The Happy Family Facade

by Allison Osborne

  “Miss Holmes loves any and all detail,” Joe said sheepishly. “The more, the better.”

  “Of course,” Chloe said before resuming her story. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. Perhaps Mr. Johnston was in love with me, but he has never once made a pass or flirted with me at all. He is the friendliest man I have ever met, but one day he gave me written instructions to go to the beauty parlour and cut my hair into a particular style that he had written down. I was so perplexed with this order that I argued. My hair is quite lovely, and though it did need a trim, who was he to demand that of me? Well, he became distraught and actually dropped to his knees, begging me to change my hair. It was so pathetic, Miss Holmes, that I went to the shop and got the cut he specified. When I returned to the house, Mrs. Johnston saw me and asked if Mr. Johnston had made me cut my hair in this manner, and I told her honestly that he had. She called him a fool then announced she was going to play bridge with the ladies.”

  “Does she do that often?” Irene interjected.

  “Oh yes,” Chloe said. “She goes out frequently and is very social. Bridge, the shops, picnics when the weather cooperates. I am not allowed to go out that often. Mr. Johnston says that people will gossip about the new housekeeper and it would be best for me to simply stay in the house. I had to get his permission to come in today, and he told me to put on one of my own dresses. But I am getting ahead of myself.”

  She paused to sip at her tea, and Irene looked down at Joe. He peered back at her, eyes wide in concern. He scribbled a note on the paper and nudged Irene with his elbow, but Irene was already reading his words:

  She in trouble? Call Lestrade?

  Irene felt a similar concern, but she did not think this woman was in danger. She was in a bizarre household, indeed, but not dangerous. Irene shook her head, this was not a job for DI Eddy quite yet.

  Chloe set her cup down and continued her story. “I had been employed for almost two months, at this point, but I wasn’t a housekeeper any longer. Mr. Johnston even hired another maid to take over the majority of my duties. I was joining them for every meal, walking the grounds with them, enjoying Sunday outdoor activities when the weather permitted. Mr. Johnston insisted I learn to embroider, so I sat with Mrs. Johnston and poked away until I made a flower. I was also to learn the piano and to paint.

  “Now, I forgot to mention that the Johnstons have a son called Hughie. He fought in the war and was a few years younger than me. Pictures of him are scattered about the house, but they never really mentioned him. Well, Mrs. Johnston didn’t, at least. Mr. Johnston only spoke about him a few times, but you could tell he was proud to be a father.

  “Last week, Hughie returned from holiday with his friends up north, full of glee, until he spotted me. He was hesitant to make my acquaintance, perhaps confused as to why I was seemingly part of the family, but eventually, he came to treat me as cordially as you would with any housekeeper. He seemed to bicker with Mrs. Johnston for the first few days, however, but that could’ve simply been their relationship, I’m not sure.”

  “What was Mrs. Johnston’s reaction to her son returning?” Irene asked.

  Chloe shrugged. “She didn’t seem to care either way once the bickering was finished. Hughie is lovely and kind and tries to make conversation, but he and I have different interests, and he probably feels the awkwardness of myself being forced into the family.”

  She finished her tea and set her cup down.

  “I couldn’t take it anymore, Miss Holmes,” she said, frustration and exasperation flooding her words. “As nice as the Johnston’s were, and as much as I was getting paid, I felt trapped in the house and needed to get out before winter set in, for then I would truly be stuck indoors. Now, I am not superstitious at all. I think ghosts are for children’s stories, but the air in that house was turning foul. Something was giving me chills and keeping me from sleep more and more each night.

  “Oh?” Irene perked up on the armrest, gently clutching Joe’s shoulder. She didn’t believe in ghosts either, but foul air and restlessness added even more intrigue to this already compelling tale.

  “I finally decided to give my notice,” Chloe said. “At first, I told Mr. Johnston that I would be leaving his services and he laughed and changed the subject, walking away as if he didn’t hear me. The next day, I brought up the matter again and witnessed the most peculiar scene. It was as if his heart broke right in front of me. I thought he would burst into tears at my feet. He begged me not to leave and to think about it for one more day. I agreed.

