Murder in Midwinter

by Lesley Cookman

  ‘Let’s fill you in a bit. How much do you know about your Aunt Maria?’

  ‘Nothing at all. I didn’t even know she existed.’ Bella considered leaning back in her chair and decided against it as the tea in her cup threatened to transfer itself to her saucer.

  ‘But you knew your grandmother?’

  ‘Hardly. She died a year after I was born. My father didn’t talk about her much.’

  ‘I gather he left home very early and went to work in the city.’ Robert Grimshaw referred to something in the buff folder.

  ‘As soon as he could, I think.’ Bella replaced her cup on the tray and edged surreptitiously back in to the chair. There was no beating it, she decided, as she collapsed backwards.

  ‘You know your grandmother’s name?’

  ‘Dorinda? My maiden name was Durbridge, so presumably she was Dorinda Durbridge.’

  ‘No, she never was.’ Robert Grimshaw looked pleased by Bella’s surprise. ‘She was Dorinda Alexander. She never married. Your father took his father’s name – in fact, he was registered as Durbridge on his birth certificate.’

  Bella thought for a moment. ‘So who was my grandfather?’

  ‘A gentleman called Daniel Durbridge. I don’t have much information about him, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So my grandmother was a bit of a girl?’

  Robert Grimshaw sighed. ‘Well – yes. But there is quite a story to all this. I don’t know all of it, but I expect Maria will have told you.’

  ‘Maria? Oh, my aunt. But she hasn’t told me anything. I’ve just said – I never met her.’

  ‘No, but she left some documents to be passed on to you, and I would assume she will have written you a letter. She wrote one for your father, but she destroyed it when he died.’

  ‘How did she know about us?’ Bella had forgotten about the uncomfortable chair.

  ‘She kept track of both Bertram and you.’

  ‘Did he know about her?’

  ‘Oh, yes. They both lived here. But he left home and she stayed here to run the theatre.’

  ‘Theatre? What theatre?’

  ‘The Alexandria.’ He frowned. ‘I did tell you in the letter.’

  ‘No, you just said my aunt had left me property including March Cottage.’

  ‘Oh.’ He picked up what was obviously a copy of the letter and tutted. ‘Dear me. Well, she has also left you the Alexandria. I could never understand why she didn’t sell it, myself.’

  Stunned, Bella gaped at him. ‘Do you mean to say –’ she gasped, when she could speak, ‘that I own a theatre?’

  ‘Well, yes. Except that it’s virtually derelict.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘At the western end of the bay. It looks out over the sea – quite a pretty spot, actually. But it’s been boarded up for years. It was used for storage for a long time – various people used to rent it.’

  ‘Could it be restored?’ Bella’s mind was leaping ahead.

  Robert Grimshaw looked bewildered. ‘Restored? What for?’

  ‘To use as a theatre, of course. There isn’t one here, is there?’

  ‘Well, no. There’s the Carlton Pavilion – they have entertainment, but –’

  ‘Well, there you are then! Every seaside town needs a live theatre!’ Bella pushed herself out of the chair and it banged loudly on the floor, affronted.

  ‘Good heavens! You can’t mean that you’d want to do that? It closed because of lack of interest. You’d never keep it going.’

  ‘Well, I can look in to it, can’t I? When did it close?’

  ‘Years ago. In the fifties, I think. She could have sold the site for quite a lot then – and even more in the eighties. I intended to get it on the market for you as soon as possible. I even had it valued.’ Robert Grimshaw looked extremely put out.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry.’ Bella sat down again and the chair hit her behind the knees. ‘I love the theatre you see. Perhaps I got a bit carried away.’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked at her warily. ‘Well. I am to give you the keys of both properties, her deed box which contains the documents I mentioned, and arrange an advance on her bank account. Probate won’t take long, but in the meantime, you cannot sell anything of hers, or draw on her bank. If you’ll give me details of your bank, I will make the necessary arrangements.’

  Bella was beginning to feel shell-shocked. ‘Bank account? I didn’t know anything about that.’

