“Mrs. Malloy and I have been told this wasn’t the first time that Mr. Gallagher left home on the spur of the moment.”
“She said you got that from her sister, Miss Tabby. There’s a woman you can tell has had her heart broken.” Mrs. Cake shook her head sadly. “Same old story-married man-but new every time it hits home. A pity if she lets the past stop her from making things permanent with the good man she’s now found.”
I didn’t advance the information that the previous love interest had been Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre. That would have been gossiping. Besides which, I was too surprised. “Melody Tabby has a gentleman friend?”
“There!” Mrs. Cake slapped herself on the wrist. “What a one I am for spilling the beans! But at least I haven’t said his name. I’m a talker right enough, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep the occasional secret. As I’ve said to Ariel, my lips are always sealed when I’m told straight out to keep mum.”
I wanted to say she had that in common with my husband; instead, I brought her back to Mr. Gallagher by asking how frequent had been his disappearances.
“I’d say he’s taken off half a dozen times since I’ve been here,” responded Mrs. Cake. “Some bee would land on his bonnet and away he’d flit to a place in the back of beyond with a name only the native inhabitants can pronounce. Even Lady Fiona wouldn’t know where he’d gone until a letter or postcard would arrive.”
“Didn’t she get upset?”
“You’ve met her, Mrs. Haskell. She floats through life; most things slide right off her shoulders.”
“She never got angry with him for not bothering to let her know he was going away?”
“It does seem odd to the likes of you and me.” Mrs. Cake smiled comfortably. “But we’re talking about two people living on a totally different plane from the rest of us. All her ladyship ever said to me was that Mr. Gallagher couldn’t bear goodbyes. And my guess is that came from being brought up by Nanny Pierce. I wouldn’t be surprised if every time he said he was going out, either by himself or with friends, she got upset and he ended up staying home. Far too possessive, that woman! I’m not surprised her great nephew has stayed clear of her over the years. She explains that by saying he married a woman that’s not up to snuff, but who knows? Anything less than him being Lord Mayor of London wouldn’t count for much. Having her great-niece come to live with her should make her happy. But Nanny blows hot and cold with her too.”
“Really?” Was there any hope of Val being booted out in the next ten minutes?
“One minute it’s all working out wonderfully, and the next you hear a long list of complaints from Nanny. Something has been misplaced, she’s left on her own too much: that sort of thing. I really don’t know how her ladyship managed with having her underfoot for so long. Finally, it was Mr. Gallagher who put his foot down and said it would be best if Nanny was moved to the Dower House. There was a scene I couldn’t help hearing. She was shouting and carrying on like you wouldn’t believe.”
“When was that?”
“Just a couple of days before he left.” Mrs. Cake, having finished with the pillow slip, picked up a linen table runner to work on.
“So she had a reprieve on going to the Dower House?”
“That’s right. She didn’t move in there until this house was sold.”
“How did Miss Pierce react to Mr. Gallagher’s most recent departure?”
“As always, she blamed Lady Fiona for his need to get away, this time because of the upset-that had to be all her doing. But-and I could be wrong-I sensed some relief on Nanny’s part. And looking at it from her side, the timing couldn’t have been better. It gave her the opportunity to put that row behind her, perhaps forget it even happened. There’s no doubt her memory is failing some; she’s old. I should be kinder in my thoughts.” Mrs. Cake stopped stitching and sat staring at her needle.
Noticing an electric kettle on a cupboard shelf, I asked if she would like me to make her some tea and, upon her ready acceptance, made a strong brew, which was how she said she liked it. Having found milk and sugar and a tin of biscuits, I set a loaded tray down on the table, from which she had now cleared her mending, before sitting back down with my own cup and saucer.
“Thanks, love. I was gasping for a cuppa.”
“You’re very welcome.” I took an invigorating sip. “Why do you think Lady Fiona reacted with more than usual concern to Mr. Gallagher’s most recent departure?”
