allowed to harm Thomas, not if Cat could help it. She took two steps closer to Thomas’s desk. Thomas’s letter opener – a silver dagger given to him by a friend years ago – sat on top. Cat reached for it. Margaret snatched it away first, holding it in her hand, testing the sharpness of the blade, smiling when it cut her skin. When a tiny droplet of blood appeared on her finger, she wiped it on one of the papers. ‘It’s sharp. What were you going to do, stab me? Believe me, darling, you haven’t got the guts.’

  Oh, you are so wrong.

  Ignoring the weapon, Cat moved around the back of the desk. Margaret rose. The two women stood nose to nose, an unspoken challenge between them, while the missus watched. When Cat grabbed Margaret’s wrist and twisted, Margaret yelped and dropped the letter opener. Wrenching Margaret’s arm tighter, she stepped close to Margaret and whispered in her ear. ‘If you ever set foot in this house again, I’ll kill you.’

  A moment of fear flashed in Margaret’s eye. Cat let go of her wrist. Margaret stepped away, rubbing the spot where Cat had grabbed her. ‘You are a fool, Mrs Carlisle. Helping those women. None of them needed it. They took advantage of you. And you, living in that house, acting as though you’re better than everyone else. I’m actually surprised you’d debase yourself by staying in my brother’s bed without a wedding ring. Think of what your fellow villagers would say.’

  ‘I’d tell them you were lying if you were to say that,’ the missus said. ‘Lived here my whole life, I have. They’d believe me over you, missy.’

  ‘Hello, Margaret,’ Thomas said.

  As though someone flipped a switch, Margaret’s expression changed, the aggressive confrontational woman replaced now by smiles and warmth.

  ‘Tommy.’ She rushed to her brother with her hands outstretched. ‘I’m so pleased to see you.’ When Margaret reached him, she wrapped her hands around his neck and pressed against him, as though he were her lover and she wanted to kiss him.

  ‘Stop that.’ Thomas pushed Margaret away and stepped closer to Cat. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cat whispered.

  Thomas leaned into her, pretending to kiss her cheek. ‘The police are on their way,’ he whispered.

  Cat smirked.

  ‘Oh, so you’ve called the police? Whatever for, Tom? You know why I’m here. If you’ll just give me my money, I’ll be off.’ Margaret sat back down behind the desk.

  Thomas strode to Margaret. ‘Get up,’ he barked at her.

  Cat wondered why Margaret so readily obeyed Thomas. Reaching in his pocket, he took out a ring of keys and unlocked the cabinet behind his desk, drawing out an envelope with Margaret’s name scrawled across the front, along with what looked like a small picture, wr
apped in brown paper and tied with string. ‘That’s one half of our parents’ estate, the documentation concerning your share, plus interest. Take it.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Margaret set the envelope on the desk as she unwrapped the string, revealing a small painting of sunflowers.

  Thomas’s hopeful smile as he watched his sister hold the painting nearly broke Cat’s heart.

  ‘You kept this all these years?’ Margaret asked him, her voice full of wonder.

  ‘I tried to find you, Margaret. For years. I hired investigators, the lot. Almost tracked you down in France, but alas, you slipped away. From me and from the police.’

  Margaret looked at Thomas for a good long moment, staring at him with her head cocked like an eager spaniel, while Thomas let his guard down, exposing the sadness he felt at the loss of a sister who – at least as far as Cat could tell – had never loved him in the first place. Margaret sneered at Thomas as she ripped the painting in half and tossed the pieces on the floor.

  ‘You’re a fool, brother. I’ve no use for you or your sentiment.’

  The surprise on Thomas’s face, the disappointment, morphed into controlled anger. ‘Very well. Take your money and get out of my house. You’re to leave me and my family alone. I don’t want to hear from you again.’

  ‘Family? You haven’t got a family.’ She peeked in the envelope. ‘This will do very nicely, for now.’

  ‘No,’ Thomas said. ‘No more. I wasn’t required to share that money with you, Margaret. But I did out of the goodness of my heart. I suggest you think twice before pushing me.’

  ‘The goodness of your heart? My god, how I hate you.’ Margaret’s voice became shrill as she manoeuvred around the desk, positioning herself directly in line with the door. ‘You’re a bastard, Tom. Did you know that? Mummy and Daddy doted on you, favoured you like a spoiled child, even though Daddy wasn’t your real father. Yes, dear brother, our mum was a whore. She coupled in the field with any worker who would have her. You can lay your head down at night knowing you’re no more than the bastard child of a farmworker.’