House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

Cat knew Thomas’s emotions as well as her own. Taken aback by the exhaustion in his eyes, she watched as he reacted with surprise and then pity at his sister’s scathing words.

  ‘Our family was fine until you came along. Bastard child.’

  The crunch of tyres on gravel interrupted Margaret’s tirade.

  Thomas said, ‘Oh, good. The police are here. They received an anonymous tip about you, dear sister. Someone called and told them about some stolen diamonds. A brooch, I think they mentioned. Were you in Scotland recently?’

  This time Margaret paused, her confidence faltering. ‘A brooch? What are you talking about?’

  ‘When I left the constabulary, the police were off to your cottage with a search warrant. They must have found something, stolen jewels, I reckon.’

  Cat, Thomas and Margaret watched out the window as four constables got out of the car.

  ‘She’s doing a runner,’ the missus called, as Margaret pushed Cat aside and ran out of the drawing room towards the back of the house, where the woods and a myriad of trails provided ample opportunity to escape.

  ‘She’ll get away,’ Cat cried.

  She and Thomas, with the missus at their heels, hurried after Margaret, who burst out the back door straight into the arms of a constable. For a moment she struggled, kicking and scratching like a cat. And then her body went limp. The resistance went away as she put her arms around the constable’s neck and moulded herself to him. Cat saw the young man’s cheeks grow red with embarrassment as he tried to wriggle out of Margaret’s clinging grasp. When he finally broke free, the other constable grabbed her arm.

  ‘Come now, lassie. Let’s get you in the car.’

  Margaret didn’t resist. She went with them, docile and submissive, while the missus, Cat and Thomas watched.

  ‘I need a cup of tea,’ the missus said, after Margaret was safely tucked into the police car. ‘We all do. I’ll put the kettle on.’ She headed into the kitchen, mumbling under her breath about mad women and the mess in Thomas’s study.

  ‘Did you really receive an anonymous tip?’ Cat wove her arm through Thomas’s as they walked back into the house.

  ‘Yes. I think it was Stephen Templeton’s driver. I’m betting he called in the anonymous tip to DCI Kent about the stolen diamonds. Since Margaret is my sister, DCI Kent thought it best I not be a part of the plan to catch her. Lucky I came home when I did.’ He turned Cat so she faced him. ‘Are you all right? She didn’t try to harm you, did she?’

  ‘She threatened to kill you.’

  ‘Well, it’s finished now. I’ll arrange for a solicitor. At least now she can get some help. She belongs in an asylum.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Thomas,’ Cat said as they followed the missus back into the house.

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘You longed to reconnect with her.’

  Thomas met Cat’s eyes. ‘For a moment part of me wished things were different. But I’m really not surprised about Margaret. If she wanted to have a relationship with me, she would have allowed herself to be found.’ He kissed Cat’s forehead. ‘You’re the only family I need, love.’

  ***

  The next morning, Thomas spent a good hour at his desk writing up his statement regarding Vera Hinks’s attempt to murder her husband, and Hugh Bettencourt’s resulting death. The heartbreaking consequences of George Hinks’s infidelity would be the stuff of stories for decades to come, Thomas reckoned. Hugh Bettencourt’s death was a tragedy, a lost opportunity to learn about Margaret’s life. Nothing to be done about that. He had just signed his name to the statement, when DCI Kent’s car pulled into the driveway.

  ‘DCI Kent’s here.’ Cat came into the room, looking lovely and carrying their tea on a tray. She set the tray down and moved to the window. ‘Something’s wrong.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He’s got that steely look on his face. His eyes are like ice. Something’s happened. I can feel it.’

  ‘It’s probably the events of yesterday.’

  ‘I suppose that would be enough to put anyone on edge. I’ll go fetch extra cups.’

  ‘Better let me speak to him alone,’ Thomas said. Cat gave him a sweet smile, kissed his forehead and shut the door behind her.

  DCI Kent didn’t speak as Beck showed him and Sergeant Jeffers into the room. The Lucy Bardwell murder had taken its toll on the young sergeant. Thomas reckoned Jeffers had never seen a dead body. Not only had his new promotion put him in the thick of a murder investigation, it had exposed him – via Michael Grenville – to one of the most depraved criminals currently in operation. The poor lad looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. The emotionless look on Kent’s face told Thomas Cat’s assumption had been correct. He folded his statement, placed it in an envelope and held it out to Jeffers.