“It was like this.” Mrs. Cake dipped a ginger biscuit into her tea. “There’d been a recent rash of burglaries in the area. I used to say to both of them they were asking for trouble with that outside door to the west wing always left unlocked. How much bother would it have been to get a new lock fitted? But they never got round to it. Neither have the Hopkinses, for that matter. Anyway, that night-the last night Mr. Gallagher was home-her ladyship went up to bed earlier than usual, with a headache. She gets them bad sometimes.”
“I can sympathize, having just had one.”
“There’d been some tension between them that day. The police asked me if there’d been anything wrong and I told them, there being no reason to hide it. Mr. Gallagher had tried several times that day to reach Mr. Scrimshank on the telephone. Each time he couldn’t get hold of him, he’d come into the kitchen and I’d hear his nerves jangling. Mr. Gallagher had been holed up in his study for the previous couple of days, so I guessed it had to do with business. I don’t know anything about stocks and bonds, except that sometimes they need to be bought or sold in a hurry, so that may have been it.”
“What about Lady Fiona? Do you think she knew why her husband was trying to contact Mr. Scrimshank?”
“I’m sure she didn’t, because the one time she came into the kitchen when he was there telling me he still wasn’t having any luck with phoning, he changed the subject right quick. Wants to surprise her with the good news that there’s a windfall in the offing, was what I hoped. As the day went on, it could be he saw a golden opportunity slipping away, because it was clear he was getting tense and finally irritable, which wasn’t like him at all-there never being an easier-going man. Floated aloft he did, as a rule, just like her ladyship. It ended with them having words, which I don’t remember them doing before. I’m sure that’s what gave her ladyship the headache that sent her to bed about eight o’clock.”
“Did you tell that to the police about the argument?”
“I’m not one for causing trouble, but there wasn’t any reason not to.” Mrs. Cake set down her teacup and picked up another piece of mending. “Lady Fiona would have told them herself. There was nothing to it. Just Mr. Gallagher carrying on about his clean socks. He always laid them out each evening, well before he went to bed-something Nanny Pierce had insisted upon when he was a child, I expect. I heard him grumbling about how he couldn’t find the pair he wanted, a sure sign he wasn’t himself, considering Mavis always put them away as tidy as you please, all in the same drawer that could be pulled out from here to next week for a good look. It was the blue-and-black Argyle pair he couldn’t find. And Lady Fiona lost her temper, if you could even call it that, she’s so mild. I remember thinking the upset with Nanny was what had them both on edge, but that they’d both forget about it if she’d ever let them, instead of bearing a grudge, which is her way. Always best to keep on Nanny’s good side has been my motto; that’s what I’ve told Mavis.” Mrs. Cake rethreaded her needle. “And that’s why I had your husband go down and ask Nanny for her scone recipe.”
“What about the burglaries?” I got up to pour her more tea.
“Thanks, love.” She picked up her cup. “It was like this, you see. There was a lot of nervousness about the houses that had been broken into over the previous few weeks. We’d never had much of that before. Anyway, there was a Mrs. Johnson living about half a mile from here at the time who always walked her dog this way around ten-thirty of an evening. A nice animal, a sheepdog.”
“I’ve seen a man walking a black-and-w
hite one.”
“Probably the same. Mrs. Johnson recently moved in with her sister that owns the bed and breakfast on the corner by the traffic light where you turn onto the high street. Some of the guests enjoy taking Keeper for a walk. He’s named for Emily Bronte’s dog, Mrs. Johnson told me. Lovely animal. Anyway, on the night we’re talking about they stopped at the gate out front because the dog had to go, and Mrs. Johnson saw a man come running out of the house. Like his life depended on it, she said. She always carried a torch with her because the road isn’t well lit, but she only got a brief glimpse of him because he dodged around the shrubbery. She went straight home and rang the police, and they came round quick as a wink, waking me and Lady Fiona up with their wailing sirens and flashing lights.”
“Was Mrs. Johnson able to describe the man?” I set down my cup and saucer.
