‘I understand you’re a semi-invalid.’
‘Oh no! Certainly not!’ Maud rolled her eyes. ‘I assure you I’m not!’
‘Mr Brent used the word “delicate”. He says you have to stay in bed until eleven each morning. I thought . . .’
‘That’s my husband’s idea but I don’t always obey the rule!’ She rolled her eyes humorously. ‘He thinks I do and that’s what matters. I was once very ill and was near to death but I’m perfectly fit now. Mr Brent, however, worries about my health and insists that I take life slowly and carefully . . .’ She tailed off and shrugged.
‘I suppose he means well. I mean, he obviously has your best interests at heart.’
‘I’m sure he does. He’s a wonderful husband. I’m very fortunate.’ Suddenly Maude felt that Miss Crewe, being single, might think she was gloating so she searched for a new topic. ‘What is your health record, Miss Crewe?’
Miss Crewe grinned and her round face crinkled and her dark button-black eyes shone with mischief. ‘I’m as tough as old boots – or so Mrs Patterson claimed. I told her, “I have to be tough to push that Bath chair of yours!”’
Maude was trying hard to be rational about the woman. Alice Crewe seemed very open, had a sense of humour and in many ways seemed very suitable for the job Lionel wanted Maude to offer her. True, she was the sort of woman Maude would like as a friend – but did she want her as a companion? A friend would come and go. A companion would be permanent. Did she want a stranger hovering around her all the time?
‘What are your interests?’ she asked. ‘There would be plenty of time when I would want to be alone. What would you find to do here? It’s a far cry from London with all the theatres and art galleries. Apart from the sea and the ferries coming and going to France—’
‘I’ve never been to a theatre but Folkestone has a few, doesn’t it, and I read a lot of books. I’m also very keen on learning chess. The dear old soul taught me the basic moves. Do you play?’
‘Not really. I have a chess set that belonged to my father. He intended to teach me but then he was killed – and my mother died of a broken heart. That’s what the doctor said.’
‘When was that?’
‘About eighteen months ago. My father was a well-known artist – you may have heard of him. Arnold Cope. As their only child I inherited this house and I still have many of his paintings stored in the cellar where it’s cool and a few more in the attic or tucked away under the stairs.’
‘I’d love to see some of them,’ Miss Crewe said eagerly. ‘I don’t know much about art but I might learn something.’
Surprised, Maude frowned. ‘Actually, my husband thought you were quite well informed about art and music.’
‘Oh! Did he?’ She looked startled. ‘I–I suppose I may have exaggerated a bit,’ she confessed. ‘I was so keen to be considered for the job.’
Maude laughed. She found the young woman’s candour refreshing. ‘It doesn’t matter, Miss Crewe. As for the paintings – I sell them quite regularly, mostly through the Barlowe Gallery in London in which, since my father’s death, I now have a fifty per cent financial interest. Since our marriage my husband spends a great deal of his time promoting the gallery in different ways.’
‘It sounds interesting work.’
‘It is but it’s not work as such. He isn’t employed but does it for the pleasure of it – and to help me, of course. He genuinely enjoys it. He says it has opened up a new world for him. He helps Mr Barlowe mount the exhibitions, which we do regularly, and also travels widely to seek out new artists who we might ask to exhibit. He’s away from home quite a lot, actually.’
‘So you don’t only sell your father’s paintings.’
‘No, we don’t, but my father was very well respected and his work is still very much in demand, thank goodness.’ She decided to match Miss Crewe’s honesty and added, ‘They provide a useful income.’
‘Your husband told me a little about your parents. It must have been terrible to be left alone like that.’
Maude shook her head at the memories. ‘But shortly after they died I met Lionel and we were married. It was what is called a whirlwind courtship but I’ve had no regrets. We’re very happy.’
‘It all sounds very romantic. So where did you actually meet?’
‘Through the Barlowe Gallery! Lionel bought one of my father’s paintings and was so impressed he asked if he could come down here to Folkestone to see more of his work.’ She smiled at the memory.
