Tweedledee said, ‘You see why we’re confused? Did that woman lie to us? Is she really a temp from your agency, or is she the woman who works for our uncle? We have to find out. So tell us where to find her, and we’ll be gone.’
Gold Tooth said, ‘We searched the studio, you see. It wasn’t there. If that woman really was a temp called Harris, then we have to eliminate her from our enquiries and find Miss Summerleys.’
Tweedledee said, ‘I’ve had a thought. The painter will know which one she was. Shall we go back there and ask him?’
A frown from Gold Tooth. ‘We were rather rough with him.’ He turned back to Bea. ‘We are reasonable people. We don’t wish to put you to any inconvenience but you must understand that, if you don’t give us these addresses, we will be forced to take steps. Ask your friend the painter, if you want to know what we can do.’
Bea thought quickly. She was not going to give Magda away. What could she say to these two horrible men to get them to leave? ‘You say you are related to Magda Summerleys’s employer? Surely you know what his housekeeper looks like.’
‘Well, no …’
‘Uncle Lucas is not fond of visitors.’
‘Then why don’t you pay a visit to him?’
‘She’s his housekeeper, not his wife.’
‘And housekeepers sometimes live in. Miss Summerleys does.’
‘What?’ They gobbled in unison. And turned to one another. In unison they said, ‘She lives in!’
Tweedledee said, ‘But the woman we found in the studio said she worked for the painter!’
Bea tried on a chilly smile. ‘So you call on your uncle and find out what his housekeeper looks like, right? And the door is behind you.’
Tweedledee consulted with his twin. He was definitely the younger of the two. ‘Is the bitch telling the truth, do you think? Should we check the agency’s records while we’re here?’
Gold Tooth grasped Bea’s forearm. ‘We make sure. We employ a little pain …?’
‘No! How dare you!’ said Bea.
He held her arm up high. His grip tightened. He might be carrying a lot of weight but he was solidly muscled with it.
Tweedledee said, ‘Yes, it’s best to make sure.’
Bea said, ‘I shall scream, and—’
‘Who will hear you? Do it, Bro.’
Bro – short for brother – did it. And Bea did scream. She knew that there was no one else in the house, but the pain was excruciating.
Only, there was someone else in the house, wasn’t there?
Bea prayed that Magda would not interfere … and prayed that someone else would come to release her.
No cavalry came riding to her rescue. Nobody arrived to help her.
‘Well?’ said Tweedledum.
Bea gasped. ‘I told you the truth. Miss Summerleys lives in.’
Tweedledum said, ‘We had to make sure.’ And, to his brother, ‘Do you think the Summerleys woman is uncle’s bit on the side?’
His twin snorted into a laugh. ‘Unlikely. He doesn’t even know which end is which, does he?’
They dropped Bea onto the carpet and stood over her.
‘So, what do we do now?’
Bea pulled herself up against the wall. Her arm was on fire.
She prayed, Lord, help me. Show me how to get rid of them. And, tell Magda not to interfere. Please.
At least the twins had no idea Magda had come to Bea for help. And what was that about their having been rough with Piers?
Tweedledee was in two minds. ‘He said she was with him when he picked the stuff up.’
‘He also said he was going to give it to her to hold for him while he ran an errand. It’s not at the studio, so she must have hidden it somewhere.’
‘He hardly knows which day of the week it is. Suppose he intended to give it to her, but forgot? Suppose he did go off with it?’
They didn’t like that thought.
‘Then where is he?’
They thought about it. Bea stayed where she was. What weapon did she have against these two?
Tweedledum chewed his lip. ‘He said he was going to have his hair cut.’
‘A likely story. He hasn’t been to a barber in years.’
‘He was supposed to be having his portrait painted. Suppose he got delayed somewhere, and turned up at the studio after we left?’
That wasn’t a pleasant thought. ‘We left the studio in a bit of a mess. We damaged the painter. If we go back there now …’
‘We’ll find the police there.’
His twin nodded. ‘Difficult to explain.’
Decision time. ‘Maybe Herself knows?’
