by Cathy Ace
‘Not even slightly appropriate,’ chided Mavis.
‘Have you got a thesaurus in your head?’ asked Carol with a twinkle in her eye.
Althea smiled. ‘You have a way with those case-file titles, Annie. I like it. Though I don’t like the implication, I’d go for The Swindled Seniors. Which I hope is not the case. But I’d like to be sure. I’d like a proposal, please, and a quote. Just like you do for other clients.’
‘With no idea of going undercover yourself,’ said Mavis firmly. ‘You’re far too well-known in the area in any case. I’m guessing your photograph has appeared in the local newspaper hundreds of times over the decades, so you’d be spotted in an instant. No, this one has to be approached in a different way.’
‘Excuse me, ladies – might I have a word?’ Val Jenkins towered over all the women except Annie, with whom she drew level.
‘Certainly,’ replied Mavis. ‘Is it about your father’s books?’
Annie wondered why Val looked so coy. It was strange for her to be able to look another woman in the eye – not many were as tall as she was – and it gave her a new perspective on the woman.
Val shifted her weight awkwardly. ‘Thanks for all the updates. You’re all doing so well. We really are keen to know if whoever left those books in our shop had the legal right to do so. To know if they really owned them, and chose to give them to us freely. If they did, then the books are ours. And if they are ours – and the miniatures can be authenticated so the books might be worth a fair bit – I’d like to liquidate them. It would mean I could get myself a place of my own again and move out of Dad’s house. I’m a bit old to be living in the land of “not under my roof.”’
Annie knew what Val meant; when she’d moved to Anwen-by-Wye her mother had stayed with her for several weeks and, while she hadn’t had the ultimate veto of owning the house, Annie had felt the weight of her displeasure as though she were a teen. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Val to be living in her father’s house without a bolthole of her own.
‘I just want you to clearly understand that Dad and I do want you to press on with looking into the Cruickshanks. Sometimes he babbles a bit, and gives people the wrong impression,’ added Val.
‘You mean you’re telling us to continue working to discover the ownership status of the books at the time they were left at your shop, as well as whether the miniatures were created by Lizzie Llewellyn?’ asked Mavis.
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
Annie nodded her agreement, along with all her colleagues, and Mavis smiled at Val. ‘We’re happy to continue on that basis, though I’d like Carol to revise our contract with your father to contain your name. I’m sorry we didnae do that in the first place, but your father gave us to understand it was a personal undertaking on his part.’
‘He always speaks of the bookshop as his,’ said Val quietly. ‘I don’t really mind.’
Mavis drew everyone’s attention back to the topic in hand. ‘Very well, Val, we’ll progress as we have discussed. This means there’s no need for you to become a client at all, Althea. Now, I think an early night is called for.’ She placed her arm gently on Althea’s shoulders. ‘It’s been a long day. I’ll ask Edward to call Ian to bring the car. Annie – Ian can return to collect you when he’s delivered us back to the Dower House.’ Annie was aware this wasn’t a request.
‘Okey dokey, I’ve been wantin’ to learn all about bridge in any case,’ she lied.
‘Don’t worry, Mavis,’ said Carol. ‘If Annie’s happy to leave now, I’ll give her a lift back to Anwen. I’ve had a lovely time, Althea, but I’m not going to be able to settle any longer. I’d like to get back to David and Albert, if that’s alright with everyone.’
With a general consensus reached, leave-takings began.
TWENTY
Tuesday 24th June
When Henry opened his eyes and turned over, Stephanie wasn’t there. He panicked. He was surprised her absence made him feel so anxious; she’d been getting up exceptionally early in recent weeks and seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. He checked. She wasn’t there either. Where could she have got to? It was only … he looked at the casement clock beside the wardrobe. Good heavens! It was nine thirty. He wondered why no one had wakened him. Edward knew he preferred a little time to move about the hall freely before the public arrived.
It took Henry half an hour to get out of his apartment and down to the breakfast room. It was deserted. He rang for Edward who appeared a few moments later.
