House of Bliss

by T T Thomas

  Surely, you must know I had nothing whatsoever to do with what happened to Bel. I loved her—more than I ever admitted—and my life was never the same after I lost her, lost track of her. I searched everywhere for her.

  But now this situation has landed me in prison, I’ve had no contact with anyone, including Jeremy, and only a single note from Lena, written two days after my arrest.

  I fear for my life here. The people in this prison, all women, are quite desperate with no one as their advocate. I am feeling similarly.

  So if you do not respond to my letter out of anger with any betrayal you feel, I understand, but I honestly did not know. I regret nothing about our time together, and I do not want you to feel I deceived you. I have enjoyed your presence in both my life and my business, and I would hope we could be friends for a long time.

  As for the other…I almost dare not say it for fear you will abandon me, but my feelings and commitment to Lena are far deeper than even I realized. For that reason, if I ever am freed from this hell, I shall try to improve my relationship with her. I pray you understand and forgive me my transgressions with her…because of how such transgression clearly hurt you, too.

  If you could find it in your heart to let Jeremy and Lena know that I need help, desperately, I would be forever indebted to you. I’m allowed one letter a month, and I’ve chosen to send it to you. I hope it makes a difference. I’m out of paper and must close.

  As always, Sabrina

  Bel folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. She would read it again, later, but her hands were shaking and her throat was dry. Sabrina had suffered when Bel disappeared. Sabrina had bedded Felicity. Sabrina was in prison for attacking Bel. Sabrina’s feelings for Lena were deep. It made Bel’s head swim. She felt dizzy, disoriented, diminished. How had her life become this?

  She looked around at what she could see of the bedroom. It was sweet. Floral paintings on the walls, a highly polished wardrobe, a wonderful bed for the baby. Sabrina’s house. Sabrina’s home. Sabrina’s sense of life and happy countenance reflected everywhere.

  Bel closed her eyes. She had to help Sabrina. Somehow. And she had to contact George Markham. He must be sick with worry.

  Chapter 38

  July 1906

  Chief Inspector Mendicott pored over a stack of paperwork. When he looked up, Chief Superintendent Carstairs was standing across the room motioning Mendicott into his office. The Chief sat behind his desk; Mendicott stood before him.

  “What have you got on this Blissdon woman?” the Chief said, getting right to the point.

  “Sir,” Mendicott said, “I believe she not only attacked and nearly killed Bel Glyver, but I’m convinced she should be considered a prime suspect in the prostitute murders.”

  “Motive?”

  Mendicott shifted his weight to the other leg. “I’m sill working that out, sir, but she’s the one common denominator to everything.”

  “Give me an example? What’s your proof? Or do you have any? I’m getting some pressure from higher up to release her. Pressure from important people.”

  “I understand, sir, but I only need a couple more weeks to tie things up. As for an example, Miss Blissdon is a known deviant who prefers the intimate company of other ladies…women. She was a client of Bel Glyver when the unfortunate woman was thrown out by her husband and made to work in one of the protected houses.”

  “Which one?”

  “Mrs. Tornage’s house, sir. But that’s not all. Miss Blissdon’s current paramour is also a former prostitute by the name of Lena Thornbrook. Well known by some of our upper-class citizens, I might add. Miss Blissdon has a lot to lose if her clients were to know the full extent of her past.”

  “Go on. What else?”

  “Miss Blissdon has taken in a young woman, a Felicity West, a fictitious name it turns out, who lives in her house and works in her studio who happens to be Bel Glyver’s younger sister. Her real name is Felicity North. I have followed Miss North to her sister’s new flat more than once.”

  “And what gave you the incentive to do that, Inspector?”

  “In one of my interviews with Miss Blissdon, Miss North was in the room. And it was early in the morning. Although she was introduced as Miss West.”

  “Therefore? What is it, Mendicott, get me to the point of it all.”

