Just as she closed and locked the box, she heard a loud bang from downstairs. Petunia’s heart raced. She thought perhaps Mrs. Glum had forgotten something.
“Mrs. Glum?” She called as she stood at the top of her stairs. “Mrs. Glum is that you?”
Petunia saw no need to panic, until she heard the rustling of footsteps and saw a shadow slip into the drawing room. Petunia stopped breathing and stood paralyzed with fear. Someone was in her house.
14 The Mysterious Note
Terrified, Petunia slowly crept down the stairs. Had someone discovered what she knew about Roger Loxley and Richard Baker? Did someone think she murdered Agatha and now come to hurt her?
The floorboards creaked underneath her chubby feet, but she gingerly continued down the stairs. If she could reach the library, she could telephone the police.
On the third step from the top, Petunia jumped. The gramophone in her drawing room started to play a haunting waltz.
“Oh!” Petunia cried. She was so frightened; she could not move.
Just then, Phillip burst through the front door, a scowl on his hardened face. Petunia screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Petunia!” Phillip said harshly. “Why in the world would you do such a thing?”
“Someone’s in the house, Phillip!” Petunia quivered, pointing toward the drawing room from her place on the stairs.
Fearlessly, Phillip entered the drawing room, and Petunia started to move down the stairs again. The song on the gramophone stopped.
“Petunia! Get in here.”
Petunia entered the drawing room and saw to her horror that the window was open. Biting air swept through the room.
“Someone was in here!” Petunia cried. “We must call the police, Phillip.”
“Absolutely not,” Phillip said slamming the window shut and locking it. “I don’t want the police anywhere near this home. They’re already infiltrating our lives as it is.”
“Well, we must do something. Someone was...in...our...home.”
Phillip said nothing. He only poured himself some cognac and sunk into one of the lion’s-paw footed chairs.
“What if they stole something, Phillip? What if they had hurt me? Do you care so little about my life?”
“Quiet, Petunia!” Phillip demanded. “You’re not hurt are you? The person is gone.”
“But how did they get in? And why?”
“Perhaps it was Mrs. Glum. Perhaps she came back to get something.”
“Honestly, Phillip, you would make a conjecture like that?”
“Well, what do you want me to say?”
Petunia contemplated what had happened. Suddenly, she no longer cared about the intruder for she remembered that she and Phillip had not talked about Agatha since the girl’s death.
“I’m sure you can understand that we must talk about Agatha.”
“There’s nothing to say,” Phillip said, downing his cognac.
“There’s plenty to say,” Petunia argued. “First, I want to assure you it was not I who killed Agatha.”
“That’s comforting.”
“But I must confess, I am surprised by you, Phillip. To consort with such a lowly figure of society. Well, I would have thought that beneath you.”
“I had no idea about her past if that’s what you’re on about.”
“Really? No idea?”
“Of course I didn’t know,” he said, downing the rest of his drink. “I only found out myself when the detectives came to visit me at my work, thanks to you.”
He lit a cigarette and poured himself a second glass of the cognac.
“Do you realize the scandal you’ve brought onto us?”
“It’s only scandal if you tell them about Agatha and me. Which I’m assuming you were smart enough to keep your mouth shut about.”
“I didn’t say anything to the detectives.”
“You better hope you told them nothing,” Phillip threatened.
Several seconds of silence ensued and Petunia shivered from the trapped cold air. She was no longer tired, so she lit a fire.
“You visited her in the hospital on numerous occasions.”
“So, is that a crime?” Phillip said, glaring at Petunia.
“Perhaps it’s not. But since no one else had clearance, how were you able to see her, Phillip?”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”
“But surely it is. The police must know now, anyway?”
“They don’t know everything, and I won’t tell them everything. And
I won’t tell you everything because I don’t trust you.”
“I wonder,” Petunia said as she pondered the intruder. “If someone does know the whole truth.”
“Wonder all you’d like. But no one knows the entire truth but me.”
“So, you murdered her.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You must have had something to do with it. How else would you be the only one to know the truth?”
Phillip slammed his fist on the table, startling Petunia.
“Stop, questioning me!”
“I wouldn’t be so callous,” Petunia said, “I could tell the police you had something to do with it after all.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Phillip gave Petunia a snide glare. He stood from his chair, and Petunia backed away slightly.
“Let me give you a little insight of what will happen to you if you ever say a word about me to anyone.”
Petunia started to run, but Phillip grabbed Petunia by the shoulders, flung her against the wall and pressed his hands against her throat.
Petunia saw the hatred in his eyes, the angry gleam that she feared so much. She wished she had kept her mouth shut for once as she struggled to breathe. Tears stung her eyes.
“Do not...ever...think you are in control,” Phillip growled. “No matter what. Even if they had me locked behind a thousand bars, I’d find you and make you pay for what you’d done.”
Petunia made a gurgling noise and felt her breath leave her. She stopped struggling then. That’s when Phillip released his hands and Petunia fell to the ground gasping for air.
