The Poisoned House

by Michael Ford

  What could be stolen, I wondered, but a few candlesticks and the odd painting? I crept inside, found a chair and lifted it carefully. But something was wrong. With a mighty crash, something slid off the chair.

  My feet were suddenly wet. The tray that had held the developing fluid was upturned on the floor.

  A scrabbling followed and a man appeared at the doorway. He wore a cap pulled down low and a scarf fastened around the lower half of his face. His eyes, wide with shock, met mine.

  My bowels threatened to give way, but he simply ran for the drawing-room door and back out into the hall.

  Finally I screamed, first barely more than a whimper, then more loudly, piercing the silence. I grabbed up the candlestick and ran after him into the library. He was running for the French windows. I couldn’t catch him, so I did the only thing I could think of.

  I threw the candlestick.

  Now, I wasn’t what you’d call muscular, but the hours of scrubbing on my hands and knees had given me grit and a wiry strength. With a glint of flashing silver, the candlestick spun through the air and caught him with a soft thud on the back of the neck. He gave a cry, stumbled, and tripped over a library step.

  Without thinking, I picked up the candlestick and clubbed him on the shoulder as he tried to rise. Groaning, he crawled on his hands and knees towards the library door. He reached up for the handle, but as he did so, I gripped his foot and pulled him away from the door.

  He rolled on to his back and let fly with a vicious kick. It caught me on the shoulder and I was thrown against the small sofa.

  He leapt up again, and I could only watch dazed from the floor. He picked up the candlestick and advanced. I was afraid, of course, but I felt stupid too. I shouldn’t have come down, and now he was going to kill me. He lifted the candlestick.

  Then his gaze shifted to something behind me.

  ‘You’ll put that down, lad!’ said a voice.

  I looked back from the floor, hardly believing my eyes. Rob stood there at the door in his nightshirt. I could have jumped up and kissed him.

  Bless you, Robert Willmett!

  The man with the candlestick bristled as though ready to fight, but then thought better of it. He dropped the weapon with a thunk on to the carpet and looked at me.

  ‘Elizabeth said you was a sharp one,’ he said.

  I recognised his voice straight away. He pulled off the scarf and I saw I was right.

  It was Henry.

  Gradually the house came alive around us: Mrs Cotton, dark smudges under her eyes and a nightcap on her head; Mr Lock looking like a corpse dug up and made to stand; Samuel struggling with his crutch. Only Lord Greave didn’t appear. A constable was summoned and Cook brewed tea for everyone.

  Lizzy was the last person to come down, and when she did she gave a sad little groan. ‘Oh, Henry!’ she said, seeming to take it all in without being told. ‘Why?’

  I saw Mrs Cotton twitch her nose, as though alert to all the possibilities that Lizzy’s words offered. Her eyes narrowed. There was maybe a sliver of a chance that she wouldn’t catch on, but then Henry mumbled, ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ and buried his head in his hands. Mrs Cotton lifted her chin. She knew now, for sure.

  The constable, a man called Evans, asked Samuel what had happened. He in turn gestured to me, and in halting sentences I explained that I had heard a noise and described all that followed. I didn’t mention that I’d been engaged in diabolical practices upstairs.

  ‘Caught red-handed, it seems,’ said the constable.

  Henry didn’t look up.

  ‘Good work, Abi,’ said Samuel. ‘If it weren’t for you, this miscreant might have escaped.’

  I could hardly celebrate. The adrenalin had long since seeped away, leaving me cold and aching. Henry’s arrest could only bring Lizzy more pain.

  ‘And he got in through here, did he?’ said the constable, walking towards the door. ‘Oh, what’s this?’ He pulled the key from the outside lock. ‘Burglaries will happen if you leave the key in the lock.’

  Mrs Cotton strode forward and snatched it from the policeman’s hand. ‘How dare you, sir!’ she said. ‘Someone gave him this key, and I think I have a good idea who it was.’

  She glared at Lizzy, and I felt so sorry for her. The blood drained from her face as I watched, and she wobbled on her feet. Rob managed to get to her side before she fainted.

  ‘Lay her in the sitting room,’ said Sammy, rubbing his temples in confusion. He turned to the constable. ‘Perhaps we could talk again in the morning, when everything is more clear.’

