‘So what happened?’
‘I was all my mother had in the world. We had no relations, and she had very few friends who would actually come and help. The prognosis wasn’t good, and the doctors said she had little time left. So I decided to move her to a nursing home, a good one, and I sold everything we had to pay for her care. We didn’t have much money, but I couldn’t have nursed her alone; she needed several of us at once. Just before we moved from her house, my mother received a letter from the War Office. I opened it, naturally, and I read that due to my death on the SS Victoria, the War Office had decided to pay my mother a monthly pension as recompense. The first month’s cheque was included. It was a godsend.’
Helena looked at Posie slightly defiantly. ‘That monthly cheque kept us both going for the next few months. The care was ridiculously expensive, and I couldn’t work as I was with my mother all the time. I had no place of my own, so I used to sleep on the floor next to my mother’s bed, and they let me stay there, out of pity, I think. I didn’t have enough to spend on food, either, which is when I began to lose weight. And once a month I’d collect this cheque at the Post Office. We came to rely on it.’
Posie was beginning to see the difficulty.
‘I’d heard about the bombing of the Clearing Station at Arras, and I had read William’s obituary in the newspaper in February 1918. I was sorry about his death. Despite what he had done to me, I wouldn’t have wished that upon him for the world.’
Helena twisted the tarnished pearl engagement ring in what looked like a familiar habit. ‘My mother died in the June, six months after her stroke. About the same time my mother died I also read a short article in The Lady, complete with photographs. It was about a beautiful blonde woman called Felicity Fyne, detailing the bravery of her husband, a war-doctor. A man she’d married on Boxing Day 1917 in Arras. A man who had died in February that year. A man called William Winter. And that’s when I realised that rather than dumping me because I just wasn’t the right person for him, he had rejected me in favour of this woman, this Felicity Fyne. I saw red.’
‘I can imagine.’ Posie nodded sympathetically.
‘I had to do something. I didn’t want to stay in Wales forever, not with my mother dead and buried, so I decided to move to England. The problem was, I had come to rely on this cheque every month. So I decided to continue drawing it, to not tell the War Office that my mother had died, and to not bother informing them that I was actually alive. I changed identities instead and became Dulcie Deane, whom I had known fairly well, and I was certain was dead. I remembered that she had had some connections in London, including a place at a good hostel, and being an only child like me, and a bit of a loner, there would be no family or real friends to make complications. But just in case, I cut my hair and dyed it red like hers; I’d already lost a lot of weight and I started to wear different clothes, as similar to Dulcie’s as I could manage. I changed my writing, too, although I never had to write or sign much which could be compared to her real writing. It all went swimmingly, and I did manage to get a room in her name in the new hostel which was being built to replace the one she had actually lived in before the war. I was surprised at how easy it all was. I was extraordinarily lucky in that no-one was around from before the war. No-one remembered the real Dulcie, and no-one asked any tricky questions.’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘Two things,’ sighed Helena. ‘The first was that I had totally underestimated the difficulty in getting a job after the war. Nurses were ten a penny, especially as the world and his wife had been volunteer nurses on the front line, so London was saturated with all kinds of people who could claim to nurse. In addition, I didn’t have the real paperwork as Dulcie Deane, so no proper London hospital would have me. I couldn’t risk showing the paperwork I had as Helena Llewellyn, in case it was referenced back to the War Office and they realised I was drawing a cheque I had no claim to.’
‘Was the cheque so important?’
‘It’s all that’s kept me going these last years,’ said Helena simply. ‘It pays my board and food, which isn’t much. Nurses get paid a pittance right now, or hadn’t you heard that the government has slashed our wages? The jobs I take anyway are bit-part and they pay next to nothing.’
‘I see. And the second thing which went wrong for you?’
‘Once, in that autumn of 1918 I went for an interview as a Matron at a private school for boys, out Cambridge way. I didn’t get the job because I didn’t even go in for the interview. But while I was there in the waiting room I got the shock of my life.’
‘Dr Winter?’
Helena nodded.