  ‘Here’s my statement. Cat’s gone to fetch tea.’

  ‘Thank you.’ DCI Kent responded. He nodded at his sergeant, who took the envelope and tucked it in his breast pocket.

  ‘I take it there’s been developments?’ Thomas said.

  ‘You could say that. Vera Hinks is dead. Lethal dose of sleeping powder.’

  ‘Wasn’t she under supervision by a female constable?’

  ‘Apparently she took the overdose before she shot Hugh Bettencourt.’

  ‘My god,’ Thomas said, for lack of any other appropriate response.

  ‘So I’ve got three deaths on my hands, two of them murders and one of them a suicide. And I know what you’re going to say, Tom. It’s not my fault. I know that. The Superintendent knows that.’

  ‘It doesn’t make it any better, does it,’ Thomas said. ‘What news of my sister?’

  ‘She’s been nothing but trouble. We found a stolen brooch among her possessions. Swears up and down she didn’t steal it, even though we’ve got solid evidence she was in Scotland at the time it went missing. She all but confessed to blackmailing a man in Scotland named Martin Shoreham, but insists the brooch was planted by her lover. Sounds farfetched, I know, but she hasn’t changed her story.

  ‘Should I arrange a solicitor for her?’

  ‘No need,’ DCI Kent said. ‘Someone has already seen to it. Sir John Kettering, no less.’

  ‘Sir John Kettering? How in the world did my sister manage to hire someone like him?’

  ‘Arranged anonymously. Seems your sister has an influential friend or two.’ DCI Kent nodded at Sergeant Jeffers, who bade Thomas goodbye as he left the room. When they were alone, DCI Kent said, ‘This is for your ears only, Tom. I’ve received word that Michael Grenville is involved with a ring of men who are searching for art smuggled out of France. They are selling it back to the Germans for exorbitant prices. I’ve spoken to my superior and he’s agreed your chalice can stay at the safe in the constabulary for the time being. Just because Grenville’s behind bars doesn’t mean someone else won’t come for it.’

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘The building used to be a textile mill, as you may recall. The owner used to keep large sums of cash on hand. If you are in agreement, I’ll have a few lads come up and help you transport the chalice in the evening, when it’s quiet. We won’t make a big fuss.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Thomas said.

  ‘One more thing. My Superintendent has agreed to personally deliver the money Hugh Bettencourt brought to the police station to Hermione Shoreham. It seems her husband was a very influential man, who donated generously to various police charities.’

  Thomas sighed. ‘It’s been a strange few weeks, hasn’t it?’

  ‘It has indeed,’ DCI Kent said.

  Chapter 21

  Lydia arrived at Saint Monica’s on an unseasonably warm and sunny day at the end of October. Eschewing her usual trousers and paint-splattered men’s button-down shirt for a proper travelling suit, complete with hat, gloves and matching shoes, she showed up on Cat’s doorstep with her artist’s portfolio under one arm and a small travelling case in the other hand.

  When the doorbell rang, Cat s
aid, ‘I’ll get the door.’ She hadn’t heard from her aunt in ages. The last letter she received had been so heavily edited by the censors, Cat could hardly put a cohesive sentence together. She had no idea how Lydia or her home in Bloomsbury were faring in the nightly bombing raids. At first, she didn’t recognise her Bohemian aunt, who rarely capitulated to social convention in her manner of dress or her attitude. When her mind absorbed the fact Aunt Lydia was standing before her, safe and sound, Cat nearly wept with relief.

  ‘You look surprised. I take it you didn’t get my letter?’

  Cat burst out laughing and pulled Lydia into her arms. ‘Come on, we’re in the kitchen.’

  Lydia surveyed Cat’s trousers and messy hair.

  ‘Looks like we’ve traded roles,’ Lydia said. ‘You’re dressed like me. And as for this suit’ – she looked down at her skirt and silk stockings – ‘I hate it!’

  ‘You look beautiful. Very proper.’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ Lydia said. ‘And you, darling niece, look like you’ve been cleaning house.’

