Closing her eyes she breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her thoughts, which as ever swirled chaotically within her mind, trying to separate the confusion of ideas and suspicions. Clutching at one of them, she said, ‘Ivy Busby!’ That was her name. Yes, Ivy Busby had tried to cause trouble between her and her son.
‘My dearest boy!’ she cried. ‘You can have no idea how tormented I am by these wretched people! The good Lord knows I am guilty of mistakes – for which I am deeply sorry and would make reparation if I could – but . . .’
The Lord understands, she assured herself. You must trust Him, Georgina. And stay calm. That’s very important for your heart. Trust Him and stay calm.
Detective Sergeant Ackrow could hardly contain his excitement. His colour rose as he stared at his two visitors. ‘They dug up the rockery? God Almighty! Why didn’t we find this out years ago?’
Donald Watson shrugged. ‘Probably because no one thought to interview the nanny.’
Richard said, ‘Or couldn’t find her. Poor Nan had been kicked out, remember. Literally thrown out on to the street. Really, it beggars belief!’
It was hot in the police station and Donald was beginning to sweat around his shirt collar but the window remained shut and no one else seemed troubled by the heat so he suffered in silence. Richard Preston had agreed, after some persuasion, that they take the news to the police and it was immediately obvious that DS Ackrow placed a lot of importance on the information. Donald had to admit to a certain excitement himself. But how was it to be done, he wondered anxiously, without Georgina Matlowe becoming aware of their suspicions? If the police decided to dig up the rockery in the hope of finding a body, Georgina would probably throw a fit and send at once for her solicitor.
‘We’ll need a warrant,’ the detective was saying, scribbling frantically in his notebook. ‘However, that means we alert her to what we are doing.’ He glanced up. ‘The thing is that if we find a body it’s possibly a murder investigation so we have to step carefully. If we don’t follow the regulations, meaning the correct procedures, we could end up with egg on our faces.’
Donald and Richard exchanged glances.
The latter said, ‘We might be wrong. Would Mrs Matlowe be able to sue us if we did it without her permission and she later found out what we’d done?’
After a long silence Donald said slowly, ‘How long would it take to dig up the rose bed and, if there’s no body, put it back again as it was?’
DS Ackrow brightened. ‘I’m with you! You mean, if we got Mrs Matlowe out of the way and did it . . . would she notice? Does she ever go into the garden?’ He looked at Preston.
He was taking the suggestion seriously, Donald thought, and was immediately nervous.
Richard said, ‘Probably she would notice.’
DS Ackrow squinted thoughtfully at his notes then turned to Preston. ‘Could you get her out for a day?’
He shook his head. ‘She’d never go anywhere with me. I’m the devil incarnate in her eyes. And anyway, what about Marianne and the twins – and the staff? Cook and maid. There’s also a gardener by the name of Blunt, although he only comes about once a week if I remember correctly . . . Ah! I have an idea.’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I believe she has to go to the hospital in London one day – or it maybe a specialist of some kind – and her sister is going with her. I could take Marianne and the twins somewhere but that would leave the kitchen staff. We’d have to get rid of them . . . And what about the neighbours?’
The detective frowned. ‘They would certainly notice police gathering round the rose bed, but if there was only one man digging . . .’ He sighed. ‘Hmm! It’s difficult.’
Donald said, ‘I suppose working at night is out of the question.’
‘Risky. We might be spotted. Come on, Watson. You’re an investigator. Think of something!’ He was only half in jest.
Donald nodded. ‘All I can think of is to take the neighbours into our confidence as to the real reason for the excavation . . . maybe get the cook and the maid over to the police station on the pretext of answering more questions – or give them the day off – all to go ahead on the day . . .’ He faltered to a stop.
‘When Mrs Matlowe is at the hospital in London!’ DS Ackrow finished the sentence for him and had the good grace to add, ‘Well done!’
Richard said, ‘I think it’s too complicated, isn’t it? I mean, too many things could go wrong.’