  “When we spoke the following day, he told me he wanted me to marry his son. I was completely taken aback, naturally. Hughie has been very nice to me, but has shown no romantic interest at all, nor I in him. Could that have been Mr. Johnston’s plan all along, Miss Holmes? To set me up with his son?”

  Irene shook her head. “I do not believe so. It was simply a ploy to get you to stay at the house.”

  “Then you can see my dilemma.” Chloe fidgeted with her dress. “I am at a loss for what to do. I told him that it was a kind and generous offer, but I would need some time, until which I would remain employed. I do not know how you will help me, Miss Holmes, but any kind of aid is welcome. Even just advice on how to escape this situation.”

  Irene stood and paced around the room, hands clasped behind her back. This was an odd case, indeed. This woman should simply walk away from the situation, but why was Mr. Johnston so desperate to keep Chloe at the house?

  “Do you have free reign of the estate?” Irene prodded.

  Chloe nodded. “Everywhere but the attic. It is completely sealed. I inquired once about what was stored in there and received the most jarring reaction from Mr. Johnston. He snapped at me and told me it was sealed because it was hazardous to go up there and I should not attempt to try, and if one day I should see the attic door open, to inform him immediately. I didn’t mention it again after that because I assumed there were old war memories or things that didn’t want to be remembered or bothered.”

  Irene paced again, wandering to the window and back to Joe. She leaned on the back of his chair, squeezing the fabric between her fingers.

  “Miss Flagner,” she said. “While there is no crime happening, there is manipulation and intrigue. If you shall indulge us in solving the mystery, I will figure out why Mr. Johnston is so desperate for you to stay, and then I will extricate you from this situation.”

  Chloe’s eyes widened, and she let out a great sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you, Miss Holmes. They are really a sweet family, but something isn’t right, and I feel like if I simply vanished, it would break their hearts. I don’t know if I could live with myself because of that. What do you need me to do to help?”

  Irene grinned and smacked the back of the chair in glee, startling Joe.

  “Excellent!” She crossed the room and sat right next to Chloe, capturing the lady’s full attention. “You must do exactly as I say, and you must trust that I will not put you in harm’s way. Do you understand, Miss Flagner?”

  “Of course.” Chloe shifted her body to face Irene, seemingly eager to move forward with the case.

  “You will accept his offer of marriage,” Irene said, cogs of ideas turning in her head.

  “Accept it?” Chloe drew back, panic sweeping over her face. “But, Miss Holmes–”

  Irene held her hand up, offering a smile to her. “You will not marry Hughie, trust me. All you have to do is accept. If Mr. Johnston insists you marry Hughie immediately, hold him off for as long as you can. I believe the promise of you staying will be enough to keep him subdued. Then, in a few days, I need you to break their cooker.”

  As much as Chloe seemed to trust Irene so far, at this request, the woman looked at Joe, as if asking for an explanation. Irene gave him a minute to figure out his words. Whenever an explanation was needed to bring people back to Irene’s side, Joe was always prepared and quite convincing. She knew he pulled the words out of thin air sometimes, but he still led people back t
o her side and was much gentler than the demanding attitude she usually took.

  “I know it sounds odd, Miss Flagner,” Joe began, setting his pencil in his notebook and leaning forward encouragingly. “But Miss Holmes is very experienced in this kind of work. You can trust her to do what’s best for you, I promise.”

  Irene threw Joe an approving nod and waited for Chloe to turn back to her. The woman hesitated a second longer, then nodded.

  “How shall I break the cooker?”

  “Beyond repair,” Irene replied. “At least beyond any repair Hughie or Mr. Johnston could fix. Then, you will call us.”

  “Call you?” Chloe raised a brow.

  “Yes,” Irene nodded. “You will call us under the guise of reaching a repair company to fix the cooker. We will come out and have access to the house.”

