“We’ll hear from Lula soon and we’ll head on over and make sure that nobody is allowed into the house for the rest of the evening,” said Alfred. “That should help, shouldn’t it?”
“That’s what I was planning to do.”
Frances finished her tea as the telephone began to ring.
“I’ll get that, my Lady,” said Ginny.
Frances nodded.
Ginny went out into the main hallway where there was a telephone in a small alcove with table and chair. After she had answered it and spoken to the caller she laid the receiver on the desk and came back into the living room, grinning.
“It’s Lula for you, my Lady, she says the letter has arrived.”
“Thank you, Ginny.”
Frances got up and walked out into the hallway and picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Lady Marmalade?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Lula Beckenswidth, I came by on Sunday evening...” said the soft voice.
“Yes, dear, I know who you are, we spoke this morning, I was expecting your phone call.”
“Sorry, yes, I’m just a little nervous. You see the sixth letter has arrived and grandmother is frightfully upset by it and really wants to see you.”
“Good, I was planning on coming over as soon as I heard. Alfred and I will be there within a half hour.”
“Thank you Lady Marmalade.”
Frances hung up the phone and thought how queer it was of Lula to remind her of who she was. But Lula was an odd duck generally. Frances walked back into the living room. Alfred was just finishing his last half of his second scone. He looked up at Lady Marmalade.
“Are we off, my Lady?”
“When you’re finished,” said Frances.
Alfred stood up, reached down for his teacup, and took the last mouthful. He smiled at Frances.
“All ready to go,” he said.
They walked to the front door and Alfred put on his jacket and Frances put on a cardigan. It was cool outside with the heavy brooding clouds even though it was June. They left Marmalade Park with Ginny closing the door behind them.
It was about a quarter to four in the afternoon when Alfred and Lady Marmalade stood at the front door of the Hollingsberry residence, waiting for Jeremiah to answer. He did so in his usual buoyant manner.
“How nice to see you again,” he said as he opened the door and bowed deeply at him. Alfred couldn’t help but smile.
“Good to see you again, too, Jeremiah,” said Alfred.
“I wish it was under better circumstances,” said Frances. “Where is Ms. Hollingsberry?”
“She’s upstairs, my Lady,” said Jeremiah as he stood upright again.
Down the hall Lula came to greet them, walking briskly with her eyes cast down. Behind her, at the entrance to the living room, stood Colin with a childish grin on his face.
“She’s in a terrible state,” said Lula.
“I can imagine,” said Frances. “Will you take me up to see her?”
Lula nodded, her eyes looking around furtively. She turned around and walked down the hallway towards the stairs. Lady Marmalade and Alfred followed her. As they started up the stairs, Colin shouted after them.
“Let the games begin, eh?”
Frances ignored him and followed Lula up the stairs and then down the main hallway past Matilda’s room. Matilda’s door was open and Matilda was lying down on her bed reading “One, Two, Buckle my Shoe”. She didn’t look up as Lula, Alfred and Frances passed by. Lula stopped at the end of the hallway and knocked on Madge’s closed bedroom door.
“Come in,” came a wheezing voice from the inside of the room.
Lula opened the door and entered with Frances behind her and Alfred following her. Madge was propped up in her bed on a few pillows. She looked worse than when Lady Marmalade had seen her last, if that was at all possible.
“Leave us,” she wheezed at Lula, waving her off with her hand holding a white tissue, which reminded Frances of a small white dove trying to escape. Lula left and closed the door behind her. Alfred went up to Madge’s dressing table and brought back the small cushioned seat for Lady Marmalade to sit on.
“Thank you, Alfred,” she said, sitting on the chair and moving it up close to Madge’s bed.
There was a bedside table that was clotted with an almost full ashtray, an empty cigarette holder, a packet of cigarettes, lighter, a lamp, a wireless that was not turned on, a glass of water and a carafe of water that was all but empty and also two small vials filled with pills.
Madge tried to reach for something on the side table. She was too fat and her arm couldn’t twist that much to get to it easily.
“Let me get it for you, ma’am,” said Alfred.
“Thank you, my cigarettes and cigarette holder and lighter.”
Alfred got those items for her and he and Frances watched in silence as Madge put a Benson & Hedges into the cigarette holder and lit it with trembling fingers. Frances couldn’t be sure she was trembling because she was scared or because she was sicker than she seemed.
On her comforter, above her stomach was what looked like the letter in question. It was a single page as the others had been and it was face down. Madge exhaled and looked at Frances looking at the letter. Madge picked it up and shook it.
“The impertinence,” she said, though her voice held very little authority and confidence. She wheezed and took another pull on her cigarette. Lady Marmalade couldn’t help but wonder why a woman in her condition would smoke. But then she realized there was no underestimating the power of addictions. Madge handed the letter off to Frances. Frances reached for it and took it.
Alfred stood by her left shoulder and leaned in respectfully to read the letter. It said:
Punish the children for the sins of the father to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me.
You have not repented. The time is nigh. You will die.
Six dash six.
The handwriting was the same as it was in the others, though perhaps even a little more careful and well written.
