The Boat House

by Pamela Oldfield

  Sighing, her mind too active, Marianne turned on to her right side, drew up her knees and tried not to think, but it was impossible. Wide awake and full of uneasy thoughts, she slid out of bed and crossed the room, to take a look in on the children sleeping in the next room. Emmie lay straight and calm in her bed, her face pale and untroubled in the moonlight. Edie lay among the twisted bedclothes in an untidy heap, her face scrunched up, her long hair tousled on the pillow.

  ‘Two little sisters,’ Marianne whispered. Innocent children whose lives might already be unravelling around them. She whispered a little prayer for their survival as she went slowly back to her own room.

  The warrant for the exploratory dig was issued and various preparations were made to ensure that no one was in the house when the police arrived to dig up the rose bed.

  To Georgina’s disgust, the hospital tests would take up most of the day and they insisted they must keep her in overnight. Ida had then arranged to collect her the next morning and take them out to lunch. Afterwards they would spend time in the shops in Regent Street, possibly followed by a visit to a theatre matinee. Ida was wrongly convinced that, despite her sister’s protests, she was actually looking forward to these delights.

  The day of the hospital appointment dawned cool but dry and Ida arrived promptly at eight thirty to escort her sister to the hospital. While Georgina was pretending to make last-minute preparations for the short stay in hospital (but was actually locked in Neil’s room, praying) Richard waited further along the street as Marianne helped the children into their clothes.

  Cook and Lorna carried on as usual, unaware that they were going to be given the rest of the day off as soon as their mistress had departed. Marianne, watching from an upstairs window, saw Richard Preston further up the road, wearing a hat that shaded his eyes. He was talking to a man she recognized as Donald Watson and she hoped that Mrs Matlowe would not glance their way as she passed them – but presumably they would be prepared and would turn away as she passed by.

  She guessed that the neighbours would be full of curiosity, as they had been warned of police activity in the back garden although they had been given very few details, but the Brannigans, much to their dismay, had already arranged a week’s holiday on the Isle of Wight so would be away from the vicinity and would miss the excitement.

  Ida called Georgina down. She arrived with a small holdall, looking flustered and ill at ease.

  Ida held up a warning hand. ‘A quick goodbye to the twins, dear,’ she urged Georgina. ‘I don’t want to keep the driver waiting. He’s an irritable man and won’t take kindly to being kept waiting.’

  Georgina turned to Marianne. ‘Take care of the children, Marianne. I don’t care for the seaside visit but you must see that they come to no harm. I shall be back some time during the evening tomorrow as Ida insists on taking us to the theatre.’ She tried to smile at the prospect of a hospital visit followed by a day’s outing with her sister but failed. ‘More for her sake than mine!’ she added irritably. ‘I have never been a great theatre fan.’

  Marianne smiled. ‘We’ll take good care of the girls,’ she assured her.

  Georgina leaned towards her and whispered, ‘Remember what I told you. Don’t let them out of your sight for a moment. I don’t trust him.’

  ‘I promise you, hand on heart!’ Marianne insisted in a low voice, with an unhappy sense of betrayal. If she was honest with herself, she felt sorry for her employer and understood her anxiety. The worry over her heart problem had obviously raised the suspicion in the older woman’s mind that, if she were found to be dangerously at risk from a heart attack, Richard might apply to the courts for permission to take them back to the Preston family, using her medical condition as justification for their removal.

  Minutes later she hurried into the kitchen and told the staff they could have the rest of the day off.

  ‘Are you sure it’s all right for us to go?’ Cook said dubiously. ‘I mean, suppose Madam finds out – what then?’

  Lorna lingered nearby, equally anxious.

  Marianne gave them the answer they had rehearsed. ‘It’s Mr Preston’s idea, not mine. His shoulders are broad! If she does find out, he’s going to take all the blame. And anyway it’s only for today. You’ll be back tomorrow so why should she guess that you had a few hours off today?’

  ‘We-ell, if you’re sure it will be all right.’ Cook glanced at Lorna. ‘Let’s go then!’