  “Sir, I believe she is now involved in some kind of deviant dalliance with this young woman. That would give her a great deal of incentive to eliminate the sister, Bel Glyver. The night of Glyver’s attack, her houseman saw Blissdon up at all hours. Even the young woman, Miss North, confirms that Miss Blissdon was not in her room most of the night.”

  “And how does she know that?” the Chief asked.

  “Her baby was fretting, so she was up most of the night. Apparently, she has access to Miss Blissdon’s private bedroom, and when she went to knock on the door, it was open and Miss Blissdon was not there. That was around 6 a.m. on the morning after Bel Glyver was so viciously beaten.”

  The Chief shuffled some folders on his desk, then leaned back and lit his pipe. He stared hard at Mendicott.

  “Anything else, Detective?”

  Mendicott hesitated. “I’ve come into possession of several pages of her journal, and I realize we cannot use proof questionably obtained. But…”

  “Do you have this evidence with you? Can I see it, please?”

  Mendicott handed him another folder. He watched while his boss scrutinized each page. “I take it these journal entries were not given voluntarily by Miss Blissdon?”

  “No, sir. But they point to a mot—”

  Carstairs shut the folder decisively. “I’m not convinced you have incontrovertible evidence to charge Miss Blissdon, and even less to hold her in Holloway,” he said. “Blissdon is not some common hussy, and how she lives her private life is none of our business. We’d be raiding Windsor, Kensington and possibly Buckingham Palace if those matters were within our purview, Mendicott.”

  He handed the file back to Mendicott. “I’ll give you one week to pull it all together. Absent that, she goes free.”

  With that, he effectively dismissed Mendicott by opening a new folder on his desk.

  “Yes, sir.” Mendicott paused to see if the Chief had anything else for him but seeing the other man’s preoccupation with the folders, he retreated. An hour later, he made a phone call. An hour after that, he paid a visit to the Belgravia residence of George Markham.

  The new Mrs. Glyver could hardly contain her excitement. “Have you heard the news?” she said to her husband while he made himself a drink in their parlor.

  “Which news is that, luv?”

  “They have arrested Sabrina Blissdon for almost killing your ex-wife. Beat her to within a farthing, according to the reports.”

  Glyver turned around slowly. “What? How do you know this? I’ve seen nothing.”

  “It’s coming out in tomorrow papers, but you know Veronica Downey’s husband owns at least one, maybe two, of the papers. And he told her this morning over breakfast. Naturally, she called me right away. Women in fisticuffs! I daresay she married quite above her station first time around.”

  “Yes, dear. She certainly did. I’ve got it right now though, haven’t I, with you? Why couldn’t I have found you first?” It was precisely a question hiding in a statement, anticipating the answer.

  “I was engaged to the Earl of Stansbury, if you recall.”

  Glyver was in a good mood, so he teased her. “Of course. It was such a long engagement; you were off the market for too long. Had I known he’d drop dead in a gambling parlor, frequented by a miscellany of unsavory characters of both sexes, I’d have waited it out.”

  Lady Glynnis Glyver sniffed the air. “The shame of it is that the first Mrs. Glyver has lived to tell her story. Apparently, she received quite a beating from Sabrina Blissdon and by rights should have died. The woman seems to incense men and women alike although I cannot imagine how or why.”

  G
lyver decided to ignore that comment as any answer would be the wrong one. “Can I fix you a drink, darling?”

  “I can’t drink...makes me nauseous the next morning. And I shouldn’t at any rate.”

  “Of course…the baby.”

  Mrs. Glyver gave him a pout, followed by a slow smile. She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “Are you happy?” she asked.

  “I am the happiest man in the world,” he said with a grin. And he meant it. Hugh Glyver was not a sentimental man, but as he aged, thoughts of his own mortality impinged upon his normally somewhat cynical outlook. Then there was the other issue…An heir, though, could have advantages.

  “I’ve always found Sabrina Blissdon strange,” she said, taking him back to the prior subject. “The way she appraises one when she’s doing a fitting. Unnerving. I almost thought she would invite me in for tea.”

