She held up her hand. ‘Please, Albert, at least allow me to enter the house first and sit down with a pot of tea! I have had a very disturbing time myself with your wretched brother.’
He waited unhappily until they sat on either side of the fire in the sitting room, and then launched into his account.
‘I was in the garden, minding my own business and watching the goldfish when a man appeared. He gave me quite a fright as a matter of fact.’ He took another mouthful of his whisky. ‘He was not exactly ragged but . . . very unkempt.’
‘A tramp? Is that what you mean?’
‘Not exactly. He didn’t ask for money. Tall, possibly about thirty. Grim expression . . . and he just stood there, watching me without speaking.’
‘Dumb, do you think – or did he speak?’
‘He did eventually but at first he just stared at me.’
He took another drink and Hettie said, ‘Go steady on that, Albert. You know it doesn’t suit you.’
‘It suits me today! It suits me very well today!’
He emptied the glass and Hettie sighed. Whisky made him truculent but, curious to know more about the unwanted visitor, she let the matter drop and said, ‘Please get on with it, Albert. I have problems of my own and I have to telephone Dilys.’
It appeared that the man had walked slowly towards Albert with a ‘menacing look’ on his face.
‘To be honest, Hettie, he scared me. I thought he might mean me some harm. I thought he might attack me . . . or push me into the fish pond. It was very disconcerting.’
‘And who was this man?’
‘Lord knows! I don’t. I asked him what he wanted and he said it was complicated.’
‘Complicated? In what way?’ Despite her irritation, Hettie was becoming rather alarmed. ‘He must have given you some clue.’
‘That’s just it. He did not volunteer any information. I said he was trespassing and asked him to leave but he just laughed.’
‘Do you think . . . Is it possible he was deranged? Should we report this to the police, Albert?’ Forgetting her irritation she leaned closer to him. ‘He may have escaped from somewhere!’
‘The police will call it a simple case of trespass. What can they do? The fellow didn’t actually threaten me and he didn’t lay a finger on me – thank God.’
They sat in silence for a moment and then Hettie said, ‘Could you give them a description because he may have done the same thing elsewhere and they might already be looking for him?’
‘Thirtyish, a scrappy beard, poorly dressed, dirty, odd . . . and tall. Not much to go on, is it?’
An idea came to her. ‘He may have called on other people in this street. You could ask the neighbours.’
‘You could ask them, Hettie. You’re better at—’
‘Don’t be such a weasel, Albert!’ she cried, exasperated. ‘It happened to you, not me. You have all the details. Anyway I have to talk to Dilys. After all my efforts to find Montague another housekeeper – and she was entirely suitable – I’m almost certain he is going to turn her down. Didn’t take to her because she was “too forceful”! Really, Albert! Your brother can be very aggravating and that’s putting it mildly. And he was up and fully dressed – and throwing his weight about!’
‘Up and dressed?’ He stared at his wife in disbelief.
‘Yes. That was my strange encounter. My brother-in-law up and dressed and behaving in a very high-handed way.’
Hettie gave him a brief resume of the interview and its aftermath, taking some pleasure at her husband’s astonishment.
Another silence fell while they both stared disconsolately into the fire. When Albert got up to add a few knobs of coal, Hettie said, ‘Actually, Albert, this tea is doing nothing for me. I think I’d like a small sherry.’
FOUR
The offices of Desmond & Marsh, Solicitors, were situated on The Corridor. The premises consisted of a large office which doubled as a reception, two smaller interview rooms, (made even smaller by the large cupboards along each wall), a smaller ‘kitchen’ and a cloakroom of sorts. The staff consisted of Mr Marsh, a stolid middle-aged man; elderly Mr Desmond whose health was failing and who was often absent; young Steven Anders who was studying for his first-year examinations, and a secretary who worked for the other three.
Steven Anders had only been with the firm for four months and was very junior indeed although he liked to refer to himself as a trainee solicitor. At twenty-four he was a pleasant young man, slim, with sandy hair and cheerful manner – the sort of man that made the unmarried secretary wish she were not ten years older than him.
