Poet's Cottage

by Josephine Pennicott

  When you saw past the terrible scarring around them, Violet’s eyes were alert, bright and focused. It was her speech that was affected, Sadie realised, not her comprehension.

  ‘Sadie bought you the sheep,’ Andrew said. ‘You behave yourself, Miss Violet, and don’t go creeping around in the tunnels. Your sheep need you in one piece, understand?’

  Violet nodded at Andrew and her lips twisted in what could have been a smile.

  ‘Alright, my darling,’ Andrew said. ‘I have to get back to the wife but you look after my girls for me.’ He smiled and patted her on the cheek and Sadie could sense his deep affection for the unfortunate woman. She looked forward to getting to know Simon’s friend more.

  ‘Goodbye, Violet,’ Sadie said. On an impulse, she touched the woman’s claw-like hand; as Birdie had mentioned, it felt as soft as a young girl’s. ‘You’re welcome to come and visit me but remember to use the front door.’

  As they walked away, leaving Violet surrounded by her grazing sheep, Birdie said, ‘That was very kind and generous of you. I’ll eat my old straw hat if she does turn up, though. I’m afraid her flock, the sky and open fields are all she ever seems to need or want these days. It makes me feel sick at heart to witness what Violet Bydrenbaugh has become.’

  A couple of times during the week, Sadie glanced out of the window to see Violet’s black-cloaked figure standing opposite the house as if attempting to summon the courage to enter. Once Sadie raised her hand in greeting and was surprised at the pricking of tears in her eyes when the woman slowly raised her hand in reply.

  The next Friday, Betty was home sick with a cold, moping because she had to cancel a date with Dylan that night. In contrast, Sadie was excited because Simon Parish had invited her to a barbecue at Andrew’s farm on Saturday evening. It was a chance for her to become better acquainted with his son, Liam. She ran back and forth to her daughter’s room, asking what she should wear.

  ‘I can’t look as if I’ve made an effort, but I want to look the best I can.’

  ‘What does it matter?’ Betty pointed out. ‘He’s already seen you in your nightdress, throwing up and delirious. Anything else can only be an improvement. You really like him, don’t you?’

  Sadie nodded. ‘I think I do.’ She toyed with a jar of Vicks. ‘What do you think of him?’

  ‘He’s alright,’ her daughter said in a distant tone. Sadie looked up, disappointed, and Betty burst out laughing. ‘He’s alright for an old guy. Just as long as you use contraception.’

  ‘Betty!’ Sadie threw herself on her daughter, pretending to throttle her.

  ‘I miss Dad,’ Betty said. ‘I wish . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

  Sadie felt the old stab of guilt and regret. But this time she refused to let it overwhelm her. ‘I know, Betty,’ she said. ‘I’d give anything to make it better for you. I did try, my love, you know how hard I tried.’

  ‘It’s okay, please don’t get upset, Mum,’ Betty said, giving her a hug. ‘I was thinking last night if you and Dad hadn’t split up, we would never have come to Pencubitt and I wouldn’t have met Dylan. Some things must be meant to be.’ She smiled reassuringly at her mother. ‘Simon seems pretty cool. On a scale of one to five I’d give him a four. He’s a thousand times better than that egomaniac of a dentist.’

  ‘I agree,’ Sadie said. She blew a kiss at Betty, giving silent thanks that she was such a terrific daughter, and went to sort papers in the old nursery room. She was in the middle of organising some boxes that had just arrived from Sydney when the phone rang.

  ‘What seasoning shall I put on it?’ It was Birdie. Sadie struggled to comprehend her meaning. ‘The straw hat. I was out walking Dash when I saw Violet and her girls near your house.’

  Sadie hung up the phone, rushing to the window. Outside was Violet, with her sheep.

  ‘Hold on!’ Sadie called, anxious that if she didn’t open the door quickly enough, Violet would vanish.

  Violet cringed when Sadie first opened the door. She’s thinking of Pearl, Sadie realised, and wondered what memories this terrified woman still harboured.

  Sadie held out her hand, attempting to speak softly. ‘Violet? It’s Sadie. Come in.’ She glanced past Violet’s shoulder. ‘The sheep have to stay out, Violet.’