‘There he was, alive and well, and interviewing for a job as a Schoolmaster, of all things! Calling himself something different, mind. But then I was doing the same thing, too, so I wasn’t about to blow his cover. He didn’t recognise me. In fact he just didn’t see me. He looked right through me. He was flirting with some blonde piece of fancy who was interviewing for the same job as me. But crucially, it wasn’t Felicity Fyne. I could see that much.’
‘And?’
‘I left the school in a state of shock. And then, afterwards, it overwhelmed me. The fact that he was alive and well and had ruined my life and perhaps caused my mother’s stroke, too, was intolerable to me. It burnt me up. It consumed me. It became all I thought about. And I thought about Felicity Fyne too; her with her smug self-satisfied article in a glossy magazine, and her actions which must have stolen William away from me. I was jealous of her. There! I’ll admit it! Jealous of a woman who didn’t even know that her own husband was still alive! It haunted my every waking thought. My life was ruined, and I decided I would upset them both, too.’
‘Ah,’ said Posie. ‘You started blackmailing them, you mean?’
‘I never thought of it like that. And anyway, why should they get away with what they had done and live happily ever after? I hated them both. So I contacted them anonymously; told them what I knew. I thought I’d make a little money out of it, too.’
‘That’s blackmail, Helena.’
Helena shrugged. ‘Perhaps. I suppose you could construe it like that, if you wanted to.’
‘And Dr Winter paid up? But Felicity didn’t?’
‘That’s right. Even though I knew she could afford to pay, so I didn’t feel too badly about asking her for money. You should have seen the size of her engagement ring which she was flaunting around in all the photographs in The Lady article. Like an egg it was! And I desperately need money now. Work has practically dried up, so I thought I’d force their hands this year. I set Christmas Eve as the date for them to decide whether they would pay me or not. But how come you know so much?’
‘I spoke to both of them, Helena. Separately. I am sorry for you, of course I am. The whole thing is tragic. But we need to fix this. You can’t carry on like this; it’s no way to live. What a waste of your life. You need to make your life count. You didn’t not die on that boat for a reason, you know.’
A look of pleading entered Helena’s eyes. ‘What do I do then?’
‘First, you need to promise me you’ll stop hassling Dr Winter and Felicity. I understand they are both detestable to you, and in the case of Dr Winter I agree wholeheartedly with you, but I think they’ve suffered enough in their own ways without any more input from you, if that’s any consolation. And you can’t take these cheques from the government anymore; it’s not right.’
Posie nodded, certain of what must be done now.
‘With your agreement I will write to the War Office anonymously tomorrow and say your mother has now died and doesn’t need the money anymore. Hopefully they won’t ask for exact details about the date of her death. And then – and this is the hard part – you need to live; to become yourself again. Stop being Dulcie Deane, who is dead, and become Helena again; the Helena who was loved by so many people. You were adored. I know for a fact that even Felicity Fyne, who you never met, realised how much the men loved you. She was jeal
ous of that.’
Helena started to cry. Silent tears ran down her thin tired face.
Posie continued. ‘Why don’t you move away from London? Move to a small town, to a backwater, or to another big city – take your pick – but get away from here. Start interviewing for jobs with your real paperwork, and stop scratching a living like you have been here these last few years.’
Helena nodded silently. She pointed to the pink charge-sheet:
‘But what about these?’
‘Leave it to me,’ Posie said briskly, rising from her chair. ‘You should be free to go again shortly. I wish you all the best in your life.’
‘You too, Posie. You always were a brick. But I still don’t know how you got involved in all of this?’
Posie rolled her eyes heavenwards.
‘Felicity Fyne employed me, if you must know. I’m a Private Detective. She had got the shock of her life. She saw Dr Winter out in public, when she’d convinced herself he was dead, despite your best efforts. She thought she’d seen a ghost.’
Helena laughed, but it was a hollow sound.
‘How appropriate. Since the war finished it seems nobody is quite how they were before; we’re all just ghosts of ourselves really. Aren’t we?’