‘She’s not answering her phone. She said she’d be busy today.’
‘So, we go back to Uncle’s place, to check on the Summerleys woman?’
They looked down at Bea. ‘Stay there, bitch!’
‘If you’ve lied, we’ll be back, understand?’
They waddled out, wheezing slightly.
Two bruisers, out of condition? But still capable of doing a lot of damage.
Bea’s arm was on fire. But at least they’d gone. And they wouldn’t be coming back. Would they?
TWO
Saturday noon
Bea pulled herself upright, checked that the front door was shut and leaned against it.
Magda’s head hove into sight as she mounted the stairs from the basement. ‘Are you all right?’
Bea nodded. ‘Sort of. Why didn’t you call the police?’
‘It’s complicated.’ Magda was holding a mobile phone. ‘I couldn’t make up my mind whether to call them or not.’ She gasped for breath, closing her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t usually give way like this.’
Bea pushed herself upright. ‘I recommend strong, sweet tea and arnica for our bruises.’
Magda’s smooth mop of fair hair fell over her face. She pushed it back with both hands and it settled into a more becoming frame around her face. ‘Do you know what? I own a pepper spray. I used to carry it round with me all the time. At this very moment it’s sitting in my bedside table drawer because I never thought I’d need it in this job. How wrong I was! Look at me; I’m trembling.’
Bea grimaced. ‘Ditto. Come on. Tea and cake. And an explanation, if you please. I want to know why you didn’t call the police when they threatened me.’ She led the way to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Magda followed her. ‘I didn’t, because in the first place I don’t believe Lucas is a thief, but also because the family is dead set on discretion and they never speak of their affairs to anyone. I’m sure there’s a sensible reason for what’s happening, though I haven’t a clue what it is. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have involved you.’
She handed over the phone she’d been carrying. ‘Actually, this is your phone. I picked it up off your desk when I heard the twins arrive. I was going to ring the police but then I thought I’d wait till I heard what they planned to do next. By that time it was too late to stop them hurting you. I should have been quicker off the mark.’
Bea filled the kettle and switched it on. She told Magda to sit down. She found a tube of soothing gel and handed it over. Thinking hard, she made a big pot of tea and put the biscuit tin on the table.
‘The job you’re on now … I seem to remember the agency was asked to recommend someone discreet and efficient for a job as a housekeeper for an elderly bachelor. This is not the first time our services have been requested by that office. Every now and then they come to us for a housekeeper here or some office staff there. There’s never been a hint of trouble before. Correct?’
Magda nodded. ‘The Rycroft Foundation. The first Rycroft of any note made a fortune by what sounds like piracy under the Tudors. He managed to keep his head on his shoulders through some dodgy deals and acquired a title. The family made even more money in the Industrial Revolution. The title still exists, as do their splendid mansions in town and country. They own a nice slice of Mayfair. They’ve diversified into oil an
d shipping. They have investments here, there and everywhere. Some twenty years or more ago, a trust fund was set up to manage the nitty-gritty of everyday life for the family, as most of them seem to have lost the ability to work for a living and expect to be feather-bedded through life. The present Lord Rycroft is a case in point. He lives in luxury; he toils not and neither does he spin. He’s something of a recluse. I’ve never even met him. And they’re all pathological about privacy.’
‘That’s it.’ Bea clicked her fingers. ‘Two years ago, or was it three? Wasn’t someone we supplied through the agency given the sack for tattling to the papers?’
‘So I was told. When I got the job I had to sign a paper promising complete discretion. Any employee who talks to the press or posts something in the media is sacked that very day.’
Bea poured tea and took a biscuit. ‘How many people have we supplied over the years? Off the top of my head, I can think of an office manager or administrator. And one, no … two housekeepers. For different houses. And yes, someone to work in the office … collecting rents? Something like that. The Rycrofts have been good customers. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever met the current Lord Rycroft, either.’
Magda took another biscuit. ‘No, you wouldn’t. I was interviewed by his son, flanked by a solicitor and Mrs Tarring, who acts as administrator and general dogsbody.’