They were silent for a few seconds and then Maude heard herself asking about Alice’s former pay and conditions – how many hours she worked a week, what accommodation she expected and what time had been allowed by her previous employer for a holiday.
‘I shall discuss these terms with my husband and my aunt,’ Maude told Alice. ‘But you must understand that nothing is actually settled. Mr Brent has surprised me with this idea and I need time to think it over. We’ll write and let you know our decision.’
Later, when she talked to Lionel, he continued to encourage her acceptance of the plan. ‘You don’t have to employ her, dearest,’ he told her, ‘but I confess I will be seriously disappointed if you don’t. I shall feel so much happier if you have someone like Alice to keep you company. I have given this a great deal of thought and to me she seems to be ideal and would fit in well here.’
Maude smiled. ‘If it were up to Aunt Biddy she’d get the job. Before Miss Crewe left, the three of us sat a while over a cup of tea and she told us that she has a weakness for food of all kinds but especially cakes and pastries! My aunt now thinks of her as a very discerning young woman.’
‘So she did impress you, Maude? I thought she would.’
‘Except that she had rather deceived you, Lionel, about her familiarity with the arts. Or did you deceive me?’ She laughed. ‘She’s never been to the opera in her life and knows nothing about art or music!’
He held up his hands by way of a defence. ‘Oh! Poor Miss Crewe. I dare say most people lie at interviews . . . and maybe it was me that exaggerated. I thought she’d make a lively, cheerful friend for you, Maude. Please don’t upset me by saying I was wrong.’
Looking thoughtful, Maude still weighed the arguments in her mind.
Lionel went on, ‘I would want her to have her own rooms. That is, a room as well as the bedroom. It would have to be the box room next to her bedroom but we could make it cosy. A shelf for her books, maybe, a small table and a comfortable chair. That way she needn’t share our space all the time.’
‘I should hope not, Lionel,’ Maude said quickly. ‘She isn’t going to be one of the family. I mean, we’re not adopting her. She will want to be on her own some of the time but . . . but available at others. At least, I imagine that’s how it works.’
‘Whatever you say, Maude. She can certainly have the box room.’
Maude nodded. ‘Primmy liked her, too.’
He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Oh well, if the dog approves . . .!’
‘Stop it, Lionel! You know what I mean. Maybe we should offer her a probationary period. Say two months to see how everything works out. Then if I don’t enjoy her being here or . . . or she doesn’t fit in . . .’ She shrugged. ‘She goes.’ Suddenly her eyes widened. ‘Oh dear! I forgot to ask for a reference!’
‘She sent one. It was very complimentary. I’m sorry, dearest, I forgot to show it to you.’ He glanced round the room, patting his pockets as he did so. ‘Now where did I put it?’
When asked, Biddy hadn’t seen it and Lionel failed to discover it. ‘I’ll give it to you when it turns up,’ he told Maude. ‘But I do recall it was quite flattering but written in a shaky hand about a year after Mrs Patterson became ill.’ He got up from the chair, stretching his arms. ‘I feel stiff. I think I’ll take a stroll around the garden. D’you feel like joining me?’
Maude hesitated then shook her head. ‘I think I’ll write to Miss Crewe before I change my mind, and offer her the two mon
ths’ probation to see how things go. I hope I don’t regret it.’
He gave her a kiss as he passed. ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ he assured her. ‘And your Aunt Biddy will be in seventh heaven!’
ONE
Friday June 2nd, 1922
It was five to eight in the morning and Maude lay in bed waiting to hear the front door close. As soon as it did she smiled to herself as Alice’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. The door opened and Alice’s head appeared.
‘All clear! He’s gone.’
Maude threw back the bedclothes and slid her feet on to the rug. Life had changed since Alice Crewe moved in. She had rapidly become one of the family and everyone enjoyed her presence in the house. With unerring judgement she had found her place somewhere between a paid companion and a close family friend. She was the sister Maude had never had and also proved herself a willing student of cookery, learning fast from Biddy and fully appreciative of her talents.
