I shook my head. ‘I’ll be better there, Nat, I’ll rest – I promise. But I have to be there.’
He acknowledged the inevitable with a shrug, but insisted on using a wheelchair to take me to the car. He was driving Gerald’s car. ‘It won’t shake you around like the Land Rover,’ he said. ‘And it’s heavy enough to take a bash from someone else without feeling it.’ But still he drove with exaggerated care, stopping completely at every junction, slowing down to ten miles an hour at each bend. ‘All I want is to see you safely back in bed,’ he said. ‘I don’t care how long it takes to get to Thirlbeck.’
We passed Kesmere church. As early as it was, a few people were wandering around the churchyard, and gathering in the porch. ‘Mostly Press, I suppose,’ he said. ‘You can’t keep them away. It is the parish church. When they bring him back to Thirlbeck to be buried it will be quite private. Just us – and the family.’
Through the slow drive I didn’t speak to him of the fears I was trying to beat down. He said nothing about there being any news of the Condesa. I had listened to the early news bulletins on the radio, and there had been no mention of her. I wondered how long the wait would be. Later – later, after they had buried the Earl – I would have to talk to Nat and Gerald and Tolson, tell them about the El Greco, the danger that the Condesa posed to all of us. But for the moment it served no purpose to lay further burdens on Nat, who could do nothing to prevent what might be inevitable.
We reached South Lodge, and Jessica’s mother was there to open the gate for us. She looked at me with an interest that now was tinged with concern, and I sensed the kind of enfolding possessiveness that characterised the family’s attitude to all that touched Thirlbeck, the thing that Nat railed against, and yet, in the future, would not be able to do without: I knew that I also was now included in this.
As we drove on he said, ‘You know, I think we have to say that it was Jessica who possibly saved your life.’
‘Jessica! How?’
‘She saw you in the car when you came back to Thirlbeck last evening. She didn’t want to go to the service at the church, and she’d seen you pass the South Lodge in a strange car. When it came back again quite soon she got concerned. She knew that the Condesa was at the house, but she doubted that the Condesa could do the right things for you – see you to bed, and so on. So she walked to Thirlbeck, and was in time to see the Condesa drive off in Askew’s car – heading over Brantwick. It was dark, but she was practically certain you weren’t in the car, and when she went into the house the dogs were kicking up an almighty fuss, and trying to get into the Spanish Woman’s room. The door was locked, and there was no key – at least not on the outside. She called, and couldn’t hear a sound. So then she telephoned the vicarage to get a message to me and Tolson to come as quickly as we could. The service was over, and we were actually in the vicarage when the call came – we were discussing arrangements about today’s service, and all the rest of it. She said she thought you were inside the Spanish Woman’s room, and she couldn’t get in, and you didn’t answer when she called. She told us the Condesa was gone. We just about burned up the road getting back here. Of course we didn’t know then that you were bleeding again, but Jess somehow conveyed that something was very wrong. She said she’d never heard the dogs go on like that ...’
I was silent, thinking about it, recalling the events of the night before, this sudden new knowledge of Jessica slow to sink in. The high, heraldic frieze of Thirlbeck was in plain view before I spoke. ‘Then she did the exact opposite of what she did with Patsy. When she could have spoken before, she didn’t. This time she took more on herself than she need have done. Nat – oh, Nat, do you mind very much? She could have saved Patsy – but she saved me. I suppose she was ill then – but this is a bitter sort of twist for you. Three years ago, it could have been Patsy.’
His hand touched mine, the very roughness of it somehow reassuring. ‘I can’t begin to weigh you and Patsy in the same scales, Jo – and don’t ever think of it. Patsy was sweet and lovely, and I loved her. Now I love you. I have to leave behind what Jess did or didn’t do in the past. Last night I think she saved your life. Now I’m in her debt, and always will be. When Tolson realised what Jessica had done last night, he looked like a man who’d had an intolerable burden removed from him. God knows, he still has plenty of troubles to face – yes, he’s told me the whole thing about him, and your mother – everything. But now, at least, the worry about the person he loves most in the world seems to have lifted. He can face anything now. And so can I. And so will you ... and the family.’