  Constable Evans nodded gravely. ‘I think that would be best for everyone, sir. In the meantime, I’ll take this young man to a cell for the night. His employers are sure to want a word too.’

  He laid a strong hand on Henry’s arm and led him along the hall.

  As they were shown out I wandered through to the sitting room, where Lizzy was sitting up on the chaise longue, sipping tea with a trembling hand. Her eyes were vacant though, and she seemed to be looking straight through me. It was as if all that had happened in the nursery was no longer important, or even remembered.

  ‘How could he?’ she said quietly. ‘I gave him that key for us. So he could come and see me last week.’

  I put my arms round her, and felt her stiffen.

  ‘You’d better get to bed, Abigail,’ said Mrs Cotton behind me.

  I let go of Lizzy and stood up. Rob looked on uncertainly.

  ‘Elizabeth and I need a moment to talk,’ the housekeeper said to him. ‘Perhaps you could make sure everything is put back straight in the other rooms.’

  Rob left without a word and I went after him, though I hated to do it. As I closed the door, I took a last look back into the room. Mrs Cotton was standing over the prone Elizabeth like a doctor looking down at the body of one near death. Lizzy’s lips were trembling, and I knew she was thinking not of Henry, or ghosts, or madness. She was thinking about the baby growing inside her.

  .

  Chapter 30

  I didn’t have the energy to go back to the Ouija cloth that night. The spell had been broken. I rolled it up and placed it beneath my pillow, then lay in my bed and listened for Lizzy coming up the stairs. She never did. Instead, some half an hour after I’d left her, it was Mrs Cotton’s steps I heard. I braced myself, thinking that she was going to burst through my door. But she went into Lizzy’s room for less than a minute and then came out again without disturbing me.

  Next morning I checked Lizzy’s room, but saw that the bed sheets were undisturbed. It was with a sense of rising panic that I took the stairs down to the scullery. Rowena rubbed against my legs, so I tickled her beneath the chin. She looked perkier today, as if she’d almost forgotten about her little ones. If only we could all move on so easily, I thought to myself.

  Cook was seated on a stool near the hearth, gently crying. My first thought was that she’d been at the bottle already.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked.

  She turned her face towards me. ‘Oh, Abi,’ she said. ‘She’s gone!’

  ‘Who? Lizzy?’

  Cook nodded and blew her nose into a handkerchief.

  ‘Sent away,’ she said. ‘Mrs Cotton said she wasn’t having her under her roof no longer.’

  It was worse than I’d expected. Far worse.

  ‘But where’s she gone?’ I said. ‘She has nowhere but her sister’s.’

  Cook said she didn’t know, but that Lizzy had been dismissed by the back door the night before without any ceremony. She’d been given her belongings in a sack and thrust out into the cold.

  ‘Like a pauper from the workhouse,’ Cook snivelled. ‘Just like little Anne.’

  I went to put my arm around her. What could I possibly do? As she shook with sobbing, my own tears remained inside. Anger burned. Mrs Cotton doesn’t have the right, I told myself. Lizzy made a stupid mistake trusting Henry, and she’d have to pay for that her whole life, but to throw her out was just too awful. It
was the behaviour of a heartless monster.

  I made up my mind then and there what I would do. First I’d talk to Mrs Cotton directly – try to reason with her. And if that didn’t work – well, I’d go to Samuel. Mrs Cotton might not like it – it might offend her sense of what was right – but I’d have given her a chance. Sammy would understand. He’d see what was fair and overrule his aunt, as it was his right to do. He’d send Rob over to Lizzy’s sister’s lodgings, or maybe he’d even go himself. By nightfall, Lizzy would be back in Greave Hall.

  ‘There are fires to be lit,’ said Mrs Cotton.

  She stood in the doorway opposite, having come down the main stairs. She was dressed in a tight-fitting black dress with black lace collar, and her hair was pulled back in an even tighter bun than normal. Her hands were clasped in front of her.

  ‘May I speak to you?’ I said as firmly as I could.

  Her eyebrows twitched. ‘You may, Miss Tamper. Come over here and say your piece.’

