To Lula’s right, in another low armchair, sat a young woman also in her late twenties or perhaps early thirties who had a pinched face, sallow complexion, and long, straight, black hair. She was attractive at the right angle and with the little bit of makeup she wore.
“Thank you, everyone, for being present tonight; I’m Lady Frances Marmalade and this is my butler, Alfred Donahue.”
“I’d sooner speak with you than the police,” chimed in Colin.
“You might get lucky enough to speak with both,” said Frances.
That shut him up for a moment. The young woman with the sallow complexion and long black hair who sat next to Lula stood up and reached her hand over to Lady Marmalade who shook it.
“I’m Penelope, Penelope Sallow,” she said in a soft but pleasant voice.
Frances looked over to the couch where Colin sat next to another woman. She had medium length curly brown hair. She too got up and addressed Lady Marmalade.
“Matilda Parsons,” she said, offering her hand to shake, which Frances did.
“Pleasure to meet both of you.”
Frances sat down and Alfred sat next to her. Matilda didn’t have what Frances would consider a horse’s face. She had somewhat of an overbite but it wasn’t terribly pronounced, and in fact she was the prettiest of the three young women present, and probably the oldest. Her voice was warm and pleasant and her gaze steady.
Lula reached over and handed Lady Marmalade some sheets of paper.
“These are the handwriting samples you asked for.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Frances, taking them from Lula.
She looked at all seven of them briefly. They had each written The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. And then they were signed by each person as well as had their name printed above their signature.
All seven of them were dissimilar, the five ladies’ handwriting much prettier than the men’s with one exception. Mollie’s, the housekeeper, was childlike and suggested a lack of formal education.
Colin’s handwriting was a scrawl and quite difficult to read in general and Jeremiah’s was clean and practical but hardly notable. The only hand which came close to being similar to the letters was Matilda’s; being similar it was by no means identical. Frances looked at it for a while trying to determine if Matilda had been trying to mask her normal handwriting when writing this sample. It was hard to tell.
Lady Marmalade gave the papers to Alfred who took his time looking at them through his glasses before folding them and putting them in his shirt pocket.
“So,” said Frances, “I’d like this to be an informal and carefree conversation. Please feel free to talk about anything you might like, though if it be related to Ms. Hollingsberry in some way, that would be much better. One question I have to start things off, is why is it so hot in here? How do you all manage?”
Frances was looking at Colin who was still wearing his small suit from earlier in the day.
“You get used to it, I guess,” he said.
Then he went back to sketching in the notebook he held open on his lap.
“I haven’t noticed how hot it is for quite some time,” said Penelope, “I think Colin’s right. You do get used to it. There’s no use complaining, Madge won’t hear of it.”
“She’s not well,” said Lula, “she get’s sick very easily with just the barest touch of cold air.”
“Not likely,” said Matilda, “I think Madge is a hypochondriac, actually. I’ve overheard her speak with Dr. Dankworth and he’s told her the same.”
“What has he actually said?” asked Frances.
“I don’t remember exactly but he basically said that her ills were all in her mind. He still gives her sugar pills for them, though. Though I don’t think she knows they’re sugar pills.”
“How do you know they’re sugar pills?”
“I took one and it did nothing for me.”
Lula and Penelope gasped. Matilda looked over at them and shrugged.
“Madge is always complaining about something. If she didn’t have her imagined ills to worry about there’d be no end to the grief in this place.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she’s generally mean spirited. You’ve met her; you must know what I’m talking about. She’s an uncouth, mean spirited woman who thinks only of herself and what’s in it for her.”
“Then why do you live here, Matilda?” asked Frances.
“There aren’t a whole lot of boarding homes available in London due to the bombings and I need to be close to work. I’m doing my bit for the war effort, working in the factory making munitions, and I like living with others. It feels safer.”
“And you, Colin, you’re at school. I would have thought they might have cancelled the non-essential programs.”
“And you’d be wrong. So long as you’re fit for war you can’t study art. But seeing as how I’m not fit for war, I can.”
“You look like an able bodied chap to me,” said Alfred.
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“He’s got terrible asthma and he suffered rheumatic fever as a child, exercise of any vigorous sort would be the death of him,” said Lula.
Colin looked over at her sternly.
“And I’m a conscientious objector,” he said.
“Painting violent works. That seems out of character,” said Alfred.
Lady Marmalade put her hand on Alfred’s knee.
“Yes, well, we’ve already determined that the two of you don’t have an appreciation for modern art.”
“And you, Penelope, are you not concerned for your safety, working in London?” asked Frances.
“Sometimes, during The Blitz of ’40 I was quite nervous, but I made it through then, and it’s funny how you get used to it. Everything seems so calm now. I mean, we haven’t had any bombs drop in over a couple of weeks isn’t it?”
“It’ll be twenty two nights if nothing happens tonight,” said Alfred.
Penelope nodded and smiled widely.