Today Steven was being prepared to see a Miss Daisy Letts on behalf of a Montague Pennington. Mr Marsh gave Steven a little background to the client.
‘Wealthy old man, Montague Pennington. Wife also had private money. She is now deceased but her file is still operational . . . Haven’t set eyes on the old man for years now – bit of an invalid, apparently.’ He scratched his thinning hair absent-mindedly and sighed. ‘Lives somewhere overlooking Alexandra Park. Nice area. Had to visit him once or twice. Forget why, actually.’
‘Mm! Very classy area!’ Steven raised his eyebrows.
Mr Marsh was searching one of the cupboards for the correct file, found it and opened it. ‘Let’s see . . . Oh! Wrong “Pennington”. This is the wife’s file.’ He replaced it and took out another one.’
Steven said, ‘So the wife has her own file!’
‘Yes. There are outstanding matters that . . . well, no need to bother you with that. Here’s the husband’s file.’ He riffled through it. ‘Ah yes. The housekeeper is authorized to collect the money each week – household bills and so on – on behalf of her employer. A Miss Dutton.’
‘I thought I was seeing a Miss Letts.’
‘Ye–es. Wonder why that is? Still, you’ll find out. Any problems, give me a shout.’
He tossed the folder and Steven caught it and sat down to await his client. This, in his opinion, was the best part of the job. Face to face with the clients. The rest consisted of studying for his next exam, occasionally answering the telephone and writing reports on the interviews he had been allowed to conduct. Very occasionally he was asked to ‘run errands’ which reminded him how junior he was to the two partners.
His phone rang. ‘There’s a Miss Letts here for you, Mr Anders.’
He straightened his shoulders. ‘Send her in, please.’
Miss Letts seemed eager to begin, settling herself on the chair before being invited to do so, and leaning forward confidentially. ‘I suppose you’ve heard. Miss Dutton left in a hurry and I’m standing in for her until we find another housekeeper.’ She grinned. ‘I’m the housemaid but at the moment I’m doing everything. Cooking, cleaning, looking after poor old – I mean, Mr Pennington. Not that he’s a problem but he is old and I don’t let him sit in a draught and I can cook . . . a bit.’
‘I see,’ said Steven, somewhat taken aback by her directness but pleased by her humble position which meant, he hoped, that she would be impressed by a young, up-and-coming ‘solicitor’.
She sat up a little straighter. ‘I’ve brought a letter from Mr Pennington about you letting me collect the money each week. That is to say, I’m trustworthy and everything. Which I am.’
‘Right. Yes, of course. May I see this letter, please.’ He wondered if housemaids were supposed to be so confident. He tried to imagine her in a cap and apron and thought she would look the part. And such lovely red hair . . .
He read the letter twice to delay her departure. ‘Hmm. That seems to be in order,’ he told her. Then, for something else to say, he added, ‘I’m sorry to hear about Mrs Pennington’s death.’
‘Mrs Pennington? Oh . . . yes. But I never knew her. She was already dead when I took the job . . . but she is mentioned sometimes. I think she was very nice. And beautiful. There’s a photograph of her with Mr Pennington on their wedding day. Did you ever meet her?’
‘Afraid not. I’ve
only recently taken this position.’
‘But you are a solicitor?’
He hesitated. ‘I will be. There are examinations to pass.’ He waved his hand airily as if they were of no significance.
‘Really? Examinations. I don’t envy you – but if you ever want a reference, come to me.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll say you’re very thorough.’
He laughed. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Miss Letts. But now . . . back to business. I’ll keep this letter in Mr Pennington’s file and I’ll cancel Miss Dutton’s permission to accept the money. What happened to her to make her leave? She wasn’t sacked, I hope.’
Daisy explained about Miss Dutton’s mother and he nodded. ‘We all hate the idea of hospitals,’ he said. He unlocked the top drawer of his desk and drew out a cash box. Then he referred again to his client’s letter of authorization. ‘I see he has changed the amount,’ he said. ‘It’s less than before.’
