The Secrets of Tenley House

by Patricia Dixon

  Phyllis was a pragmatist and as the years passed, knew time was running out and in her opinion, the chance of anyone taking a liking to her son, apart from his bank balance, was becoming a huge stretch of the imagination. After compiling a mental list of ‘potentials’, Phyllis eventually settled on the perfect victim, the daughter of one of her bridge partners and a well-respected canon. And to add value, the young lady named Daphne had recently returned from finishing school. She was perfect.

  On first inspection, Phyllis determined that Daphne wasn’t ugly – she had her down as plain. And this simplicity could also be appropriated to her personality because while intelligent, Daphne was neither funny nor interesting, or interested in anything other than literature and embroidery, and butterflies. She was mild-mannered, lacking in opinion and never impertinent, easily subjugated, in fact. Since childhood, Daphne had allowed her parents to take full control of her life. Now it was Phyllis’s turn.

  And whilst Daphne being Daphne might have otherwise hindered her chances of wedded union, Phyllis saw Daphne’s marriage to Kenneth as a mutually beneficial situation. Phyllis could not bear to end her days living in some home for gentlefolk or a dismal property on the estate with only servants and memories for company. So gaining a dutiful and grateful daughter-in-law meant that she would never be cast out to pasture by a wicked, wilful wife. Daphne didn’t have it in her. The plan had been sound and Phyllis considered her future at Tenley to be secure. Either way, she intended to remain in her rightful place, by her son’s side and holding tightly to the reins.

  The clock struck one and Phyllis rang the bell for tea. Thanks to Kenneth, luncheon had been ruined by his announcement, just as Cookie brought in the main course and Phyllis was feeling peckish. She was still livid but would have to admit defeat, however, all was not lost. The blasted illegitimate that was soon to poison their line had not yet been found and even when they did bring it home, Phyllis was determined to make life hell, not just for Kenneth and Daphne, but for the thing itself.

  Part II

  Vanessa

  Chubby hands pounded on the door while the drawing that she’d made especially for Mummy was crumpled and sodden, the colourful stick figures blurred and almost indecipherable. Earlier confusion had been replaced by hysteria which had taken a firm grip as Vanessa cried and begged for someone to come.

  Why couldn’t they hear? Where was Daddy? She’d looked for him before she came downstairs but he wasn’t in bed so perhaps he was still cross and hadn’t come home. After searching for him in the study and the kitchen, where she helped herself to one of the morning rolls that Cookie had left out, Vanessa decided to give up looking for Daddy and find Mummy instead.

  Vanessa had known exactly where she would be, in the pool taking her morning swim so that’s where she had headed. In her hand she held her drawing; the one that she hoped would make up for her bad behaviour the evening before. The door to the swimming pool had to remain closed and Vanessa was forbidden to go there without a grown up. She loved her lessons with Mummy who would teach her how to doggy paddle and splash about with the float, but best of all was when they pretended to be mermaids. It was their special time together, just the two of them. The door was quite heavy and to get it to open you had to pull hard on the handle which was high up. It took two or three big jumps before Vanessa managed to grip on and push in unison but eventually it swung open. It was dreary outside so the lights were on, and the rain battered the orangery roof as windblown trees tapped on the glass. As the door slammed shut behind her, Vanessa’s eyes searched the pool for her mother, clasping her picture and reciting her apology.

  Vanessa hadn’t meant to snap Mummy’s pearls, not really. It was all Granny’s fault for saying those horrid things. Vanessa wasn’t sure what all of the words meant but she knew they were bad because they made her feel angry inside and made Mummy cry. She hated already the baby that Mummy had in her tummy but she hated her nasty granny so much more. She made everyone in the house so miserable all of the time.

  Exhausted from crying and screaming and banging, Vanessa hiccupped and caught her breath before wiping tears and goo from her eyes and face. Her nightie was soggy, a mixture of blood and water after kneeling by the poolside where she had begged Mummy to wake up. Why didn’t Mummy wake up? She had to see her drawing and the word saying sorry. Vanessa had written it in her favourite colour, pink, and was sure that once Mummy saw it she would feel bad for smacking her legs and refusing to buy her a pony. Vanessa wanted to be forgiven and then they could be friends again because Mummy had said horrible things too. Vanessa wasn’t wicked and jealous. She was frightened that once the new baby came, they would obey Granny and send her away because everyone would like the real baby more than her.

  It was very cold in the pool room and the tiles on the floor were beginning to numb Vanessa’s bare feet that were streaked with blood and had left tiny footprints leading back to the cause of her distress. Shivering, her plump body slumped to the floor as Vanessa sobbed in between crying out for help, her eyes steadfastly averted from the pool and her mother’s floating body. Still, no matter how much noise she made, nobody came. Her tummy rumbled and her teeth chattered while the cruel words of a spiteful old woman rang in her ears.

  The previous evening, before Vanessa cried herself to sleep she had gone over and over what Granny had said as she listened at the door of the sitting room, her dark eyes wide with horror and a heart filled with hurt. And then later, Mummy lost her temper and then Daddy shouted at everyone before marching off and shooting down the drive in his car. What if Mummy never woke up and Daddy didn’t come home? Granny didn’t love Vanessa and would have her sent away forever. Vanessa knew that for sure.

  Vanessa’s parents had been out for the afternoon and on their return, the six-year-old noticed that her mummy’s face was flushed and they both seemed excited and full of joy. It was a hot, sunny July day so when Daddy rang the bell and asked Cookie to prepare a special celebration tea, he suggested it should be served outside on the terrace. Here, over jammy wheels and crumpets they told their much loved adopted daughter that soon she would be receiving a wonderful surprise – the gift of a baby brother or sister who she would have to take very good care of. Apparently it was a special job that only Vanessa could be trusted with. She would be seven when it arrived and therefore could help Mummy with lots and lots of things.