  She walked into the servants’ hallway and I followed. She stood at the bottom of the stairs with her back half-turned to me. It was disconcerting not being able to see her face, but I pressed my case.

  ‘Elizabeth should be given a second chance,’ I said. ‘She was duped by that charlatan. She never would have –’

  ‘What is the eighth Commandment?’ Mrs Cotton interrupted.

  I thought for a moment. I didn’t really care for Bible learning, but I wasn’t a simpleton. ‘Thou shalt not steal,’ I said.

  ‘And she stole from me,’ said the housekeeper. She began to walk up the stairs as though the conversation was over, so I went after her. She turned on me in disgust.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she said. ‘Get off these stairs at once!’

  I held my ground. ‘Lizzy doesn’t deserve it.’

  Mrs Cotton spoke again, her voice more threatening. ‘I decide what the staff of this house deserve,’ she said. ‘Elizabeth let us all down, and that is why she can’t ever come back.’

  ‘But she has nothing else,’ I said. Surely that simple fact would touch Mrs Cotton somewhere. ‘She’ll be lost!’

  ‘She was lost long before now,’ said Mrs Cotton with a smile. ‘Don’t think I’m stupid, Miss Tamper. I know exactly what goes on under this roof.’

  From her sly look, I guessed she must mean Lizzy’s condition.

  ‘Then it’s two lives you’re destroying,’ I said quietly.

  In times past that would have merited a thrashing and a half, but now she simply turned away and continued up the stairs.

  I went about my work, if not with zeal, then with a determination I hadn’t felt for a long time. By nine, Samuel still hadn’t stirred. I was hardly surprised after the events of the night before. As soon as he was up, I planned to speak to him. It was laundry day, so I went from room to room gathering the sheets and other washing. Lord Greave, seemingly oblivious to what had happened the night before, took a few turns round the garden in his robe and slippers. I watched him from the back door. His hands were moving as though he was giving a speech and he was muttering to himself. Perhaps Sammy was right – perhaps something would need to be done about him too.

  Samuel must have gone out while I was washing pillowcases in soapy water, because the wheelchair that had been parked in the hallway was gone. I guessed that Rob was taking him for some fresh air. I wondered if either of them knew yet about Lizzy’s disappearance. Rob was the type who might not even mention it if he did.

  At about eleven o’clock the front doorbell rang. Normally Lizzy herself would have gone for it, or else Mr Lock, but the butler had taken His Lordship upstairs to dress. I quickly dried my hands and rushed upstairs.

  I reached the door at the same time as Mrs Cotton. As she opened it, we both got a nasty surprise. Standing there on the step was Dr Reinhardt.

  My knees almost gave away. Had Mrs Cotton summoned him again? Would he betray me in front of her? We’d hardly parted on good terms, so there was no reason why he should keep our meeting a secret.

  ‘Doctor?’ said Mrs Cotton. The bemusement in her tone told me that she wasn’t expecting this visit. I started to back away, fear making me feel sick. If I could hide somewhere, perhaps he wouldn’t see me.

  ‘And Constable Evans,’ said Mrs Cotton. ‘How strange to see you again so soon.’

  I was confused. Did this have something to do with Henry and the foiled burglary? How was Dr Reinhardt involved in all that?

  ‘Mrs Cotton,’ said the constable. ‘Sorry to bother you on what I’m sure is a busy day. We need to speak to a member of your staff, if that’s possible.’

  My heart sank. I still wasn’t sure what was going on, but the uneasy feeling was spreading into my legs, making my knees weak.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ said the housekeeper. ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘The serving girl,’ said Dr Reinhardt. ‘Miss Tamper.’

  .

  Chapter 31

  Mrs Cotton eyed me warily as we assembled in the sitting room. She looked as confused as I was. Dr Reinhardt and Mrs Cotton sat on opposite sofas, while the constable remained standing. I perched on a high-backed chair. As we were settling Mr Lock came in as well, shutting the door behind him.

  ‘Is there some sort of problem?’ he asked.

  ‘Possibly,’ said the constable. ‘We’re making some enquiries into a burglary carried out some years ago. Dr Reinhardt has been very helpful, but we still have a loose end your girl here might be able to tie up.’ The constable fished in his pocket for a moment, then brought out a silver object – my father’s watch. The hands were still motionless, I noticed. ‘Do you recognise this?’ he said to me.