The detective shrugged. ‘It’s all we’ve got, though. It just might be workable. It’s risky but . . . If the gardener notices anything afterwards he’ll think it was the others who dug over the plot and the others will think it was Mr Blunt!’
Richard said, ‘I’m sure Marianne will help us with dates and so on. She’ll be in the know.’
Donald looked at him. ‘I don’t think you should be there when it happens – for your own sake. If there is a body, and if it’s Leonora . . .’
Richard agreed quickly. ‘I shall be taking the children somewhere nice and Marianne will come with us. That way I shan’t be there if . . .’ He shook his head, unable to put his feelings into words.
DS Ackrow said, ‘Well, I think that’s all for you, Mr Preston. Watson and I will carry on, settling the details.’
Preston was about to protest but then he realized that the detective was trying to spare him any more unpleasantness. He stood up, thanked them and made his exit.
The two remaining men got down to business, planning the excavation.
There was a routine plan for such operations, Donald learned. Tarpaulins would be laid around the bed; the rose bushes would be lifted and set aside in a box while two men took turns to dig out the soil.
‘And if we find her?’ Donald asked.
‘We’ll have a blacked-out vehicle parked nearby and the body will be carefully wrapped, carried out and driven to the mortuary. Immediately the soil will be replaced, the roses replanted and the surface flattened. Say two to three hours at the most.’
Donald didn’t know whether to be pleased or not. It was his plan but, like most plans, it could go wrong.
As if reading his mind, the detective said, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be my neck on the line but I’ll clear it first with those higher up. It’ll be quite a coup if it is her!’
‘Tough on the brother, though.’
Ackrow shrugged. ‘The family want to know the truth. They’ve initiated it. They need to know what happened to her. That’s why he’s over here.’ He stood up.
Time to go, thought Donald. He made his excuses and left. No time for doubts now, he told himself. The sooner it was over, the better.
NINE
Georgina had bought the twins identical black outfits despite Marianne’s protest. Black skirts, black jackets with black stockings and shoes.
‘You don’t seem to understand, Marianne, the importance of death in the minds of young children. This is life, Marianne, not a fairyland where everything ends happily. I want them to realize that life is fleeting and they must be good children if they want to go to heaven. That’s where Ivan has gone. They will accept that.’ She gave her a sharp glance. ‘I expect you to wear black also.’
Marianne nodded. She was on shaky ground, she reminded herself. She was only the governess and had no right to interfere.
When the day came the children dressed in their new outfits with excited giggles, admiring themselves in the long swing mirror in Marianne’s room.
Emmie said, ‘I look like a witch!’ and rolled her eyes. She held out her arms, wiggled her fingers and said, ‘I shall turn you into a frog!’
‘You can’t because I’m a good witch.’
‘You can’t be a good witch because good witches are white and we’re both dressed in black.’
Marianne was adjusting her own black straw hat and deciding that it suited her. ‘Don’t let your grandmother hear you being silly, girls. Wearing black to a funeral is a mark of respect. It shows you . . .’ She picked up a hand mirror to see the
effect of the hat from the back. ‘It means that you liked Ivan and you’re sorry he died.’ She gave herself a final glance in the mirror and, satisfied, said, ‘Now come along. Your grandmother has ordered a hansom cab to take us to the church. Isn’t that exciting?’
Outside the front steps, the vehicle waited, the horse snuffling impatiently. Georgina was already seated in the back, clutching her large black handbag. She indicated the space beside her, and Marianne sat down while the children scrambled on to the small seats opposite. The interior of the taxi smelled of leather polish and cigar smoke. The driver flipped the reins and they drew out carefully into the traffic.
‘That’s enough from you two!’ Georgina told the twins who were fidgeting excitedly. ‘A funeral is a solemn occasion and I want you to behave yourselves. Think only good thoughts and ask God to forgive your sins.’
They nodded dutifully.
Emmie asked, ‘Does he forgive your sins, Grandmother?’
‘My sins?’
She seemed flustered by the question, Marianne thought.