‘What the blazes is going on, Edward? You didn’t wake me, my wife has disappeared and there’s not a soul to be found about the place.’
Edward assured Henry all was well with Her Grace – who was already taking a meeting with Elizabeth Fernley in the estate office – and that it was she who had asked Edward to allow the duke to sleep in. Indeed, Edward went so far as to enquire after Henry’s health, which led Henry to suspect his wife had told his butler he’d been unwell the night before. Maybe that last, rather large, brandy had been somewhat ill-advised, after all.
Miserably sipping strong coffee and crunching thickly-buttered toast, Henry only found the balance he’d been seeking when his wife joined him at just gone ten thirty. They hugged, and everything was marvelous again; his tummy had settled, as had his emotions. His spirits revived, Henry left the breakfast room and made his way across the great hall, planning to hide away before the hordes descended, and was more than a little discombobulated to see an elderly woman, with one of those walking frame things, merrily pottering about taking photographs of the colonnade beneath the staircase. There was no question the colonnade deserved such attention, but the woman had somehow managed to gain entry to the hall fifteen minutes before the doors were opened to the public. Immediately irritated, Henry had half a mind to turn on his heel and use the back corridors to avoid an interaction. Then he stopped himself. Why may I not walk through my own home as I wish until the appointed time? he asked himself, and strode toward his goal – the door to the lower library.
‘Young man – do you work here? Are you a volunteer or something?’ The old woman’s accent was thickly Welsh. ‘What can you tell me about these big columns here, then? Special, are they?’
Henry took a deep breath and looked down at the woman, forcing a smile. ‘I’m afraid I don’t work here, but I can tell you that the marble came from Carrara in Italy, and they were crafted here, in situ, during the last two decades of the seventeenth century by a band of specially commissioned Italian artisan sculptors. They have an overall harmony, but each one differs just a little from all the others. Each is unique, in the true sense of the word.’ He felt he’d done his duty, nodded and moved as fast as he dared to the open door of the library, which he closed behind himself. Blessed tourists! He’d have a word with Glyn, who was supposed to oversee public access to the estate; Henry knew he had to put up with the people crawling all over his home for hours every day, but to have them almost catch him in his pajamas? An appalling state of affairs.
He rushed through the library and worked his way through connecting rooms to the safety of the working part of Chellingworth Hall. In the offices, workshops and converted out-buildings, he was able to seek sanctuary among those who worked at the estate, and he hoped to find Stephanie too, but she was in yet another meeting it seemed – something to do with the honey they harvested on the estate to be sold in the little shop, which he knew was important, because a good deal of income was made by the retail end of things.
He sat at Stephanie’s desk, which was covered with examples of greetings cards, bookmarks, printed window decals and strings of decorative bunting. It looked a bit of a mess to him, but he didn’t dare fiddle too much. The bunting was jolly enough, but the greetings cards puzzled him; they were Christmas cards.
‘Ah, there you are darling,’ said Stephanie rushing in and delighting him. ‘I thought you were off to see Bryn. Isn’t that what you said?’
Henry thought Stephanie looked a little pale, and said so. She admitted she hadn’t enjoyed her last meeting as she gathered up the bunting and the greetings cards.
‘Are we going to be selling those cards at the shop?’ asked Henry.
‘I’m considering it,’ replied Stephanie, pulling open cupboards and packing away the detritus from her desk.
‘Isn’t it a bit early for Christmas cards?’ asked Henry.
Stephanie paused in her task and looked indulgently at her husband. ‘Not at all, dear. Decisions must be made, and orders must be placed in good time to have them on the shelves for the last visitors of the year. These are all made from used Christmas cards, so they have an artisanal quality. Just what we’re aiming for here. They’re made by a co-operative in Tenby employing women who have escaped abusive relationships. All the money raised from their sales goes to providing safe housing for the women and their families. It’s a good cause and they are well made.’
Henry stood and held his wife close. ‘How awful they need such help. You’re a wonderful woman, and I’m lucky to have found you,’ he said. ‘Not all men are dreadful, you know, my dear. I’m not.’