Bea clicked her fingers. ‘Mrs Tarring. Yes, I remember her. Well qualified. Efficient. We sent her over for an interview … when would it have been? Four years ago? Five?’
‘She’s brilliant. She keeps everything ticking over. She supervises the collection of rents, maintenance of the various properties, and so on.’
Bea said, ‘But you didn’t go to work for His Lordship. You went to another member of the family, didn’t you?’
‘I ought not to talk about it. I promised. But … what’s happening … I can’t keep it to myself. And if I can’t trust you, who can I trust? No, they didn’t want me to work for Lord Rycroft, but for another member of the family. There are – or were – three Rycroft brothers in the older generation. Lord Rycroft himself lives in the country and I don’t even know what he looks like. Lucas Rycroft is the second in line. It was he who asked the trust to find him a replacement as his housekeeper was retiring.
‘Mrs Tarring took me to see Lucas. We could smell the gin and the dirt in the place as we went in. Mrs Tarring apologized. She said Lucas didn’t like visitors and that his old housekeeper seemed to have let things go. In spades! It’s a big, rambling old flat on two floors, near Regent’s Park. The rooms are large with high ceilings, but they hadn’t been decorated or even cleaned properly for ever. Mrs Tarring was horrified, and so was I. The whole building belongs to the trust, which is supposed to look after it but, what with the housekeeper getting past it and Lucas not even seeing the dirt, nothing had been done about dripping taps, or rewiring, or anything. Mrs Tarring asked me if I felt up to tackling the mess and I said I was, because I do like a challenge.’
Bea patted Magda’s hand. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need some painkillers. Those boys know how to hurt.’ Bea found some aspirins in the cupboard over the freezer, and handed them over. ‘So you took the job and had fun bringing the place up to date?’
Magda accepted the aspirins and overcame her reluctance to talk about the family. ‘Thanks. And yes, I did. Lucas is no trouble. He’s a gentleman of the old school and a scholar, who does actually bring in a pittance by writing articles for obscure publications on forgotten artists of previous centuries. He’s adapted to some modern technology, though not all. He has a computer and a laptop and corresponds with art historians all over the world. Once or twice a month he travels to various conferences, or to exhibitions. He goes to his club for a meal several times a week and visits a gym to swim every other day. He is absent-minded, and sometimes forgets to tell me where he’s going to be, but I can always work it out by looking in his desk diary.
‘Yes, he is eccentric. He doesn’t have a television set, though there is one in the housekeeper’s sitting room upstairs, plus he bought me a small one for use in the kitchen, since I spend so much time there. On the other hand, he does keep up to date by reading The Times every morning and he listens to the radio, although …’
She paused, as if on the verge of adding something, then shook her head at herself.
‘Go on,’ said Bea.
A tinge of colour. ‘Well, once or twice lately he’s said he might get a television to keep up to date on the latest programmes in the art world. A couple of times he’s even dropped into the kitchen to check on my set, and I think he might actually buy one for himself soon. But,’ getting back to firmer ground – and had she really blushed at the thought of Lucas watching television with her? – ‘he won’t have visitors in the flat, disturbing his routine. He likes everything “just so”. He can’t stand the noise of the Hoover or the disturbance caused by decorators or workmen, so I see to all that when he’s out or away. He grumbles about the smell of paint but I can usually get it out of the flat before he returns from wherever he’s been. Last week he said how much brighter everything looked nowadays. He thought it was because the evenings were getting lighter.’
They both smiled. Bea said, ‘I’ve often wondered whether the “forgetfulness” of these older professionals might have been Alzheimer’s.’
‘In this case, no. When he can turn his mind away from the fourteenth century, he’s bright enough. Selective sight, you could call it. The trust allows him to live as he likes. He settled into the flat when he came down from Cambridge and walled himself in with books. He’s learned basic computer skills, but his mobile phone is barely out of the ark. He’s never bought or driven a car, hasn’t had his hair cut in twenty years, wears the same four suits in rotation … ugh!’