“Yes, right, that’s quite long. In a perverse way one misses them, I suppose. Not really misses them, but I guess the rhythm of things. Anyway, I need work and my employer won’t leave, can’t leave really, and so I’m stuck here. But as Matilda says, I like the company, it makes me feel safer, even if Ms. Hollingsberry is a bit overbearing at times.”
“And you, my dear Lula?”
“My grandmother needs me,” said Lula, fidgeting with her hands in her lap, “she’s the only family I’ve got around here.”
Frances looked at Lula’s hands, the knuckles of both were still crusted in blood.
“What happened to your hands, Lula?” asked Frances.
Lula looked down at them and bunched them into balls and when that didn’t hide the injuries completely she folded her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits.
“I scrapped them outside when taking out the rubbish,” she said. “Silly me.”
Her eyes wouldn’t meet Frances’, she kept them on the table.
“That’s not what you told me,” said Penelope.
“Shhh!” said Lula, looking very angrily at her friend.
“It’s no secret that Madge beats you, Lula, everybody knows it,” said Matilda.
“No, she doesn’t!”
Matilda rolled her eyes and shrugged.
“You can’t help those who won’t help themselves,” she said.
Lula looked up at Frances with pleading eyes and a quivering lip.
“She doesn’t mean to. She just gets angry sometimes and she can’t help herself. She’s very sorry after.”
“It’s still not right, my dear,” said Frances.
“Have any of you tried to help?”
“We called the police once, last year sometime I think it was,” said Matilda. “Fat lot of good that did. Lula here denied the whole thing and made us look like idiots. That’s what you get for trying to help.”
Lula wasn’t looking at anyone, she still hel
d her hands under armpits.
“Has Madge tried to hit anyone else?”
“She threatened me once with her cane, the stupid old woman,” said Matilda, “but I just pushed her down onto the floor. It was quite hilarious really. I don’t know why Lula allows her to keep doing it. Beyond me really.”
Frances looked at Lula.
“I don’t imagine this is the first time she’s done something like this to you, is it?”
Lula shook her head sadly.
“No,” she whispered, “but she’s not well and she doesn’t mean it.”
Matilda rolled her eyes again and sighed. She couldn’t understand how Lula could allow herself to be treated so badly.
“How old were you when she started hitting you?” asked Frances.
Lula looked up furtively and then dropped her eyes from Lady Marmalade.
“Five or six I guess, if I remember correctly.”
“You know you don’t have to put up with it anymore.”
“Where would I go? I don’t have a job or money, nobody likes me and nobody wants me except for my grandmother.”
Lula was mumbling, her eyes wet with pain.
“There are services out there that would help you, and as I understand it, the factories are in desperate need of young women who can work hard.”
“They are,” said Matilda, “I’m sure I could get you in, we have so many spots available, and you could find another boarding house to live in.”
“But I don’t think I’m very good at anything. I don’t even know how to use a hammer.”
“You’ll get shown,” said Matilda.
And this was the problem with poor, frail Lula. Not only had the beatings left physical scars, but they’d also beaten all confidence out of her. It was a terrible and criminal shame.
“Why have none of you stepped in when Lula’s been hit by Madge?” asked Frances, looking around the room at the young faces.
“We tried, like I said, to call the police once. But we only find out about it afterwards. Madge always waits until none of us are around.”
“Well, I’m going to talk to Inspector Pearce about this and see what we can do to help. You shouldn’t be letting anyone hit you, Lula, not at your age and not for any reasons whatsoever.”
Frances looked at her sternly as a mother might to her child. Lula was licking her lips and biting them.
“Why did she hit you this time?”
Lula wouldn’t look up at Frances, she couldn’t find her voice.
“Because Lula wasn’t able to bring you back with her last night when she called upon you,” said Penelope.
Frances shook her head. This whole situation was madness, she’d have to get Lula out from under Madge’s hand. And she was going to speak to Madge about it too.
“When I’m finished down here I’m going to go upstairs and talk some sense into Madge.”
“No, don’t!” exclaimed Lula, finding her voice quite suddenly.
“And why not, my dear?”
“Because it’ll just make things worse.”
“You can come and live with me until you get on your feet,” offered Frances.
“That’s very kind,” said Lula, glancing at Frances, “but I couldn’t dare leave my grandmother, she needs me.”
And this was the plight of the abused, somehow Lula had got it into her mind that this was her journey and her just deserts. It was wrong, but it could only be Lula who could change her own mind about that in time.
“I’d like to ask you all about Madge at this time. Anything you can share about her that you might think important would be helpful. I’ll start with you Penelope.”
“Well, if I can speak frankly...”
Frances nodded.
“Of course, anything you say will be held in confidence unless I should need to break that confidence due to you committing a criminal act.”
“Madge is not a pleasant woman. She’s not kind and she’s spiteful. As I said, the only reason I’m here is because of the company. Not hers, but Colin’s and Lula’s and Matilda’s. That and it’s cheap, too.”
“What do you think of these letters that she’s received?”
