Bea thought about that. Shirley had told someone the alarm was not functioning, and someone had forced their way in. If it wasn’t Shirley, then who could she have been working with? Some other member of the clan entirely?
He said, ‘Changing the subject, are you going to church this morning? I could stay and provide breakfast for you and your guest if you like?’
She’d forgotten Magda. She’d forgotten today was Sunday. And yes, she did like to go to early morning communion on a Sunday when the world was less frantic than on a weekday.
She’d also forgotten that Piers had always got up before her, and that he liked to cook a big breakfast on a Sunday morning, ready for her return from church. He was rearranging his life to suit himself, and for some reason she was allowing him to do so. She sipped tea, hot and strong, just as she liked it. Ugh! He’d put sugar in it. She couldn’t abide sugar in tea. She’d stopped taking sugar in her tea years ago, but had never thought to tell him. Why should she?
She replaced the mug on her cabinet.
‘After breakfast,’ he said, yawning, ‘I’d better get back to the mews and find some clean clothes, try to put my easel together, ring the clients whose portraits have been spoiled and give them the bad news. You don’t need me for anything else today, do you?’
A dash of cold water. Of course he wasn’t going to hang about. He’d been sorry for her last night and had stayed downstairs to look after her. Now he was returning to his everyday life. She’d allowed herself to think … she’d imagined that he still loved her, after all these years. Of course he didn’t.
And of course she didn’t love him, either.
She swung her legs out of bed and reached for her dressing gown. ‘Magda! How on earth did she manage to sleep through the racket last night? And Bernice, horrid child! She’s upset all our family arrangements, deciding to go off on her own this weekend. And the door downstairs! Where do I get a new one? And the alarm! And the jewels! I suppose I’ll be targeted again until I can get rid of them, and how am I supposed to do that? And I ought to check on the various members of the Rycroft family who may be alive, or dead, or in hospital.’
‘That’s my girl!’ And he went off, with a smile, looking at his watch. No doubt wondering how soon he could get back to work.
She dressed, made up her face, snatched up a jacket, and stole out of the house as quietly as she could. She didn’t want to face Magda. She didn’t want to face anyone.
The air was fresh. A little breeze played with the bright new leaves on the trees in Church Street. Often enough she walked a short distance away to a different, not so high church for an early service, but today she hurried across the road and turned into the one on the corner. It was dim in there. Everything was hushed. Even the traffic noises were muted. She sank into a chair at the back and tried to block out all worrying thoughts. She tried to pray, but could only manage the odd snatch here and there.
Bernice … Magda. The horrifying violence of …
Piers.
She found a hankie, and blew her nose. She wasn’t going to cry.
What did she need to cry for? Everything was fine.
And if it wasn’t, then it could soon be fixed.
The service began, and she tried to concentrate. It wasn’t long before the age-old words of confession and praise took hold of her, and she was drawn into worship.
Afterwards, she sat on for a while, talking to God.
Dear Lord above, you know everything, all the secrets of our hearts. You know all our weaknesses, and because you are not only God but also man, you understand us better than we ourselves do.
I need help, Lord.
Every now and then, people in trouble come to me. I try to help them, but sometimes … it’s so hard, always to be giving. Usually I don’t mind. I recover quickly enough, working, seeing my friends, looking after Bernice … and please Lord, look after her for me. She’s so wilful, and yet so vulnerable.
This time, Lord … Piers coming back into my life … I feel wounded.
I know that’s stupid. I haven’t really been wounded.
Well, yes. I have. It’s an open wound. He’s torn it open again, after all these years.
He’s been hurt, too. Concussion. Knocked out. But he still came to my side. That’s worth something. I must remember that, when he leaves again.
It was quiet in the church, between services.
Once she’d stopped battering away at God for help, she began to listen to what He was saying to her.
I will never ask you to do something beyond your ability to deal with. Why do you try to do things in your own strength, instead of asking for mine?
After a while she left the quiet of the church, emerging into the traffic and the buzz of the High Street. There was a flower stall outside the church. Bea bought a huge bunch of spring flowers: hyacinths white and blue, daffodils and narcissus. Their scent was almost too strong to be borne. They were symbols of hope in a world which was filled with creatures great and small: well-meaning and good-hearted; sometimes vicious.
