A Debt Is Finally Paid (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Sigrid Vansandt

  Helen shook her head and narrowed her eyes though still focusing on the road ahead. The thought of taking two cats, one dog, Martha, God knows how many of Martha’s friends, and a mountain of luggage, all on a small, cramped narrowboat made her decide to change the subject quickly.

  “It was the oddest feeling I got from meeting him. Like someone else was in the room but not at the same time.”

  “What do you mean? Like a ghost?” Martha asked.

  “Well, it was more like the document he showed me was weighted with history. Do you know what I mean?” Helen said.

  “Sounds like the document was haunted.”

  “Haunted” expressed the feeling exactly. It had been an odd experience. She decided to change the subject again to something lighter.

  “So, I’m going to a real Roma dinner tonight,” she said brightly.

  “Me, too,” Martha chimed in.

  “The Chief?”

  “Yep.”

  Helen gave Martha an affectionate pat on the arm. “You two are cute together.”

  “He’s been so thoughtful after nearly killing my dog.”

  Helen burst out laughing.

  “What?” Martha asked as if taken aback and added, “He has been thoughtful.”

  “It’s the way you say things.”

  “Well, he did nearly kill my dog. But to his credit, he is trying to do the right thing.”

  Finally arriving at Healy, Helen stopped the car in front of the old manor home. Healy inspired in her visitors a delicious sense of anticipation for what the interior might hold. Mullioned windows and vine covered ancient oak timbers grounded the sprawling house neatly in the middle of the sixteenth century. At this time of year only a few flowers graced her front with hints of summer memories.

  The girls hadn’t been to Healy in nearly a month. Their busy schedule had kept their communication with Piers Cousins to phone calls and emails. In that time, Piers had received custody of his new ward, Emerson Carstons.

  Helen wondered how Piers was managing his new parental duties. He’d been given complete charge of Emerson by the child’s legal family due to the fact that both of Emerson’s parents were dead and no one else was able to take the child to raise. All of this was perfectly fine with Piers, who had believed for years that Emerson was his son and worked tirelessly to have custody of him.

  Martha flung her purse over her shoulder and slammed her car door. “Has Piers found a housekeeper yet? Hope he does a better job of hiring the next one. Might want to suggest a psychological screening during the selection process as a precaution against crazies.”

  Helen rolled her eyes heavenward searching for an answer. She followed Martha up the steps to the front door feeling nervous butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She hadn’t seen Piers in over a month and the thought of seeing him was a heady mixture of excitement and awkwardness. They pulled the bell chain and, while waiting for the door to be opened, turned around to take in the view of the front lawn which gently sloped down to the river Calder far below in the distance.

  The door opened and there standing in the entrance was a lovely young woman wearing a simple cream colored blouse with a peter-pan collar and a light blue button-up cardigan. She wore a brown tweed skirt hitting right above her knee and at her throat hung a simple strand of pearls. Her long blonde hair was pulled up into a loose chiffon bun at the base of her neck. She needed no make-up to highlight her already lovely skin.

  Helen was awestruck by the prettiness of the younger woman as she introduced herself.

  “Hello, I’m Celine Rupert. I’m the new housekeeper and nanny. Mr. Cousins is expecting you,” she said with a warm smile. “Please come in and I’ll show you to the library.”

  The girls exchanged “Wow!” expressions once Celine’s back was safely turned to them. They followed her into the house’s interior. Helen guessed her to be no more than thirty and the woman’s accent implied she was from the upper classes if not the English gentry.

  “So how do you like working for old Piers?” Martha asked.

  Celine’s back didn’t tense at Martha’s familiarity nor did she slow her pace toward the library. “Mr. Cousins is an excellent employer, as I’m sure you know.”

  Martha winked at Helen and mouthed the word “feisty.”

  Helen mouthed the words “shut up” back at Martha.

  They reached the door of the library and Celine knocked firmly.

  “Come in!” Piers called from the inside.

  Opening the door for them, Celine followed them inside and said, “Mr. Cousins, the ladies you were expecting.”