  “Invite you in?”

  “Well, her studio is in a separate building behind her house. I found her forward, truth be known.”

  Hugh Glyver had to turn his head to hide his lack of surprise at what he had heard. “Yes, I’ve heard that she can frighten a lady. Rather convenient business for her to be in, no doubt. What shall we name the baby, darling?”

  “I wonder what they possibly could have in common.” She took a sip of her tea. “Well, if it’s a boy, I think Hugh Glyver II.”

  Glyver shrugged with embarrassment. “And if it’s a girl, I want to name her Glynnis Adora.”

  Glyver’s wife smiled benignly at her husband. “I suppose we’ll know in about seven months.”

  “I better get a nursery put in,” Hugh said.

  “And nanny quarters,” she added.

  Chapter 39

  After much walking, Lena found a rectory connected to St. Paul’s Church of England. She rang the bell, but there was no answer. Something compelled her to walk around the side and back of the building where she found a young woman about 16 years old pulling weeds in the garden area.

  After some coaxing and a commiserating exchange about the perils of weeds, Lena established that the girl was the daughter of the rector and his wife. They had gone into the village for supplies.

  She stood up, wiped her hands on her apron and stood before Lena.

  “I’m Jane.”

  “Why, hello, Jane. I’m Miss Thornbrook. I wonder if you could help me.”

  “I can try,” the young woman said. She had a shy, slow, sweet smile that reflected an unusual combination of innocence and curiosity. She seemed happy for the sight of another human being.

  “I’m looking for a friend who may have come to the rectory within the last six months. She’s been the victim of a brutal attack in London, and the family is trying to contact all her friends.”

  “Oh, dear,” Jane said. “Will she recover?”

  “Yes, we think so, but some of us are trying to trace her steps over the past few months, to see if there might be a clue who could have done this horrible thing. She had the card to this rectory in her…belongings. Her name is Bel Glyver.”

  The younger woman’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I do believe that was the lady who got married here. I remember the name…so unusual, the name Bel.” Jane squinted into the sun. Her pink cheeks revealed recent exertion and sunburn.

  It was Lena’s turn to show surprise. She wouldn’t have guessed the first question would yield such results. “Yes, yes, I’m sure that is our friend, but…who did she marry?”

  Jane frowned. “Oh, her friends and family didn’t know she got married?”

  Lena laughed while playing for time, exacting a moment to gather her wits. “Well, see, that’s the whole thing. We knew she was getting married, but it was to be a surprise, an elopement really…money being so short these days. It was all hush-hush but on the up-and-up. Bel was going to announce it to us soon, and then, unfortunately…the attack.” Lena used her most dramatic tone with the right conspiratorial nuance to make Jane feel important and included.

  “I see,” Jane said, although it was clear she did not. “Well, I don’t recall his name, but we can look in the Marriage Book. It was only a couple months ago. Was her husband not home, then, when it happened?” Jane brushed her light brown hair off her forehead where perspiration had plastered it flat.

  “Off in India, I believe,” Lena said. “Some business of the King’s, I understand.”

  “Well, yes, the gentleman did look important, I remember thinking,” Jane offered. “Let me go inside. I’m not allowed to have anyone in the rectory with my parents absent, but you can sit over there,” she said, pointing to a wooden bench.

  “That’s perfect. Thanks so much, Jane.”

  Lena’s heart beat fast the entire time Jane was inside the rectory. It was a combination of nerves and the unseasonal heat. The bench was unshaded, and she was thirsty. She would love to take off her hat, and use it as a fan, but that would not do.

  She heard the side door to the rectory open and close.

  “I’ve got it.” Jane walked toward Lena with the sudden self-assurance of victory. “His name is George Markham.”

  “Of course, we all thought it was George.” Lena gave a small head tilt with her smile, as if the information had confirmed some innermost intuition. “Well, good to have it confirmed. We’re still trying to work out why they came all the way to Penzance, though. I suppose a little holiday with the marital vows.”

