The Woman From Heartbreak House

by Freda Lightfoot

Toby looked at him askance. ‘Nay, nothing’ll get the better of our Kate. She’ll come round. She’ll learn to live with her loss, as we all must. Then she’ll be back in here telling us all what to do, which will be grand. We all look forward to that day.’

  Jack scowled and muttered something under his breath before suggesting that he had seen all he needed to in here, thank you very much, and was ready to move on. Just as if he were the King come to inspect his troops, Callum thought, boiling with rage.

  Despite Callum’s resolve to keep his head down and himself out of trouble, even if he did have no wish to own the blasted factory, having Jack lord it over him was galling to say the least. Not only that but the stupid fellow was spending money like water, going out on the town with his ‘chums’ night after night.

  ‘Anyone’d think we were med of brass,’ Callum grumbled, but only to himself. He made up his mind to quietly continue with his investigation, to start asking a few questions. He was of the opinion that folk might agree to talk to him when they’d avoid getting involved with the police.

  He knocked on several doors on and around Aynham Road and the factory, spent hours trudging up and down streets, and finally struck lucky.

  He found an old woman who was more than willing to talk, in return for a bit of company from such a nice young man. Her name was Edith and she was quite lonely because her daughter had moved away when her husband got work on the canal. She fed Callum seed cake and tea while she told her tale. She well remembered seeing a black motor car lurking up her back street. Edith claimed it was because it was often there, round about the same time each day, just when the factory workers were heading home.

  ‘I remember saying to my friend Maggie. “It’s up to no good, posh car like that up our street. Don’t make no sense”.’

  Unfortunately, she’d never plucked up the courage to go near enough to look inside, so could give no description of the driver.

  He begged her to tell her story to the constable, for the sake of his mother, and after some persuasion, and because she’d heard nothing but good about the second Mrs Tyson, Edith kindly agreed.

  Delighted by his success Callum dashed off at once to the police station, not noticing a shadowy figure slipping into Edith’s small terraced house only a moment or two after he’d left it.

  The next day, when Constable Brown finally found the time to accompany Callum to hear the old woman’s story at first hand, they found the house shuttered and closed, with no sign of her. Neighbours believed old Edith might have gone to live with her daughter in Lancaster, but nobody could be quite sure. Even her friend Maggie was at a loss to know where she might be.

  ‘She never told me where she were going, she just up and went.’

  The constable was not pleased, accusing Callum of wasting police time.

  Callum urged Maggie to think back, to remember what Edith had said about the car, asking if she could remember anything about it herself. But the woman simply pursed her lips, shook her head and said she knew nowt about owt, which was plainly her final word on the subject.

  Undeterred, Callum carried on knocking on doors, asking questions, pestering and hectoring, unwilling to admit defeat. He was well liked by his fellow workers as a quiet, steady lad, yet they became strangely reticent all of a sudden: as if struck deaf, blind and dumb. His good luck had come to an end. Nobody would talk to him after Edith’s disappearance. He found only closed doors.

  Chapter Five

  Constable Brown returned to Tyson Lodge a day or two later to explain to the late Mr Tyson’s widow how even this interesting lead had turned into a dead end. Unfortunately, she wasn’t available and he was obliged to address his words to Lucy instead.

  ‘A new lead you say? To what, exactly? I believed the matter to be closed.’ Her finely drawn eyebrows lifted in cold enquiry. ‘I’m afraid that you’ve been sent on a wild goose chase. But then, my dear sister-in-law has not been herself lately, as you’ve already seen, and we cannot blame the boy for trying to protect her.’

  ‘Only right for a lad to look after his mother.’ The constable eased his collar, clearly not enjoying this mission. A waste of time, in his humble opinion, but his sergeant had insisted he investigate the matter, not wishing it to appear as if the police were failing in their duty. ‘The plain fact is, I’ve nothing further to report. We can find neither sight nor sound of old Edith, though if we knew exactly where her daughter lived that might help, but the son-in-law no longer works for the canal company and the entire family seems to have done a moonlight flit.’