****
On the way out Posie swung by Inspector Oats’ office. Normally she wouldn’t mind rubbing him up the wrong way, but she genuinely felt sorry about having used and abused his time and efforts tonight; and worse, she was going to have to lie about it all too.
She put her head around his door. He was reading a fishing magazine in the light of the dim regulation police desk-lamp and looking pleased with himself.
‘I’m off home now, Inspector,’ Posie trilled cheerfully.
‘Ah, talkative was she? Got the details you were looking for?’
‘Well,’ Posie said regretfully. ‘Actually, no. No, I can’t say it was that helpful. And I think you’re going to have to rip up that charge-sheet and let her go, too.’
Posie tried not to look at the Inspector’s thunderous face. She continued mildly:
‘Turns out she’s not claiming benefits falsely. In fact, the War Office have been informed about the current, accurate situation. And it turns out she’s not a blackmailer, either. I don’t think my clients will press charges on that score; they won’t want the publicity. The evidence isn’t really strong enough. I’m so sorry to have wasted your time.’
The Inspector’s face was turning puce and he looked as if he wanted to get out of his chair and throttle Posie. She got in before he did:
‘So it was a mare’s nest, sir, after all. Sorry about that, and Merry Christmas to you and yours. Have a very pleasant evening.’
****
Sixteen
The next day Posie sent a jolly little Christmas postcard featuring a nice fat robin red-breast to Mr Florizel at the Wickham Academy. The card was a bit odd as the bird was shown eating a worm, but it suited her purposes perfectly.
She sent it first-class by Saturday post, to arrive that evening. Valerie Florizel looked, just like Felicity Fyne, to be the possessive, jealous type and would no doubt have a problem with Dr Winter receiving the card no matter what, so Posie kept her message short and sweet.
It said, simply but cryptically:
Mr F,
I caught the worm!
All the best for the future,
P.P
Posie sent Felicity a telegram too, telling her that she didn’t have to worry about changing her window display of hats for Christmas Eve, that all was well. Posie also promised to come up to Hampstead in the afternoon.
Posie decided that she would go and walk up on Hampstead Heath after she had visited Felicity’s shop, to blow away the cobwebs and try and make this trip up to north London as nice as possible for herself.
Being the last day before Christmas when the shops were open, Hampstead Village High Street was busy, and its little boutiques were bustling with trade.
Posie found Felicity’s shop easily. ‘Very Fyne Hats’ was a smart, glossily-painted affair sandwiched between a stylish dress shop and a gentleman’s outfitters.
Rather than being the sterile place she had imagined, Posie was surprised to see it was painted a bright canary yellow inside, and it looked cheerful and fashionable. An old-fashioned curved bay window was carefully dressed with a few well-chosen cloche hats and small sprigs of silver-lacked holly and mistletoe were artfully displayed around the place. When she pushed open the door and the shop-bell rang out, Posie saw that custom was good, and perhaps five or six women were buying or ordering hats for the festive season. A wispy salesgirl with very short shingled hair and a dress in the current flapper style was modelling various styles of fancy hat for a couple of middle aged women with perhaps more money than dress sense.
Posie caught sight of Felicity at once, in her usual immaculate black, her hair looped up into a smart bun on top of her head. She was over near the back counter with a customer, wrapping something in bright yellow tissue paper. She saw Posie and nodded almost invisibly at her, indicating her to wait a few minutes.
On the tram ride up from the Kingsway Posie had thought a good deal about what to say to Felicity, how much of the truth to tell her. She remembered Dr Winter’s words to her:
‘Tell her some sort of version of the truth, if you must, Parker. But not where I am. Got it?’
She had decided on a version which was true enough, but which would hurt the least. But it had to be the truth. When it came to playing with peoples’ lives you couldn’t afford to lie.
Posie stood to one side, trying on this hat and that. It was a shame she’d already bought her red hat for the winter; she couldn’t really justify another one just yet. And anyhow, she still wasn’t sure if she’d buy it from Felicity Fyne or not. It wasn’t as if they had become pals over this strange case.