  Lorna gave a little whoop of excitement and five minutes later they, too, had left the house. Marianne leaned from the front room window and waved to the two men who were still waiting further along the road as arranged.

  Richard Preston hurried to collect Marianne and the twins. He had hired a motor car for the day and they were off to Margate to sample the delights of the seaside. With squeals of excitement, the twins scrambled into the back seat and Marianne slipped the front door key under the flowerpot where Donald Watson would find it.

  The twins chattered non-stop as the car set off on its journey. There was no picnic basket as their uncle had promised to take them to a special place that sold fish and chips and they would have ice creams and buy buckets and spades.

  ‘We’re going to paddle in the water!’ Emmie chortled, ‘and maybe find a crab!’

  ‘Or a starfish! And make sandcastles!’

  They were unaware that their grandmother would spend the day in hospital. No one had seen any good reason to give them cause for concern. Richard was determined they would have fun and Marianne had decided not to dwell on what was happening back at The Poplars. She knew how difficult the day would be for Richard Preston but was eager to distract him from the gruesome thoughts of what might be found below the roses.

  Under an overcast sky, the small police team went to work with well-oiled efficiency and the Barneses, watching from next door, found it fascinating – a bit of excitement to enliven their somewhat routine daily lives. From time to time they glanced upwards at the cloudy sky, fearing that a sudden shower might muddy the well-orchestrated proceedings and leave tell-tale traces, but it stayed fine.

  Donald and DS Ackrow watched anxiously as tarpaulins were carried round the side of the house, across the lawn and laid carefully around the edges of the rose bed. A wooden crate was brought out and the four rose bushes were carefully eased from the soil with a garden fork and then lifted into the wooden crate, each complete with a mass of root soil. Every care was taken with them – it would look very odd if the roses began to wither as soon as they were replaced.

  ‘I don’t know what to hope for,’ Donald remarked to the DS. ‘Finding nothing will only extend the agony of the investigation, but finding a body will cause huge distress for Richard Preston. He gives an impression of confidence but he’s quite young for his age.’

  ‘But he set the thing in motion,’ the detective replied. ‘He’ll have to take the consequences.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a chance Leonora is still alive?’

  ‘I fear not! I’d like to be proved wrong though.’

  The two men employed to dig now began to bring up soil from below ground level and this was carefully tipped on to the tarpaulins.

  The detective growled, ‘If they so much as drop a spoonful on the grass I’ll have their guts for garters! I don’t mind telling you this hasn’t gone too far up the chain of command. It’s a bit hush-hush and I stand to take the blame if anything goes wrong. If we find something I’ll get the credit!’ He shrugged.

  ‘And if there is a body . . .?’

  ‘We’ll wrap it up and call in the unmarked van which we have waiting round the corner. Hopefully we’ll get it away within minutes.’

  ‘To the mortuary?’

  He nodded. At that moment the church clock struck the hour. ‘Nearly an hour so far,’ he said and took out his handkerchief to mop his brow. Then he glanced up at the Barnes’ window. ‘I hope that photographer isn’t taking pictures of this.’

  ‘I warned him not to. He’s
pretty reliable, I think, though, mind you, if she is down there, a few photographs might come in very useful later. Evidence.’

  Ackrow said nothing.

  The mound of earth grew and another hour passed until one of the diggers straightened his back and turned to beckon them over.

  Donald said, ‘Oh God! They’ve found her!’

  ‘Not necessarily. You stay here, if you don’t mind. If it is her we can’t have too many people cluttering the scene.’

  He strode purposefully towards the waiting diggers and Donald watched in frustration as they all stared down into the excavation, heads close together in conversation. Saying what? Donald wondered, with a sick feeling in his stomach.

  The detective glanced back at him and waved for him to join them and within seconds he was standing beside the detective, staring down into what was quite obviously a deep but very empty hole.