Maude secretly admitted that she enjoyed Alice’s young company but she was careful not to exclude her aunt from their gossipy chats, which wasn’t difficult because these mostly took place during long walks on the beach when the weather permitted.
Lionel had no idea that his wife no longer had breakfast in bed except on Sundays, when Lionel was not travelling to London to the gallery or further afield. Each morning, after his departure, Maude washed and dressed and hurried downstairs to join Biddy and Alice in the kitchen, where the latter was transferring the untouched contents of Maude’s breakfast tray to the table. When Alice had first suggested the deceit, she had used the oft-quoted excuse: ‘What the eye can’t see, the heart can’t grieve over!’ No-one had argued with her.
Now the three women settled comfortably round the kitchen table and began to eat porridge with honey followed by Biddy’s cinnamon bread, generously buttered.
Maude waited for the right moment and then said, ‘Lionel is planning a holiday for me. He’s booked a week’s stay at a private guest house in Hastings. The Romilees Hotel.’
Biddy frowned. ‘Romilees? That’s new to me. Where exactly is it situated?’
‘Somewhere on the hill opposite the pier.’
‘You mean behind where the new White Rock Pavilion will be? Does it have a view?’
‘I suppose so. Our stay there starts at the end of next week, on Saturday. I feel rather mean, leaving you both behind, but my dear husband thinks we need a little time to ourselves.’ She shrugged.
Biddy said, ‘No offence, dear, but I’d rather stay here, to tell you the truth. I never have been one for holidays. I went to Exeter once with your mother, to a so-called boarding house. All that way to stay with some friends of hers who owned it. It was after she recovered from the pleurisy, before you were born. It was nice enough but I didn’t think much of the food. Not enough of it and nothing I could call substantial.’
Alice grinned. ‘You mean no big nourishing puddings!’
‘Exactly.’ Biddy folded her arms. ‘Flimsy food. That’s what I called it. An hour after a meal you needed a biscuit.’
Maude said, ‘I didn’t know Mother had ever had pleurisy.’
‘Didn’t you?’ For a moment she struggled with her memory. ‘Well, maybe it was something else. I forget. It was something that began with “p” . . . Or was it? It might have been after the jaundice. Your mother was never well for long, poor soul.’
Primmy woke, stretched and wandered to the back door. Alice got up from the table and let her out into the garden.
Maude poured herself a second cup of tea and handed the teapot to Alice, who refilled her own cup.
Biddy looked at her niece. ‘I think Lionel’s right. You should have some time together. We’re quite a houseful and you’ve only been married for a year or so.’
‘Like a second honeymoon,’ Alice agreed. ‘He’s being very thoughtful as usual.’
‘Of course he is, Maude. Don’t worry about us. Alice and I will have a grand old time here, won’t we, Alice? We can get up to all sorts of mischief. When the cat’s away, the mice will play!’
‘A grand old time? What are you implying?’ Maude challenged, laughing.
Alice said, ‘We could give a wild party and invite all sorts of undesirables!’
‘You don’t know any undesirables!’ Maude stirred sugar into her tea. ‘Or maybe you do!’
‘Precisely. I might be friends with an axe murderer, for all you know! Or my favourite uncle might have been a forger. Bank notes and such like.’
Not to be outdone, Biddy said, ‘We could run off with the family silver while you’re both away.’
Maude ignored the suggestion. ‘Anyway, the plan is we’re going to take gentle strolls along the cliff tops at Fairlight, and maybe picnic on the beach. Fresh sea air!’
‘You can do all that here in Folkestone,’ Biddy pointed out. ‘What’s so special about Hastings? It’s rather gone down in the world, hasn’t it?’
‘Don’t say that!’ Maude said indignantly. ‘Lionel thinks—’
‘It used to be popular with invalids with lung troubles who needed fresh air,’ her aunt continued unabashed. ‘And the sun and sea bathing was highly recommended, but that’s mostly gone now. Hastings isn’t what it was although it’s trying to recover.’ She cut another slice of bread. ‘Your grandmother lived there all her life and she used to go on about all the wealthy people who came down from London in the summer, but now it’s only day trippers and the like. Noisy, no money, here one day and gone the next! At least Folkestone has avoided that particular problem.’