  ‘You never can rely on such people,’ Lucy agreed, sympathetically.

  ‘I thought it would be best if I came and told Mrs Tyson herself, personally like, as I promised the lad we’d report the result of our enquiries.’

  Lucy offered one of her practised smiles. ‘I’m afraid she isn’t here. She’s in Scarborough, resting. Is it urgent? Would you like me to telephone her, or write a note?’

  ‘No, please don’t bother her. The poor lady has had a hard time of it, I reckon. Just tell her, when she gets back, that so far as we can make out, there’s nothing more we can do. We consider the case to be closed, though we’ll keep our ear to the ground and if we hear anything of interest, we’ll pursue it, naturally.’

  Lucy saw him out, slammed the door shut after him then swore very loudly. This was not what she’d expected or planned, not at all. And she certainly knew who to blame.

  Swainson was not sympathetic. ‘I got rid of the old woman for you, warning poor old Edith it was in her best interests to leave. I sorted your car, got the police off yer back, even left the rats, exactly like you said. If you’re wanting me to do owt else, like sort out that workhouse brat, for instance, it’ll cost you.’

  ‘I’ve paid you plenty already, more than enough.’ Lucy was shocked, already beginning to regret the quantities of notes she’d slipped his way. ‘I’m not made of money, don’t think I am.’

  ‘Are you not? Could’ve fooled me. And you wouldn’t want me shooting me mouth off to the police, telling ‘em all I know, now would you? Course, a handsome woman like yourself could find some other way to settle the debt, I dare say, if you set your mind to it.’

  ‘What are you implying?’ Lucy gave a little shudder, although a part of her brain registered that he thought her handsome and she was woman enough to feel flattered. She did so love to be admired, even by an odd fish like Swainson. He was a man, after all, with quite a reputation with the female sex, so he must have some charms.

  On this occasion they’d met in the lea of Scout Scar by the old race track. Little interest had been shown in racing since before the war but today a trotting race was being held, the neat little carriages already lining up for the first race. There were several booths selling sweets and treats, the usual beer tent and even a little merry-go-round for the children. Lucy had come with Jack and Bunty for a pleasant afternoon out but had slipped away quietly to meet Swainson while her son placed his bets.

  No one could see them, tucked out of sight behind a copse of sycamore that leaned into the wind on this breezy western fellside that separated the vale of Kentdale from the Lyth valley. At least, she sincerely hoped not.

  He’d taken off his flat cap as he studied her, rolled it in his lean, weathered hands for a moment, then tucked it into his back trouser pocket.

  Lucy arched her brows at him, thinking that perhaps a little flirting might soften him. ‘You clearly know how to flatter a woman, but nothing I have could possibly be of interest to any man. I’m merely an old widow-woman.’

  He edged closer and she could smell the beer on his breath. It was strangely intoxicating. Even the way he didn’t quite look squarely at her fascinated Lucy. He’d at least shaved this morning since there was no sign of stubble on his chin, save for the moustache above the thin line of his mouth, and she wondered how it would feel pressed against her own.

  ‘Not so old that you don’t get a bit frustrated like, with no man around.’


  Something like excitement jolted inside her, low and deep in her belly. Lucy knew she should express outrage at his effrontery, push him away and go back to her son and daughter.

  But he’d rested one hand on the trunk of the tree behind her head and was leaning closer. ‘I certainly feel the lack of a good woman at times. There must be a way that old acquaintances, such as ourselves, can reach some sort of understanding.’

  For all it was a chill autumn day he wore no jacket, only a checked waistcoat, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal arms that were well muscled and strong. Surprisingly, the fact that he wasn’t in the least bit good looking did not disturb her as much as she’d expected. Lucy was both repelled and fascinated by him, and deeply curious. But then, it had been a long time since she’d been this close to a man. Something fluttered in her throat and she tried to clear it, then offered him a cool smile before asking in low, husky tones. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’

  He showed her, with vigour and authority. Pushing her against the rough tree trunk he pulled up her skirts, unfastened his flies and lifting her against him, thrust hard into her. Lucy didn’t cry out or protest. She grasped tight hold of his shoulders, steadying herself as she flung back her head and lost herself in sensation. There were no kisses, no soft words, nothing to distract her from raw pleasure, but then she always had enjoyed her sex rough, and the fact that they were within strolling distance of her own son and daughter at the trotting track gave an extra fillip to the thrill.

