Penningtons

by Pamela Oldfield

  ‘And the back door was open so . . .’

  ‘So that’s how he left the premises.’ He made a few last jottings in his notebook. ‘We’ll see what we find in the morning. It’ll be light then. Might be lucky and find footprints.’

  When he’d gone Dilys started to laugh, and then she cried. Eventually she went to the telephone to waken Albert and Hettie but had second thoughts. It could wait until the morning when she was more in control. She didn’t want their pity. Hettie might even gloat over her misfortune – she had often derided Dilys’s attempts to help the poor and needy. Dilys could imagine her sister-in-law saying, ‘That’s the thanks you get for your “do-gooding”.’

  Slowly she made her way upstairs, leaving all the lights on behind her. The thought of the broken window made her even more nervous so she had locked the kitchen door which led into the hallway. If he did come back he would be unable to get further than the kitchen.

  Upstairs she walked into her bedroom and stared around her. The man, whoever he was, had been here, watching her sleep. Suppose she had roused from her dreams and surprised him . . . how would he have reacted? Would he have fled downstairs in a panic or . . . or stayed to ‘hurt’ her?

  She swallowed hard while her insides trembled. She had never been so near to violence in her life, she reflected; had never been so vulnerable to attack – and the thought terrified her. Unable to stay in the bedroom a moment longer, she pulled the eiderdown from the bed and carried it downstairs. In the sitting room she curled up on the sofa and covered herself with the eiderdown. Too late she thought about a pillow but nothing would induce her to go back upstairs so she reached for a cushion instead and settled herself for the healing sleep which unfortunately did not come. Instead she spent the hours until dawn reliving the whole ghastly experience and wondering how to protect herself from further unlawful visits.

  While Dilys was suffering a traumatic experience, Daisy lay in bed smiling up into the darkness. In the next bedroom she could hear Monty snoring and the occasional creak of the bed springs. She was thinking about Steven Anders at the solicitors’ office and wondering how to arrange another meeting. Either she could go to the office on some pretext (she would have to invent a reason) or she would have to think of a reason for him to make a call at the house. She could ask Monty to invite him to the house to discuss something . . . or she could go in to the office on some excuse without telling her employer. He would probably never find out.

  ‘Mr Steven Anders,’ she said. ‘And Mrs Steven Anders . . . and their three children!’ It sounded wonderful, she thought wistfully.

  Daisy tried to recall what he looked like. Not plump, grey eyes and a nice smile. He’d been wearing the usual clothes for a man in his position – dark suit with a bit of handkerchief showing in the top pocket . . . and a starched collar. Probably well-polished shoes.

  She was pretending that he was a bachelor. Surely he wasn’t a married man? That would be too awful to think about. Instead she imagined a doting mother cooking his breakfast of bacon and eggs and waving him off at the front door as he left for the office.

  She wondered if the secretary was in love with him. Daisy had no real experience of secretaries but it seemed like the sort of thing they might do. ‘Marrying the boss’. It had a chillingly familiar ring to it.

  More than an hour later Daisy fell asleep in the middle of planning what she would wear when she and Steven Anders next met. She knew she looked quite fetching in her maid’s outfit but she would hope to look more mature dressed to visit the offices of Desmond & Marsh.

  She was woken by the sound of the telephone and scrambled from the bed, only half awake. She ran down the stairs and snatched up the receiver.

  ‘Yes?’ she said breathlessly.

  It was Hettie. ‘Listen carefully, Daisy, and don’t interrupt. There has been an unpleasant occurrence. I’ve had Dilys on the telephone in a state of near hysteria. The house was burgled in the middle of the night and she saw the wretch escaping through the back garden. She thinks—’

  ‘Oh! Poor Mrs Maynard!’

  ‘I asked you not to interrupt, Daisy. Please pay attention.’

  ‘But is she all right?’

  ‘Of course she is. Very frightened but unhurt. The fact is she refuses to stay there alone and wanted to come here for a few days but that is quite out of the question. I have suggested she stays with Montague so I’d like to speak to him a little later. Please ask him to telephone me around ten o’clock.’