Maude shrugged off the criticism. ‘Well anyway, Lionel thinks the change will do us good. He may need to spend the odd day in London at the gallery but there’s a train service, although it’s very slow and not especially punctual.’
‘So he’ll be leaving you on your own some days.’ Alice got up to let Primmy in again and gave her some scrapings from the porridge saucepan. ‘You’ll find that a bit odd, won’t you? You might be lonely without your devoted aunt and your faithful companion.’
‘I shan’t be alone exactly,’ said Maude. She knew Alice was teasing her but insisted on taking the comment seriously. The same thought had occurred to her but she wasn’t about to admit it. ‘There’ll be other people staying in the hotel, presumably, and the staff will be on hand. I might even take some charcoal and a sketchbook and do some sketching in the gardens. Apparently they have a very attractive garden. A small lily pool . . . and a small aviary.’
‘Forget the birds,’ Biddy suggested. ‘They’ll be difficult to sketch with all that fluttering. Unless they are parrots. They do at least sit still on their perches most of the time. I’d go for the lilies if I were you.’
‘You ought to be able to sketch, Maude,’ said Alice, ‘and paint, with such a famous artist for a father.’
‘You’d think so but I’m not much good at it. Still, it would pass the time.’
Biddy suddenly lost interest in the conversation. The idea of herself and Alice being left to their own devices depressed her. There would only be Alice to enjoy her cooking. Poor Lionel would miss her puddings. She stood up abruptly and smoothed her apron. ‘I think I’ll make a bacon roly-poly for supper,’ she said. ‘All those in favour?’
Two hands rose obediently.
Biddy’s smile returned.
The following days seemed to rush past while Maude spent a great deal of time trying to decide which clothes to take with her. She knew they would be expected to dress for dinner so she spent a cheerful afternoon with Alice, shopping for a suitable outfit to augment the dress she already had. They finally agreed on a lavender skirt and a lightweight jacket in the same colour but with white trim at the cuffs and collar. Maude began to look forward to the trip. The fact that they wouldn’t be too far from home allayed her fears about her aunt and Alice being left to fend for themselves and Lionel gave strict instructions that if anything went wrong in his absence they were to be telephoned at the hotel immediately.
&
nbsp; ‘Not that I expect anything to go wrong,’ Maude told Lionel earnestly, as they undressed for bed. ‘But if it does . . . Aunt Biddy is becoming rather vague and—’
‘You don’t have to tell me that, Maude. I can see it for myself.’ He reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘So stop worrying, my love. If anything does happen we’ll summon a taxi and be home in no time.’
The following afternoon, Thursday, Maude was relaxing on one of the garden seats with Primmy beside her when the dog sprang to her feet, stared down the garden and started barking furiously.
‘Primmy! You made me jump!’ Maude scolded and turned to see what had excited the dog. To her surprise she saw a figure half hidden in the bushes and she watched in some trepidation as the dog raced forward.
‘Who’s there?’ she cried, jumping to her feet. ‘I can see you!’ Glancing back at the house she hoped someone would notice what was happening and come to investigate.
Primmy had found her quarry and was yelping with excitement as she pranced round whoever it was. Eventually a male voice cried, ‘Call him off!’
‘Not until you come out of those bushes!’
The voice grew shriller. ‘Get down, damn you!’
It occurred to Maude that the dog might be in danger from the stranger. It was unlikely to be the other way round because Primmy was noisy but not aggressive. Maude took a few steps forward and then called, ‘Primmy! Come here. Good girl!’
‘Get away from me, you stupid animal!’
The intruder had not hurt the dog so far and Maude felt a little braver. She also assumed that the intruder hadn’t been bitten by the dog. When the dog returned she caught hold of her collar and called out, ‘Come out at once or I shall call the police.’
Almost at once a wiry figure appeared from the bushes and stepped gingerly into full view, and Maude saw with relief that he was no more than a very young man who was obviously more frightened than she was.
Truth Will Out Page 2