All sorts. Both weak and strong.
Rycrofts: missing, in hospital and dead.
Those who mourned them.
Bernice! Why was she behaving so badly?
Bea let herself into the house and took the flowers straight through into the kitchen where Piers was busy at the hob, Magda was patting tears from her eyes, and Winston the cat was giving himself a post-meal wash and brush-up.
Piers gave Bea a look which said, ‘Rescue me! Woman in tears!’
Bea ironed out a smile. ‘How wonderful to have breakfast cooked for me. Magda, did you sleep well, my dear? Look at these lovely flowers. Don’t they lift your spirits?’
‘Yes, yes. They’re beautiful.’ To do her credit, Magda did make an effort to smile. ‘Sorry to be such a cry-baby. I took a sleeping pill and yes, your bed is very comfortable, but when I woke up and realized …’ She mastered her tears with an effort. ‘Of all the people I’ve worked for, all these years, I do think Lucas was the nicest and kindest of men.’
‘Jolly good,’ said Bea, knowing it was an inappropriate response, but not sure what else to say. She took a couple of vases out of a cupboard, and pushed them towards Magda. ‘Are you any good at arranging flowers? I’m sure you’re much better at it than me.’
Piers said, ‘Orange juice all round? Do you want cereal? If not, I’ve got bacon and eggs, tomatoes, baked beans and mushrooms for you. All right? And I’ve fed your cat. Can’t remember his name, but he pointed out which sachet of food he wanted and it’s all gone, so I imagine that was the right one.’
‘Oh, you are good! When men can cook, they really are something, aren’t they?’ said Magda, deftly placing flowers in the vases. ‘I don’t usually bother with breakfast for myself but today is an exception.’
Piers hadn’t met Bea’s eye after that first plea for help with Magda. Now he poured boiling water into the big teapot, the one Bea didn’t normally use. He said, ‘Bea, you’ll like to serve yourself?’
She understood, then. She’d not drunk the mug of tea he’d brought her in bed, and it had seemed to him like a rejection. She said, ‘Thanks. Shall I pour for you as well? Do you take sugar nowadays? I don’t.’
‘What? Since when?’ A sharp tone.
‘I don’t know. Some years ago.’
He frowned but made no further comment. He dished up and they got down to the serious business of setting themselves up for the day. Then, while Bea cleared away the breakfast things and Magda finished putting the flowers in water, Piers said he thought he’d best be on his way.
Magda managed to smile. ‘You’ve been wonderful. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
Bea was going to roll her eyes but Piers caught her by the arm, saying, ‘A word,’ and rushed her out into the hall, kicking the door to the kitchen shut behind him.
He kissed Bea. Hard.
She didn’t resist.
Neither spoke.
&n
bsp; He rubbed his swollen jaw. Kissing her might well have hurt.
She tried to smile. ‘We can’t just pick up where we left off.’
‘Why not? You gave me the key to your front door.’
She could feel herself blush. She didn’t reply, because she had done just that, possibly not meaning it. By accident. She could ask for it back. But she didn’t.
He touched the tip of her nose with his forefinger, and left by the front door.
She shivered. Should she switch the central heating back on for a bit?
Someone rang the doorbell.
Mrs Tarring, looking harassed and ever so slightly unkempt. ‘Is that girl still here? Magda, I mean?’
Magda appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Did I hear my name?’
‘Listen, girl. There’s no easy way to say this, but …’ Mrs Tarring took a step towards Magda, stumbled and nearly fell. ‘Bad news!’
THIRTEEN
Sunday morning
Mrs Tarring saved herself from falling by reaching out to the chest in the hall. She leaned on it, panting.
Bea got her arm under Mrs Tarring’s and helped her through into the sitting room, where she sat her down on the settee.
Tears were running down Mrs Tarring’s cheeks.
Magda cried, ‘What is it? Oh! It’s Lucas, isn’t it?’ She wept, too, hands over her mouth, awkwardly gulping. ‘He’s dead, too?’