  ‘Well, you are Miss Alexander’s sole legatee.’ He looked at her as though she was half-witted. ‘Obviously you would inherit her bank account. Not that there’s much in it,’ he added, as an afterthought.

  It was another twenty minutes before Bella came out into the autumn sunshine clutching a folder of documents and feeling dazed. Her first thought was to phone home and share the incredible news, until she remembered that Andrew would be at work and the children at school. Not, she realised, that Andrew was going to be overjoyed anyway, having only been interested in the re-sale value of her inheritance in the first place. She walked slowly along the narrow High Street until she found a cafe that had remained open after the end of the summer season, where she could while away the hour or so until she reconvened with Robert Grimshaw, who was going to take her to see March Cottage.

  ‘Is this it?’

  Visions of a whitewashed cottage with roses climbing over the door and into the thatch disappeared. Bella sat in Mr Grimshaw’s car and stared at the row of red brick cottages, their front doors opening straight on to the narrow street. The third one from the right had “March Cottage” on the planked wooden door in uncompromisingly plain metal letters. Both door and letters were painted the sort of green she remembered from her childhood, neither emerald nor bottle nor apple, but reminiscent of grim school buildings.

  ‘Yes, this is it.’ Robert Grimshaw got out of the car and politely came to open the passenger door for her. ‘Very desirable property, this. Second homes, you know.’

  Bella did know, and had always despised second home owners who plucked the best properties from the mouths – figuratively speaking – of the local people. Now, it seemed, she was one herself. She followed Mr Grimshaw to the door, which he opened with a struggle, the door sticking in the frame as if reluctant to let them inside.

  ‘A bit musty,’ he said cheerfully, as he led the way in to the sitting room and put a hand to the light switch. ‘Oh, dear. Electricity’s not on. I’ll see to it, if you like.’

  Bella nodded absently, taking in the over-furnished room, the high-backed wooden chairs with their patchwork cushions either side of what looked like a genuine range, the tables laden with small ornaments and photographs on lace covers stiff, now, with dust and neglect. Her eyes went to the window, hung with lace curtains under worn velvet, and despite the lowering grey clouds which had begun to gather over the sea since lunchtime, her spirits lifted.

  ‘How soon could we get the electricity on?’ she asked, turning back to Robert Grimshaw, who was running a bony finger along the top of a doorframe.

  ‘Oh, a day or so. Why – not thinking of staying here, are you?’ He laughed heartily.

  ‘Well, yes, actually.’ Bella hadn’t known that, but it was quite obvious that she was. ‘After all, whatever I do with the cottage, it will need cleaning up, won’t it? Would it be all right if I stayed here? I mean, with probate and everything?’

  ‘No problem – but are you sure? I mean, it’s not exactly up to date, is it?’ He was looking at her as though she’d suddenly grown an extra head.

  ‘Well, I’ll soon find out, won’t I?’ Bella smiled at him and held out her hand. ‘May I have the keys, now? I don’t want to hold you up any longer.’

  ‘Don’t you want me to drive you back? I thought I could take you to the station – save you a taxi.’ His expression told her that he was fast having his first impression of her confirmed – she was batty.

  ‘No, thank you, Mr Grimshaw. I’ve taken up far too much of your time already.’ Bella smiled sweetly at
him again.

  Clearing his throat and going faintly pink, Robert Grimshaw edged a little closer. ‘Ah – no trouble at all, I assure you. Matter of fact, I was going to suggest a spot of tea –’

  ‘No, no. I shall be fine – really.’ Bella, the smile solidifying on her face. ‘May I have the keys?’

  He handed her a large bunch of keys with a buff label attached. ‘The keys to the other building are there, as well. I don’t advise you going inside it, though. It could be dangerous.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’ Bella moved towards the door, hoping he would take the hint.

  ‘Call the office in the morning and I’ll be able to tell you about the gas and electricity.’ He sighed and stooped to go out of the door. ‘Good luck, Mrs Morleigh.’