I had little time to get used to this new idea. It was Jessica who opened the door at Thirlbeck. She was standing there at the top of the steps as we drove up, and she came forward at the same time as all the dogs. Involuntarily, I felt myself stiffen at the sight of her. And Nat’s voice came gently. ‘Easy, Jo. We have to give her a chance ...’
The first greeting was lost in the surge of the dogs, lifting their faces to me, their tails waving in a frenzy of welcome. Jessica had opened the door of the car before Nat could get around, and stretched out her hand to help me. I wanted to refuse it, and yet I knew I must not refuse it. ‘I waited until you came to cook breakfast,’ she said, ‘but coffee’s ready.’
She took my arm on one side, and Nat held me on the other. We moved slowly up the steps into the hall, the dogs following. There was a blazing fire in the dining-room, and a sofa had been brought from somewhere and placed before it, heaped with cushions. ‘Grandfather and I brought it in here,’ Jessica said, as she motioned Nat to take me to it. ‘Dr Murray is furious with you for leaving hospital so soon – so I had to make it look as if you’re going to be quite all right here.’ I found myself, without protest, being put on the sofa, my legs up, cushions piled behind my back to support me, a rug spread over me. Jessica brought a small table to the side of the sofa. I watched her then as she moved to the sideboard to pour two cups of coffee. I wasn’t mistaken about what I had first sensed. She was in some way older; her body did not seem to dance through its tasks, as if they were some graceful game she played. She didn’t smile, and the shining blonde hair was not shaken for Nat’s admiration. When she had placed coffee on the table beside me, and a cup before Nat who sat at the dining table, she stepped back and said, ‘There’s news, Lord Askew.’
Nat answered her quickly. ‘Cut the rubbish, Jess. My name is Nat.’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, no. Not any more. Everything’s changed. No one can help it changing. It just has changed.’
He sighed and stirred his coffee. ‘What’s the news, Jess?’
‘This morning – very early this morning I went up to the shelter to take your watch on the eagle’s nest. I knew you wouldn’t be able to go. Grandfather isn’t letting any of the volunteers in from outside. He’s afraid of newspaper people. Well – when it got light, I started watching the eagles with the glasses – you know how you watch them flying just to ease the strain of watching only the nest. I put the glasses over the whole valley, and I saw something up there by the birch copse – something I’d never seen before. I went there as quickly as I could. It was Lord Askew’s car – it had run off the road, broken through a wall, and crashed down among the trees. The Condesa was in it. I was ... I was much too late to help her. They think she must have died almost at once. At least from what Dr Murray can tell at this time. He thinks her neck was broken.’
‘God ...?’ Nat looked from Jessica to me. He shook his head as if to escape from some violent dream. ‘Dead? ... she’s dead!’
‘There wasn’t anything I could do,’ Jessica said shortly. ‘I did try. Honestly, I did try. But even I could tell she’d been dead for quite a long time. It was ... it was rather horrible. There was a lot of broken glass. She wasn’t wearing a seat belt. She was jammed against the steering wheel, but Dr Murray still thinks she died from a broken neck. She was a little cut, but she can’t have lived long, Dr Murray said, or there would have been more bleedi
ng. One of the car headlights was still shining. If the car hadn’t dived so far down into the trees below the wall, we would have seen the light shining up there last night. She had the key of the North Lodge in her handbag. And La Española ...
For a moment Nat’s head sank; he too, like Jessica, seemed to have aged and altered. The changes of these last hours had been thrust on all of us, and we had reacted in our different fashions, and none would ever be quite the same again. The closeness that existed between Nat and myself had broadened to include even Jessica, and she in her turn had opened out, so that she seemed no longer to dwell exclusively in her own precious, tight little world. We had all accepted some part of the responsibility that Robert Birkett’s death had laid upon us.
‘That damn jewel! I was hoping – yes, I was hoping she would get away with it. I was hoping it was gone for ever. If I’d had my way, Tolson would never have told the police last night – but he pointed out that we would have to report its theft or the Revenue people would want to know why it was gone – and how long ago. So they put a watch on all the ports – and she, the Condesa, poor devil, never even got out of this valley with it. I was hoping La Española would simply cease to exist. But it didn’t even have to be brought back. La Española never left.’
I grasped the coffee cup between both my hands to force stillness upon them.
‘Did you find anything else, Jessica?’
