‘My aunt said that?’
Helena shook her head. ‘My mother. She hated me because of my beauty. She had wanted me to be inconspicuous, ugly even, so I would not suffer the same fate as she had, always pursued by men. Men who did not want to marry and secure her, but only use and then discard her. My mother had become so weary of always being discarded. When she had me, she wished I would be ugly, never noticed by men.’
She took a deep shuddering breath. ‘But I was pretty. Beautiful even. When I was fourteen, she tried to disfigure my face because it was better for me.’
Alkmene shrank inwardly. What a ghastly thing to do to your own daughter. No wonder Helena had become desperate for love and recognition later in life. To make up for what her mother had never given her.
Helena said in a whisper, ‘I ran away. I lived with a relative for a while, then I lied that I was eighteen already and I became a governess. The family moved to India and there I met them. Lord Winters and his wife, their sons. Then all my trouble began for real.’
Helena stared in the distance, her face contorted with emotion. ‘They invited me over for parties because I could sing well and play the piano. I did not play pieces like all the others did, but something special, unknown, from my own country.’
Alkmene recalled that the general had said it was some opera thing he had not known, because he was not opera-minded. Now it seemed he could not have known it, as the music had been native to Helena’s land of birth.
Helena said, ‘They all liked it and said it was pretty, but some women whispered that my music was like a siren song and it turned men’s heads. They did not like the way in which their sons looked at me. Nobody wanted me, a foreigner, for a daughter-in-law.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Lady Winters was different than the others. She was kind. She cared for stray animals and orphaned children. Everything that was weak she wanted to care for, keep alive. She also cared for me, at first. Only later when she realized what it was getting to did it all change. She hated me, she died, and then I had to pack all of her things. Albert made me. I did not want to do it, because I myself would never have wanted a woman I hated to go through my things after I was dead.’
Her hands clawed in her lap. Her voice got shrill. ‘But I had no choice. I had already agreed to marry Albert. I had to agree to his proposal, so I would not have to marry another.’
‘Lord Winters?’ Alkmene probed. ‘He was really in love with you?’
Helena nodded. ‘He had told me before of countries where men took a second wife. He had told me I would make a good second wife for any man who already had a wife but wanted more. He never said that he meant him or me, but I knew what he meant. I could see it by the look in his eyes when he spoke to me. Even when he didn’t speak to me, but he was just in the same room with me, that look was in his eyes. Always.’
A moment her eyes flashed with hatred. ‘I had to run away from him.’
‘But in marrying Albert you hardly ran away from him,’ Alkmene said, perplexed.
‘It was to be for a time only. I would bear Albert an heir for his title, his home and his lands, and then he would divorce me.’
It was the deal George had mentioned to her in the stables.
Alkmene frowned. George had been talkative because he had been drunk. Or at least having seen him with the bottle and having smelled his breath, she had believed he was drunk. In this haze he had confided in her.
But why was Helena telling her all this?
Helena, who had upon her arrival dumped scorching hot tea in her lap to make her leave again.
Was the woman mentally immature, going from one extreme emotion to the next? Had she first believed Alkmene was an enemy who had to be driven away, while she now saw her as an ally who could help out?
Helena said, ‘I would have money and freedom to live my own life, in London. It sounded like a dream. So I agreed. But once we were back here in England, everything went wrong. My father-in-law often threatened me. He blamed me for his wife’s death. He said I had killed her by coming into their lives. He blamed me for having changed Albert and for having caused George’s drinking. He even said I was making Anne cry.’
She laughed softly. ‘I wanted to befriend Anne and help her, but she is a strange girl. One moment she is your friend, the next she doesn’t like you any more and accuses you of some imaginary injustice. I could not deal with those changes and pulled away from her. She blamed me for that. She said I had poisoned the atmosphere in the house, that I had made the feeling evil. They all blame me. They are all saying I ruined their family.’
She took another deep breath, raising a trembling hand to her throat. ‘I gave you the blue room to spite my husband. I admit it. But I have no other recourse against him. I can only try and do little things to make him angry. And I pay the price for it when he gets back at me.’
She held out her wrist, defiantly, showing off the dark blue-purplish bruises. ‘I gave you this room, but that was silly of me. You have found the letters now.’
‘I have not read them,’ Alkmene said encouragingly.
‘I wanted to take them away, but now I am changing my mind.’ Helena looked up at Alkmene. She reached out and touched her hand, saying, ‘You must read them. Then you will understand what it was really like there. Why I had to do what I did. Even if everybody blames me for it, I know I did the right thing. I had to.’
She stood up, straight, although she was still shivering. ‘I do not care what Albert thinks. He beats me anyway. He doesn’t need a reason. He only invents one to justify it. Like it can ever be justified.’
She walked to the door. ‘Please do not tell anybody anything of what I have just shared with you. It will only make it worse for me.’
Alkmene said, ‘Can you not leave your husband?’
‘He would give me nothing. How would I live? Where could I go?’
‘I might find a flat for you, and you could look for a job.’