She frowned. ‘That may be because he only has to pay me as well as the housekeeping, instead of me and a housekeeper and the housekeeping. Does that make sense to you? I’m only getting an extra ninepence a day and that’s for staying overnight. He’s very afraid of being alone in the house when it’s dark.’
‘And you aren’t afraid?’
‘No. I like the dark. It’s peaceful. And I’m sleeping in what used to be Miss Dutton’s room so that if Monty needs anything in the night he just rings his bell and I rush along.’
Now Steven began to envy the old man. ‘You seem very young for all the responsibility, Miss Letts – if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘I don’t mind. It’s not for long and I’m not nearly as good as Miss Dutton. I admit the meals aren’t so good although I’m learning, and the place is getting a bit dusty and, you know, untidy round the edges but I can’t do everything. And he is very grateful, Mr Pennington that is. We get along. To tell you the truth, I’d rather the two of us just muddled along than have a horrible bossy housekeeper that neither of us likes.’
‘I can understand that. But forgive me if I’m a little curious. How did you get the job?’
She frowned, giving the question some serious thought. ‘It came about through my father, I suppose. He works on a farm on the outskirts of the town, and Mr Pennington buys eggs, cream and butter from them and my father heard there was a job going there for a young girl. Ma said it was about I time I earned a few bob.’ She shrugged. ‘I’d already left school and I was bored at home and so I said “yes” and here I am!’
And looking very well on it, Steven thought. He said, ‘I noticed from the file that the whole family lives around Bath. At least, I assume so. We have clients called Albert Pennington – I think he lives on Widcombe Hill – and a Mrs Maynard who used to be a Pennington. I don’t know where they live.’
‘I don’t either. I only know their telephone numbers. I can use the telephone,’ she said proudly. ‘It’s not as bad as people think although the operators always sound rather stuffy.’
‘Er yes. Maybe they do. I think they have to be like that otherwise they would get into conversations and waste time.’
She nodded. ‘And it’s Dilys who was married to John Maynard but now he’s dead, and Albert is now married to Hettie. They’re both still alive.’
He smiled. ‘Thank goodness. I was beginning to think the family was jinxed!’
They laughed together at the idea.
Daisy said, ‘I want Monty – that’s what we call Mr Pennington – to live a long time. I like working for him. The only snag is his sister-in-law – we call her Horrible Hettie – because when she comes to visit, which isn’t often, she will insist on interfering. And I’m not sure yet about Dilys.’
‘Some people can be difficult,’ he agreed eagerly. ‘A lot of work that we do as solicitors is a result of family disagreements which have often started in childhood and lingered through the years. Sometimes the disagreements are never settled and last for generations and then I suppose they become family feuds!’
‘Well, I needn’t worry because I’m an only child so I’ll have no one to disagree with!’
‘Whereas I have two brothers and a sister – all younger than me and a mixed blessing!’
Minutes later, when Daisy had departed with the money, Steven hoped he had not been indiscreet. He had been rather overwhelmed by the young woman and now thought he may have overstepped the mark. He was glad that Mr Marsh had not been privy to the conversation but decided, if he ever had a few moments to spare, he would investigate the Pennington family, out of interest. Their files would no doubt offer insights and if Miss Letts came in again, he would be more knowledgeable about her employers. He hoped she would come in again and wondered if he could think of a reason to telephone the Penningtons. If he did, presumably Miss Letts would answer the telephone . . .
Without Miss Letts’ presence, he found the office less bright and thought the sun had gone in but when he looked out of the window it was still shining.
Once a month Hettie and Dilys met in the Pump Room to take a medicinal glass of the Spa’s well-known spring water. This was more an opportunity to be seen in the town’s famous venue rather than a chance to converse but this same morning they each had something to share with the other – and none of it good.
Once ensconced, having each accepted a glass of the famous water, Dilys told her sister-in-law about the man in the soup kitchen queue and Hettie listened silently but in growing horror.