  ‘I have,’ Cat said. ‘I’ve much to tell you. But first you must come and meet Bede Turner. She’s my housekeeper, friend and expert gardener. We’ve been scouring like maids today. I’ll explain why after you’ve had tea. I’m hoping you’ve come to stay?’

  ‘If you’ll have me,’ Lydia said. Her face grew serious. ‘Hettie’s gone. The bombs. They never found her body. Her house was reduced to rubble … It’s horrible in London. When they stopped the buses, I knew I couldn’t stay. I felt like I was just waiting to die.’

  ‘Oh, Lyd,’ Cat said. ‘What about your paintings? Did you manage to stow them someplace safe?’

  ‘I sold the lot to my publisher. Sounds a bit reckless, doesn’t it? But keep in mind I could lose everything at any time. One bomb and all is lost. If you’re lucky enough to survive, your property is in ruins. You should see the city. Anyway, I was glad to get the money. I’m going to be a country artist. At least until this bloody war is over.’ She gave Cat a surprised look. ‘I’m not too presumptuous assuming I can stay here?’

  ‘Of course not.’ They made their way into the kitchen, where they found Bede Turner sitting at the kitchen table with her feet propped up. ‘Bede, this is my Aunt Lydia.’

  Bede wiped her hands on her apron as she approached Lydia with her hand outstretched. ‘How do you do, miss.’

  ‘Tea?’ Cat asked.

  Lydia took off her gloves and tucked them into her purse. ‘Something stronger?’

  ‘Sure,’ Cat said. She poured tea for both of them before dosing Lydia’s with a generous pour of brandy.

  Two hours later, the women were sitting in the drawing room, enjoying the afternoon sun. Lydia had kicked off her shoes and now sat on the sofa, her legs curled underneath her. Cat had opened a bottle of champagne – one of the last bottles she’d brought from London – and Bede, Lydia and Cat had toasted to Lydia’s safe arrival and Cat’s upcoming wedding. Bede had brought in a tray heaped with sandwiches and biscuits.

  ‘So you turned this beautiful house into a shelter for mistreated women, but had to flee when one of the husbands found you?’

  ‘Correct,’ Cat said, refilling Lydia’s champagne flute. ‘And since I’ll be moving in with Thomas in a few weeks, I am going to hand off the management to a proper board of directors. I’ll be involved in a titular position, but I’m looking forward to a quiet life. I realised I haven’t stopped since Benton’s death. I’m tired.’

  ‘Words of reason, darling niece,’ Lydia said.

  ‘I took on too much too fast,’ Cat explained. ‘Thomas and Bede warned me of the potential for danger, but I ignored them and ploughed on, certain I was doing the right thing.’

  ‘What a surprise,’ Lydia said.

  ‘I know. I made a mistake. There will be other women who need my help. I want to keep Saint Monica’s going, but I want it managed in a professional way. Thomas and I have a board of directors already in place. We’re looking for one more member. I actually sent a letter to you about this, but I imagine you didn’t receive it. I’m hoping you’ll consider serving.’

  ‘I’ll think about it. This is a noble endeavour, darling. I’m impressed. You’ve actually used Benton’s wealth in a positive way.’ She gave Cat a sardonic look. ‘And the irony isn’t lost on me. Using your inheritance from Ben to fund this. I hope he’s rolling in his grave. You look happy, Cat. Things are good with Thomas?’

  Cat smiled. ‘He’s ready for us to be married. So am I. Once we’re married, I’ll be moving to Heart’s Desire. We’ve a nice big room in readiness for you there.’

  ‘What a hideous name for a house. Your happiness does my heart good, darling.’

  ‘I’m truly content, Lydia. After Ben, I just never thought I would get a second chance.’

  Lydia grabbed Cat’s hand. ‘You had your chance, darling. I’m just glad you took it.’

  Chapter 22

  Cat and Thomas married in November, on the cold Saturday before Bonfire Night. Stephen Templeton arranged for their marriage to be held at Saint Anne’s, the church where Cat’s parents were buried. The church had been made redundant years ago, but Stephen Templeton had called in a favour, so Cat and Thomas could be married in the beautiful sanctuary, with its mosaic floors and stained-glass window. They had to make do without electricity or gas to heat the building, but they didn’t mind. The ceremony was held with close friends as witnesses, Emmeline Hinch-Billings and her husband Phillip, Beck and the missus, Lydia, Bede Turner, and DCI Kent. Everyone bundled up and huddled together as Cat and Thomas exchanged their vows by candlelight.