  Bella watched him drive down to the end of the little street and went back inside. She was conscious of a rising sense of excitement as she explored the cottage. Despite Robert Grimshaw’s gloomy predictions, it was in very good order. The range, when inspected, still contained grey ash and half-burnt wood, so, clearly, it had been functioning until Maria died, and in the two bedrooms at the top of the enclosed staircase, modern, slimline storage heaters had been installed. Both these rooms contained old metal bedsteads, whether or not they were brass Bella couldn’t tell, both made up with white linen sheets, blankets and hand-crocheted bedspreads. A thick sage green carpet covered the whole of the upper floor and continued down the stairs, where it gave way to polished floorboards and rugs in the front room and a step down on to the stone flags of the kitchen. Here, an old wire-fronted cabinet and a huge dresser provided the storage, while an ancient cream Rayburn proved to be the only cooking source. The deep Butler sink was crackle-glazed but clean, except where the cold tap had dripped over the months and left a raindrop-shaped stain. Through a door on one side of the sink was a lobby with a door to the garden and a variety of baskets and old boots, newspapers and flowerpots, and the door to the bathroom. Bella stopped in surprise.

  The bathroom had been fitted very recently. Pristine white fittings had their full complement of aids for the disabled, the flooring was soft cork tiles and a top of the range electronic shower had been fitted over the bath, which had a pull out seat at the other end. Over the sink stood one or two little bottles and a tube of Steradent tablets.

  A sudden thump against the frosted window and a dark shape appeared. Bella jumped, her heart racing. The shape patted the glass. ‘Miaow,’ it said, faintly. Bella backed out of the bathroom and struggled with the bolts on the back door. When she eventually won, she had barely pulled the door open a crack before a fluffy black cat with a distinguished white shirt front had pushed its way in and started winding itself around her legs.

  ‘Well, hello.’ Bella bent down and stroked the long fur. ‘And who might you be?’

  The cat walked away from her hand and straight to the Rayburn, where it began sniffing round the floor. It turned to look at Bella, then went into the sitting room, jumped on to one of the wooden chairs and began to wash.

  Bella watched it for a moment. It must know the house well, but it obviously didn’t belong here, or it would have starved in the four months since Maria died. And this cat was by no means starving.

  She settled down in the chair opposite the cat, picked up the buff folder and leant towards the window to catch the light. Mr Grimshaw had opened the deed box in her presence and, sure enough it had revealed a letter addressed to “My niece, Arabella Durbridge.”

  ‘That was why we had a bit of trouble tracing you,’ Robert Grimshaw had explained. ‘We assumed that was your name now – she didn’t leave any indication that you had married.’

  Funny names, thought Bella as she slit open the long brown envelope. Glamorous names. Maria, Dorinda, Arabella. She had never questioned her own name before, other than to wish it belonged to somebody else when she was a child.

  “My dear Arabella,” the letter began. “No doubt you will already know that you have inherited my house and the Alexandria Theatre by the time you read this letter. I expect this came as a shock to you, as I am quite certain you did not know of my existence. I do not know if my half-brother Bertram ever told his wife, but I think it unlikely as he did not even invite our mother to his wedding.”

  Bella looked up from the spidery writing and met the green eyes of the cat, who had stopped washing to stare at her.

  ‘I never knew that,’ she said, and returned to her reading.

  “Doubtless Bertram had his own valid reasons,” the letter went on, “but it distressed her very much. She had returned here to live with me when he first left home, and, as I’m sure you know, she died a year after you were born. She made me promise that I would not embarrass either Bertram or you by getting in touch and I have respected her wishes. Bertram was ashamed of his mother, I am proud of her. I believe his father, Daniel Durbridge, whose name you bear, had been in touch with him, and whether this had a bearing on his feelings towards our mother, I shall never know. Durbridge was an unpleasant man, out for all he could get. In fact, at one point he tried to gain control of the Alexandria from my mother by underhand means, but I am afraid he underestimated me. I have no idea how you will feel, but I will tell you her story.”