She continued to wheeze as she sat on the floor and then burst into tears. Curled in a ball against the wall, Petunia would not look at Phillip now. He was hot and cold in an instant, and Petunia could not bear it any longer.
“Now,” Phillip said, regaining his composure. “You will go to the Loxley dinner party with me on February 1st. I do not want to hear any objections. You will do as you’re told.”
Petunia continued to sob.
“Don’t act sour because I gave you a good lesson. You’re to blame for my behavior. It’s your fault I need to keep you in line.
Someone has to punish you for all you’ve done.”
With that, Phillip stormed out of drawing room.
Petunia felt her lower lip tremble. She was being punished, and she did deserve it. Phillip would never let Petunia forget that it was her irresponsibility that caused their son’s abduction.
After lying on the floor for several minutes, Petunia finally found the courage to stand and made her way to the fireplace. She looked into the mirror on the mantel and saw the bruises already starting to form around her neck. For a long time she stared into that mirror and realized, Petunia Pennyworth died many, many years ago, and this woman in the mirror was simply a shell of a person she once knew. Taking a seat, she stared at the cracking flames of the fireplace and then casually glanced in the direction of the gramophone. A hardly noticeable tiny piece of paper sat under it.
Petunia hurried over to the gramophone and picked up the small piece of parchment. As she read it, she felt a shiver run through her bones.
I know what really happened.
Petunia stared back toward the drawing room door.
She started to think maybe Phillip did kill Agatha after all. Perhaps her intruder was trying to tell Petunia the truth. Bu
t who left the note, and why did he feel the need to break into her home just to deliver it?
15 A Loxley Dinner Party
Paul Watson’s Journal
February 1st, 1927, evening.—Aldous Loxley carried on a very different affair than that of his sons John, Roger and Edgar. John’s parties were more informal and unruly than anything, while Aldous catered to high society, aristocrats only. So, when I entered the Loxley drawing room, I had all but shook off the biting February air when Edgar appeared by my side.
“Glad you’re here Paul,” Edgar said.
“I’m happy to be here.”
“Here,” Edgar said as he handed me a glass of wine in one of the finest crystal glasses I had ever seen. I thanked him and tasted it. “I wager you’ve seen as much as a man at war.”
“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t allowed to enlist.”
“Yes, neither were John and Roger. Medical conditions.”
“To say that what I went through was even an ounce comparable to what you did...well...I couldn’t give myself that honor, Edgar. This situation...well this was...” I shook my head. “I don’t even know what this was.”
“It was war, Paul. And you fought with great honor. Now, how’s your wine?”
“It’s good.”
“Claret. Form Bordeaux. When you’re finished, taste the hock.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh yes. And then the champagne.”
“This certainly is different than what I’m used to.”
Edgar and I each lit a cigarette.
“My father likes to flaunt his fortune. Most men cringe at the tax on French wine, but not Father. Never Father.”
“I say, if you’re as lucky as a Loxley...”
“Luck does not run through Loxley blood. Calculated risks and manipulation perhaps, but not luck. Course’ not for me, anyway. You’d think I was a bastard.”
“Surely you don’t believe that.”
“No, I don’t,” and then more to himself he said, “But sometimes it feels that way.”
Edgar had always had a flair for the dramatic when it came to his family. I shrugged at his comment and as we stood at the back of the ballroom, I observed the small, powerful crowd.
A concoction of cigar and cigarette smoke filled the room. A pianist played a light tune on the piano, his fingertips gently gliding up and down the keys with an effortless manner any man would envy.
The rich laughs of the wealthy men dressed in their finest black tails were drowned out occasionally by the pear shaped sound of a trumpet. The women were dressed in immaculate gowns and were dowsed in sequins from their headdresses to the bottom of their shimmering dresses where the beads swung from left to right as they danced.
“That man right there,” Edgar said motioning to a man standing by the closed verandah doors who was having a rather intense conversation with Richard. “He’s going to be the biggest film director the world’s ever seen.”
“How do you know?”
“My father only invites those he believes will do great things. Those who will contribute their part to an ever-evolving society. He’s turning awfully American in that respect. But he hasn’t quite lost his English background, for he also invites those for which he wants to keep a close watch. He’s a conundrum, my father.” And then he added, “One minute he’s terribly progressive and the next he’s terribly traditional.” He over-enunciated his last words, then took a sip of his wine.
“If your father only invites certain people,” I asked, “May I ask why I received an invitation? Surely I’m not part of this ever-evolving society. I’m merely a doctor.”
Edgar gave me a tight-lipped smile and sideways glance at me before saying, “My father heard about what you’ve been through, and he’s always admired your good nature. You’re a friend, Paul Watson. We don’t need a reason to invite you.”
“Well, then I’m grateful. I should like to thank your father for inviting me.”
“And you can. Here he comes now,” Edgar said downing the rest of his drink.
Aldous hobbled across the room toward us. He was a stern looking man with a permanent furrowed brow and bushy white hair. When he reached us, Edgar said casually, “Father, you remember Paul Watson.”
“Of course, of course,” Aldous said in his smoky voice as he placed one hand on my shoulder. “It is nice to see you, Paul. You are a proper doctor now.”