Bea wished Piers had stayed for this tear-fest. He would have loved it. He’d have said it was ‘real’, two women with mouths awry, eyes shut, shoulders humping forward. Their legs had been thrown akimbo, regardless of the decencies. Oh, the amount of water that flowed from the two women! If they were living in Alice in Wonderland, this would be the pool of tears.
Mrs Tarring shook both her hands in the air, trying and failing to speak.
Magda sank into a chair, and let herself fall back till her head rested on the back.
Bea clapped her hands. ‘That’s quite enough, ladies! Time to stop crying and do something to sort this mess out. I am going to make some good coffee while you both dry your eyes and get yourselves sorted. Right?’
She didn’t wait for a reply but went to the kitchen to make some extra-strong coffee. Her phone rang. It was William Morton, presumably ringing from the Isle of Wight.
‘Sorry to ring you so early, Bea, but there’s been a little problem here.’
With a catch in her voice, Bea said, ‘Bernice? Has something happened to Bernice?’ She envisaged a mishap at sea … Bernice being washed overboard … an accident in the car in which she was a passenger … or a bout of poisoning, some food that …?
‘No, no. Nothing to alarm. It’s just that she’s had a bit of a spat with Alicia, you know what kids are; one moment they’re best friends and the next they’re mortal enemies.’ He tried a laugh on for size.
This was serious. Bea sank onto a stool. ‘Tell me.’
‘They quarrelled – you know what girls are like. Bernice can be very … very. You know?’
Bernice knew. ‘Yes?’ Putting iron into her voice.
‘In fact, she has behaved rather badly. Our hostess is quite put out. She knows that the child has had a dysfunctional family and that you are trying to teach her manners, but she says Bernice has been, well, rude.’
‘Really?’ Even more iron in her voice.
‘I couldn’t get her to apologize. I was at my wits’ end, what with Alicia being so upset, and Bernice … well, you know how impossible she can be.’
‘Get to the point.’
‘We’re booked to take part in a regatta today, something our hostess has been planning for ages. Bernice has decided not to take part. You can imagine what a difficult situation this puts me in.’
Bea could imagine it very well. ‘So …?’
In a rush of words, ‘The child has stormed off. I caught up with her on the road. She insisted on being put on the ferry and says she’ll make her own way back, if you please. I couldn’t stop her.’
‘So you let a twelve-year-old child, for whom you’re responsible, go off by herself on public transport?’ Bea let ice drip into her voice.
‘What else could I do?’ Almost whining. What a weakling!
‘Bring her back yourself.’
‘You must see I couldn’t do that, not with all the arrangements that had been made for us this weekend. Anyway, Bernice insisted she didn’t want anything more to do with me. Stalked off, in fact. I saw her onto the ferry and now I have to get back.’
‘You’re responsible if anything happens to her.’
‘No, I’m—’
Bea shut off the call.
Dear Lord, please! Please keep her safe!
She tried Bernice’s phone. The call went to voicemail. She left a message for the child to ring her, immediately! Straight away! Now!
Moving with care, she carried the tray with coffee, mugs, milk and sugar through to the sitting room, where her guests were patting their faces dry and adjusting their skirts. Bea’s hands didn’t even shake as she dispensed coffee and handed round milk and sugar. Her mind had split into two; one half was following Bernice on the ferry back to the mainland, while the other was trying to deal with the problems represented by these two irritating women. She would very much like to scream and howl, to lie down on the floor and have hysterics, but of course she couldn’t do that. Not till she was alone, anyway.
She could do nothing about Bernice until the girl rang. Meanwhile, she had to solve the Rycroft problem. ‘Now, Mrs Tarring,’ said Bea, sipping her own coffee. ‘I assume you have some news for us?’
‘Yes.’ Mrs Tarring rattled her cup back onto its saucer. ‘I wish I hadn’t. I don’t understand why …’ She made an effort to control herself. ‘I had a message on my landline phone when I got home last night. From His Lordship’s housekeeper here in town, to ring her on her mobile. I was so tired, but I did ring her and she said … Oh dear, she was in such a state. It took me ages to understand what she was saying. I knew she was inclined to be superstitious, but this was something else! She went on and on about fate and death and bad luck and how she wasn’t going to stay to be a part of it … all nonsense of course! I offered to go round to her but she said she was giving in her notice and in fact had already packed up and left and gone to her brother’s, because there was no way she was going to stay in that house of doom any longer, and I was not to ring her back because she was turning her phone off to get a good night’s sleep. And she switched off.’