Helena laughed softly. ‘I am Lady Winters now. I cannot go look for a job.’ She turned to Alkmene with a sad look. ‘I have not fulfilled my end of the deal yet. I have not borne him the heir. I tell myself that once I have, he will let me go.’
‘But you are not sure that he will. And what if he beats you so badly before you ever bear this heir that you…are injured seriously or even die?’
She shrugged. ‘My mother always had a saying. You get in life what you deserve. For having wanted security, riches and a name to be proud of, I got this. I suppose it is just what I deserve. Goodnight.’
And Helena drew the door to a soft close.
Alkmene stared at that closed door, more bewildered by all this than by the images of her nightmare. Like those, these revelations on Helena’s part were shadows, taking on new shapes as she studied them, wanting to find substance, something to hold on to. But there was none.
From the moment she had come here Helena had made her feel unwelcome. She had conspired to make her leave again. Now she had confided in her and assured her she wanted her to read her aunt’s letters.
So that she could read that her aunt had been mad? Was that Helena’s ultimate weapon against her, making her insecure because she would realize a family member had become insane?
Or was there another reason for Helena’s insistence she should read those letters and experience for herself, first-hand, from an eyewitness what it had been like in India?
Was the reason for Lord Winters’ death buried there?
Did Helena want her to find it?
If so, why?
Could it perhaps incriminate her husband, Albert?
If he was convicted for murder and strung up, Helena would be free. Not a divorced woman with shame attached, but a respectable widow. Courted for her beauty and her charm.
She would have exactly what she had set out to get when she had run away from home and her aggressive mother: a better life, with money and reputation.
Was it worth killing for?
Chapter Twelve
Jake and Alkmene sat on a fallen tree trunk in the shade of an old birch. They had walked away from the house so nobody could observe them from a window, not even with field glasses. They were all alone here and free to talk. To discuss the letters that Alkmene had brought. She had started telling Jake about the peculiar events of last night.
Jake sighed as she was done. ‘I agree that there must be some ulterior motive behind Helena’s visit to your room. She seems so cold and in control all of the time. Would she suddenly unbend completely and confide in you? No. It has to be part of some bigger plan. Maybe with George, who confessed to his supposed hatred of his father?’
Alkmene shook her head. ‘His hatred of his father was well known. He did not play that for my sake. He had no idea I would ever come here, you know. And also, I saw the bruises on Helena’s wrist. They were real. I caught Albert slapping her across the face the first afternoon we came here. Those are facts that nobody can deny. It is not part of an act on her part.’
‘Of course not.’ Jake leaned his elbows on his knees. ‘I don’t deny that her husband is violent towards her. But that doesn’t mean that all the rest of what she told you is true as well. We have no way of checking up on it. I mean, the whole India business. Lord Winters being in love with her, wanting to have her for a second wife, looking at her in a certain covetous way. Your aunt hating her for that reason, turning against her… It is all Helena’s words. Her interpretation of events. She might not even be consciously lying. Just telling things as she believed they were. After a while people can start to believe their own version of events. Keep embellishing it, adducing little details that to their minds fit in with their ideas of what was real.’
He stared ahead a moment. ‘I made the calls to London to ask for records about your aunt’s death. There are some, so I should know more soon. If we know she died a natural death, we can drop the idea that her husband killed her. Then George lied to you in the stables last night.’
‘He might not have lied, but simply told me his version of the story. What he believes. He can still have killed his father if he somehow believed him guilty of his mother’s death. That his father wasn’t guilty at all would not matter to him as long as he believed his own version and the drinking induced him to act on what he believed.’
Jake nodded again. ‘Agreed. So George is our favourite suspect.’
Alkmene stared down at her purse. ‘She came to take away the letters, I just told you. Letters my aunt wrote to my mother. Apparently they were never sent for they were all in India, among her personal effects after her death. Helena had to clean them out with all the rest. She said she should have burned them. I am not sure whether that was her husband’s order to her, or she now believes she should have done it at the time.’
‘Why would they have had to be destroyed?’ Jake asked. ‘Can they contain clues as to how she died? Who wanted her dead?’
Alkmene bit her lip. ‘I am not sure it is that simple. I had already seen a bit of them earlier. Just a few lines that suggest a whole lot. They seem to tell of…some mental trouble my aunt had.’
Jake looked at her, with a frown. ‘I do not understand.’
‘The letter I caught a glimpse of implies that…she feared she was losing her mind.’
Jake didn’t say anything. He held her gaze. Alkmene tried not to look away, not even to blink.
Jake said, ‘How much did you read?’
‘Nothing besides that one line. I…felt like it was kind of private.’ Alkmene looked away now, listening to the birds in the branches above their heads.
Jake put his hand on hers. ‘You were afraid it was true and she was going mad.’
Alkmene shrugged. ‘Well, it could have been for all I know. My father never shared much about her, like it was some sort of huge family secret. I always figured he was just not keen on acknowledging family members who were not as privileged as we were. My grandmother had married down to be with this captain.’