His wife looked up at him, smiling. ‘Of course you’re not dreadful, you’re delightful. But not everyone is like you, Henry. That being said, and however much I love you and am enjoying this hug, I am terribly busy and I must press on. So, what will you do today? The doors are open now, where will you hide?’
‘Actually, I’m going to get hold of Glyn and ask him how an elderly lady I just encountered managed to gain access to the hall at least fifteen minutes before the gates were supposed to be opened to the public. You didn’t have anyone coming here for a meeting about the fete, or these cards, or something else today, did you?’
‘No, not today. You say someone managed to get past Glyn and his guards? That’s worrying, Henry. Did you get a name?’ Henry shook his head. ‘What did she look like?’
Henry paused, gave the matter some thought and replied, ‘Old, with a walking frame, bowed back and a sadly obvious wig; it was dark brown and looked as though it was made of nylon.’
‘Tall? Short? Glasses? Clothes?’
Henry returned to head shaking then said quite firmly, ‘She was short. Definitely short.’
Stephanie looked as perplexed as Henry felt. ‘That’s not terribly helpful, but it’s better than nothing, I suppose.’ Her face softened. ‘Maybe the poor thing was wearing a wig because she’d lost all her hair? Maybe cancer? It’s hard to know, of course. Yes, I believe you should put some effort into investigating how that might have happened. Not the wig-wearing, of course, I mean how she got into the hall. Then pop along and have a bit of a chat with Clemmie, will you dear? She mentioned to me at least three times at dinner last night that she believes you’re avoiding her. Now we both know that’s exactly what you’re doing, but she’s spotted it, so you must make an effort. We’re all lunching together at one o’clock in the upstairs dining room, but maybe you could drop into her apartment before that and bring her to lunch yourself? She’ll need help on the stairs, of course, but if you do it, it would give her a break from Nurse Thomas, and vice versa.’
‘Yes, dear,’ muttered Henry as Stephanie rushed out of the office. He managed to fill an hour locating, then talking to Glyn on the telephone. The man claimed the gates hadn’t opened a moment before they were due to, and he had no idea who the woman in question could be. Henry was more concerned than ever, so instructed Edward to check if any member of staff had invited the woman onto the premises. As he finally trudged toward Clemmie’s rooms he told himself off for not asking the rogue tourist her name, but felt quite proud that at least he’d been on the ball when it came to the wig. As he reached Clemmie’s apartment he also recalled the woman had been wearing spectacles – shaped like cats’ eyes. Why hadn’t he remembered that earlier?
He showed Clemmie the common courtesy of knocking before he entered her rooms, and Nurse Thomas opened the door. ‘What a pleasant surprise, Your Grace,’ she said with what Henry judged to be a genuine look of pleasure on her face. ‘Lady Clementine will be pleased to see you. Two visitors on one day, there’s a turn-up for the books. Do come in.’
She stood back and Henry entered. ‘Two visitors, you say?’ he asked.
He looked across the spacious sitting room and there was his sister sitting on the sofa with the interloping visitor.
The elderly woman rose to her feet and walked toward Henry with her hand outstretched saying, ‘There’s lovely. We meet again. I had no idea you lived here. You should have said. So you’re the horrible duke who’s been victimizing this poor girl over here then, are you?’
Henry was at sea. His sister was a quivering wreck on the sofa – was she sobbing into a handkerchief? Nurse Thomas’s face was a picture of torment, then she dropped her head, shaking it slowly. The old woman added, ‘You don’t look the type to let her fade away, ignored and lacking in any sort of familial support. But, there, they do say you can’t judge a book by its cover – and I suppose you can’t judge a man by his title, can you?’
Henry could feel himself getting hot, and he wished his wife had been there with him. She’d have known what to say – what to do. Not being sure of either, he said and did nothing. Then the old woman started to laugh at him. Right in his face!
‘Oh Henry, your face is a picture,’ said the old woman, with a voice he recognized.
‘Mother?’
The woman pulled the wig from her head to reveal his mother’s neatly-trimmed almost-white hair. She took off the spectacles and he saw her twinkling eyes. The brownish lipstick made her look washed out, and the purple floral dress was – well, it made him feel quite bilious.
