Foxden Hotel (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 5)

by Madalyn Morgan

  The last thing he wanted to do was leave Bess, but he needed to attend to the new arrivals, make sure the kitchen was prepared to feed eight extra people at dinner - none of whom had been in the hotel at lunchtime when everyone else had ordered their evening meal, and, more importantly, he needed to speak to Henry.

  Arriving downstairs Frank acknowledged Jack, who was on reception with Maeve. ‘I didn’t realise you were on duty today?’

  ‘I’m not officially, sir, until tonight.’

  ‘I rang Jack and asked him to come in early,’ Maeve said. ‘I thought if he was here and you or Mrs Donnelly needed anything, I’d be on hand… I’ll leave when the guests go into dinner.’ Maeve looked anxiously at Frank.

  ‘She’s sleeping,’ Frank said. ‘I need to check everything’s okay in the kitchen, make sure the dining room’s ready for tonight, bring some wine up from the cellar, and take the float to the bar. Is Simon here yet?’

  ‘Just arrived.’

  ‘Right. I’ll do his float first.’ Frank went into the office, appearing minutes later with bags of change for the till in the public bar.

  When Frank had finished in the kitchen he took a tray through to Maeve on reception. ‘Would you take this up to Bess? She probably won’t want to come down for dinner. She hasn’t eaten all day, so if you could get her to eat this soup and bread, it would be something. If she refuses, I’m sure she’ll enjoy a cup of tea.’

  Frank left the tray with Maeve and set off to the cellar to choose a small selection of wines. Not many guests had wine with their evening meal, but Frank liked a variety of wines in the rack, in case. Besides which, he needed to keep busy.

  Maeve took the tray up to Bess and Frank’s rooms and gently knocked on the bedroom door. ‘It’s Maeve, Mrs Donnelly. Are you awake?’

  ‘Yes, Maeve. Come in.’ Bess called.

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, but Mr Donnelly thought you might like some soup.’ Maeve set the tray down on the dressing table.

  ‘He is a dear, but I’m not hungry. I’d love a cup of tea though,’ Bess said, seeing the teapot and smiling. ‘But there’s only one cup. Aren’t you going to join me?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I’ve not long had my break.’

  Bess pushed herself up into a sitting position and accepted the hot drink that Maeve had poured. ‘I needed that,’ she said, after taking several sips. ‘I suppose you heard what went on in the office?’

  The receptionist’s cheeks flushed pink. ‘I wasn’t listening, but I did hear the odd word.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. I don’t mind you knowing what that bloody man said, but I hope none of the guests heard.’

  ‘There weren’t any guests around at the time. And to be honest, it was only when you gave Sergeant McGann a good telling off that your voice was loud enough to hear in reception.’

  Bess couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I did tell the little b off, didn’t I?’

  ‘From what I could hear it was no more than he deserved. He’s a horrible man. I’ve a young brother in Ireland who would knock him down a peg or two. He’d soon wipe that smug grin off his face.’ Both women laughed. ‘That’s better,’ Maeve said. ‘You’re too good for the likes of him to bring you low. Right! I’d better go and let you get some rest.’

  ‘I’ve rested for long enough. You don’t have to go, not if you don’t want to.’ Bess craned her neck and looked out of the window. ‘The afternoon light is fading, so I must have slept. And your shift ended some time ago,’ she said, concerned that she was delaying Maeve. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being selfish. You get off home.’

  ‘I have nothing that will spoil at the vicarage. Mrs Sykes was taking Nancy to a school friend’s birthday party this afternoon and picking her up this evening. She’ll be in her bed by the time I get home, so I’ve nothing to rush back for. Would you like more tea?’

  ‘Yes please. I feel mean enjoying my tea when you haven’t got a cup.’

  ‘I don’t want tea, but if you’d like me to stay a while, I’d be happy to.’

  ‘Thank you, Maeve, I would,’ Bess said, tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Argh!’ she clenched her fists, trying her hardest not to give in to tears that she was powerless to stop. ‘I’m silly letting that awful man upset me like this,’ she cried. ‘It’s just that he kept on and on about the man who drowned in the lake.