  ‘Has she told the police? They should be told. They—’

  ‘You’re doing it again, Daisy! Let me do the talking, please.’

  Daisy stifled a groan. They had got rid of Miss Willis but now Mrs Maynard was going to move in! She could imagine what poor old Monty would say – and she herself was none too pleased. No more cosy chats. She would have to be a dutiful maid again.

  ‘So, Daisy, you had better prepare one of the spare bedrooms. Put a hot water bottle in to air the bed and open the windows. A little polish wouldn’t come amiss or a few flowers. And be prepared for histrionics. My sister—’

  ‘Histrionics?’

  ‘Rather hysterical behaviour. My sister-in-law is very highly strung and this episode has upset her. I shall ask her doctor to call on her before she comes to you. He can give her something soothing. I think that’s everything. Remember, around ten o’clock. Tell Montague what has happened. I must rush. The chimney sweep is due any moment.’

  Daisy replaced the receiver with a sigh. Dilys was coming to stay. She must prepare Monty. There was no way to soften the blow. He would not be pleased.

  SIX

  At half past ten on the following day Dilys arrived and Daisy saw at once what Hettie had meant. The effect of the night’s terrors was clearly marked on her face. She was very pale and a little dishevelled as though she had not been able to take the usual care with her appearance. She was dressed in warm but unfashionable clothes, as though she needed the comfort of her familiar tweeds, and her ankles revealed thick lisle stockings inside sturdy lace-up shoes. She sat with Monty in the sitting room with a tray of tea and told Daisy to sit down with them. Nothing loath, Daisy settled herself and prepared to be shocked.

  ‘I want you both to hear what has happened,’ Dilys told them. ‘It will help you to be on the lookout for this dreadful man. Even here I don’t feel safe – no offence, Montague – because I’m convinced he has a grudge against the family. We are all potential victims!’

  Daisy felt a tremor of something akin to fear as she watched Dilys’s expression as she relived her nightmare. ‘I think you’re very brave, Mrs Maynard,’ she told her. ‘It must be terrible even to talk about it.’

  Dilys smiled wanly. ‘I’m sure the man is the one who trespassed at Hettie and Albert’s home and behaved very oddly. Not threatening exactly but strange behaviour. You, Montague, might be next!’

  ‘Good Lord!’ he said. ‘I hope you’re wrong about that, Dilys.’

  Daisy said, ‘We haven’t seen anybody lurking about here, have we, sir?’

  He shook his head uncertainly without answering.

  Dilys stirred her tea. ‘That doesn’t mean he won’t appear or do something unpleasant. I spent an hour with the police this morning and they don’t seem to take it very seriously although they will be checking the pawnbrokers and second-hand shops with the list I gave them of what was stolen from the house as well as the old bicycle he stole from Mr Trew’s garden shed.’

  Daisy said, ‘It’s nothing short of wicked! Frightening people and taking their jewels.’

  Dilys shrugged. ‘The world is no longer a safe place for the innocent. That’s what this is telling us.’

  Monty frowned thoughtfully. ‘Were you able to give them a description of this wretch? They can draw a picture, you know, just a pencil sketch, and sometimes it can be a very good likeness.’

  Dilys shook her head. ‘He was outside in the dark . . . To think that a complete stranger was standing besid
e me while I slept – completely unaware of the danger! Anything could have happened! I could be dead!’ Her mouth trembled.

  Monty said, ‘Now hold on there, Dilys. Nothing did happen. Cling to that thought. If he intended to harm you, you wouldn’t be sitting here now. Take comfort from—’

  ‘I can’t take comfort from anything!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you see where this is leading? What is it about us?’ She turned to Daisy. ‘I will do the rounds with you every night to make sure the windows and doors are bolted – not that it prevented the break-in back home. He simply smashed the window.’

  Daisy said, ‘We could get a dog.’

  They considered the idea but Dilys pointed out that a puppy would take months to train by which time it might be too late.

  ‘But it would be useful later,’ Monty argued. ‘And a cat would be nice.’

  ‘But you don’t like animals. You never did as a child. Dogs scared you.’ She looked at him reproachfully. ‘I wanted a puppy but because of you Mother said no.’