  Chloe let out an impressed noise, then nodded in understanding. “I can do that. To be honest, Miss Holmes, I was truly wondering how you were going to investigate the house when the Johnstons are so secretive.”

  She began to relax, but Irene wasn’t done with her instructions. “In those few days, however, Miss Flagner, you must be vigilant and observe as much as you can. Patterns, habits, everything. Keep a secret diary if you must. Make a floor plan of the house. We will collect it when we come to fix the cooker.”

  Irene stood, finished with Chloe and ready to start their preparation for the case. She dragged their chalkboard from the corner, flipping it from the American pin case to the blank side.

  Again, Joe came to her aid and escorted Chloe out of the flat. Irene ignored their pleasantries and barely heard the woman say a thank-you and goodbye. She waved over her shoulder before grabbing a piece of chalk.

  Irene started listing items they would need to collect for the case as Joe came to her side, sighing heavily in disapproval.

  “You could’ve at least bid her farewell,” he said.

  “That is your job,” Irene replied, grasping the chalk in her clenched fist. “This case is intriguing.”

  “I would not want to be that poor woman,” Joe said. “It sounds like Mr. Johnston is madly in love with her but can’t act upon it because of his wife.”

  Irene shook her head. “I don’t believe that it is love. Perhaps he does simply want the best for his son and decided she was the one. Either way, we will get to the bottom of it.”

  She turned and pointed the chalk at him, narrowing her eyes.

  “What do you know of cookers?”

  “Absolutely nothing.”

  “We have three days to change that.”

  Chapter II

  The Acquisition of New Equipment

  Joe rubbed his cheeks with the palms of his hands, letting out an annoyed groan in the middle of the small half-bath attached to his third-floor bedroom. The shallow three-day-old stubble covering the lower half of his face itched him to no end. Irene had told him to forgo shaving for the few days before they went out to the Johnston’s house as a way of disguising himself and making their story of repairmen believable. According to Irene, any semblance of a beard would lend more credibility to his character and make him appear a bit tougher.

  Joe gave his head a small toss out of habit, though there was no hair in his eyes. Irene had helped him slick it back, commenting more than once at how much hair he had as she tugged the strands. He looked at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing his face. A wrinkled shirt and heavy pants completed the look.

  For the first time in his life, he looked like his father.

  His three sisters had received the blonde hair and dark blue eyes from their dad, along with his personality. Joe, however, took after their mother. Tall, deep red hair, wide blue eyes, and a distracted imagination that was kept at bay by an extensive collection of novels.

  But with the beard covering his round cheeks and his hair back exposing his ears and sideburns, he saw a ginger version of his father, clear as day.

  Joe left his room and jogged down the stairs. He still had a few textbooks about cookers he had yet to finish. The reading was tedious and reminded him time and time again why he decided to work with animals instead of appliances.

  The living room was empty, as Irene had departed a few hours prior, stating something about procuring supplies for the case, leaving the morning fire dwindling. Even though Miss Hudson had recently tidied, papers and books were scattered upon every surface, and neither Joe’s nor Irene’s desk chairs were in their correct positions. The smell of Irene’s latest chemistry experiment still permeated the room, and the sour burning stench lingered in the damp air.

  Joe wandered to the window, peering outside, stalling, doing everything he could to avoid studying.

  The door behind him opened and he turned expecting to greet Irene. Instead, a teenage boy, looking no older than 18 or 19, rushed in. His brown pants were dusted in dirt, and his shirt was a tad too big, half tucked in, suspenders hanging off his shoulders. His cap was pulled down, a bit of dark hair sticking out the back.

  “Can I help you?” Joe asked, starting toward him. There was something about his face Joe couldn’t quite place, the dirt smudges making it hard to pick out his features.

  The boy didn’t answer and instead looked right at Irene’s bedroom as if that was his target.

  Panic riled up in Joe as Irene came to his mind. Was she okay? Was she in trouble?