  ‘He knew the man who caused the trouble on New Year’s Eve, David Sutherland, had threatened me, and that Frank had hit him. McGann quoted the exact words that Frank had said to warn Sutherland off. He said a witness had told him that Frank had threatened to kill Sutherland.’ Bess let out a long breath. ‘The problem is, Frank did say he’d kill him. But he only said it because Sutherland provoked him. Frank would never have done it. McGann’s so-called witness had taken what Frank said completely out of context. Of course you know all this because you were there.’

  Maeve nodded.

  Bess took her handkerchief from beneath her pillow and dried her eyes. ‘McGann kept asking me how long I’d known Sutherland, and if I’d had a relationship with him when I lived in London. He asked me over and over again. He didn’t stop until I broke down and admitted that I had known David Sutherland in London.’ Maeve gasped. ‘No, no,’ Bess said, ‘not in that way.’

  Bess couldn’t let this kind, decent woman think that she had wanted to be with David Sutherland. ‘I didn’t have a relationship with that vile man.’ Bess looked squarely into Maeve’s face. Dare she tell her what Sutherland had done to her? She ached to share the secret that had been the source of her nightmares for so many years. She was desperate to talk to someone about the pain she lived with. A pain that was as raw today as it had been ten years ago. But more than that, Bess wanted someone other than Sergeant McGann to know what David Sutherland had done to her. She took a calming breath. ‘He raped me,’ she said.

  Maeve held Bess’s hands in hers. ‘I am sorry. So very sorry.’

  ‘I hope you don’t think badly of me, Maeve?’

  ‘Why would I think badly of you? Men like Sutherland, wicked men, bullies, take what they want from women--’

  ‘Sutherland did that all right. And I wasn’t the only woman he took from and ruined.’ Maeve gave Bess an enquiring look, but Bess shook her head. ‘It’s a heart-breaking story, but it isn’t mine to tell.’ Maeve nodded, accepting Bess’s decision to keep a confidence.

  ‘It’s because of Sutherland that I can’t have children. Poor Frank, he wanted children so much, we both did.’ Tears fell silently from Bess’s eyes. ‘As soon as we were married we began trying for a family. When it didn’t happen, I knew something must be wrong. We’d been married more than two years when I went to see our family doctor. He asked me a lot of questions and afterwards said that he could see no reason why I hadn’t conceived. Trying too hard and worrying about it can stop a woman from conceiving, he said, and told me to go home, relax, and enjoy my husband.’

  Bess took a long deep breath. ‘It was then that I told him that I’d been raped. He was the first person I’d told since Frank.’ A loving smile spread across Bess’s face. ‘I told Frank when he asked me to marry him. I thought it was right that he should know. Most men have an idealistic view of the woman they marry. A single woman walking down the aisle in white illustrates to her husband, and to the world, that she’s a virgin - and I wasn’t.

  ‘I also thought that telling Frank before we announced our engagement would give him a moral excuse to back out of the marriage proposal.’

  ‘But he didn’t take it,’ Maeve said.

  ‘No, he didn’t.’ Bess felt the fine wings of butterflies stirring in her stomach. ‘And I love him for that. But sometimes, when I see him with Aimee, or with children staying at the hotel - and that bloody pony,’ Bess said, laughing in spite of herself - ‘I wonder if he now regrets his decision.’ Bess dried her eyes. ‘Anyway, the doctor first thought my problem was psychological, but I knew it wasn’t. The following day I had an internal examination, after which I
was told that due to the amount of damage that had been done, I would probably never conceive.’

  ‘Do your sisters know?’ Maeve asked.

  ‘I told Margot when she told me about a friend of hers. I don’t want to break a confidence, but a talented young dancer at the theatre where she worked was beaten up by David Sutherland.’ Maeve dropped her gaze and slowly shook her head. ‘I know it’s a huge coincidence, but it’s true. Sutherland almost killed her.

  ‘I didn’t tell Ena or Claire, I thought they were too young at the time.’ Bess flicked her hair back. ‘I was training to be a teacher and living in London when it happened.’

  ‘Was Mrs Burrell in London then?’