  When he was done, they each adjusted their clothing, agreed a date to meet again, as one might arrange a business meeting, and Lucy walked away first, head held high, well satisfied. A useful encounter, she decided, and really quite titillating. And so much cheaper than parting with hard cash.

  Over dinner that evening, when Jack had counted his winnings, crowing over his good fortune, Lucy informed Callum of the constable’s visit.

  She cast the boy a sideways, quizzical look, watching for his reaction. Lucy vividly recalled her discussion with Swainson only a few hours earlier, before they’d got involved in other matters, and wondered what it would cost her to be rid of this brat completely. No, not quite yet. Too soon. One thing at a time. ‘Apparently a witness came forward and then vanished. The constable didn’t say how the police came by the information. Do you know anything of this, Callum?’

  His face a mask of innocence, Callum said he knew nothing at all.

  Lucy considered his reply thoughtfully before shrugging her elegant shoulders. ‘In any case, this lead, if that’s what it was, has proved as fruitless as all the rest. The case, they assure me, is now closed.’

  Not if I can help it, Callum thought, surprising himself by the rush of anger which tightened his chest. He felt more caring of his adopted father in death than ever he had in life, but then he resented the fact that he’d never been given a chance to get to know him properly, because of this woman.

  Callum realised, however, that his failure to find the proof he needed was about to rebound upon him. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Lucy suspected him of meddling, and that his life was about to become a great deal less comfortable.

  He was absolutely right, and her very next words confirmed it.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to say this, Callum, but I think it would be best, while your mother is away at least, if you were to eat in the kitchen. Jack finds it difficult sharing meals with you and then working at opposite ends of the spectrum, as it were, in the factory. And you must admit, it is never a comfortable experience for anyone. I simply won’t have a repetition of that fracas we had the other morning.’

  ‘Eat in the kitchen? Why should I? I’m not a bloody servant!’

  ‘My dear boy, you certainly sound like one.’

  Bunty, equally appalled, attempted to defend him, ‘You can’t do that, Mama. You can’t ask Callum to eat in the kitchen, it wouldn’t be right!’

  Lucy ignored her. ‘If you would but mind your language, and your manners, I may reconsider. Until then, I would prefer it if you dined elsewhere. I must confess that, personally, I find your presence at our table - well, I hesitate to use the word but it is the only one appropriate - deeply offensive.’

  ‘Mam won’t stand for it.’ The decision left Callum more angry on Kate’s behalf than his own. He didn’t care where he ate. He already felt himself to be an outsider in this household, and would be glad to escape the constant bickering with Jack, having him watch every move he made, picking fault over the slightest mistake, like using the wrong knife or dropping his napkin on the floor. But this house had been left entirely to Kate, and, as her son, he too had rights. Who were these people to make him feel unwelcome? Callum also felt certain that Eliot Tyson, who had adopted him when all was said and done and therefore must have cared for him once, would be ashamed to have any son of his eat with the servants. It didn’t seem right.

  Yet did it really matter?

  Eliot had not named him as heir. He’d left his money and possessions to the two women, taking it for granted that his missing child never would come home again, so why should Callum care? Why did he waste so much time worrying about the man when he was dead?

  Because the one person who would surely be hurt by this piece of malice, was his mother. Callum tried again to make this point. ‘You’d never try this on if me mam were here.’

  ‘But she isn’t, is she?’ Lucy sweetly reminded him.

  ‘I could write and tell her. Anyroad, she’ll be home soon.’

  ‘Do as you please,’ she told him, clearly unmoved. ‘Your mother will do as I tell her, and so will you. As for you, Bunty, if you wish to have your year in Switzerland, and be properly finished, then keep your nose out of what doesn’t concern you.’