‘He sounds very like the man who frightened Albert!’ she exclaimed, her eyes wide with alarm and proceeded to tell Dilys her own story. ‘So in the end, just to set my mind at ease that we weren’t the only ones he pestered, I did call on several of the neighbours, as Albert suggested, but only one had had a similar visit and the fellow was not frightening but only asked for a drink of water and only stayed a moment or two.’ Out of breath, she paused and went on. ‘So why did he upset Albert? You don’t think it was the same man who upset you, do you?’
Dilys sipped the water thoughtfully, trying to retain her poise in case any of the other people ‘taking the cure’ would think her anxious. The elegant Pump Room with its beautiful chandeliers, was a room for quiet contemplation or discreet whisperings.
‘If it was just you and Albert,’ Dilys hazarded, ‘then why hasn’t he contacted Montague? I mean, Hettie, if it’s a family thing . . .’
‘A family thing? Why should it be? As you said yourself, he hasn’t approached Montague.’
Dilys caught the eye of a passing acquaintance and forced a smile. ‘Mrs Forster! How nice to see you. Are you and your daughter well?’
‘As well as can be expected, thank you. And you, Mrs Maynard?’
‘In good health, thank you.’
As Mrs Forster drifted past, the smile vanished and Dilys continued in a low voice. ‘But how do we know that he hasn’t been to call on them? Maybe he did call and they haven’t thought to tell us about it. Perhaps they thought it unimportant or maybe they were out at the time. If he called at Park View and that slip of a girl dealt with him she might not have the sense to tell Montague about it.’ They stared at each other in dismay.
Hettie said, ‘Maybe we should go over there and find out. He may be harmless and we might be worrying about nothing but . . .’ She shrugged.
After some whispered discussion it was finally decided that as soon as they found another housekeeper they would use that as an excuse to visit Montague and they would then inquire, in a casual way, about the mystery man.
‘Which brings me to another matter,’ Dilys announced. ‘We really cannot expect that young woman to do all the housework and the cooking. I suspect the house will be neglected, simply because there are not enough hours in a day for Daisy to do the work even if she wanted to.’
‘Well, if we find a suitable housekeeper the problem will be solved.’
‘But what if Montague doesn’t like any of them? He’s paying the wages, remember. We can’t insist. He can be very awkward when he c
hooses.’
Hettie drained her glass. ‘Do you think this water really does you any good?’
‘I have no idea. I don’t suppose it does any harm and it’s supposed to have all sorts of vitamins and things.’ She frowned. ‘Perhaps, until we find a replacement for Miss Dutton we could find her a woman to do the heavy work. Scrub the floors, wash and mangle and dry the washing. The work my Mrs Gray does.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe she would do it for Montague. She only works for me part-time.’
‘Just put in two or three hours a week?’ Hettie asked. ‘Is that what you mean?’
‘Exactly.’
Hettie hid her surprise. Her sister-in-law was being very cooperative. She had frequently boasted that Mrs Gray was ‘a veritable workhorse’! On an impulse, before the cooperative mood faded, she brought up the question of Montague’s financial situation. ‘We must reassure ourselves that he is capable of handling what must be a fair income. Possibly he has investments, bonds or shares. If he’s as forgetful as I think he is, he could let things slide. I wonder whether we should talk about this problem with the solicitor.’ She looked at Dilys. ‘It wouldn’t be fair if we allow him to flounder if it means losing money. Family money, in effect.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s our money in a way, because if he dies first it will come to us.’
Dilys pursed her lips. ‘I’m not sure that Desmond &Marsh would deal with us without written permission from Montague – and we won’t get that unless he’s declared unfit, in some way.’
‘Maybe one of us could talk to his doctor.’
‘It would have to be me. I’m his sister. You’re only a Pennington by marriage.’
Hettie bridled. ‘What difference does that make? I’m part of the family and if you did not exist I would be a perfectly acceptable person – and it was my idea. I shall go.’
The room was filling up and as they had finished drinking they felt it only fair to surrender the table so they gathered up gloves and purses and left the Pump Room and stood outside, still talking.
Penningtons Page 6