  I couldn’t find my words. Whatever I said now, I was trapped good and proper. There seemed little chance that I could leave this room without Mrs Cotton learning of my night-time excursion. I thought the best thing was to tell the truth, but not to give away information if not specifically asked.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘It’s her watch,’ said Mr Lock helpfully.

  ‘My father’s watch,’ I clarified.

  ‘Your father’s, you say?’ said the constable. ‘And that’ll be Jim Tamper, I presume?’

  I frowned. How did this policeman know of my father? ‘James Tamper, sir.’

  Mrs Cotton was wearing a look of absolute concentration. I could almost hear the cogs in her mind turning, trying to make sense of what was going on in front of her eyes.

  ‘And he gave it to you?’ said the constable.

  ‘He gave it to my mother, sir,’ I said. ‘And she gave it to me. She’s passed on too.’

  ‘You believe your father is dead?’ said the constable.

  He spoke with some surprise and the words sank in. I replied hesitantly. ‘He is, sir,’ I said. ‘Died before I was even born.’

  ‘She said the same to me,’ said Dr Reinhardt.

  Mr Lock coughed uncomfortably in the corner of the room, but held up a hand to apologise.

  I was replaying the constable’s strange words in my head: You believe your father is dead.

  ‘This watch is stolen property,’ said the constable. ‘It was taken in a substantial robbery at Frobisher’s Jewellers on Bond Street several years ago. The culprit was never identified and most of the pieces were lost.’

  The words washed over me. I didn’t just believe my father was dead, I knew it. My mother wouldn’t have lied to me.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Mrs Cotton. ‘How did this watch come to be in your possession, Constable?’

  Her question shook me from my thoughts. She had to find out now.

  ‘This gentleman tried to pawn the watch two days ago,’ said the policeman, gesturing to Dr Reinhardt. ‘The owner of the shop notified us, and we followed the trail back here.’

  Mrs Cotton’s frown deepened and her nostrils flared slightly, like a creature responding to the sudden scent of prey close by.

  ‘But how did this gentleman get his hands on it?�
� she asked impatiently.

  Finally Dr Reinhardt spoke. ‘She had no money to pay for my services. We agreed the watch was a suitable remuneration.’

  That was it, then. Any chance I had of squeezing out of this was gone.

  But Mrs Cotton didn’t pursue it further. The only thing I could think was that she had something worse planned for me. Mr Lock seemed to be squirming slightly in the corner.

  ‘Perhaps we should conclude the matter then,’ said the butler. ‘It seems that we’ll never know how the watch came to be in Abigail’s possession, but at least it can be returned to its rightful owner.’ He held open the door, as if to suggest it was time the guests left.

  I found my voice to ask the question that everyone seemed to have forgotten.

  ‘Wait a moment,’ I said. ‘My father is dead, isn’t he?’

  Dr Reinhardt raised his eyebrows and Mr Lock laughed uncomfortably. Mrs Cotton remained impassive.

  The constable looked from one to the other, then sat down beside me. ‘Jim Tamper was transported after the Henley Thefts in ’38.’

  ‘Transported?’ I said.

  ‘That’s right. Sent to Australia,’ said the constable. ‘We never could pin the Frobisher job on him, but it seems this is the missing piece of the puzzle.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘My father was apprenticed to a watchmaker.’

  The constable smiled as if I was a stupid toddler. ‘Looks like someone’s been telling you some porky pies, my girl. Tamper was a swindler if ever I saw one. He’ll still be breaking rocks now, I expect.’

  ‘It’s a lie,’ I said. ‘My mother –’

  ‘Told you what she thought was best, I expect,’ he said. ‘Sorry you have to find out the truth from me.’

  But something else was troubling me. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.

  ‘What were the Henley thefts?’ I asked.

  Mrs Cotton seemed to growl, but she didn’t interrupt. I think she was as interested as me.

  ‘First regatta on the river there,’ said Constable Evans. ‘Jim Tamper sneaked up through the kitchens of the Red Lion hotel, ransacked all the rooms, and tried to make his getaway by boat. It was only a servant like yourself spotted him.’