“She said she thought he had gray hair, but it could have been fair, and perhaps she had leaped to the other conclusion because she’d assumed the man was Mr. Gallagher, fleeing because of a problem inside. She imagined a fire or a gas leak. When the house was checked and him not in it, the thought was that there’d been another break-in and he’d surprised the burglar and gone chasing after him. Under those circumstances, her ladyship did get quite worked up-for her, that is. Even when Mr. Scrimshank got the phone call and the police accepted that Mr. Gallagher had gone off on another of his holidays, I could tell she wasn’t easy in her mind.”
“If that’s all there was to it, why would he have raced out of the house in the manner Mrs. Johnson described?”
“Police Sergeant Walters said that could’ve been the burglar.” Mrs. Cake looked up at me from her sewing. “Such a lovely man-and a wonderful knitter-is the Sergeant, a shame he’s still not married. If I could have a word with his lady friend, I’d tell her not to keep him waiting.”
“Rather a coincidence, a break-in on the night Mr. Gallagher disappeared.”
“They do happen. Or it could be Mrs. Johnson saw things her own way.”
“Presumably a check was made to see if Mr. Gallagher had taken a suitcase and some of his clothes.”
“Her ladyship wasn’t sure. She said he always kept one packed, ready to go, but she couldn’t remember where, and with a house this size it’s hard to track things down. She did look, so did Mavis and myself. It was Mr. Gallagher not taking his walking stick with the lion’s head that bothered Lady Fiona. But like I told her if he was in a hurry to be off, it would be easy to forget.”
“What was the weather like that night?”
“Cold and damp, it being January.”
“So he’d have taken a coat?”
“His waterproof jacket was gone from the hall closet.”
“Mrs. Cake,” I said, “is Mr. Gallagher of a similar height and weight to Mr. Scrimshank?”
“Not far off.” She stopped sewing, her kindly face puzzled.
“I’m wondering if it was Mr. Scrimshank Mrs. Johnson saw leaving the house and, because of the resemblance, assumed he was Mr. Gallagher.”
“Could’ve been, I suppose. There’d been all those attempts by Mr. Gallagher to get hold of him that day. That’s why it made sense that it was him he phoned a few days later. But if Mr. Scrimshank had been here at the house that night, he’d have told the police, wouldn’t he?”
“Perhaps not, if there’d been an argument.”
“About what, for instance?” Mrs. Cake moved her bandaged foot gingerly, as if it had begun to hurt.
“Problems with the Gallaghers’ finances?”
“Now you’ve said it, Mrs. Haskell. I have wondered why they were in a bad state and, nasty as it is for me to say, I never took to Mr. Scrimshank. I’ve always been sorry for Miss Tabby having to work for him. There’s something about his eyes, sort of a dead look, that gives me the creeps. Even so, it’s a big leap from not liking someone to thinking he could be wickedly dishonest. It never crossed my mind; but I do see where you’re going. Oh, dear, this does frighten me! What if Mrs. Hopkins has it right about Mr. Gallagher being murdered, even though she’s off the mark in thinking it was her ladyship that did it?”
“Would you like another cup of tea?” I asked her, noting that Mrs. Cake’s red face had paled.
“I could do with one, love. Don’t bother to make fresh, just heat up what’s in the pot and give it a good stir… Thanks,” she said, when I handed back her cup. “One thing that’s struck me as strange is that Mr. Gallagher would have gone away right after that row with Nanny Pierce, leaving her ladyship to deal with the old girl. She has her ways of getting even. I think that’s the reason her ladyship, leaving aside the shock of the police being brought in, has never felt quite settled in her mind that this was just another of Mr. Gallagher’s adventure trips.”
“That’s a lovely portrait of her in the gallery.” I sat warming my hands on my teacup, the brew being too stewed for my taste. Mrs. Cake didn’t seem to mind.
“That was painted long before my time here.”
“Ariel says that, prior to her marriage, Lady Fiona was very much in love with someone else.”
“It’ll be me that told her that. Like I said, my mouth can get going nonstop, but it wasn’t a secret. Mrs. Johnson’s sister told me about it, and so did several other people. From the sound of things he was very good-looking, quite like a film star, but her father thought him a bounder. Probably that was a good part of the attraction for a gently brought up young lady. Anyway, her parents put an end to it, threatened to cut her off with a shilling if she married the fellow.”