“I don’t know what to think of them. I haven’t seen them, but from what Lula says, they’ve upset her quite a bit. Though ever since I’ve known her, she’s been in bad sorts. Always a black mood, thinking she’s about to die at any moment. That’s why she brings her doctor round almost every week it seems.”
“What if I told you the letters seemed quite threatening. They quote Deuteronomy, ‘punish the children for the sins of the father’. They also threaten vengeance.”
Penelope stuck her tongue in her cheek and tilted her head in thought for a moment. She pushed her hair behind her ear before she spoke.
“I suppose they do sound serious. But part of me wonders if she hasn’t set this up herself. Everything’s always about Madge around here and how bad she’s got it. A plain example is with Lula. She hits Lula and then makes it sound like its Lula’s fault for making her angry enough to lash out at her. She’s crazy enough to pull a stunt like this herself. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“So you can’t think of anyone who might want to threaten her like this?”
Penelope shook her head and her black hair waved slowly from side to side.
“No. Though I suppose I wouldn’t blame Lula for wanting her dead...”
“I would never,” said Lula, looking quite shocked at the thought.
Penelope put her hand on Lula’s arm and nodded.
“I know Lula, I’m just saying, you’d have good reason to.”
Penelope looked back at Frances.
“I don’t care for her, but honestly, my Lady, I couldn’t be bothered to threaten her let alone find the energy to murder her.”
“So nobody comes around who you might suspect of something like this?”
Penelope chuckled.
“Maybe the postman, he’s the one that brings the letters. Or perhaps the milkman. Madge is forever crying over spilled milk, however little he might spill as he leaves the milk out.”
“What about a gardener, I haven’t heard mention of one.”
“Oh, she has one, only he just comes around once a week or once every couple of weeks. Jeremiah deals with him mostly and I’ve never seen him in the house. Jeremiah pays him too, not much, from what I can tell. He’s always whining about how much he doesn’t get paid, yet he keeps coming back.”
“And her doctor, Dr. Dankworth, what’s he like?”
“He’s quite pleasant. And quite good looking too...”
Colin looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She winked at him.
“He spends most of his time upstairs with Madge when he’s visiting, but he keeps us informed about her treatment before he leaves.”
“And Jeremiah and Mollie, how do they seem?”
“They’re nice enough. Always so happy, especially Jeremiah, though I have no idea why. It’s quite strange really. She treats them both abysmally. I can’t for the life of me understand why they’ve stuck around as long as they have.”
“Has she ever hit them that you know of?”
“No, I don’t think so. But she’s very rude and dismissive of them. Treats them worse than animals sometimes.”
“I see, can you give me example?”
Penelope nodded.
“One time we were all having dinner and Madge didn’t like it. It was spaghetti with meatballs. She said it was too cold and she threw her plate of food at Jeremiah. She didn’t throw it hard, I mean he was standing right there, she more or less pushed it into his stomach and made him clean up the whole mess. She went on and on about how incompetent he was and how he’d be lucky to find work anywhere and that she was always paying him too much, though truth be told, from what I understand he’s underpaid as a butler, especially in London.”
“What do you think Lula?” asked Frances.
Lula shrugged her shoulders and fiddled with her fi
ngers.
“I don’t know. About what?”
“About Madge, about how she treats others, and about the possibility she might have written these letters herself to drum up sympathy for herself.”
Lula shrugged her shoulders more.
“Well, then, she’d be silly to do that, wouldn’t she, because she’d be found out soon enough?”
“Perhaps not. If nothing ever came of it she might get away with something like this for some months.”
Lula looked at Frances and then at Penelope.
“I don’t think she’d do that. I mean, she seemed very upset when she told me about them and when I brought the letters to her. I can’t imagine why she’d do something so ugly.”
“Because she’s an ugly woman,” said Matilda.
They all looked at her for a moment before looking back at Frances.
“For what it’s worth, I tend to believe that these letters are not her own doing. But what about the way she treats you and others? What do you think about that?”
Fiddling fingers in her lap, it looked as though Lula might be trying to knit herself a cloak of invisibility. It was apparent, looking at her, the awkward gestures, the furtive glances, that Lula was uncomfortable in social situations and perhaps more so speaking about her grandmother publicly like she was being asked to do.
“I think she’s just misunderstood. I understand that she had a difficult upbringing. It was only her grandmother whom she was close to. She has a temper, but she doesn’t mean it. I know that, even if nobody else does.”
“You’ve never seen her hit anyone else?”
Lula shook her head.
“Tell me what you think about Jeremiah and Mollie and the gardener.”
“They’re nice. Jeremiah has the patience of Job and Mollie too. You’d almost think they were related...”
“Are they?” asked Frances.
“No, and the gardener I’ve only met briefly whenever I’m out in the yard or talking to the milkman. He seems nice enough even if he is a bit gruff.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He’s not as friendly as Jeremiah and Mollie and he talks to himself, sometimes he’s even arguing with himself, too. I’ve heard him out back.”
Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 27
