She would have no cause to use the bathroom, thought Ida, because there was a commode next to the bed.
‘Where could she have gone?’ the doctor asked, his face pale.
‘There’s another bedroom!’ Ida led the way and, quietly opening the door, they gazed at the still form in Neil’s bed.
Ida put a hand to her heart. ‘Thank the Lord!’ she whispered, but the doctor took a few tentative steps into the room. He saw that Georgina Matlowe clutched a bible between her hands.
‘Dear God!’ he muttered. There was no sign of movement, no rise and fall of the bed clothes. ‘I’m very much afraid . . .’ Then he stepped forward and gently laid his knuckles against the calm face. He shook his head and took one of her wrists in his fingers and waited for the pulse that did not come. ‘Too late!’ he said and walked stiffly towards the window where he stood looking down into the garden while he tried to compose himself.
Ida cried, ‘Oh no! Georgina!’ She stood beside her and, snatching up the bible, laid it on the bedside table. Falling to her knees she laid her face against Georgina’s hand and began to cry.
The doctor waited until the worst was over but he felt his own despair – the sense of failure he always felt when he lost a patient.
Marianne had been in the kitchen making an early cup of tea for herself before supervising the twins’ breakfast but now she arrived on the second landing in time to hear the shocking news. After a moment she said faintly, ‘The letter! I wonder . . .’
Ida seized on the words. ‘What letter? Marianne, what are you saying?’
The doctor drew a sharp breath. Marianne told them about the letter Georgina had been writing the previous day.
She looked at the doctor. ‘Are you thinking it was a suicide note? I don’t think so. She said it was her will.’
Ida said, ‘Please fetch it at once.’ As Marianne made a move towards the door Ida said, ‘On second thoughts we had better all go down to the study.’ To the doctor she said, ‘Do you need or wish to be there?’
‘If it is a suicide note then yes, I’m sorry, but I need to report it. A crime will have been committed.’
Minutes later they were all sitting in the study. Ida had read the first few pages aloud and they were all consumed with deep dismay.
Ida’s voice faltered. For once she felt completely out of her depth. Turning to Marianne she said, ‘I have a bad feeling about this. Do you think Richard Preston should be here?’
Marianne hesitated. Shocked, she was unable to think clearly, and both women glanced at the doctor for help.
The doctor said, ‘I think perhaps we should read it to the end before we involve anyone else. You will need to know exactly what happened to Mrs Matlowe’s daughter-in-law – and it’s my job to write the death certificate for Mrs Matlowe.’
Grateful for his advice Ida rallied. ‘Then we’ll finish reading it – although the letter so far fills me with dread.’
By the time she reached the end of Georgina’s confession Ida’s worst fears had been realized.
She whispered, ‘Marianne, will you please telephone Richard Preston at his hotel and break the news. He will have to know. And so will Cook and Lorna.’
Marianne stammered, ‘But what on earth shall I say to him? I don’t want to be the one to tell him . . .’
Ida was staring at the letter. ‘It was an accident,’ she said. ‘Leonora’s death was an accident. It wasn’t deliberate. It wasn’t murder! Georgina would never . . . I mean, she was not a violent person.’
The doctor sighed. ‘But she lied to the police at the time of the disappearance and thus interfered with the investigation. She caused a death, which is manslaughter, and in her panic, she hid the crime.’
Ida, still dazed by the revelations, shook her head. ‘And made it look like a betrayal on Leonora’s part! Oh! Whatever will Richard say when he knows?’
The doctor glanced at Marianne. ‘It may be best to call him with the news.’ To Ida he said, ‘If it would help you, I will stay a little longer. My presence may prove a sobering influence – to hopefully avoid any unnecessary histrionics.’
Ida agreed gratefully and Marianne went reluctantly downstairs to the telephone.
She felt a rush of compassion for the young man when she heard his voice and recalled that he had probably spent hours at the hospital with Ivy Busby. When she announced herself he assumed she had called about the hospital patient and said, ‘She’s in a very bad way, Marianne. She may not recover but if she does she will be severely handicapped. I can imagine her distress – her speech is impaired as well as her movements. She will be heartbroken to realize that there is no way she can come back to America with me. I cannot imagine . . .’
‘Richard, I have to stop you.’ Marianne’s voice shook. ‘I have more bad news.’
‘More? What has happened?’
‘Mrs Matlowe has died of an overdose and has left a . . . a very revealing letter. The doctor is here and we think you should come right away, if you can. The letter concerns your sister.’
There was a long silence.
‘Marianne, are you saying that there’s a connection between them – between the letter and Leonora?’
‘Yes, I suppose I am.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Richard, please don’t ask me for any more details. You will have to read it for yourself.’
‘So this is very bad?’
‘Yes. Can you come?’ When he made no answer she added, ‘You came to England to find out what happened to Leonora. Now we know.’ She replaced the phone and paused to steady herself before making her way to the kitchen. Marianne said simply that there had been a serious problem and the doctor was in the study with Ida.
‘I shall be with the children for the moment,’ she told them, ‘and I think you should send up their breakfast as usual.’