  ‘No, I was there three years before the war, at a teacher training college. I came back in September thirty-nine, when the children in the school where I taught were evacuated. Margot moved to London the year after to be with Bill. He was a motorcycle courier with the MoD by day and a volunteer ambulance driver in the evenings. By then I was turning the Foxden Estate into farmland with half-a-dozen Land Girls.’ Bess sighed thoughtfully and looked into the middle distance. ‘It feels like a very long time ago.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Bess had her hand poised on the handle of the kitchen door. She had abandoned her duties for long enough and had decided when Maeve left it was time she went back to work. First on her list of jobs was to look in on Chef and the kitchen staff. A daily ritual to make sure they had everything they needed.

  ‘Mrs Donnelly? Telephone for you,’ Maeve called.

  The kitchen would have to wait. Bess turned, let her shoulders sag in an exaggerated fashion, and walking across the hall pointed to the office.

  Maeve beamed her a smile. ‘Mr Burrell,’ she whispered.

  ‘News of Margot and the baby?’ Bess dashed into the office, picked up the phone and waited until she heard the dull click of the main telephone on the reception desk. ‘Bill?’

  ‘Hello Bess. I thought I’d better let you know that both my girls are doing well, and you can visit them tomorrow. Visiting hours are from two until four. The hospital only allows two visitors in at a time - and for the first few days it’s only for an hour.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to see them. Shall I come in at three o’clock? Give you some time on your own with Margot and the baby first?’

  ‘Yes. Good idea. See you tomorrow.’

  Bess heard the pips. ‘Give them my love,’ she shouted, but the phone went dead. Replacing the receiver on the cradle of the telephone, Bess relaxed back in her chair. She was just going to get up and return to the kitchen, when there was a tap at the door and Maeve’s head appeared.

  ‘I’m off now, Mrs Donnelly,’ Maeve said, already wearing her coat and hat. ‘But I just wanted to give you this.’ She crossed the room to Bess’s desk and placed a scrap of paper with a telephone number on it. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being forward, and I know you see me every day, but if you ever need to talk when I’m not on duty, you can reach me on that number.’

  ‘Thank you, Maeve. And thank you for spending time with me earlier. I appreciate it.’ Bess looked at the office clock. ‘Oh dear, you really are going to be late now.’

  Maeve flicked the suggestion away with her hand. ‘I’ll be off then. Good night.’

  ‘Good night, dear. Oh, Maeve?’ Maeve turned and looked over her shoulder. ‘I won’t keep you a second. During the time that you have worked here we’ve become friends - and today I have entrusted you with my most private, most personal, secret.’

  ‘I won’t tell a soul, Mrs Donnelly,’ Maeve closed the door. ‘What you told me today stays between us. I would never divulge a confidence, never! I give you my word.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t, Maeve. You misunderstand me.’ Bess felt embarrassment flush on her cheeks. ‘What I’m trying to say is, because we are friends I should like you to call me Bess.’

  A kind but serious expression crossed Maeve’s face and she thought for a moment. ‘I’m honoured that you trust me. And I should like very much to be your friend. But when I’m working with Jack it wouldn’t be fair for me to call you by your Christian name when he, quite rightly, has to call you by your married name. He’s young and might see it as favouritism. I would also prefer to call you Mrs Donnelly in front of the guests. Let them see the moment they walk into the Foxden Hotel that it is a professional establishment.’

  Maeve gave Bess an endearing smile. ‘Good night, Mrs Donnelly, I’ll see you in the morning.’

  The more Bess got to know Maeve O’Leary the more she liked her. She was right of course, it was best to be professional while they were at work. She was right about Jack, too. He was charming, hardworking, and the guests liked him, but he was young. It definitely wouldn’t be fair on him if Maeve called her by her Christian name.

  Bess left the office. ‘Everything all right, Jack?’ she asked, in the casual manner that she used when talking to Maeve.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Donnelly.’

  ‘If anyone wants me, I’ll be in the kitchen, and then the dining room. Oh, and if anyone telephones and asks to speak to me, would you take their telephone number and a message, and tell them I’ll call them back as soon as I am free.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Donnelly.’ Jack straightened up and stood with his shoulders back, as if he was on parade. He looked smart in the jacket Frank bought him to wear on reception. He was a good looking boy with a welcoming smile. He deserved his recent promotion to assistant receptionist from day porter, which had been his job since the hotel opened.