She looked at me closely. ‘Yes ... yes, I did find something else. So that was why ... yes, that was why she shut you in that place with the Spanish Woman. It had to have come from there. You found it – and she’d taken it.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Nat demanded.
Jessica turned to him. ‘In the back of the car I found Miss Roswell’s big red suitcase.’ She wasn’t at all abashed at knowing my possessions so well. ‘When I found her dead – the Condesa – I decided I’d bring down her handbag and the suitcase. It seemed so strange that she should have taken one of your suitcases, and left all her own behind. Hers were so expensive ...’
‘But mine was tough. Rather cheap fibreglass, but tough. Was the painting in it, Jessica?’
She nodded. ‘It was all packed about with your clothes – a protection, I suppose. My grandfather had never seen it before. He woke Mr Stanton. Mr Stanton was much more pleased about that being back here than La Española.’
Nat interrupted. ‘Would you mind explaining? I’m beginning to feel even more dense than usual.’
I sank back against the pillows; perhaps I was weaker than I knew, or the worry had been greater.
‘It’s all right now, Nat. It was a painting by El Greco.’ In a low voice I found myself explaining what I had not been able to say last night. A sense of relief, of reprieve, was surging through my body.’
‘She was of the same family as the Spanish Woman, you see, Nat.’
Jessica broke in. ‘It’s true, you know. It’s there in the passport. Her full name is Carlota de Avila, Fernández de Córdoba, Mendoza, Soto Alvarez y Alonzo. Part of that is the name of the Spanish Woman.’
From the doorway, Gerald’s voice. He had entered very quietly, had been standing behind us, listening, ‘Fernández de Córdoba ... one of the most distinguished names in Spain – and joined to others almost as distinguished. How are you, Jo?’ He came around to inspect me, putting out his hand, brushing the hair from my forehead. ‘You shouldn’t be out of hospital at all, but I’m glad to see you, Jo, dear. You still look like a ghost – and you nearly died there with the Spanish Woman.’
I started then to tell them what I hadn’t been able to say the night before, the words the Condesa had used. ‘She must have believed that if the painting still existed, it was most probably still here at Thirlbeck. She said ... I remember she said that she had been searching for it. Even in the picture room. And none of us knew it. Well ... she had no success, no more than Vanessa had.’ I told them about the scrap of parchment signed by Philip the Second, and the translation in Vanessa’s hand.
‘She was all ready to go when I got back to Thirlbeck. She was ready to leave just with La Española – and I made a gift to her of the El Greco as well. I even made it possible for her to take La Española. Until I came, the dogs wouldn’t move away from the door of the study. When I came, they wanted to be with me. I made them stay on the landing ... left her free to take what she wanted, once she’d switched off the alarm system. It’s all so terribly easy once one knows this house well, and the dogs are taken care of.’
‘The dogs saved your life,’ Gerald said. ‘The dogs and Jessica. We had to break the lock of the Spanish Woman’s room to get in, but without the dogs we wouldn’t have found the little chamber where the Spanish Woman was laid out. I don’t pretend to know what it is those dogs have bred into them, but it is something that primarily concerns the Birketts.’ He looked around at the three of us. ‘That is something that all of us know about, even if we don’t understand it. It’s something that will never be spoken of outside this family. It is best forgotten, if it can be.’ His tone was grave and musing. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ he added, as Jessica placed a cup of coffee in his hand.
‘What has happened to the painting?’ I asked.
‘Grandfather kept the suitcase and the painting here. We returned La Española and the handbag to the car. It had to be there when the police came, otherwise I’d be accused of tampering with evidence. We’re just to say – when it’s time to announce it – that the painting was discovered in the little room with the Spanish Woman. Nothing more. No need to bring the Condesa into that at all ...’
Gerald sipped his coffee appreciatively. He perched himself on the end of the sofa. ‘It was one of the most exciting moments of my life, Jo,’ he said, ‘when I looked at the picture and knew what it was. That was what you had asked about before, wasn’t it? I thought I heard you say something about it last night at the hospital, but I just assumed you were rambling a little. I should have known better ...’
‘It is Philip the Second, isn’t it?’