  Violet nodded in understanding. Inside, Sadie saw how familiar Violet was with the house’s layout, though she looked as if she would flee if Sadie startled her in any way. What to do with her? The woman’s smell of unwashed clothes and sheep was dreadful. Sadie remembered Thomasina saying Violet liked to bathe in the bathtub. Would that treat win her trust?

  ‘Violet, you’re welcome to visit. Do you want to have a bath first? I’ll give you some fresh clothes.’ She would have to donate some of her old winter clothes if they fitted. Violet made a small sound. Encouraged, Sadie sang out to her daughter, ‘Betty, can you run the bath and pop the kettle on? We have a visitor.’

  How could she ever have thought life in a Tasmanian fishing village would be dull? Sadie had a strange sensation that with Violet in Poet’s Cottage, the spirits of her own mother and Pearl were also fully present.

  Violet gave Sadie an odd look and approached the portrait of Pearl hanging in the corridor. She looked from the painted Pearl to Sadie.

  ‘It’s alright, Violet,’ Sadie said. ‘That’s my grandmother, Pearl. She was your friend, wasn’t she?’

  But Violet was tugging awkwardly at the frame. Sadie watched in confusion, then started as Violet lifted down the portrait to reveal a small cupboard painted the same colour as the wall.

  ‘Open it,’ Sadie said, trembling. She realised that Violet already knew what was inside the hidden cupboard.

  The cupboard opened, revealing another locked cupboard within. Violet gave Sadie an enigmatic look. She unbuckled a man’s travel wallet strapped around her waist under her cloak and extracted a small key, which slid easily into the lock. The door swung open. Sadie held her breath; it seemed in this strange moment as though anything could be inside – a gateway to an ancient mystical garden, or a pirate’s map which would lead to forgotten treasures. But instead there was only a navy blue button, a silver locket, some yellowing pieces of paper and an envelope, torn at the top. One of the letters was a fairy story complete with illustrations. Violet held them gingerly and then passed them over to Sadie.

  ‘Thank you.’ Sadie held them carefully, afraid of crushing the old paper. Whatever was now in Sadie’s hands could hold the key to the mystery of who Pearl Tatlow really was – and perhaps the secret to her murder. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed again, and Violet uttered a low growling sound that could have been, ‘You’re welcome.’

  Violet splashed in a lavender-scented bath as Betty and Sadie examined the items from the cupboard in Sadie’s bedroom.

  ‘They must mean something,’ Sadie said. ‘Pearl went to so much trouble to conceal them. But a button?’ Inside the locket was a coil of silver-blonde hair. ‘Do you think it belonged to her mother?’ Betty said.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe Marguerite or Thomasina? They had blonde hair when they were very small.’

  Sadie drew a letter out of the envelope, which was postmarked Hobart.

  29 June, 1936

  Dear Mrs Tatlow,

  I’m right disappointed you were upset by the angels’ whispers when I attended your party at your invitation. I can only say that all my customers have been more than satisfied in the past. I’m sure I’m absolutely correct in what I did say and see that night. My angels are never wrong. I ask you to reconsider paying the fee that is rightly mine, remembering that the work I do comes from heaven. I need to eat, and times are tough. I support my brother, who is incapable of working since an accident. My fee is a modest one, with travel expenses added.

  As for your question whether I saw who the killer is, I can tell you that I did see the person who may, in the not too distant future, take your life. May God strike me down if I tell a lie. I’ll be doing some medium work in Launceston in the next
two months. I could come to your residence to tell you more but only if you agree to my terms.

  I warn you to be careful, dear lady. Do not speak of this to anyone, even those whom you see as your nearest and dearest.

  Trust nobody, I beg of you, my dear lady. I know the false face of the friend so close to you.

  Yours faithfully,

  Jean

  ‘Pearl must have been worried sick about the predictions,’ Sadie said.

  ‘It’s odd how she kept this,’ Betty said.

  ‘Not really, considering she kept a button.’

  Next, Sadie looked at the yellowing sheaf of paper. Seeing it was a handwritten story, the margins filled with Pearl’s own hand-drawn sketches of her characters and not Edgar Cabret’s distinctive illustrations, she skimmed through it then looked up, eyes wide. ‘Oh my, she did kill Kenny in the end!’

  Betty nestled against her mother as if she was still the child Sadie once read to, and Sadie began ‘Death of a Kookaburra’.

  When Sadie had finished reading the tale, the pair fell silent for a moment.