  ‘But I don’t want a year in Switzerland, or anywhere else for that matter. I’ve told you a thousand times, Mother, I don’t care about being finished, as you call it.’

  ‘Oh, yes you will care, miss. You will go to Switzerland, I assure you, and quite soon. I’ll not be shown up in society by any daughter of mine, and if you don’t go out into society how will you ever find a husband?’

  Callum was reduced to watching with pity in his blue-grey eyes as Lucy turned her attention to berating Bunty instead.

  Mrs Petty was equally affronted when she heard the news. ‘By heck, that’s a fine kettle of fish. The cheeky madam. Never you mind, lad, you’ll do all right wi’ us in t’kitchen. And you’ll allus get the choicest meat at our table.’

  ‘You mean, we don’t get the choicest cuts in the dining room?’

  Mrs Petty adopted a puzzled expression. ‘I don’t know what it is about meat, lad, but when I has to cook it for that madam, as opposed to your lovely mam, it never quite turns out as it should. Funny that!’

  Callum snorted with suppressed laughter. He liked Mrs Petty, he really did. ‘She’s talking about wanting to hold dinner parties,’ he warned her. ‘So the meat might have to behave then.’

  ‘Dinner parties?’ Mrs Petty looked aghast. ‘Nay, not with the master so recently buried? He’ll turn in his grave.’

  ‘Spin, I shouldn’t wonder, with all I’ve heard she’s got planned,’ Callum agreed. ‘But then he only has himself to blame for leaving her such a large share in the business.’

  Mrs Petty clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘I can’t imagine what he was thinking of to do such a daft thing. Not like him at all. But then he allus was too soft where family was concerned. I know he felt guilty over his brother, but why would he cut you out? Don’t make no sense.’

  ‘Well, I was missing when he made the will, and he wasn’t expecting to die so soon, was he?’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the will, Mrs P. He left the decision over who was ultimately to inherit to Mam and Lucy to sort out between them, so it’s bound to be Jack, since he’s a Tyson and I’m the infiltrator, the outsider.’ Callum didn’t even know why he was defending Eliot. What did it matter who
inherited?

  Mrs Petty shook her head. ‘Nay, the master loved you as his own. Broke his heart when you vanished. Eeh, lad, if he’d known when he wrote it that you were still alive and might come home one day, he’d never’ve left things in that unsatisfactory way. He never did get the chance to change it, what with the war an’ all. You must stand yer ground, don’t let them shove you out. You has yer rights too, workhouse kid or not. Just like our Ida here. Ida, have you peeled those spuds yet, or are you day- dreaming, as usual?’

  Chapter Six

  Within days of Kate’s departure, Lucy had brought in decorators and had them start on the refurbishment of the drawing room. She threw out the shabby old sofas, rugs and curtains, made them strip the Victorian flock wallpaper from the walls and burn off the old brown paint, just as if she were the mistress of Tyson Lodge and not Kate, Eliot’s widow.

  ‘Did you ask Mam if she minded, if it were all right to chuck her husband’s stuff away?’ Callum wanted to know, horrified by Lucy’s autocratic manner, which seemed to be growing worse by the minute.

  ‘Your darling mama is well aware that Tyson Lodge needs updating. Goodness, I don’t even have my own bathroom as the house possesses only one. In this day and age! It’s utterly appalling. Don’t worry, I shall have everything tidy and ship-shape by the time she comes home. The dear lady will be delighted to have been spared the bother.’

  A note had duly been dispatched to Scarborough to urge the aunts and Kate to stay for a second week, or preferably three, as a bathroom leak had been detected and much needed repairs and refurbishments were in hand.

  Lucy brought in plumbers, electricians and carpenters, and set about installing a second bathroom in the single bedroom which adjoined her own. Also a cloakroom on the ground floor, and another, smaller bathroom at the back of the house, for the aunts to share. She didn’t trouble about improving the servant’s quarters, considering facilities for them to be an unnecessary expense.