“May I take a look at the envelope?” asked Frances.
The envelope had been hidden under the letter on top of Madge. Madge picked it up and handed it to Frances. Frances looked at it, as did Alfred, bowing behind her shoulder. There was nothing new about the envelope. It was the same as the other three that Frances had seen. And the postmark was the same as all the others. It had been mailed from central London.
That didn’t help. Practically anyone within the UK could get to central London and certainly anyone within the city could mail a letter from that location. It was not particularly helpful; though for Frances it suggested that the letter writer was based in London.
“This must be quite upsetting to you,” said Frances.
Madge nodded her head vigorously and then broke into a coughing fit which lasted almost a full minute. Alfred reached for the glass of water on her side table and held it ready to give to her when she calmed down. She took it from him and nodded. A nod that suggested thanks without her having to actually say it.
She handed it back to Alfred and he took it carefully as though it might now be contagious and put it back down on her side table.
“I am very upset, Frances,” said Madge taking a puff on her cigarette. “I mean, really, who would want to do this to me? I’ve never hurt anyone.”
Frances didn’t say anything for a moment. She looked at Madge questionly for a long time.
“I was hoping that it wouldn’t come, you know, secretly?”
Frances nodded.
“Listen, Madge, you need to be very transparent and honest with me. I know about your parents.”
“What do you know about them?” Madge asked, trying to look genuinely curious.
“Alfred and I saw Hiram yesterday and he told us how you drowned your own parents.”
“Absurd. Why would I do such a beastly thing like that?”
Madge loo
ked away and smoked on her cigarette, she was embarrassed to look at Frances.
“Because your father beat you for getting pregnant.”
Frances didn’t really want to add to her grief and her current troubles, but if she was going to help Madge, then Madge needed to be open and forthright with her. There was no shame in what had happened to her, but they needed to build trust if Frances could help her as she wanted to. Madge still didn’t look at Lady Marmalade and she didn’t say anything either.
“There’s no shame in what happened to you, Madge,” said Frances, softly and compassionately.
Madge looked at Lady Marmalade then, but didn’t say anything. She took a nervous puff on her cigarette.
“How can I help you, if we can’t talk openly and honestly with one another?” asked Frances. “This is very serious, now that you’ve received what is most likely the final letter. You need to be frank with me so I can determine the best approach. Please, Madge, tell me what happened?”
Madge took another nervous puff on her cigarette, her hand still trembling.
“My uncle raped me,” she said. “What is there to talk about?”
“I need to understand what happened afterwards. I believe that these letters have been written by your son, Michael.”
Madge looked at her sideways and frowned. She puffed again on her cigarette, a clump of ash falling onto her pajama top which she carelessly brushed off.
“That’s impossible,” she said.
“How so?”
“Because I haven’t heard or seen him in over forty five years, that’s why.”
Madge was getting upset. It showed plainly on her face, the facade of decades melting like ice on a hot tin roof.
“When was the last time you heard or saw him?”
“Christmas day, 1893.”
Madge blinked her eyes a few time. They were misting up and she couldn’t see properly.
“Nothing since then?”
“No. I sent him a birthday card on his first three birthdays and Christmas cards too in ‘94, ‘95 and ‘96.”
“Why did you stop?”
“His second and third birthday card were sent back as were the last two Christmas cards. I lost touch and nobody would tell me where he had gone.”
Madge blinked her eyes again and tears rolled down her cheeks. Embarrassed, she looked away from Frances and Alfred and towards the window. She pulled out the tissue that had been stuck up her pajama sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
“Do you know what happened to him after you left him at the hospital?”
Madge shook her head before turning around to look at Frances.
“Barts was really good to me, and him, for the short time they had him. He was sent to an orphanage in the summer of ‘94. After that, I don’t know.”
“I understand you wanted to keep him. Is that right?”
Lady Marmalade’s voice was soft and warm like honey, soothing on the ears and on the flagging spirit. Madge nodded again and her lower lip trembled. She dabbed at her eyes.
“But they wouldn’t let me.”
Madge looked away, biting her lip and dabbing her eyes. Even now, more than forty five years later it was plain that the pain still burned hot and stinging in Madge’s heart.
“Who wouldn’t let you?”
“My father and mother. And I had no place to go. If I wanted to stay with them I had to give the boy up. I was sixteen when he raped me.”
She said the last sentence barely above a whisper.
“And my father thought it was my fault. He was an evil man. And my mother, she wouldn’t do anything. Weak woman, just turned deaf ears to my cries.”
Madge was still looking out the window. She dabbed her eyes and puffed on a cigarette from a shaking hand.
“I’m terribly sorry for what happened to you Madge. I really am.”
Madge turned back to look at Frances.
“Why would he write me such evil letters? I never harmed him. I never had a choice. I tried to do right by him. I really did.”
And you could hear it in her plaintive voice, that Margaret Hollingsberry really had tried to do the best she could as a young, helpless woman in difficult circumstances.
“I know,” said Frances, “but I think that perhaps Michael doesn’t feel that way.”