  The boy walked away, towards Irene’s room, and Joe jumped into action. He rushed around the couch and grabbed the boy by the arm. Using all his strength, he threw the boy toward the door. The boy grunted and stumbled into the wall, and Joe stepped in front of him, blocking his path back into the flat.

  “Who are you? Where is–”

  As he looked into the young man’s dark brown eyes, realization washed over him like a cold wave of water. There were slight flecks of gold on the outer iris’s of the boy’s eyes, and a mischievous and dangerous twinkle, a combination Joe had only witnessed in one person.

  “Dammit, Irene,” Joe said, blowing out a breath, not even trying to curtail the cuss word. “What were you thinking? I almost threw you down the stairs.”

  Irene took her hat off, brown curls piled atop her head, secured with pins. She pouted for a second, then folded her arms across her chest.

  “How did you recognize me?”

  Joe leaned on the couch, heart racing, adrenaline still surging through him. “What?”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  Still a bit taken back, Joe motioned to her face. “Your eyes. I’d know your eyes anywhere.”

  She seemed to accept this answer and smiled at him. Joe finally got a good look at her disguise and found it remarkable. Irene appeared as a teenage boy, the clothes she wore hiding all her curves and the fact that she was a woman.

  “How?” Joe didn’t realize he was asking the question out loud. “Where did...all of you go?”

  His face immediately grew hot with embarrassment, and he worked his jaw, trying to figure out a way to retract the sentence.

  Irene simply winked at him. “A woman never reveals her secrets. Though, I will say I am wrapped tighter than a corset and breathing is not ideal...”

  She trailed off in thought and skipped away to her bedroom, leaving the door open and standing in front of her floor-length mirror, admiring her outfit. Joe watched her for a moment as she twisted and turned, mumbling under her breath.

  He wandered to the bedroom door, leaning on the frame. Her bedroom was messy, as always. A few heavy trunks sat ajar full of textbooks and essays, her vanity was scattered with lipstick tubes and other make-up products. Even her closet sat open, clothing dangling from their hangers.

  “That was not a nice thing to do to me.” Joe pulled his eyes from the mess.

  “I needed to test my disguise on someone who might recognize me,” Irene shrugged. “And it worked. Though I didn’t realize you had that much strength. Perhaps that beard is doing you some good.”

  She turned to him and smiled in such a
mischievous way that Joe shook his head before the idea could even come out of her mouth.

  “Whatever you’re planning...”

  He trailed off, knowing he couldn’t stop her even if he wanted to. “What are you thinking?”

  “Do you think Eddy will recognize me?”

  A grin spread over Joe’s own face. He had become good friends with DI Lestrade over the past five months and had gotten used to his long-suffering demeanour, especially when it came to Irene. He acted like her older brother, chiding her for pushing boundaries, yet looking out for her should she get in over her head.

  Since moving into the same flat, however, the title of caretaker had been passed to Joe, and while Joe didn’t mind it in the least, sometimes it was a full-time job keeping Irene out of trouble.

  Right now, though, a little practical joke on the detective inspector sounded like the perfect way to jumpstart this case.

  * * * * *

  Joe leaned back against the table in the small interview room at Scotland Yard, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Perhaps this was a bad idea,” he muttered.

  Irene paced in front of him, heavy boots thumping on the cement floor with every step.

  “Eddy has something we need,” she said. “I also want to–”

  The door opened, and Lestrade strode in. The poor man looked like he had a million things on his mind. He blew out a breath, taking a quick moment to relax.

  “You got five minutes, unfortunately,” he announced. “Sorry, Joe. We just got a whole group of over-eager constables, and we need to train all the war out of them before we put them on the streets.”

  Joe instantly felt guilty for this joke. Clearly, poor Lestrade was frazzled and didn’t need this stress today. He noticed Joe’s appearance and raised a brow. “You changing up your look? It suits you.”

  He noticed Irene standing beside Joe, and he pointed to her.

  “Who is this?” Lestrade asked. “Is this a suspect? Did Irene send you down here with him?”

  Joe stumbled over his words, wishing Irene would simply give up the joke. A small smirk fell across her lips.