Mrs Tarring blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘I tried to ring her back. No luck. You can imagine how worried I was. The houses are never left unoccupied. The pictures, the silver, the antiques! I couldn’t believe that she would have let us down at such a time. I hardly slept at all and this morning I made up my mind to go round to see her at her brother’s … and then I realized I hadn’t his phone number or address and that they would be at the office. Just as I was preparing to leave, she rang me again to say I should send her money on to her brother’s house, plus two months’ extra for her pain and suffering. I couldn’t believe it. I said she couldn’t just have abandoned the house like that, and she said it was more than flesh and blood could stand and someone else could put the dishwasher on, which was full at the time, but she wasn’t going back even though she might have left a window open upstairs in her toilet and it wouldn’t shut properly and it was my problem and I must get someone round to see to it.
‘I told her, I said, “You can’t leave without giving us notice,” but she said it was already done and nothing would make her go back and I could find out about Lord Rycroft’s death by ringing the police in Oxford and she wouldn’t be going to the funeral, no matter what!’
‘Oh!’ cried Magda. ‘Lord Rycroft’s dead?’
‘I couldn’t believe it, but after she’d rung off I found the number of the Oxford police, and rang them. Yes, it’s true. I’m still in shock. He’d driven off the road straight into a tree. A witness said he’d seen t
he car coming down the hill far too fast, tooting his horn, and he, the witness, wondered if the brakes had failed. No doubt the police will check. His Lordship was alive but unconscious when they got to him, and he died on the way to hospital. The police couldn’t find his phone. They think it flew out of his hand in the impact and someone trod on it or it got damaged when they cut him out of the car. They identified him from cards in his wallet. His diary gave his contact details, next of kin and so on.’
Magda’s face twisted. ‘It definitely wasn’t Lucas?’
‘No, it was Lord Rycroft. They gave me the registration of the car. It’s the one that’s registered to him.’
Magda whispered, ‘Thank God.’
Mrs Tarring said, ‘I’m not sure I can thank God. What a mess!’
Bea concentrated. ‘After the accident the police would have tried to contact his next of kin. First they would have tried Kent, whose mobile is missing and who is also in hospital. Then they’d try Owen’s number, but he’s dead. Lastly, they’d contact the London address, which is where, finally, they made contact with his housekeeper?’
Mrs Tarring said, ‘I hope Kent agrees with me that that woman gets any back pay that’s due to her and not a penny more. Leaving without notice and at such a time! Abandoning the house with a window upstairs open! And dirty plates in the dishwasher. Appalling behaviour.’
Bea said, ‘Mrs Tarring, I realize this is a difficult situation for you, but as of this moment you represent the trust. The police and the hospital will want to know who is going to make arrangements for Lord Rycroft’s funeral.’
‘Kent decides everything like that. How do I know what to do? I rang Hammersmith Hospital to see how Kent was doing, and they wouldn’t tell me anything because I’m not a relative, even though we visited him there yesterday. All this red tape!’
Magda dabbed her eyes. ‘Oh! It’s all too much.’
Bea tried to bring her mind back from the horrors that might even now be enveloping Bernice … white slavery … being picked up by a strange man …
Mrs Tarring sniffed, richly. ‘I thought perhaps the family solicitor might be able to help, but it’s a Sunday and there’s no one at his office. I tried. I think he goes out of town at weekends. I don’t know which funeral directors the family would like to use. Then, the newspapers ought to be informed, obituaries need to be prepared, and what about His Lordship’s housekeeper at the country house? I did ring her to let her know what has happened, but she was no help. She said she’d stay on for a while if I personally guaranteed her wages, and I said I would, although I didn’t think it was an appropriate time to …’ She blew her nose. ‘I’m afraid I may have been rather terse with her.’
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