Twenty minutes later Richard arrived to find that Marianne was with the children and Ida and the doctor were waiting for him in the study. In the meantime Ida had finished rereading the letter and now, without a word, she handed it to Richard.
The doctor was writing out a death certificate when Richard gave a cry of anguish and broke down in tears. Ida, keen to escape the worst of the storm, hurried downstairs and asked Cook to send up a tray of tea for three. ‘On second thoughts use the large teapot and send crockery for four. Mr Preston is going to need a cup of tea.’
‘Marianne said it was serious,’ Cook prompted.
‘That was an understatement,’ Ida said, her voice hoarse. ‘My sister is dead. I can’t say more now as the doctor is waiting for me.’
‘Dead?’ Cook stared at her. ‘But I thought . . . that is, we were talking yesterday and reckoned she was on the mend. Being sensible and taking it easy like she was told.’
‘It has taken us all by surprise.’ Ida turned and made her way back to the study.
In her absence the doctor had turned Georgina on to her back and had drawn up the sheet to cover her face. ‘I’ll go now,’ he said, ‘if you’ll forgive me for changing my mind. But I have a surgery at eight thirty and must write out the police report on this occurrence before my patients start arriving. The sooner the police decide how they want to treat this revelation, the better it will be for all of you.’
Marianne was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Doctor, I do hope you are not blaming your wife in any way for what has happened. She was simply trying to help me with the problem of the pills.’
He patted her arm. ‘Thank you for your concern but I’ll see to it that she is not held responsible. She acted in good faith.’
Back in the schoolroom with the twins, Marianne cleared away the breakfast things and set them some sums to do. As she turned to go Edie said, ‘What’s happening, Marianne? Lorna said there’s been a disaster.’
Emmie said, ‘A disaster is something terrible, isn’t it? Like . . . like a house falling down or a flood.’
Faced with two pairs of anxious eyes, Marianne did not want to
lie to them. ‘Your Aunt Ida is going to tell you all about it very soon,’ she told them.
Ida was on her way to the schoolroom as Marianne carried the breakfast tray downstairs and Marianne warned her that the children were full of questions.
‘They don’t miss much, bless them!’ Ida said. ‘I asked Richard if he wanted to break the news to them as he is their uncle and I am only a great-aunt. He thinks I will do a better job. He is dreadfully shaken by the letter but he came for the truth and now we have it. Spare him a few comforting words, Marianne. He has an awful lot on his shoulders.’
In the study Richard turned towards her, his face etched with bitterness. ‘So it was her! I should have guessed. Neil’s wonderful mother! It’s a good job he died before the truth came out!’
‘I’m so sorry, Richard. I wish things could have turned out differently. I hope we can somehow soften the blow for the children.’
‘I want her punished for what she did to Leonora but she has managed to escape the net.’ He shrugged. ‘Dying peacefully in her sleep. She didn’t deserve it. Leonora didn’t die peacefully, did she? She was murdered.’
‘No! It was an accident, Richard.’
‘So she says. I think otherwise!’
Marianne regarded him sadly. She wanted to offer words of comfort but nothing she could say would lessen the agony of mind that now burdened him. It was easier for him to hate than to grieve, she assumed, at least for the present.
‘We can’t change the past, Richard. Somehow we have to go on. You still have Leonora’s beautiful daughters. In the circumstances Ida may agree to let them go to America. The sooner the better. She might come with them – she no longer has to care for her sister. They could have a month or so and then return to start their new school in the autumn.’
He frowned. ‘I want to be here for Leonora when they . . . when she is brought up from that damned boat house. To think she has been there all this time and I didn’t know!’
‘Is that how you want to remember her, Richard? Being dragged to the surface of the water. Do you think she would want you to watch something like that? Why not take the girls away from it all and show them America where their mother was brought up? Where she was happy. Where she and Neil met and fell in love. Show them all the family photographs and the family pets. I think your sister would want you to put Emmie and Edie before anything else.’
Marianne saw that he was reconsidering – or hoped he was. She stepped nearer and put her arms around him. He was shaking and she held him closer.
Suddenly he stepped back a little and looked at her. ‘You could come with them, Marianne, instead of Ida.’
She shook her head. ‘Ida would be better,’ she explained. ‘It would be a reconciliation for the two families. Ida was in no way to blame for what happened. She’s a good person.’
Downstairs the telephone trilled and Lorna came up to say it was Donald Watson to speak to her. Marianne gave Richard a quick kiss and a smile. She went down to face the start of what she knew would be two weeks or more of hectic activity involving the police, the solicitors and the coroner’s court, not forgetting Georgina Matlowe’s funeral, which, because of the unusual circumstances, would almost certainly be delayed. She quailed at the thought of it but then told herself firmly that it would, it must, eventually come to an end. One day the worst would be over and she had a new life to look forward to.