  ‘I was only nervous of the noisy, yappy dogs. Like . . . like terriers and those with the squashed up noses. We could get a quiet one.’

  Daisy pointed out that a quiet, un-yappy dog would probably not frighten away a burglar and added, ‘Anyway, some burglars poison the dog! They give it a piece of meat with—’

  Dilys cried, ‘Do stop, Daisy! Forget about the dogs.’

  Her brother turned to her. ‘Why didn’t you stay with Albert and Hettie? You might have been safer there. Albert plays golf. He could set about a burglar with one of his clubs. Put the fear of God into the blighter!’

  Her face fell. ‘Hettie said it was out of the question. I expect she’s busy.’

  She drank her tea but Daisy noticed that her hands were still shaking.

  ‘Would you feel better about going back home some time if there was someone else in the house?’ she asked.

  Monty brightened. ‘Maybe the gardener.’

  ‘Mr Trew?’ His sister gave him a withering look. ‘And get myself talked about? Really, Montague, that is not very helpful.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ he said, suitably chastened.

  ‘And what would Mr Trew’s wife think about it?’

  They fell silent for several minutes while the teacups were refreshed.

  ‘What about a woman?’ Daisy suggested. ‘Your Mrs Gray, for instance. That woman would frighten any burglar and people couldn’t gossip about you being alone with a woman.’

  Dilys considered the idea. ‘It’s a possibility, Daisy. I could ask her – but she has an invalid brother she looks after. She probably wouldn’t leave him alone at night.’

  The conversation finally faltered, Daisy suggested taking Mrs Maynard upstairs to see if the spare bedroom held everything she would need for a short stay, and the two women left Monty to his unsettling thoughts.

  That afternoon the secretary at Marsh & Desmond took a telephone call and hurried into Steven Anders’ office.

  ‘It’s a call from a Mrs Pennington,’ she told him. ‘She wants to talk to Mr Desmond.’

  ‘He’s at the dentist. An extraction.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I’m telling you – in case you want to deal with it in his absence. Poor Mr Desmond’s having an extraction and he won’t feel like returning to the office. He’s sure to go straight home afterwards.’

  ‘Can’t you give her an appointment for tomorrow?’

  ‘Mrs Pennington says it’s urgent and Mr Marsh already has a client booked for eleven.’

  Steven’s mind worked fast. He would have time to read through the notes before she arrived and this was the family that Miss Letts worked for. It would be interesting to know what was happening in the family and just might lead to a visit from the young housemaid.

  He smiled. ‘Right you are then, I’ll take it,’ he said with a ring of false confidence, crossing his fingers that he would be able to understand the problem and offer something constructive.

  Before she arrived he tidied his desk and arranged a variety of documents on it to suggest a workload in progress. He tidied his hair and straightened his tie and rubbed each shoe against the neighbouring trouser leg to improve the polish. Inspecting his hands and nails, he wished, not for the first time, that he wore a heavy gold ring of some kind. On his partners’ hands he felt they added an air of experience and sophistication which his own lacked.

  Steven was practising a businesslike smile when Hettie Pennington strode into the office and Steven realized immediately that she was someone to be reckoned with. His heart sank a little as he realized that the forthcoming exchange might not go according to his expectations but he assumed a cheerful expression and leaned across the desk to shake her hand. She was dressed in an expensive suit in a dark grey wool and the felt hat, which revealed a severe bun at the nape of her neck, was held to her head with a large hatpin. A string of blue beads completed the ensemble and she carried a large leather purse.

  She sat down at once and regarded him severely. ‘You must understand, Mr Anders, that this conversation must remain confidential. I want you to know that I am acting in the best interests of my brother Montague. I see you have a folder on the desk in front of you. Is that ours?’

  Steven, ruffled, felt that she had somehow taken charge of the consultation. Pointedly, he said, ‘Good morning, Mrs Pennington. I’m sorry Mr Desmond cannot see you but rest assured I shall pass on all relevant details to him when he is next in the office. Now how can I help you?’

  Slightly taken aback she quickly rallied. ‘The folder in front of you – is that ours?’

  ‘Yes.’ He patted it. ‘This is for Mr and Mrs Albert Pennington.’