‘I don’t have any sins, Emmie,’ Georgina replied loftily, ‘but if I did He would forgive me. He also forgives mistakes.’
‘I make mistakes,’ Edie offered eagerly. ‘I thought five times five was twenty but it’s not. It’s . . . um . . .’ She looked at her sister for help.
‘Not that kind of mistake, Edie. The sort of mistake that one makes – unintentional mistakes.’ Marianne saw that her hold on the handbag had tightened. ‘Mistakes that turn out badly but . . .’ She fell silent.
Marianne said, ‘Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. God understands that.’
Georgina nodded gratefully. ‘Exactly.’
Edie cried, ‘Oh look! Those two horses are pulling that bus!’
Georgina gave it a cursory glance. ‘I never trust those horse buses,’ she said. ‘Very unsteady – and they will insist on racing each other. It leads to accidents. I don’t care for trams either but they are steadier on the whole.’
Emmie said, ‘But if they have an accident then that’s a mistake and God would forgive them.’
Georgina rolled her eyes despairingly. ‘No more talking, girls,’ she instructed. ‘We are going to a funeral and you must think proper thoughts.’
Marianne considered herself rebuked also. Her thoughts lately, with regard to her employer, were certainly not very proper.
After the service Marianne, Ida, Georgina and the twins returned to the home of the bereaved parents with another eight mourners, for a simple meal of ham and salad followed by fruit jelly and cream. There was also a cake with Ivan’s name on it, made by Ida.
While Georgina was in conversation with Ivan’s aunt, Ida took Marianne’s arm and led her into the passage where they could talk without being overheard.
‘I’m relying on you, Marianne,’ she told her. ‘I shall stay here for a few days to be of help and support to Ivan’s parents and during that time you must keep a watchful eye on my sister. I’m worried about her health and not only her physical problems. One of our aunts died of melancholia – it was terrible. She took her own life – there’s no other way to say it.’
‘Good heavens! How sad!’ Marianne was genuinely shocked.
‘It was. She threw herself off a bridge. Very nasty – a truly terrible way to go – and she was only twenty-one. Georgina and I were quite young at the time but we heard about it as we grew up.’ Ida glanced back towards the dining room but seeing no one within hearing distance she went on. ‘I have to ask you something. Have you ever seen the inside of Neil’s room? The door seems to be permanently locked and I fear the worst. She idolized that boy. Absolutely idolized him. I imagine she has preserved the room exactly as it was when he was . . . unattached.’
Marianne’s mind seemed to move at a snail’s pace as she considered how best to answer Ida’s question. It would be foolish to reveal that Lorna had shown her the room because that would not reflect well on herself or on Lorna, but if she pretended to know nothing about it . . . She frowned. Perhaps it was important for Ida to know the truth.
She would have to lie, she decided. Or rather, deliver a series of half-truths.
‘I did see inside the room once,’ she said. ‘The door was open and it was being cleaned. Lorna was brushing the carpet . . .’ She threw out her hands in a gesture that meant ‘nothing of importance’.
Ida’s eyes narrowed. ‘And?’ she encouraged, waiting for more. ‘You haven’t answered my question, have you?’
Marianne said, ‘No.’ She hesitated.
‘What aren’t you telling me, Marianne? I’m trusting you to be frank with me. We both, I’m sure, have my sister’s welfare at heart.’
Marianne drew a deep breath. ‘There’s a sort of altar in there. I expect that’s where Mrs Matlowe . . . The thing is that she never goes to church so she probably prays there . . .’
Ida’s mouth fell open with surprise. ‘Never goes to church? What are you saying? Of course she goes to church!’
‘What I mean is . . .’ She was flustered. ‘I mean that some people do like to pray in private . . . and maybe the altar makes her feel closer to God.’ She realized it sounded lame.
Ida pounced. ‘Some people do, do they?’ She raised her eyebrows.
‘I assume so.’
‘You’re saying that my sister no longer attends church? Since when?’
‘Never since I’ve been with her.’