‘I’d say so. El Greco has made him look more spiritual than any portrait I’ve ever seen of him. Strange – how Philip neglected the one artist who catches the spirit of Spain more truly and fundamentally than any other – and yet he was a stranger in Spain. Well, it’s a splendid portrait. Almost as moving, in its way, as that wonderful An Unknown Man in the Prado. He has taken the face of the most powerful man in the world, and made him appear almost humble, Hapsburg lip and all.’ He made a little smacking noise with his own lips. ‘What a sensation! What a sale it will make!’
‘Will it pay its own taxes?’ Nat asked. ‘Forgive me for not sharing quite all of your excitement, but there are very practical matters to think of.’
Gerald’s brow puckered. ‘With a picture like this, all kinds of arrangements are possible. It might be possible to avoid a great deal of tax by making a gift of it to the nation. We’ll have our expert at Hardy’s go into that one. He practically wrote the laws on how that could be done.’ But the excitement he felt could not be restrained. ‘This is the one picture I don’t want to see leave this country. I can just imagine them – the crowds – lined up outside the National Gallery the way they were at the Metropolitan after they bought the Rembrandt Aristotle. When the story of how this was found gets the full press treatment, what publicity! What they’ll make of it all – La Española, the young Spanish Woman herself, and now the El Greco.’
Then he sighed, and the excitement died. ‘That poor woman – the Condesa. I wonder if she fastened on to Robert just with the thought of making him come here so that she could search for it? How frustrating to search all these weeks and never find it, and when the picture room is finally opened, there is no trace of it, and no one seems to expect it to be here. She probably only made up her mind to take La Española because there was nothing else left for her. With Robert dead, her world was collapsing about her. Poor woman ... to be so desperate. I’m sure she didn’t mean to kill you, J
o ... she couldn’t have understood about the bleeding. Poor Robert. I hope she felt some real love for him. How glad I am he never knew about her ...’ His tone dropped lower, and he seemed to speak to me alone. ‘How glad, Jo, I am that he knew about you. To have the gift of a daughter in the last hours of his life ...’
He cleared his throat, and went back to the sideboard for more coffee. ‘There’s a nice obituary about Robert in The Times and Telegraph this morning. They talk about the Victoria Cross and the Military Medal. The other papers are just treating it as a news story – digging up all the old tales about La Española and his being in prison, and all that. Don’t read them, Jo. It won’t help ...’
‘I get angry,’ Jessica said. ‘They’re not even giving Nat – I mean, Lord Askew – a chance. He’s only beginning and they’re already making life miserable. It will be much worse when they find out that the Condesa died here at Thirlbeck, and with La Española in her possession.’ She turned to Gerald, as if appealing to the one who would have a solution. ‘Isn’t there any way to shut it off. Can’t the police be made to keep quiet about La Española? Surely ...?’
Gerald shook his head. ‘Once they were told last night that it had been taken, there was no way to bottle up the news. It’s part of the freedom of the Press, Jessica. They’ll get their stories wherever and however they can, and one normal source is the police. At times the police need co-operation from the Press. It works both ways.’
Jessica turned back to the sideboard and gave her attention to slicing bread for the toaster. ‘It isn’t fair. Not a chance to begin anything in peace.’ Then she shrugged. ‘Well perhaps the publicity won’t hurt, in the end.’
Nat said slowly: ‘What do you mean, Jessica ... “in the end”?’
‘Well ... I suppose in the end you’ll just have to open the house to the public, Nat – Lord Askew. There really isn’t any other way to pay for it. Grandfather’s hung on all these years, but we all know places like Thirlbeck just eat up money. People want to come and see them, and they provide the money. I know you won’t like it, but it will probably come to that. You could open up the valley just to this point, and leave the rest of it private. Make it a nature sanctuary ... or something. There’ll be some pictures left, surely – some furniture to show off.’ She flung a rather frightened glance at Gerald and myself. ‘I mean, you won’t have to sell everything, will you? Maybe the National Trust – no, you wouldn’t like that either. They’d be telling you how to run the place. Well, it’ll work out. Miss Roswell would be very good at working it all out, and she’s trained to know where to go for advice. I’m sure Mr Stanton would help. I’d help all I could. I know the history of most of the family, and I’d learn the rest. Miss Roswell could write a descriptive booklet. Perhaps the stables could be turned into some kind of restaurant. There might be a craft shop. People like to buy things when they’re on holiday ...’
The Property of a Gentleman: One House. Many secrets. Page 38