  Cat’s first wedding to Benton Carlisle, so long ago, had been a nerve-wracking, joyless affair. She remembered standing before an immense crowd of strangers, nervous and unsure of herself, in a state of wonder that a man like Benton Carlisle would have chosen her as his wife. He could have had anyone and was often photographed with a glamorous film star or a beautiful heiress on his arm, with the caption the most eligible bachelor in England emblazoned beneath. Cat was young and naive at the time of her first wedding. On tenterhooks the entire day, Cat felt certain everyone watched her and judged her. She was too worried about the opinions of others to enjoy her own celebration. Not today. Not with Thomas.

  While Stephen Templeton recited the ancient words from the Book of Common Prayer, Cat swore she saw a lone tear slowly roll down Thomas’s cheek. When she met his eyes and made her sacred vow to him, she felt the invisible cord that bound them together.

  Cat’s ward, Annie Havers, who was training to be a nurse, couldn’t get away as originally planned. But she gave Cat and Thomas her blessing when Cat told her there would be a proper wedding feast at Heart’s Desire during Christmas, to be organised by Bede Turner and the missus. Cat thanked the heavens the two women got along so well. Today, thanks to Bede Turner’s clever bartering with ration books and the missus’s seemingly endless supply of butter, they would feast on a decadent cake the likes of which Cat hadn’t tasted since 1939.

  Given the regular admonitions by the newspapers and wireless services not to engage in unnecessary travel during wartime, Cat and Thomas decided to spend their wedding night alone at Heart’s Desire. Beck and the missus were going directly to Beck’s brother’s house for a few days. The missus had prepared ample food and had given specific instructions on how to heat up the various meals. Cat was looking forward to being alone with Thomas. Although he never let on, the incident with Margaret had troubled him deeply. Even though he was in a joyful mood and smiled and laughed as he usually did, Cat felt her husband’s undercurrent of sadness. Only time would cure his hurt.

  The wedding party had just left the church, amid much laughter and teasing, when Sergeant Jeffers got out of a police saloon parked across the lane and walked up to DCI Kent, a serious look on his face.

  Jeffers nodded at Thomas and Cat. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘What in the world are you doing here, Jeffers?’ asked
Kent. ‘Isn’t this your weekend off?’

  ‘It was supposed to be. The wife and I were going to visit her sister,’ Jeffers said. ‘But the Superintendent called me and told me to fetch you.’ Jeffers directed his gaze at DCI Kent. ‘He wouldn’t tell me why he wanted us to report, he just told me to fetch you and was rather insistent that we come right away.’

  ‘Very well.’ DCI Kent turned to Thomas and Catherine. ‘I’m sorry to miss out on that cake.’

  ‘We’ll save you some,’ Cat said.

  ‘Congratulations, Thomas.’ The two men shook hands. ‘You two are very good together.’

  Aren’t we just, Cat thought as Thomas took her hand and led her towards their friends.

  ***

  Cat and Thomas dropped Lydia back at Saint Monica’s and made it back to Heart’s Desire by early afternoon. The house seemed empty without Beck and the missus to greet them and cold without a continual fire going during the day.

  ‘I’ll tend to the fire,’ Thomas said. He didn’t wait for Cat’s answer, just hurried into his study. Although not the biggest room in the house, they had taken to spending most of their time there, lounging before the fire in the comfortable chairs, yet giving Thomas the freedom to work at his desk, should the need arise.

  ‘Wait.’ Cat grabbed his hand before he hurried off. ‘What’s the matter? You’ve been looking over your shoulder since Sergeant Jeffers showed up at our wedding.’

  Thomas stepped around Cat and locked the front door, double checking it held fast. ‘I’m sorry, love. Something’s not right. I’ve got that feeling again.’

  ‘What feeling?’

  ‘Like we’re being watched.’

  At Thomas’s words, Cat shivered. She felt it too. ‘No. We’re not doing this on our wedding night. Let’s go through the house together, check the windows and doors are locked. Once that’s finished, let’s try and forget about it.’ She put her arms around his waist and leaned against him. ‘We can open that bottle of champagne the missus left chilling for us. After that, we’ll get out of these clothes.’