  Jane nodded. “I suppose so, although I remember my father mentioning that Mr. Markham was from up in this area somewhere. I can’t recall where exactly.”

  “Oh, yes, I may have known that. Jane, you’ve been more than helpful. I’ll leave you to your gardening now we know our friend didn’t elope with some ne’er-do-well.

  “Oh, she looked quite pretty and sane, so I wouldn’t have thought she was the type to run off and marry an unacceptable man. My mother didn’t seem to care for her, but you know how mothers are.”

  “Isn’t that the truth? Thanks, so much, Jane, I’ll drop in next time I’m in the area”

  “Oh, that would be lovely,” Jane said, beaming. “We don’t get many actual social calls.” Jane blushed. “I do know that Mr. and Mrs. Markham stayed at the Rose and Thorn Inn, so perhaps someone there can give you more information.”

  The women said their goodbyes, again, and Lena promptly walked to the local newspaper office. After some discreet inquiries, she learned that the Markham family had a large estate on the Peninsula, near Porthleven.

  Over a small repast and a pot of tea in a local shop, Lena determined there wasn’t time to go to Porthleven today. She finished her lunch and walked about the village for a while. She wandered aimlessly down a shady lane looking for something, and she’d know it if she saw it.

  As she walked down St. Mary’s Street, she crossed over some open pasture land and found herself on Rosevean Road in front of the Roman Catholic Church of the Immaculate Conception of Our Lady. Lena smiled, then blushed. Oh the irony. Well, no, it wasn’t entirely an accident, now was it? Hadn’t she shook with angst and anticipation to consider the possibility once she determined she would come to Penzance? Of course she had. Shivered on the outside, trembled on the inside.

  The Church, built in the Perpendicular Gothic style, had existed in various phases of completion since 1843 until finished against all odds. It took many more decades and a revolving door of ecclesiastic turnover, however, before it became a functioning parish site.

  It was now an awe-inspiring church of Penryn Granite, Castle Granite and contrasting masonry reflecting a sophisticated style complete with school, presbytery and convent.

  The Sisters of Notre Dame were in residence on the grounds of the church, and Lena approached the heavy, dark, double doors of the convent with barely suppressed trepidation. She rang the bell and heard it’s melodic chimes ring on the inside of the structure. When the novitiate opened the doors, Lena tripped over her words while saying that the Mother Superior, Sister Jean Marie, was an old friend.

 
The young woman smiled and asked her to wait in the entrance foyer. Lena stood and contemplated the large statue of the Virgin Mary awash in the warm glow of a semi-circle of candles at the base. There were chairs in the bright vestibule, but she was too nervous to sit still. She looked, instead, at the intricate wood of the framed artwork of religious themes with which she was all too familiar. Once a Catholic, always a Catholic, however fallen.

  Chapter 40

  Lena felt her presence before she saw her, and then, there she was, smiling, beaming really, arms outstretched as she walked rapidly toward Lena.

  “Darling,” the nun whispered. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  They gazed at one another. “God works in mysterious ways,” Lena said. “I knew you had come to Cornwall years ago, but I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to stop. Then, as I was walking, I saw the name on the church. Of course, the die was cast at that point.”

  Sister Jean took Lena into her private offices. Two young women brought them a pot of tea and some delicate teacakes. “I see you’ve had lunch,” the nun said, pointing to a stain on her blouse.

  Lena looked down. They both laughed, an intimate familiarity shared unselfconsciously.

  “Some things never change,” Lena said.

  “And you must be here because you need something, I know that, too.” A wry smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

  “Information,” Lena said. She told her friend all about her research and asked if she could help.

  Jean steepled her hands and studied Lena. “There must be someone special in your life for you to come all this way for information.”

  Lena blushed. “Yes, well, perhaps...”

  “I am happy for you, darling…we’ve both fulfilled our life’s dream, then.”