‘Ta-daa!’ said his mother with a flourish. ‘You truly had no idea it was me, did you dear?’
Henry was cross. ‘I’ve had half the staff running about trying to find out who you were, and how you’d managed to get in. I’ll never hear the end of it. Really, Mother. What on earth were you thinking? And you can take your face out of that handkerchief now, Clemmie, thank you very much. Hysterics at your brother’s expense – your favorite blood sport, eh?’ He said nothing to Nurse Thomas, who he felt was at least making a real effort to not be amused.
‘What are you playing at, Mother? Is this another one of your so-called “jokes,” because you know I don’t usually find them at all funny.’
Althea rejoined her daughter on the couch, and beckoned her son to sit at her other side. Nurse Thomas left the room.
With a hand on a knee of each child, Althea kissed them on the cheek in turn. ‘I’m sorry, Henry dear, I had to find out something for my own satisfaction. And I can tell you now it wasn’t just you who didn’t recognize me. Come along, Clemmie, be honest, you had no idea it was me either, did you?’
It was unusual for Henry to be sitting beside his mother, and sister – and even more unusual was the fact Clemmie had a genuine smile on her face … the smile he recalled her having as a child. ‘I confess,’ she said, ‘I had no idea it was Mother. Indeed, if Nurse Thomas hadn’t arrived when she did, I think I’d have talked to the unknown woman for another ten minutes before the penny would have dropped. Didn’t she do well, Henry?’
It was agreed Althea had done a splendid job, and a germ of an idea wriggled in Henry’s brain. ‘I say, Mother, how d’you feel about getting all done up again and joining us for lunch? Let’s see if you can fool Stephanie and Edward. That would be great fun, don’t you think?’
The mother and her children spent the next half an hour making sure her disguise was back to being perfect, then taking the trip, via back staircases, to the private dining room which enjoyed a view to the west; Althea and her late husband had named it the supper room, because they’d enjoyed watching the sunset there, but the name hadn’t stuck, it only having had a few decades to do so in the face of hundreds of years of the room being known as the small dining room.
As the threesome slowly mounted the s
tairs, Henry helped Clemmie along and could feel the excitement build inside him. It was absolutely thrilling to be playing a joke with his sister and mother, and not have them playing one on him, which was the norm. He had no doubt Stephanie would be a good sport about it all, and was delighted by the look on her face as the three of them entered the room where she was already seated.
Henry could tell she was surprised to see an extra guest – how wonderful – and she rose to greet the woman. Henry noticed a curious look on his wife’s face as she approached.
‘Look, I found my “mystery woman,”’ said Henry with a flourish. ‘Mrs Gladys Pugh.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Pugh,’ said Stephanie, extending her hand. ‘Henry mentioned meeting you earlier. If only I’d known you were joining us I could have asked someone to help you up the stairs. Henry, you’ve had your hands full with both Mrs Pugh and Lady Clementine. Here, let me lend you an arm, Mrs Pugh.’ She helped Althea to a seat while Henry steered Clemmie, who was doing rather well with her cane.
Once they were all seated – his mother had selected the seat that meant she had her back to the window – he noticed his wife peering at his mother with a puzzled look on her face. ‘Have we met before, Mrs Pugh?’
‘Don’t think so, Ma’am … er … Madam. Never been in a posh place like this before, I haven’t.’ Althea feigned shock when she saw Edward entering the room with a silver tray. ‘Oh my giddy aunt – is he a real butler? I thought they were just on the telly.’
Edward took note of the additional guest, placed the tray on a sideboard and magically set an additional place at the table. ‘Ta very much,’ said Althea, touching Edward’s sleeve.
Henry watched as the butler managed to restrain himself from looking shocked, then smiled when the man made direct eye contact with his mother and replied, ‘You’re welcome, Your Grace.’
‘Drat!’ said Henry, slapping his thigh. ‘He’s spotted you, Mother. Well done, Edward. No flies on you, eh? Eh?’