After ten minutes Felicity came over. The last customer had gone and the fashionable salesgirl had retreated to a back room somewhere. The shop was empty. Felicity quickly put the ‘CLOSED’ sign up on the door.
‘Tell me…’ she whispered, turning back into the shop, looking intently at Posie, her navy eyes wide with fear.
‘Well, the good news is that I’ve caught the blackmailer, and they won’t be contacting you again.’
‘Ah, er, excellent. And my husband? What of him?’
Posie took a deep breath. She started with her ‘some sort of version of the truth’.
‘He is alive, Felicity. I can’t lie to you. You didn’t see a ghost. But he’s not your Dr Winter anymore; he’s someone else, someone you wouldn’t recognise. I don’t advise telling you any more of the details. But legitimately, in my view, you are entitled to keep receiving your pension; you don’t need to inform anyone of anything. The man you were married to no longer exists. However, if you were to get married again, you would legally be committing bigamy, so I don’t advise it.’
Felicity stared and stared.
‘I told you, I’ll never marry again. But I don’t understand.’
I don’t want you to understand, thought Posie ruefully to herself, willing Felicity not to ask her any more questions. She bit her lip and held Felicity’s frightened gaze. If Felicity pressed her for more details, as was her right, Posie would have to be more forthcoming. As it was, she was walking a tightrope.
‘Okay. I don’t want all the details,’ Felicity said at last. ‘I can tell on your face that the news isn’t good. I’m imagining he’s lost his mind or sitting in an asylum and doesn’t remember who I am or something. So it’s better to think he died an honourable death. But tell me one thing,’ Felicity breathed, ‘is he married to someone else?’
Posie took a deep breath and then shook her head. ‘Legally he’s still married to you.’ That much was true; the legal bit, anyhow.
Felicity laughed almost hysterically. ‘I don’t know what outcome I was expecting,’ she said. ‘This whole thing has been so odd that I would have believed almost
anything. Thank you for your help. Send me your bill in the New Year please.’
Posie felt like she was being dismissed, like some sort of cheap tradesman or delivery boy. She smiled to herself, glad to leave for her breath of fresh air up on the Heath.
‘Oh,’ said Felicity, turning at the door. ‘You never told me who the blackmailer was? Someone I knew in the war and annoyed somehow, I guess? Who was it?’
Posie grimaced. ‘I’d rather not say. It’s part of a deal I brokered. But, no. You’d never met them before.’
‘So my husband knew them, then?’
‘Very briefly. Another lifetime ago.’
Felicity turned the sign over in the door to reopen the shop and in the light of the bright day Posie’s pink ring sparkled and caught the light of the window a few hundred times over.
‘Oh, goodness me. Congratulations! An engagement!’ trilled Felicity, holding the door back for Posie. But there was still that strange detachment, like she was not really meaning what she was saying.
‘How things can change in a week!’ blinked Felicity as the strong winter sunshine suddenly bathed her pale face in its unforgiving white light. ‘Change is a good thing. For both of us. I do hope you’ll be very happy.’
So do I, thought Posie.
So do I.
****
NEW YEAR’S EVE, 1922
Epilogue
Christmas came and went, and apart from one small Christmas caper involving a stuffed Polar Bear, their stay at Rebburn Abbey was just as delightful and cold and draughty as Posie had imagined it would be.
Alaric and Posie had announced their engagement to Rufus and Dolly first, who were thrilled at the news, and then in The Times, with a formal announcement.
‘But it will just be a quiet wedding,’ Posie told anyone who would listen. Dolly rolled her eyes and made faces behind Posie’s back, already planning out what Posie should wear, and who should make her dress.
On their arrival back in London on Friday the 29th, Posie called in quickly at the Grape Street Bureau unannounced. Mainly this was to see her beloved Mr Minks, who had been cared for by the porter of her nearby block of flats in her absence. Posie was still wearing her thick travelling clothes, which was just as well as the office was freezing and Prudence, frugal as ever, hadn’t bothered to light a fire just for herself.
The Vanishing of Dr Winter: A Posie Parker Mystery (The Posie Parker Mystery Series Book 4) Page 17