  “Thank you, Celine. That will be all.”

  For a brief moment after her departure Helen, Martha and Piers were mute. There was a smidgen of awkwardness in the room with so many unsaid thoughts.

  Piers jumped in where angels feared to tread. “So, that’s Celine. A wonderful girl. Absolutely amazing nanny. She’s been with Emerson since he was born. Loves him like a mother.”

  Martha and Helen blinked and it was Helen who, in a crisp, professional tone said, “She’s a lovely woman, Piers, and I’m glad things are working out for you. Do we get to meet Emerson today?”

  Piers’ face brightened with joy. “Of course! I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’ll be home from school about three o’clock. We could have tea together.”

  “That would be perfect. Martha and I have some more work to do until then,” Helen said.

  “Great idea. I’ll meet you back here around two-thirty. We can go over your suggestions. I’ve got some things to see about until then.”

  Martha and Helen went on with their work until the mantel clock chimed two times letting them know it was time for Piers to return. The library door’s familiar squeak of the hinges caught their attention.

  “Are you at a stopping point?” Piers asked entering the room.

  “Perfect timing. I’m dying for a cup of tea,” Martha said sitting down in one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace.

  “Celine is on her way with the tea cart.”

  Martha’s phone began to ring. “I’d better take this. If you’ll both excuse me.”

  They watched Martha let herself out of the room.

  “I’m so pleased you came by today,” Piers said once they were alone. “I’ve missed you.”

  Helen smiled kindly back at Piers and laying her hand on his she replied in a friendly, up-beat way, “I’ve missed you, too, and I’m excited to see Emerson. Is it going well?”

  Piers shook his head in bemusement. “He’s such a bright boy and so full of life, Helen. He’s attached to Celine and happy with this as his home. It’s a lot to ask of a child but he understands I’m not his father. I’ve made it my number one mission in life to be a father to him, if not his real one.”

  The door to the library creaked open and Martha stuck her head in.

  “Guess who I found peeking at me through the balusters of the stairs?” she asked.

  With a big smile on her face, she pushed the door further open and walked in holding the hand of a small, blonde boy.

  Piers stood up and with a big grin on his face, motioned for the boy to come forward. “Emerson, come here. I want to introduce you to two of my dear friends.”

  Still holding Martha’s hand and shyly studying Helen, Emerson walked toward them. He stood a few inches over four feet tall and was solid in build. His hair was thick and slightly wavy and was trimmed in a typical school-boy short style. Two dimples could be seen when he smiled and two skinned knees hinted at the typical happy play of a young boy.

  “Mrs. Ryes and Mrs. Littleword, I would like to introduce Emerson Carstons,” Piers said with no small hint of pride in his voice.

  Emerson was well versed in meeting older people and Celine’s skills in preparing her young ward were obvious. He offered his hand to both Helen and Martha saying, “Good afternoon, Madam. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Celine stood quietly at the door waiting to colle
ct Emerson. Piers saw her standing there and said, “I would like Emerson to take tea with us this afternoon. Would you like to join us Celine?”

  “Mr. Cousins, Senior Agosto wants help with the grocer’s delivery. I think I’d better not keep him waiting,” she said.

  “Yes, of course. Thank you,” Piers replied.

  After Celine departed, the three adults spent a lively half-hour swapping stories with Emerson about his school day and remembrances of their own from many years ago. His skinned knees were from an afternoon of playing pole-switch, a game highly enjoyed by all first and second grade children according to him.

  After tea was finished, Piers gave the boy a biscuit, or cookie, to hide in his pocket for a later treat saying, “Well, off you go, Emerson. I’ll be up later and we can use the old telescope to see how Mr. Chattersworth is getting along with his fox trap down by the river.”

  Wearing a huge grin for Piers, Emerson nodded and said, “Thank you.” He turned to Helen and Martha and said, “Goodbye. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  They watched the child walk to the door. With a soft click of the latch, he was gone.