  ‘It’s horrible, isn’t it?’ Sadie said. ‘So dark and grim for a child’s story! Poor Pearl. She must have been mentally ill to write like this.’

  ‘All the old fairy stories were gruesome before the Victorians and Walt Disney got their hands on them,’ Betty pointed out.

  ‘True. But why hide it away with a lock of hair, a letter from her medium and a button?’

  ‘Perhaps she had some sort of obsessive-compulsive disorder? If she was mentally ill, we can’t expect her to do logical things,’ Betty said.

  ‘Maybe. When Violet gets out of the bath, I’ll see if she knows anything about this. If she doesn’t, it will have to remain part of the mystery of Poet’s Cottage.’

  ‘If she gets out of the bath,’ Betty said. ‘She obviously knows the bathroom pretty well. I feel like we’re guests in her house!’

  Violet eventually emerged, dressed in an old wool skirt and jumper of Sadie’s and smelling suspiciously like Sadie’s Chanel perfume. Sadie showed her the bundle from the cupboard. ‘What does it mean, Violet?’ she asked.

  Violet pointed to the button and locket. She picked up the button, then walked downstairs; Sadie and Betty followed her into the front room where she stopped before an old photograph of a young girl with long hair, a dreamy expression and wearing an Edwardian white lace dress.

  ‘That’s Pearl’s mother,’ said Sadie. ‘Is that where the button comes from?’ Violet nodded. ‘And the hair? Is that from her mother, too?’

  Violet shook her head, her eyes wet with emotion. Suddenly Sadie understood. ‘The hair was yours?’ she said. ‘You gave Pearl a lock of your hair?’ Violet nodded. ‘Because you loved her very much,’ Sadie said. ‘I understand, Violet. It’s alright. And I’m sure she loved you very much too. Pearl trusted you, didn’t she? She trusted you with her secrets?’

  Violet nodded again, eyes wary. Sadie knew that if she said the wrong thing, the small amount of trust she had gained would be lost. Violet was more skittish than any of her sheep.

  ‘Violet, on the day Pearl was murdered, did you see anything?’ Sadie said. ‘Was there somebody that you knew who came to this house?’

  After an extended pause, Violet let out a low sigh. Indicating Sadie and Betty should follow her, she led them to the kitchen. She pointed to the old icebox against the wall and mimed taking up the icepick.

  ‘Somebody came into the house and grabbed the icepick,’ Sadie interpreted. Violet turned and led them down the steps to the cellar. She was far more agile than her years suggested and it was obvious this was a journey she regularly made.

  She pointed to the tunnel and huddled down as if hiding. Betty and Sadie struggled to follow the charade.

  ‘You were in the tunnel watching Pearl? Hiding from Pearl? Somebody came down the stairs with an icepick in their hand and stabbed Pearl?’ As Violet nodded yes and gave a low groan, Sadie gripped Violet’s arm urgently, forgetting the need to tread carefully. ‘Who? Who was it, Violet? Somebody you knew?’

  ‘Mraphm!’ Violet struggled to talk.

  ‘Was it Maxwell?’ Sadie had raised her voice. ‘Was it Maxwell, Violet?’

  Violet shook her head.

  ‘Who did you see?’ Sadie went through all the names she knew; at each one, a sobbing Violet shook her head.

  ‘Was it a stranger?’ Sadie said at last. ‘Was it a man you’d never seen before?’ It was only then that the semi-hysterical old woman nodded, yes. The man she had seen was a stranger.

  ‘What a fizzer,’ Betty moaned after Violet had left with a bag of food and clothes. ‘It never ends like that in books or movies. I thought Violet was going to announce it was Birdie or Thomasina. Or somebody we knew and didn’t suspect! A stranger is so boring! Are you sure it wasn’t Violet herself, in a fit of jealous rage? Were they gay?’

  ‘Pearl was rumoured to be bisexual but how innocent their relationship was, we’ll probably never know,’ Sadie said. ‘Oh Betty, isn’t it far better it wasn’t somebody Pearl knew – even somebody who might still be alive? Surely you’d prefer it to be a stranger?’

  ‘Not if it meant the stranger went and killed other innocent people,’ Betty pointed out.

  Sadie was about to reply when the telephone rang. She answered, then looked at her daughter and mouthed, ‘Birdie.’