Ida, finally and reluctantly convinced, shook her head. ‘This is very worrying. I hope she isn’t becoming obsessed with death. She’s never been the same since Neil’s marriage to Leonora. Not that I disliked her, because I couldn’t – she was a lovely girl – and because she made Neil so happy . . .’ For a moment her eyes filled with tears but she quickly produced a handkerchief and dabbed them away. ‘Poor Georgina was convinced that Leonora would take Neil back to America forever. She thought the young woman was trying to drive a wedge between her and Neil. It was sheer panic on her part.’
‘And when she disappeared?’
‘I think in her heart of hearts Georgina blamed herself and I daresay Neil also blamed her. I saw a change in her – in Georgina, I mean. She became very withdrawn – introverted possibly. Didn’t spend much time with the twins. Then fell out with the family’s nanny and sent her away. Hired a replacement and then later decided it was time for a governess. The first one didn’t suit and then you arrived.’ She smiled briefly. ‘She trusts you, Marianne, and that’s why I’m enlisting your help. I want you to promise that if you see any further signs of what I shall call “unresolved grief”, or deterioration of her mental state . . .’
Marianne, now feeling guilty, opened her mouth to protest but Ida ignored her obvious reluctance and went on regardless.
‘. . . or increased melancholia, you will notify me at once. A missing daughter-in-law and a dead son are quite enough to throw most people out of kilter and my poor sister is no exception.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Marianne told her, trying to ignore the feelings of disloyalty. She was well and truly caught in the centre of the intrigue but could see no way out of it.
‘I don’t want another tragedy, Marianne. I don’t want her to follow our aunt’s example. You are in a good position to help me avert one. Georgina will miss me. She finds me overbearing but . . .’
‘Oh I’m sure she doesn’t!’
‘She does but she’s always drawn strength from me without understanding that she does it. She has always been the same. She was bullied at school on one occasion and I found her in tears in the cloakroom. I soon sorted things out for her. She rarely asks me for help but that’s because I act on her behalf before she needs to ask.’ She patted Marianne’s arm. ‘Do you have any sisters?’
Marianne shook her head. ‘I’ve an older brother in India.’
‘India? Not much use to you there, is he!’ Frowning, she forced her thoughts back to the matter of her sister. ‘As long as you understand the situation, Marian
ne. I’m relying on you. Please don’t let me down.’
Marianne lay in bed that night tossing and turning and wondering how her life had suddenly become so complicated. Her job as a governess, apparently so straightforward, had now developed complications. The past was impinging on the present in an uncomfortable way, leaving her loyalties in some disarray. Her first duty must be toward the twins, who were in her care for much of each day and who deserved her full attention.
Donald Watson, however, considered her his eyes and ears within the Matlowe household and she could plainly see that uncovering past events would probably seriously affect the children’s lives in the future. The suspicion that someone had killed Leonora, if proved, would certainly have a most damaging effect on those closest to the twins and would indirectly affect their own attitude to life as they grew older. If it turned out that Neil, their father, had killed his wife, Emmie and Edie would surely grow up full of insecurities. Discovering that Leonora had been buried beneath the roses would be a nightmare for them – one from which they might never recover.
Maybe, she thought unhappily, it would have been better if Richard Preston had not come to England in search of the truth. Not knowing what happened to his sister might have been a better option for the Preston family.
And now, on top of everything else, Ida had recruited her to watch for signs that Georgina might be sliding into a state of melancholy – a state of mind that had prompted one of her aunts to throw herself off a bridge!
Marianne liked Ida. She found her refreshingly honest and full of commonsense and was quite willing to help her by watching Georgina. Were the altar and the constant prayers a sign of this inherited weakness or simply a defence against any unhappy or guilty thoughts she might have? There was no way of knowing. Thank heavens that so far the twins showed no sign of a similar tendency – both girls being of a lively, cheerful disposition. But how long would that continue if their grandmother became seriously morose and introspective? Living in The Poplars, the twins’ view of the world was a very limited one. They might be better off with the Preston family in America . . .
The Boat House Page 13