Madge blew smoke in a long trail up towards the ceiling. The heat in the room was oppressive. It was a good thing that Jeremiah had taken Alfred’s jacket and Frances’ cardigan.
“I need to speak with him,” said Madge. “Help him understand that I had no choice.”
She looked at Frances through pleading eyes. And eyes that showed perhaps the smallest glimmer of hope that she could meet her son again.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Frances.
“But why not?”
“Well, firstly, we don’t know who he is now, or where he is. Secondly, I think you need the police to find him first, and only then, after we know who Michael has become might it be possible for you to speak with him about this. But not before. This is for your own safety, Madge.”
Madge looked away and took the last puff of her cigarette and then squashed it out in the ashtray which was now certainly full.
“You are sure you don’t know where he is?”
Frances looked at Madge. She wanted to know if Madge was hiding anything from her. Madge looked up from squashing the cigarette.
“No, I don’t know where he is.”
“Good, because this is really important. Now is not the time to think you can rationalize with Michael. He’s been hell bent on revenge for whatever slight he feels and if you reach out to him, you’ll just make it easier for him to hurt you.”
Madge nodded slowly, as if the dawning realization of what Frances was suggesting was only now making sense.
“Why would my own child do this to me?”
She wasn’t really asking it of anyone.
“I believe that Michael is, or was, a sensitive boy, and perhaps the orphanage or foster parents were difficult on him. That’s the only way I can explain it. You have to try and come to it from his point of view, Madge. Abandoned by his mother, and he likely has no idea why. It is the reason that you gave him up that offers you solace, but sadly, Michael doesn’t know that reason. All he knows is being abandoned by his mother and left to strangers. Perhaps even unkind strangers.”
Madge nodded, her breath was shallow and quick. You could hear her wheezing if you listened carefully.
“Such misfortune. Haven’t I suffered enough that even now my son wants to harm me.”
“Those are questions that can’t be answered. I feel for you, Madge, I really do. Only God knows why you’ve had to travel the thorny path he set for you. But what we need to do is clear the obstacles set before us so that you can travel on without harm for as long as you’ve been given. That’s my focus.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked Madge.
“Are you expecting any visitors today?”
“No, I hardly ever get visitors,” she said, with a voice and sad and hollow as an empty church.
“I don’t want you receive any today, and not tomorrow, either, so long as I haven’t heard back from Inspector Pearce I’d prefer you don’t entertain anyone.”
Madge nodded and looked at Frances through glassy eyes.
“When is your doctor due for his next visit?”
“Tomorrow,” said Madge.
Frances nodded.
“Obviously, I don’t want you to put your health at risk, so Dr. Dankworth is certainly permitted to visit, but no one else. Please.”
Madge nodded.
“Jeremiah!” she screeched, and until that moment, Lady Marmalade had forgotten the shrill screeching that Madge was capable of. Frances winced and shut her eyes, she felt for a moment that her ears might bleed.
“Jeremiah!” she screeched again, this time with greater effort and volume.
Frances put up her hand and opened her eyes.
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“Perhaps you’ll let Alfred go and fetch him.”
“That would be nice,” said Madge.
Frances nodded and Alfred went to leave, smiling in gratitude that he wouldn’t have to listen to the banshee’s wail any longer. As he opened the door, he saw Jeremiah walking down the hall at a good clip towards him. He held the door open for the man and then closed it after.
Jeremiah held in his hand a clean handkerchief that he used to mop the sheen from his glowing, wet face.
“Yes, madam, how may I help you?”
Jeremiah stood, slightly hunched over, his silly smile still plastered on his face, as fake as the apples in a still life painting.
“I want you to listen very carefully to what Lady Marmalade has to say, and do exactly as she says.”
“Yes, madam.”
Jeremiah turned his attention towards Lady Marmalade. Frances turned her chair ninety degrees and then sat so that she was facing him.
“As you know, Ms. Hollingsberry has been receiving some very threatening letters, that concern me deeply.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Today she received what I believe will be the last one. As such, we must take careful measures to ensure that nothing happens to Ms. Hollingsberry until I’ve had a chance to speak with Inspector Pearce of Scotland Yard to determine who the culprit might be.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
The corners of Jeremiah’s cheeks were straining to suspend the anchors of his smile. It started to droop.
“I understand that Dr. Dankworth is coming round to pay Ms. Hollingsberry a visit tomorrow.”
Frances looked at him.
“That is correct, my Lady.”
“Are you expecting anyone else to visit either this evening or tomorrow?”
“No, my Lady, no one other than the postman and the milkman.”
“Very well, so the gardener, Silas is not coming round tomorrow?”
“No, my Lady, he is due next week.”
“All right then, receive the milk and the mail but don’t let either of them into the home. As for the milk, make sure someone tries it before Ms. Hollingsberry has any.”
“Of course.”
“One last thing. Can you gather the boarders and Lula downstairs, I want to give them clear instructions, too. Alfred and I will be down in a few moments.”
Lady Marmalade Cozy Murder Mysteries: Box Set (Books 1 - 3) Page 40