EPILOGUE
Thursday, 13th June 1913
Almost a year to the day later Marianne Watson, busy in the office with the three letters Donald had left her, became aware of a familiar clatter of footsteps on the stairs and paused in her work. There was no knock on the door and before she could call ‘Come in!’ Emmie and Edie erupted into the room with squeals of excitement. Now nearly nine, they looked very grown up in their school uniforms, complete with hats and blazers. They wore navy blue drill slips over white blouses and the badge on the blazer pockets read Dewsbury Girls’ Preparatory.
‘How nice to see you both,’ Marianne cried, holding out her arms for a joint hug. ‘I suppose today was your last day at school.’
‘It is,’ Emmie informed her, ‘but we were allowed to leave an hour early – so here we are! Where’s Mr Watson?’
‘He’s with a client but he’ll be back later.’ She smiled. She felt the usual tug at the heart as she looked at them. She had grown fond of them but, with things the way they were, she now spent little time with them – although the previous week they had spent a day together at the Henley Royal Regatta. Cook had prepared a delicious picnic and Ida, Marianne and the girls had settled themselves on deck chairs on the riverbank, below the Chinese lanterns, from where they could watch all the river craft with their eager passengers. It was a magical day that Marianne would cherish in her memory.
None of them had understood the technicalities of the various races or the vagaries of winds and currents but the atmosphere had been exciting and the four of them had returned home pleasantly weary.
Emmie said, ‘We told our teacher about the regatta and all the races . . .’
‘But we couldn’t remember who won them but Miss Riley said it didn’t matter . . .’
‘And we drew some pictures to take to poor Nan, to cheer her up. Aunt Ida says she hasn’t long to go so we must be very kind to her.’ Briefly Emmie looked suitably chastened but quickly brightened.
Edie lowered her voice. ‘We didn’t tell Cook about her aspic jelly melting . . .’
‘And all the tiny vegetables floating about!’ Emmie giggled. ‘I liked the strawberries and cream best.’
‘I liked the fairy lights on the bridge when it started to get dark. It looked like fairyland.’
Marianne said, ‘Your Aunt Ida tells me you are off to America again soon. Won’t that be wonderful?’
Edie nodded, ‘She is really our great-aunt but if we call her that it makes her feel old.’
Emmie said, ‘We shall see our kitten again – the one Grandmother Preston bought for us . . .’
‘. . . but he’ll be a grown-up cat now,’ Edie reminded her, ‘because we can only see him once a year in the summer holiday.’ To Marianne she said, ‘We call him Stripy because he’s tabby with lots of nice stripes . . .’
‘Like a tiger.’
‘And Mr Barnes has given us a photograph of our mother and father in a lovely silver frame and we can keep it!’
Emmie nodded, smiling. ‘Mother was very pretty and she is holding us both and smiling at our father. Aunt Ida says she was very happy. They both were.’
‘How lovely! Mr Barnes is very kind.’
Emmie nodded then sat down on the client’s chair and adopted a serious expression. ‘We’ve come to see you, Marianne, because we want you to investigate something for us.’
‘Really? And what is it – this “something”?’ Marianne kept her face straight with an effort.
‘Something very strange has happened to our roses – the ones that Grandmother bought for us when we were babies. They’ve moved.’
Edie nodded earnestly. ‘We will pay you out of our pocket money if you take on the case.’
Marianne’s heart missed a beat as she was instantly jolted back to a time she would rather forget. For a moment she regretted having explained her new work to the twins in such detail, but they had been intrigued by her move from The Poplars when she ceased to be their governess.
‘Well,’ she said, playing for time. ‘I’ll ask Mr Watson if we have time but we are very busy.’
Emmie said, ‘The roses have changed places! Aunt Ida thinks we’re imagining things but we’re not.’
Edie regarded her earnestly. ‘We didn’t say they could move. They just did. We asked Mr Blunt if he did it but he shook his head and said it was a complete mystery and when he saw what had happened you could have blown him down with a feather!’
Marianne stifled a groan. Some matters were definitely best forgotten, she reflected, but she now had visions of being asked for the result of the
‘investigation’, as soon as the twins returned from America. Better to nip the idea in the bud now, she decided.
‘We’ll do our best,’ she promised, ‘but I have to warn you that some strange things are so very strange that they are never explained. Never. We investigators call those “unsolved cases”. They are very special cases. It’s like a riddle that can never be solved. Your mystery might be like that.’
Edie looked pleased by the prospect and glanced at her sister. ‘A very special case!’ she said.
At that moment there were more footsteps and Ida appeared in the doorway. She smiled at Marianne but shooed the twins out of the office. ‘We’re off tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Lots of packing to do this evening!’
Marianne said, ‘Have a safe journey and give my kind regards to Richard when you see him.’
‘I will, Marianne, and we’ll see you when we get back. You and Donald must come to tea with us before the girls start school again.’
Marianne listened to their cheerful chatter as they went downstairs. Ida’s life had been transformed and Marianne almost envied her – travelling to and fro across the Atlantic – but then she glanced down at her wedding ring. With a contented sigh, she once more applied herself to the typewriter. She told herself that she was very happy to be where she was and nothing and no one could ever tempt her to be anywhere else.
The Boat House Page 21