She hoped to distract Jake with this tidbit that would no doubt get him angry about titled people looking down on others, but Jake just said, ‘You have the letters on you now?’
‘Yes.’
‘I will read them.’ He held out his hand.
Alkmene opened her purse. ‘But you will tell me honestly what is in them?’
‘Of course. I would not lie to you.’
Alkmene put the stack in his palm, not letting go yet. Holding his gaze, she said, ‘You would not lie to me even if it meant telling me there is madness in my family line?’
Jake exhaled. ‘You know me a little now. I give you my word that I will tell you the truth. Good enough?’
Alkmene nodded, and he accepted the stack and began to read.
She sat beside him shuffling her feet in the tall grass, plucking at an errant weed here and there, tearing bark off the trunk they sat on. Doing any little thing not to have to look at his expression as he read. What if a frown or a disgusted look betrayed that he was indeed reading the ravings of someone slowly going crazy?
He had turned over a couple of sheets when he said, ‘These letters are really very vague. They describe perfectly normal events, but then she makes a big deal out of them. Having misplaced a brush, finding the gate open to the fenced off area where she kept her stray animals.’
‘Anne mentioned something like that the other day, remember? She said that Helena had opened the gate and let a deer escape to be killed by a wild dog. That it had been done on purpose, to get even for the deer spoiling Helena’s dress. So that incident really happened.’
Jake gestured with his free hand. ‘Even so the way it is told here your aunt blamed herself for it, saying she was forgetting more and more things. It seems to me she was under nervous strain and began to make more of little events than was necessary.’
‘There is no proof she was really…’
Jake said, ‘Her hand is strong and her sentence structure logical. I have a feeling she was a woman on her own in a household with no one to talk to. She confided in her sister back at home, through these letters, because she had no one else she could trust. If she had had somebody, to just laugh at her troubles and tell her not to worry, she might have been cured already.’
Alkmene perked up. ‘You really think so?’ Relief tingled through her chest.
Then she slumped again, adding, ‘Still she did die suddenly, and we don’t know how yet. What if we learn she died locked up because she had turned insane and was dangerous to others?’
‘Why would George have told you then his father had killed her?’
‘In an indirect way. By making her insecure and hateful towards Helena. Maybe feeling threatened by this much younger woman she started to think she was old and forgetful and going insane. Do the letters say anything about Helena? Her place in the family circle?’
‘They do mention someone she trusted but who betrayed her trust. Again this is very vague.’
Jake turned to a particular sheet and began to read again. He sat up. ‘Hey, here it says she warned her husband about some stones in his collection, stones with a lot of bloodshed attached. They had been the object of a family vendetta with family members killing each other over it for decades. Ever since the stones had become his, she feared both families would come after them. She implies she felt certain someone was watching them, waiting for a chance to get at the stones.’
Jake glanced at Alkmene. ‘That might be worth looking into. Perhaps those specific stones caused his death even after all these years?’
Alkmene hm-ed. It was consoling her aunt had not really been going mad. It was logical that she had not had anyone to confide in and had believed her sister could lend a sympathetic ear even across the distance.
‘Hey,’ she suddenly said to Jake. She marvelled that she hadn’t considered this before. ‘What are the dates of these letters?’
Jake checked them. ‘June, July and August of 1917.’
‘What?’ Alkmene said. A s
hiver pushed up gooseflesh on her arms. ‘My mother died in February 1900. When my aunt wrote these letters to her, she had been dead for seventeen years.’
The wind breathing onto her neck made her want to wrap her arms around her shoulders. Wasn’t it a sign of madness in itself to write to someone long dead?
Jake looked at her, pursing his lips. ‘That might explain why the letters were never sent. She had never intended to send them. She just wrote down her troubles, like you do in a diary. She addressed it to her sister, who was in her mind still the only one she could turn to.’
Alkmene sighed. ‘Writing to someone who has been dead for so long does seem a little eccentric to me. I sure hope we learn of a very innocent cause of death or else I might not sleep easy again for some time.’
Jake read on, sharing some tidbits with her here and there. The letters mentioned that Lord Winters was away a lot, and that when he was at home, he was moody and unreasonable. It also said something in the vein of George is trying to protect me, but he can’t do much.
Alkmene nodded. ‘That would be in line with George’s drunken confession. He tried to protect his mother from his father’s whims, but could not in the end.’
Jake held the letters. ‘These actually support our case against George. He is a frustrated man because he could not protect his mother from his father’s carelessness, possibly even cruelty. The threat that his father would gladly replace his mother with a younger, more beautiful woman, if only he could? George blamed his father for it and then one night, having drunk more than usual, or provoked by a special incident that we are still to discover, he got so mad he sought confrontation with his father in the study and in the heat of their argument bashed his father’s head in with one of the heavy polo trophies that was within easy reach. Means, opportunity, motive. What else do we need? He even hired a burglar to break in that very night so he would have someone on the scene to take the blame.’
Diamonds of Death Page 10