  Bess knew she and Frank were lucky to have the staff they had working for them and was counting her blessings as she approached the kitchen.

  Shouting brought her to a halt. Instead of opening the door, Bess stood in the passageway between the restaurant and the kitchen and listened. The chef, his voice usually high and slightly effeminate, had taken on a deep, masculine tone. ‘How dare you speak about Mrs Donnelly like that?’

  ‘You didn’t hear what she said after Sergeant McGann left - after he had interviewed her. I did,’ a woman boasted.

  ‘What did she say? Go on, Joan, tell us?’ a younger woman asked.

  ‘“He knows, Frank,” she said to that nice husband of hers, “McGann knows.”’

  ‘Well I never!’ the second woman exclaimed. ‘Was she saying the police knew she’d killed the bloke they found in the lake, then?’

  ‘Sounded like it. I thought it was her all along,’ the woman called Joan said.

  ‘Mrs Sharp? Hold your tongue and keep your opinions to yourself,’ the chef shouted. ‘I will not have malicious gossip in my kitchen!’

  ‘I was only saying…’

  ‘Then say it in your own time. Better still, don’t say it at all,’ he bellowed, ‘Get out and don’t come back!’

  ‘You can’t sack me!’ Joan Sharp spat. ‘I’ll report you to Mrs--’

  ‘Donnelly?’ the chef said, with irony. ‘And tell her what? That you think she is a murderer? Now go!’ the chef hollered.

  At that moment the door opened and Bess ducked to dodge a flying plate. ‘What on earth is going on?’ she shouted to the chef who, with his arm still raised, stood open mouthed on the opposite side of the kitchen.

  ‘I think you had better leave,’ Bess said to Joan Sharp, who had side-stepped the chef’s missile and, struggling to stand up, had fallen sideways into Bess.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Donnelly.’ Bess raised her eyebrows. ‘I weren’t saying you did kill that man,’ Joan Sharp fawned.

  ‘Of course you were, Mrs Sharp.’ Bess held the door open for her. ‘You were saying exactly that. You overheard a small part of a conversation between my husband and me, put two and two together and came up with five.’ Joan Sharp looked daggers at the chef, hung her head, and manoeuvred her stout form past Bess and out of the kitchen.

  ‘I am sorry about the plate,’ the chef said, picking up the broken pieces at Bess’s feet. ‘I did not intend it to hit Joan--
- Mrs Sharp, or you.’

  ‘Well that’s all right then,’ Bess said, unable to keep sarcasm out of her voice. ‘But accidents happen, and if you had hit Mrs Sharp the hotel would have been a chef short tonight, because you’d be in a police cell - and I would have a law suit on my hands.’

  Bess gave the chef time to digest the implications of his actions before saying, ‘Are you calm enough to carry on with your work, or shall I take over?’

  ‘No!’ Red-faced, Chef’s fat cheeks wobbled and the sagging skin around his jowls and chin quivered. ‘With all due respect, Mrs Donnelly, you are not, not…’

  ‘Capable?’ Bess offered.

  ‘Qualified,’ the chef said. He clasped his hands in front of his considerable paunch and, leaning his head on one side, gave Bess a self-satisfied grin.

  Bess looked at the chef and her insides groaned. It had been a day of extreme emotions. From joyous to distressing, followed by an outpouring of feelings. And although she had slept for a short time during the afternoon, she was tired and her nerves were frazzled. But if she was going to get this damn man back to work, Bess knew she would have to play his game.

  ‘No, I am not qualified. And between you and me,’ she whispered, ‘I am not even a very good cook. But, Chef, it is my intention to give the guests in my hotel the dinner they are expecting tonight. So, someone has to clap their hands and shout, “Come people! Back to work!” And that I could do!’ Bess looked sternly at the fifty-year-old man who, if anyone upset him in his kitchen, reverted to being a belligerent child, and waited for him to decide whether he was going to work or throw another tantrum.

  ‘Mrs Donnelly?’

  ‘Chef?’

  ‘If you will excuse me,’ he said, with a courteous nod, ‘I have work to do.’

  ‘Of course, Chef.’ As she closed the door on the hot kitchen, Bess heard the chef clap his hands and shout the familiar words that the kitchen staff both admired and ridiculed him for, ‘Come people! Back to work!’