  DS Ackrow shook his head, his expression one of deep disappointment. ‘Not a sign of anything untoward,’ he reported. ‘They would never have gone deeper than this.’ He sighed and his shoulders sagged. He instructed the diggers to take a ten-minute break and then to refill the hole as quickly as possible. ‘And replant the roses, in a straight row, exactly as we found them. Thanks, lads.’

  Donald remained, torn between rushing back to the office to tell Judith the results of the excavation and seeing it through to the finish. When the rose bushes were once more in place and the tarpaulins removed, he was astonished to see that the lawn showed no sign of the recent clandestine activity. It was as though nothing had happened, he marvelled. Very impressive.

  As he parted from Ackrow outside the front steps of The Poplars, he could see that the day’s efforts, with nothing to show for them, was a bitter setback for the detective.

  The DS rubbed his eyes wearily and sighed. ‘Back to square one,’ he remarked. ‘But that’s the job! What’s that saying? “Ten per cent inspiration, ninety per cent desperation!” That’s about it. Hardly glamorous.’

  Donald said, ‘But I bet you wouldn’t want to do anything else!’

  A faint smile lit the detective’s face. ‘You’re right – I wouldn’t. That’s the dilemma for the likes of us coppers. We’re a funny lot!’

  Donald grinned. ‘It was worth a try, though, wasn’t it? There may be other leads. Let’s not give up hope just yet.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Likewise!’

  As they went their separate ways Donald felt a secret relief that he had no gruesome news for Richard Preston when he eventually returned from his trip to Margate with Marianne and the twins. He was aware of a pang of envy when he imagined Marianne and Richard sharing the heady delights of the famous seaside town. Would Richard Preston take the twins back to America, he wondered? It would be a great experience for Marianne if she went with them. But would Georgina Matlowe ever agree to such a thing? It seemed unlikely. She was apparently using the sinking of the Titanic to prove how dangerous the sea crossing would be. It gave her a wonderful excuse to refuse.

  But if Marianne did go she might never come back. She might even marry Richard, who was part of a wealthy, prestigious family. It seemed distinctly unlikely that she would ever become his secretary and business partner. Judith would be very disappointed – and so would he. He frowned as he ran up the stairs to his office, sorry that Judith had ever put the idea into his head.

  The next morning, Bert Blunt arrived for work at The Poplars and made his way towards the potting shed. He was going to prune back the buddleia, which was threatening to engulf the hibiscus, then he would mow the grass and . . .

  Halfway across the lawn he stopped, stared at the little rose bed, hesitated, walked on then turned and went back. He stood staring at it, and scratched his head.

  ‘I’ll be damned!’ he muttered. ‘Damned and double damned! I could ’ave sworn . . .’ The two red roses had been at either end of the bed and the two pink ones had been between them . . . hadn’t they? Or maybe not. He blinked his eyes and stepped nearer to the rose bed, peering more closely. No doubt about it. Today the pink ones were on the ends and the red ones were in the middle . . . but where were they before?

  ‘They couldn’t ’ave moved their selfs.’ He shook his head. ‘Course they couldn’t!’ After a long pause he shrugged and turned back towards the shed. ‘It’s you, ’Erbert Blunt! Silly old fool! You’re losing your ruddy marbles!’ Rolling his eyes, he pushed the vexing matter to the back of his mind, opened the shed, removed his jacket and hung it on the hook then reached for the secateurs.

  TEN

  It was eight thirty the same morning. Georgina sat up in bed wearing a hospital gown and a fierce expression. Ida sat on a chair beside her and they both sipped from cups of tea.

  Ida said, ‘There’s no point in upsetting yourself, dear. They are doing the best they can for you. If you do have a heart problem you should let them advise you. If I were in your shoes . . .’

  ‘Well, you’re not. Easy for you to talk. If you were sitting here, worn out after all those tests, you’d feel differently. I don’t see why we can’t just get up and leave.’

  ‘But what’s the hurry? You’ve had a nice sleep and they will soon be bringing round the breakfast. Then you’ll see Mr Prendergast again and we’ll be off with our lovely day to look forward to.’

  ‘Ida, I’ve told you . . .’