‘You took pity on him in his helplessness?’
‘I needed another live-in job, what with my parents and all … you know?’
Bea did know. Magda’s elderly mother and father needed full-time care in their own house in the country. Their pensions paid for some of the bills and if they had sold their house and moved into a home it would have solved their problems financially, but they were loath to move and Magda wouldn’t make them. So Magda made ends meet by topping up their care bills from her salary, which was the reason she came to London to take jobs where she could live in.
Magda said, ‘I enjoy creating order out of chaos. My salary and all the housekeeping bills are paid by the trust. If there’s a problem – a leaking tap, a spot of damp – I ring Mrs Tarring at the trust and she sends someone along to deal with it. I’m gradually modernizing everything. Rewiring was the worst. I did that when Lucas went to America for three weeks. A spot of paint and some fresh wallpaper is working wonders in the main rooms. I brought in a microwave, replaced some shredded curtains, and all the bed linen. He never even noticed when I took his suits away to be dry-cleaned, and put him on a diet. It was a doddle. Mrs Tarring said how relieved she was that I cared. She said the trust hoped I’d stay for a long time and, to be frank, so did I.’
‘Lucas has been married? Has children?’
‘A bachelor, no children. He’s not interested in women, or in men either, come to think of it.’
Magda gulped down the last of her tea and pushed her mug forward for a refill. ‘We’d settled into a routine that suited us both, but a couple of months ago he began getting phone calls from various members of his family. This surprised and annoyed him. He said they weren’t a close-knit family; they didn’t meet except for weddings and funerals. What had got the family going was that Lord Rycroft – that’s Lucas’s elder brother – appeared to be going gaga and they started fighting about what should be done. Money was involved, in billions. The question was: who was going to take charge of Sir, where should he live, who should look after him and, above all, who should manage the trust fund in future?’
‘What age was the old man?’
‘Not that
old. Late fifties? There’s quite a gap between him and Lucas, who’s in his early forties, although he looks older. Lucas didn’t want to get involved. He certainly didn’t want the aggro of running the trust. He said they should settle it amongst themselves. But this, seemingly, was what they couldn’t do. First this one was on the phone to him, and then that. He’s the next most senior member of the family, you see, and some of them seemed to think he should take over the running of the trust … which I would have thought him the least likely of persons to be able to do, but there you are. Often Lucas refused to answer the phone, and I’d take messages for him. The twins were the most insistent that he ring them back, but he never did.’
‘Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Gold Tooth and brother.’
‘Yes. They think and they act as one. As you’ve seen.’
‘What do they do for a living?’
‘They say they are part-owners of a gaming club in Mayfair, but Lucas said it was more likely they were employed there as bouncers. I don’t know whether that’s true or not. They do get an income from the trust but are always in debt and agitating for more. Their father, incidentally, was Lord Rycroft’s and Lucas’s youngest brother. He was called Nicholas, I think. Anyway, he passed away of a diseased liver some time ago. Lucas went to the funeral, but didn’t attend the wake. When he died, the twins expected to move into their father’s house and to inherit the income which the trust had been giving him. There was a terrible fuss when they found out they weren’t going to get either.’
For a moment Magda looked undecided. But then came clean. ‘It’s only gossip, but there was talk of the twins’ business methods being unacceptable; apparently some debtor at the club had committed suicide and another had been beaten up.’
Bea was open-mouthed. ‘I see what you mean about discretion being necessary. If the Rycrofts are so keen on privacy, how did you get to hear all this?’
‘Lucas told me a little, and one of the workmen told me more. The Rycrofts always use the same firms of decorators and electricians and they talk to me because I’m one of them, if you see what I mean. Then if one of the family rings when Lucas is out or refusing to take the calls, they rant on at me as if I can do anything to help them.’ She allowed herself a giggle. ‘It was like disturbing an anthill. Tweedledum and Tweedledee screeched they’d been robbed. The others said it served them right, and they were not entitled to a penny more from the trust, and if anyone did get more, it would be them, and not the twins.
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