  Martha turned to Piers. “He’s adorable. It goes fast, enjoy every minute. I’m still in shock Kate’s in college.”

  As she finished, her phone rang again. The name flashing was “Fuzzy.”

  “I’ve got to take this. Excuse me.” Martha walked out of the room leaving Helen and Piers to return to their own conversation.

  “Martha is right. Emerson is a sweet, beautiful child and Celine is doing a wonderful job. He’s been fortunate to have you both in his life.” Helen paused, remembering the Roma dinner that evening. “Would you want to go to a truly unique dinner under the stars tonight?”

  Piers flashed his blue eyes and smiled. “Are you asking me out, Mrs. Ryes?”

  Helen never hesitated. “I am. Want to go?”

  “Are you picking me up?” Piers asked.

  “No,” she said flatly, “but how about I meet you on Barbel Bridge at sundown. We can go together from there. Bring a bottle of wine. I’ll bring the cups.”

  A mischievous grin played at the corner of Piers’ mouth. “I’ll be there. Sounds romantic.”

  Martha swung back into the room triumphantly.

  Helen finished up the invitation with Piers by saying, “Okay, I’ll see you there. I think Martha and I should get going.”

  Martha collected the laptop and her purse while also texting someone on her phone. As she stuffed these items into a dark leather satchel, she said, “Thank you, Piers, for the tea and it was so nice to meet Emerson. By the way, Celine, is probably too young for you.”

  “Martha!” Helen exclaimed, completely shocked by Martha’s announcement.

  “What?” Martha asked. “He’s too old for her.” She went back to putting things in the bag. “I’m only saying that because I like him and he needs to consider his own welfare.”

  Both Piers and Helen shared an expression of perplexed amusement on their faces. Piers stood up and going over to Martha, he turned her around by the shoulders to face him.

  Martha smiled up at him with an eyebrow arched for effect. “Y-e-s?”

  Piers gave her a squeeze. “Thank you, Martha.”

  She gave him a motherly pat on his shoulder. “I want to see you with someone who might really care for you, Piers. That’s all.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, if we’re all done here with the touchy-feely stuff, I’ve got to get home and decide what one wears to a Roma shindig,” Martha said as she headed for the door with Helen following behind her.

  “Roma…shindig?” Piers asked.

  “You heard the woman. See you on the Barbel Bridge and don’t be late,” Helen cheerfully replied. Turning one last time, she gave him a winning wink and pulled the library door closed behind her.

  Chapter 8

  London, England

  March 1918

  FOR THE LAST THREE MONTHS Sophia Argintari had been living and working in a small inn near Billingsgate Fish Market along the Thames in London. A rough and rowdy crowd called Billingsgate home, but liking the humor and warmth of the English people, Sophia decided to stay there while she searched for her family she knew were in England.

  After the ship’s quarantine was lifted the previous December, she asked one of the sailors if they knew of a place in London where she might stay cheaply. The Turbot Inn was well liked by the barge men and sailors. The food was simple, good and a fair price while the portly publican and his wife were honest, kind people who gave her a room near the kitchen to call her own. In return she did the cooking and the kitchen housekeeping for a small wage.

  Sophia’s favorite activity was to go down to one of the many wharfs along the Thames to try to find other Romani people who might know of her own family living in England. She’d kept the beautiful, jewel-encrusted things and the long gold-handled saber her friend the Russian gave her before he died. She knew their value was beyond her understanding. It terrified her thinking someone would find them in her belongings and think she’d stolen them. No one would ever believe a poor Roma girl’s story and would immediately take her to the authorities.

  For the last three months while living in London, Sophia kept the valuable things wrapped and hidden behind a piece of wood floor trim in the wall of her bedroom. Things that once graced the gilded rooms of the wealthiest royals in European history and were considered to have cost millions of dollars when they were first made by gifted artisans, were wrapped in pieces of dirty linen and stuffed in a dark hole where only mice and spiders crawled indifferently by.