“Do you know what became of him?”
“No.” Mrs. Cake was still looking anxious. “But I’m sure her ladyship and Mr. Gallagher have some idea.”
“Both of them?” I said in surprise.
“He was Mr. Gallagher’s cousin. That’s how her ladyship met him, at a house party that was intended to bring her and Mr. Gallagher together, or so the story goes.”
I assimilated this piece of information. “Mrs. Cake, have you heard any rumors that Lady Fiona and this young man may have been secretly married?”
“Not a tweet.” She looked bewildered, then anxious again. “Oh, Mrs. Haskell, now I can’t get the idea out of my head that Mr. Scrimshank was here that night and”-a sob caught in her throat-“did something awful to Mr. Gallagher. But I can’t see the police doing anything just because I’ve got a bad feeling, not if there isn’t more to go on.”
“That’s the problem.” I turned over an idea. “Mrs. Cake, is Mavis as fond of her ladyship as you are?”
“Every bit. Between you and me, we’ve both said we can’t wait for her to have a place of her own so we can go back to taking care of her. Why do you ask?”
“Because I have the glimmering of an idea, but I’d like to talk with Mrs. Malloy before saying anything more.”
As it happened, that was the end of my chat with Mrs. Cake. Betty poked her head around the door to ask if I’d seen Ariel. I told her I hadn’t but, seeing she was worried, offered to help look for the child. Once out in the hall, Betty stood twisting her hands.
“Silly of me to get nervous,” she said, “but you saw her reaction to Mr. Tribble’s death, and she still didn’t seem right at breakfast. Tom asked if she’d like to go for a walk, but she wouldn’t so he left on his own. Here am I as usual with all the responsibility and none of the perks. What if she’s run away again?”
“How long have you been looking for her?”
“At least an hour. I’d thought to take her out to buy something for her to wear at the garden party on Thursday. A little shopping trip and lunch, to help cheer her up.”
“You’ll have looked in all the obvious places?”
“I’ve gone through the house and searched the grounds. If only Tom would get back. I don’t want to phone the police without talking to him.” Betty raked her hands through her red hair, which as usual had a humanizing effect, although in this case it didn’t seem necessary. She looked more real than I had y
et seen her. Her eyes did not look like glass when misted with tears.
“Have you gone through to the west wing?” I asked her.
“What?”
“She took me up there yesterday. It’s worth a try.”
“Come with me,” she said. “I always find it creepy at the best of times.”
I thought of Lady Fiona’s account of the priest who had been walled up behind the wainscoting. Had emanations from that ancient tragedy affected my mood during my former visit? Or did Nanny Pierce’s presence still loom beyond the bedroom where she had kept her shrine to Mr. Gallagher’s boyhood? Had she left his toys in place as a reminder to him and to her ladyship that she might have been ousted to the Dower House but there was no removing her influence, either past or future?
We passed through what I thought of as the ballroom and entered Nanny’s personal domain. All was as I remembered, neat and organized, apart from a slightly rumpled bed and a small blue and gold object placed in the middle.
Betty picked it up and held it out to me. “What can this be doing up here?”
Not Frances Edmonds, I thought. Surely she would have taken the snuffbox from the Chinese chest home with her if she had bothered to steal it. I shook my head, hesitant to suggest the most likely scenario, which seemed confirmed when Betty opened the lid and drew out a twist of toffee papers.
“I suppose it must have been Ariel; there’s no one else, but I still have trouble believing it. Whatever that girl’s faults, she’s not sneaky: too much the other way round, with her in-your-face rudeness. And she’s not one to want someone else blamed for what she gets up to. She had to know that if I’d realized the snuffbox was missing, I’d have thought Frances had taken it to get back at me for not helping her and Stan out after we came into the money. No, I just can’t-”
“It wasn’t me, Betty.” Ariel came around the door. “I saw it when I came up here and have been trying to figure it out myself. I was going to bring it back down with me, but I wasn’t ready. I wanted more time to think. This is always where I come when I want to be alone.”
Withering Heights Page 18