“Sort of. I was a proper doctor at the asylum, but I’m not as qualified in London. I’ll be starting at Maudsley as a house physician.”
“Hmm,” Aldous said. “Well, the world does need a good doctor. I heard you’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
“Yes, I have,” I replied. “I’m sure you know the details.”
“I’ve learned bits and pieces. And I read about some of it in the newspapers. What happened to you at that asylum is most unfortunate.”
“Yes, well, the detectives I’m working with are investigating what happened.”
“Are they?” Aldous mulled over my words for a moment before saying, “I did read about Thomas Reid. Thankfully he’ll no longer be able to hurt anyone.”
“Yes. Thankfully.”
“It was a patient from the asylum who saved you, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Amy Rose.”
“She was locked in the tunnels?”
“Yes, her father sewed her mouth shut and kept her locked there.”
“Why?”
“He was mad, I presume.”
“Only a certain kind of mad would go through such lengths, Paul.”
“He was that certain kind of mad, Mr. Loxley. Of that, I have no doubt. Now he’s dead, and the world is a much safer place.”
Aldous was pensive for several seconds and then said, “How old was the girl?”
“She couldn’t have been more than twenty.”
“I read that the authorities believe this woman was just a patient...that Amy Rose Reid died in a fire with her mother years ago. But you think this is your friend, Amy Rose?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because I knew Amy Rose. When we were children, we bonded over this locket that I helped her find.”
I took the locket out of my pocket and held it in my hand for Aldous to see.
“I’m alive because of the girl in the tunnels. I carry the locket with me as a reminder of how precious life really is. And I believe it was Amy. Her giving me the locket was her way of telling me who she was.”
“That is very interesting indeed,” Aldous said, letting the words roll off his tongue slowly. “May I see it?”
“Sure.”
I handed the locket to Aldous, and he examined it carefully for several seconds.
“Hmm,” Aldous sounded and then handed the locket back to me.
It was then that Aldous’ wife Grace appeared by his side.
“Aldous, darling,” Grace interrupted in a silvery voice. “Alfred would like to speak with you for a moment.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Aldous said to Edgar and me. “Paul, I would like to continue this conversation at a later time.”
“Of course.”
“These detectives...” he continued.
“Yes, Mr. Loxley?”
“What are their names?”
“Detectives Inspector Barnes and Detective Sergeant Wicksy.”
“Ah, thank you. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
With that he limped away with the aid of his cane.
16 The Wine Cellar
Paul Watson’s Journal
February 1st, 1927, evening, continued—After Aldous walked away, Mrs. Loxley directed her attention toward me.
“Forgive me for being so rude. I’m Grace,” Mrs. Loxley said, handing me a gloved hand to kiss. I took it, and offered her a smile.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Loxley.”
“Oh yes. It is a pleasure, but please Paul, call me Grace. Have you met my daughter?
”
A beautiful girl appeared by Grace’s side. She could not have been over eighteen with brunette finger-waved hair and a sparkling gold flapper dress that accentuated her golden wheat colored eyes.
“A pleasure to meet you miss...”
“Vivian,” Grace’s daughter said shyly, extending her hand also for a kiss.
“Vivian,” I repeated with a smile. “I’m Paul Watson.”
“Yes, I know who you are,” Vivian said.
“So Paul, are you taken with someone?”
Paul hesitated.
“It’s the women that are taken with Paul, Grace,” Edgar said. “They view him as an Adonis, always falling at his feet. Of course, it’s not as terrible as you think. Paul Watson is a perfect gentleman about it.”
Suddenly, Roger appeared by our side.
“You can all relax now, as I’ve made it to the party.”
“We were worried,” Edgar mocked as he took another sip of his champagne.
“Roger,” Vivian said. “Perhaps you could introduce me to some of your friends.”
“Surely John would be more of a fit for that, wouldn’t he?” Grace said.
“John is not available at the moment. He’s taking care of something for me, but I’ll be happy to show Vivian around.” He turned to Vivian. “Come on...Vivian, let me show you how we Brits have fun.”
Grace lifted her eyebrows in disapproval as Roger and Vivian took off into the crowd. Regaining her composure, she turned to face Edgar.
“Edgar, would you be a dear and ask one of the servants to run down to the wine cellar and grab a few more bottles of champagne?”
“Of course.”
In that moment, I caught sight of Claire at the other end of the room, listening to Richard and the gentleman that Edgar deemed the “next big director.” Richard’s arms flailed about as he spoke, something he only did when he was excited, and Claire laughed along as well. Claire looked around, and when she caught sight of me, she gave me a small smile, which I returned. Then she turned back to Richard and the gentleman with whom he spoke.
“Duncan seems quite busy at the moment,” Edgar said to Grace and me. “I would hate to bother him. I’ll get the champagne.”
I needed a moment away from the throng of people, and so I said, “Edgar. Please. Allow me to get it.”
Kolney Hatch: Buried Secrets (The Secret of Kolney Hatch Book 2) Page 7