  ‘I know it’s forward of me,’ Birdie’s slightly old-fashioned tones came crackling over the line. ‘I simply won’t rest tonight until I hear what Violet was doing at Poet’s Cottage for so long. The town is buzzing with the news. And now I’ve seen her march past my house wearing what appears to be your clothes, a scarf and beret. Would you mind awfully?’

  ‘Come on over, Birdie, I’ll put the kettle on.’ Sadie winked at Betty. ‘That old devil doesn’t miss a trick,’ she said after hanging up the telephone. ‘Next thing you know, we’ll have her in here.’ She jerked a thumb towards Thomasina’s house.

  ‘Not likely.’ Betty laughed. ‘Did you hear her yelling at the sheep to get out of the backyard? Although she did admit to me the other day you mightn’t be as bad as you looked, Mum. That’s high praise from Thomasina.’

  ‘Excuse me if I don’t return the compliment,’ Sadie said.

  Sadie was boiling water for the tea when the door-knocker sounded. ‘Never a dull moment! She must have sprinted here to get the gossip. Let’s see what Birdie has to say about all of this. Perhaps she can shed some light on this mysterious stranger.’

  Sadie served tea with homemade cakes. Birdie nibbled daintily on a raspberry slice as Sadie described Violet’s agitated mime. Then she examined the objects from the cupboard. ‘I’d no idea the cupboard existed,’ she said. She looked at the button. ‘She gave me an identical one once, saying what a good and valued friend I’d been. I thought it was a joke, but there must be more significance to it than I realised.’

  When Sadie explained that Violet had indicated it belonged to Pearl’s mother, Birdie replaced it on the table with a sigh. ‘Poor Pearl. I misjudged her so much. I regret at times we didn’t give her more of a chance, but we weren’t used to her type here. She frightened us, really. She seemed so erratic – capable of doing or saying anything.’

  Sadie passed Birdie the locket. ‘It’s Violet’s hair,’ she said tentatively, but Birdie’s reaction surprised her.

  ‘I used to wonder if they were lovers,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Pearl would have thought it a lark, little considering the effect on others. Violet wouldn’t have taken it so lightly. She must have loved Pearl to have given her such a gift, even in friendship.’

  ‘It obviously meant something to Pearl too, because she kept it in her secret place,’ Sadie said.

  When Sadie described the scene in the cellar, Birdie nodded. ‘What did I tell you?’ she said, stirring her tea. ‘If Violet was hiding in the tunnel – what an odd thing for her to do! But she was always a bit strange – and witnessed Pearl’s murder, she would cert
ainly have been too terrified to intervene. Hence her guilt and her retreat from reality with her sheep after the accident.’

  ‘If it was an accident,’ Sadie said.

  ‘My dear Sadie, Pencubitt is only a small fishing town. You can’t look for sinister meanings behind every incident. Not even in our gossiping village was there a hint that the fire at Blackness House was anything other than accidental. I said all along Pearl’s killer was a stranger to her. I know this town. I know the people here.’

  Do we ever really know anybody? Sadie thought. Or do we only know the masks they choose to wear?

  ‘I must be getting home. Dash will be wondering where I went to in such a hurry.’ Birdie stood up. ‘Don’t forget, I did see a strange man when I left here on the day Pearl was murdered. The fog was so thick that he passed right near me and I still couldn’t describe him properly. I do know he wasn’t local or he would have called me by name. The police didn’t take my claim seriously because I was one of the main suspects, but I’m convinced that man was Pearl’s killer. It torments me that I passed by him when he was on his way to the cottage. Not that I could have done anything, but if I had said hello, he might have abandoned his grisly business.’

  ‘Or he could have killed you instead,’ Sadie said. ‘It’s frustrating to feel I’m near the solution but I can’t seem to put the pieces together.’

  ‘It’s wiser to concentrate on the present, dear,’ Birdie said, picking up Jean’s letter. ‘If the medium had a brother, is it possible they could have been mixed up in this business together? He could have been the man I spotted in the fog.’

  ‘You never saw him on the night of the murder party?’ Sadie asked. She stared at the letter, wondering again why Pearl had kept the letter locked away among her special treasures rather than with her general papers.

  ‘No.’ Birdie tapped the letter gently against her hand, screwing up her face in recollection of the party so many years before. ‘But I know somebody who might have seen something.’ She pointed towards the back of the house.