  She never dared to approach the large palace where she knew the British Royal family lived in London. Many times she’d gone to stare through the bars but her nerve failed her whenever the soldiers with the tall, fluffy black hats marched by. What if they put her in jail or worse, killed her, because they thought she’d stolen the jeweled things? She would wait until she found someone she really trusted to tell her story to. Until then what she had hidden in the plaster wall of a tired kitchen pub would stay put.

  Sophia’s first spring in London was full of new sights and sounds. Though the specter of the first world war still brutalized almost every corner of Europe, the dark clouds were breaking up for Sophia. She learned from other Romani people working on the docks and wharfs nearby, of a possible relative living on a canal boat near Weybridge, a town only a short ride south of London.

  She was told they were bargee, or barge people, who carried cargo such as coal, timber or wheat on their barges up and down the rivers and canals to either warehouses, granaries or mills. The bargee also lived on their boats with their family. Sophia’s chances of finding her relative were good because the name Argintari was unique among the Romani people.

  On one of her days off, she decided to go down to Billingsgate Fish Market. There was a Roma fishwife, Mrs. Rossar-mescro, who ran a herring stall. The Turbot Inn, where Sophia cooked, bought herring from Mrs. Rossar-mescro every Tuesday. So, since the inn was a good customer, Sophia was safe in asking a small favor of the fishwife.

  The still cold March wind cut through her thin coat and laughed at the wretched state of Sophia’s stockings as she walked down the tight alleyways leading to the market. That morning Sophia asked for her wages and stopped along the way at the tobacconists. Mrs. Rossar-mescro would enjoy some tobacco to use in her pipe. A treat, no matter how small, would be much appreciated by any of the rough and tough fishwives of Billingsgate.

  Once inside, the wind lost its power among the throng of humanity, carts and stalls. Sophia looked for the herring stalls, but before she saw Mrs. Rossar-mescro, she heard her. Loud, pushy and foul-mouthed, the solidly built dark-haired woman kept her hawking banter going while she wrapped fish, haggled with customers and took money.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Rossar-mescro,” Sophia said as soon as it was her turn to talk with the hard-selling matron. “I’ve got something to ask of you.”

>   “What is it, lass? Be quick about it. I’m about business you know.”

  “I need to find my family near Weybridge. Who would I ask to take me that far? Someone you would trust.”

  Not missing a beat, Mrs. Rossar-mescro took money from a tall, shabbily dressed restaurant porter, wrapped six fish in waxy paper and answered Sophia. “My son, Barty. He’ll take you. Leaves for that direction each morning. Got to be here by six o’clock in the morning. Meet me here. He comes by for his meal.”

  Sophia pulled out the small paper bag neatly folded by the boy in the tobacco store and handed it to the strong, gruff talking woman of about forty years of age.

  “Here, Mrs. Rossar-mescro. Thank you. I will be here next Tuesday to go with him.”

  The older woman’s eyebrows raised at the girl’s good business acumen. Giving a small, yet thoughtful gift, especially when money was so precious, spoke volumes among people who understood the value of a penny. Mrs. Rossar-mescro knew Sophia was miserably poor but the young girl wasn’t asking for something for nothing. The woman opened the small bag and took a sniff.

  “Thank you, lass,” she said with a tender smile. “I’ll be seeing you Tuesday.”

  Sophia thanked her and hurried away, letting Mrs. Rossar-mescro get back to what put food on the table. Later, after a small minced pie she bought in the market, Sophia went down to the docks and sent a message with another bargee man who claimed to know her family. She gave him two pence to deliver a note telling them she would be coming next Tuesday and hoped to meet them. He promised to deliver the note and to tell them of her. Sophia must wait and hope that they would be interested in her.

  The following week took forever for a young girl eager to find her family. When Tuesday came, it found Sophia racing down the back streets in the early hours of the chilly morning toward the fish market and Mrs. Rossar-mescro’s stall. There standing by the stall was a young man so pretty that Sophia nearly stumbled once she locked her gaze on him. She slowed her quick pace to a hesitant walk, nervous to know if this was the Barty she was supposed to travel to Weybridge with this morning.