  ‘Ah! Just what I feared. We actually need my brother’s file and not ours. The matter is somewhat delicate but I am here to speak about my brother.’

  Steven hid his dismay. All his prior reading had been a waste of time. ‘Your brother – that is Mr Montague Pennington.’

  ‘Exactly. That is what I have come to consult you about.’

  ‘But we have a confidentiality clause, Mrs Pennington. I could only produce that file if you have a letter from him giving you permission. You must understand that our clients are naturally very sensitive to matters of privacy.’

  Hettie sighed, making her frustration obvious. ‘Mr Anders, you must understand that such a letter is not possible in these circumstances.’

  ‘And these circumstances are . . .?’ He waited. The woman was definitely nervous, he thought curiously.

  ‘I have my brother-in-law’s best interests at heart – that is we do, my husband and I – and, you see, this is very difficult . . . painful in fact, for me.’ She sighed. ‘The money in our family has always been passed down to the eldest son which in this case is Montague and so far this has never been a problem. However, he is showing signs of increasing senility lately and my husband and widowed sister-in-law . . .’

  She paused for air and Steven saw a faint blush rising in her neck. Now he was beginning to suspect her purpose.

  ‘Oh dear!’ Mrs Pennington smiled thinly. ‘This is so very difficult for me.’

  She laid a hand on her heart and took a deep breath and Steven could not tell if she was acting or not. He said, ‘Take your time, Mrs Pennington. My time is yours.’ He felt rather pleased with the last sentence and hoped his client was impressed.

  With her head bent, she put a hand across her eyes.

  He said, ‘Perhaps it would be better for you if your husband dealt with the problem.’

  Her head snapped up at once. ‘Oh no! My husband is very upset by this – this development and cannot bring himself to accept the deterioration which I recognize in Montague. Albert has always looked up to his older brother in a way – not that they like each other very much. Sibling rivalry, I suppose.’ She fiddled with the blue beads, staring into the past. ‘Each one trying to take whatever the other had. Jealousy, plain and simple, Mr Anders, and within a family it can be very corrosive.’ She hes
itated then continued. ‘Monica Tatchet was supposed to wed Montague but Albert coveted her. Albert stole her from his brother. You can imagine!’

  Steven said, ‘How . . . how unfortunate!’

  She rolled her eyes expressively. ‘Unfortunate is definitely an understatement, Mr Anders! It was nothing less than disastrous. They had a son but then Monica died and meanwhile Albert met Cressida.’ She smiled mirthlessly. ‘You can guess what happened.’

  Steven blinked. ‘You don’t mean . . . that Montague stole her from Albert?’

  ‘Exactly! Can you credit it? They say revenge is sweet! You might say the family was torn apart. No doubt the whole of Bath was discussing the Penningtons. The family is very well known in the area.’ Shaking her head, she was obviously reliving the experience. Her shoulders had slumped and her lips were pressed together tightly as if to prevent further disclosures.

  Steven waited, trying to hide his interest. How much of this story could he pass on to Daisy, he wondered. Trying to maintain an impassive expression he gently rearranged his pen and pencil on either side of the blotter and allowed his client time with her thoughts.

  Eventually she straightened her shoulders and looked at him sharply. ‘But that was all before I joined the family by marrying Albert. I like to think we have resolved the friction and are reasonably united these days. Water under the bridge.’ She gave him a stern look. ‘I don’t expect you to repeat a word of what I have told you, Mr Anders. If you do I shall ensure your instant dismissal.’

  ‘Not a word, Mrs Pennington!’ he assured her with a rush of anxiety and guilt – because he did not doubt that this formidable woman would carry out her threat.

  ‘What was I saying?’ she demanded.

  ‘Er . . . about your husband not wanting to—’

  ‘Oh yes. Albert finds this very distressing. Poor Montague is becoming somewhat disorientated in the way older people do, and shows no interest in finance and I am afraid he will allow matters to slide – if that’s the right way to put it. I am hoping that one of us – preferably my husband – will come round to facing the truth before it is too late. The truth that Montague needs our help. There is such a thing as . . .’ She hesitated.