  Bella edged the chair a little nearer to the window and tried to get comfortable. She was cold, and dying for a cup of tea, but something told her she should read Maria’s letter in Maria’s house. The cat jumped down, yawned elegantly and came to put its paws on her knees.

  ‘Come on, then,’ said Bella and moved to accommodate it. It settled down, purring, sending warm vibrations through her thighs as she resumed reading.

  “My mother, Dorinda Alexander, was a governess. She was the youngest daughter of a middle-class tradesman and his wife, who in her turn was the daughter of a brewery owner. Dorinda was sent to Mr & Mrs Shepherd, friends of her parents, to look after their daughter Julia, while their sons were away at school. Every summer, as was the custom in those days, the family took a house here at the seaside. The staff came with them, while the boys joined them when their school closed for the holidays, when Dorinda would have charge of all three children, and Mr Earnest would come down for as long as he could in August.

  “In the summer of 1903, the family were living here when Dorinda met a young man called Peter Prince, who was with a troupe of Pierrots called Will’s Wanderers. The relationship was highly irregular, especially as it became more intimate. Naturally enough, it was discovered and she was turned off. She could not go home to her parents, but luckily the young man, who, you will have guessed, was my father, did not desert her, and they moved in to digs together. Dorinda, who could play the piano and sing very well, was incorporated in to the troupe – one of the first women known to have performed with Pierrots – and they obtained a piano on wheels for her to play. At the end of the season, Dorinda advertised private French and piano lessons and Peter took any jobs he could. During that winter they were able to rent this cottage.

  “During the season of 1904, Dorinda became the leader of a new troupe called the Silver Serenaders, so called because their costumes, which, instead of being white, were made of a silvery material. Eventually they were given their own ‘pitch’, of which after a couple of years, Dorinda bought the freehold and built the Alexandria Theatre. She was an extremely successful woman and a wonderful mother. I was born in March 1914, and Peter Prince went to join the army later that year. She never saw him again. She and I stayed here in this cottage, which she eventually bought.

  “The Silver Serenaders became The Alexandrians and were as well known in this part of the country as Will Catlin’s Royal Pierrots in Scarborough. Eventually, the Alexandria stayed open all year and attracted some of the top Music Hall artistes. My mother would go to London during the winter to see their acts and bring them down here the following summer. She was also somewhat of a personality among the literary set, several of whom professed to be in love with her.

  “During the war The Alexandrian
s became an all female troupe, but towards the end of the war, when my mother went up to London, she met a popular singer and comedian called Daniel Durbridge whom she persuaded to join us. Unfortunately, by the time she discovered she was pregnant, she had also discovered that he was already married. Bertram was born just after Armistice Day in 1918, Daniel left his wife and persuaded my mother to join him, leaving Bertram and myself in the care of one of the women in the troupe. Together, they went to South Africa and then toured Ceylon, but when they returned, Daniel went back to his wife. I wanted her to come back here, as The Alexandrians were still running the theatre, but my mother wanted to try her luck in London and sent for Bertram to join her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t successful, and in 1932, when Bertram left school, he left home as well, so she returned here. We continued to run the Alexandria until her last illness in 1952, after which I used to lease it for the summer season to small companies for summer repertory. By the beginning of the sixties, that sort of thing was dying out and I closed the theatre.

  “What you intend to do with the building, I do not know. It has been used as warehousing for various businesses in the town, but as far as I know, the seating and the stage are still there. Robert Grimshaw has tried to persuade me to sell it time after time – the site alone being worth a considerable amount of money – but I have a good deal of affection for the old place and I like to go and sit on the park bench opposite and remember. I hope you will do the same. For some reason, my mother thought, when you were born, that you would be the one to carry on the family tradition, but as far as I know, you are not in the profession and I have no idea whether you would have any interest in it. If you wish to sell the Alexandria, I hope you will, but please make sure that all the programmes and costumes that I have kept are housed properly, as I cannot help but feel they will be of great interest to historians, particularly local and theatrical.

  “It is interesting that your father should have chosen a name so similar to mine and our mother’s for you. Perhaps he still retained some family feeling for us, after all.