  ‘Lunch at the Savoy – I’ve booked a table so you can’t refuse – then a matinee. Or a little shopping. You know how you love Harrods and you did say you needed a new handbag . . .’

  ‘I said no such thing!’

  ‘It’s looking a little past it, the brown leather . . .’

  ‘No worse than yours – and I have two other handbags so . . .’

  Her voice rose and a passing nurse said, ‘Anything wrong, ladies?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ Ida assured her, smiling broadly.

  As the nurse moved on Georgina muttered, ‘They’re all so smug!’

  ‘They’re professionals, Georgie, and this is their world! You should be grateful that . . .’

  ‘If you call me Georgie again I shall smother you with my pillow!’ She set the cup and saucer on the bedside table and glared at the woman in the next bed.

  Alice Beddowes, being short-sighted, assumed she might be smiling and smiled back. Thus encouraged, she leaned forward confidingly and said, ‘It’s either porridge or stewed prunes but the porridge is a bit lumpy. I’d have the prunes, dear, if I were you.’

  Georgina gave her a withering look, which was entirely wasted, and turned back to Ida.

  Ida said, ‘You could probably have a little of each if you wanted . . .’

  ‘God in Heaven!’ Georgina closed her eyes but at that moment the doors swung open at the end of the ward and a trolley appeared, laden with crockery and food.

  Georgina panicked. ‘Where are my clothes, Ida? Find them for me. I shall get dressed and then see Mr Prendergast.’

  ‘But your breakfast, dear. You have to eat.’

  ‘No I do not!’ She swung her legs out of the bed and a nurse veered quickly towards them.

  ‘Now, Mrs Matlowe, you must be sensible . . .’

  ‘I want my clothes, Nurse. If no one will fetch them I shall walk out of the hospital in bare feet and this ridiculous gown!’

  Ida said, ‘Georgina! What has got into you this morning?’ She threw the nurse an apologetic glance.

  The nurse said, ‘You really cannot leave the hospital without speaking to Mr Prendergast. That would be quite against the rules – and contrary to good sense. I’m sure Mr Prendergast will explain everything to you and he will have planned a course of necessary treatments or medicines . . .’

  They eyed each other for a moment and then, to Ida’s relief, Georgina relented. ‘If you allow me to dress I shall wait to see Mr Prendergast.’

  The nurse rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll speak to Sister and see if we can arrange something for you.’

  When she had left th
em Ida said, ‘Really, Georgie! That was very high-handed of you. And very unwise. You have a heart problem and this sort of behaviour will make it worse!’

  ‘I don’t care, Ida. I want to get out of here, spend a little time with you and then get back to The Poplars. Lord knows what they will have been up to in my absence.’

  ‘I’m sure everything is going smoothly, dear. Why shouldn’t they be able to manage a few hours without your supervision? They will be fine.’

  ‘Will they? You think you understand the situation better than I do?’

  ‘Yes I do. Marianne is very . . .’

  ‘It’s not Marianne I worry about. It’s that wretched uncle of theirs! And Margate! The sooner he . . . Ah! Here come my clothes. Perhaps you’d step outside while I dress, Ida – and close the curtains as you go.’

  The day’s outing to Margate had been an outstanding success full of excitements, even surpassing the visit to the zoo. The following day, in Georgina’s absence, Emmie and Edie were still full of reminiscences but their usual routine bored them and they were definitely fractious. Marianne decided they should spend a quiet day in the schoolroom with a simple programme of work. She would read to them, teach them a poem or a song, they would draw and paint. Some time in the evening their grandmother would return home and she wanted the twins to be calmer by then.

  Mrs Matlowe, however, arrived home earlier than Marianne expected and almost at once she was called into the study to discuss the previous day’s activities.

  ‘Sit down, Marianne, and tell me everything. I took one look at the children and I could tell at once that they were totally exhausted. I knew it! I knew that man would wear them out. He has no idea about how to bring up children. In his eyes he has only to give them gifts and work them up into a frenzy of excitement. Children’s minds are delicate and should never be overloaded.’