  Daphne could barely contain herself as she gently pushed a lock of curly raven hair from Vanessa’s forehead. “So, darling, are you excited? The four of us are going to have so much fun together. We will be a proper little family. Tell me, what would you prefer, a baby brother or sister? It’s going to be such a surprise when they arrive, don’t you think?”

  There were so many questions, far too many for a child to process. Are you happy, excited, brother, sister, what would you like? Despite her parents’ glee, Vanessa felt rather disappointed so instead decided to tell the truth, just as she had been taught. She knew the answer straight away so before biting into a cream bun, her face brightened and she replied with enthusiasm.

  “I don’t really care for babies, Mummy. Mabel from school has one and she says it cries all the time and smells terribly so if you don’t mind, could we swap it for a pony?” Vanessa smiled hopefully, relieved to have delivered a nice simple answer that should keep them happy while she ate up.

  Kenneth laughed nervously and ruffled Vanessa’s hair, rolling his eyes at Daphne who was doing her best to recover from disappointment but once she’d gathered her wits, ploughed courageously on.

  “Now, now, Vanessa, you don’t mean that. Everyone longs for a brother or sister. I know I did when I was your age. I grew up quite alone so I don’t wish that for you. I understand this is a big change but please don’t feel jealous because Mummy and Daddy have lots and lots of love to go around. You are always our special big girl.” On realising what she’d said, Daphne caught her breath slightly, the faux pas causing both Vanessa and Kenneth to widen the
ir eyes.

  Kenneth interjected before a tantrum occurred. “What Mummy means is that even when the baby comes we will love you both, do you understand, sweetpea?” Kenneth was becoming impatient, spotting the tears welling in Daphne’s eyes and disconcerted by the unenthusiastic response from their daughter. They thought she’d be so pleased and mirror their own excitement at such unexpected news.

  “Yes, Daddy, I understand but I really would like a pony, a Welsh, just like Jemima’s, and I’m going to call it Twinkle Feet.” Vanessa was used to making demands so waited for her wish to be granted, filling the silence with another jammy wheel.

  Daphne blinked back tears and took a deep breath. “Well, darling, we have oodles of time before your brother or sister arrives so perhaps we can talk about ponies and the new baby tomorrow, when we’ve all got over the surprise and had a nice sleep. Now, go upstairs and wash your hands while we speak with Granny, and no more buns, I think you’ve had quite enough. Daddy can tell Cookie to come and clear away.” Daphne, struggling to keep her temper, stood, smoothed down her skirt, and almost ran from the terrace, leaving Kenneth to kiss their daughter on the head before following his wife.

  Unperturbed by their departure or the fact that her mother sounded cross, Vanessa took the last bun from the plate along with two jammy wheels and placed them in the pocket of her pinny. She would hide them in her bedside drawer before obediently heading to the bathroom to wash her sticky hands.

  Inside their bedroom with the door firmly shut, Daphne wrung her hands as she stared out of the window, tears coursing down her cheeks, the day ruined already. Dark storm clouds were coming in from the east and the dulling of such a bright and glorious day did nothing to help her plummeting mood. Vanessa’s reaction had rocked her, naively expecting their daughter to feel the same as she, as them. When Kenneth entered the room, he wrapped her in comforting arms, making shushing noises and promises that Vanessa would come round eventually. Surely she wasn’t the first child to behave this way and after all, perhaps they should make allowances, take circumstances into consideration before they judged her harshly.

  After Daphne announced she was far too overwrought to face Phyllis, Kenneth suggested she had a lie down before dinner where they would announce their news once they were fresh and rested. Brightening somewhat at the thought of finally pleasing The Cuckoo, Daphne agreed and kissed her wise and wonderful husband on the cheek, stroking his hair fondly before moving away, pulling back the sheets and laying her weary body on the bed.

  While Kenneth read the paper that was full of the Apollo 11 landings and the mounting unrest in Northern Ireland, he kept an eye on Daphne who fell quickly into an exhausted sleep. She was a dear, sweet thing and he hoped that the birth of their child would be a reward for both her patience and unwitting collusion in his lie. He owed her this, a chance to feel fulfilled if only in motherhood.

  On waking, Daphne did appear somewhat brighter as she dressed for dinner, wearing her favourite dress and a splash of lipstick. After kissing Vanessa goodnight and with a spring in their step, hand in hand they headed downstairs for an audience with Phyllis.

  Kenneth knocked back the triple whisky in his tumbler and tried to ignore the grating voice of his mother who was having a field day, somehow managing to heap further misery on what should have been such a happy day. Poor Daphne was at the end of her tether and his heart felt sad for her and ashamed at his own impotence, not in the physical sense as he had since proved himself a man. But in the face of his mother, he remained characteristically weak. The thing was, once Phyllis was in full swing there was just no stopping her.

  “So you finally managed it! Bravo. I must say, Kenneth, I really didn’t think you had it in you. Maybe you’re not the gaylord of the parish after all.” Phyllis sipped her sherry through pursed lips, her eyes revealing a hint of pleasure, her voice laced with sarcasm.

  Daphne sighed, exasperated. “Phyllis, please. Can we not have one moment of happiness? We so wanted to share our joy with you on this very special day and now you are ruining everything with your habitual nasty comments. Kenneth is your son and sometimes I cannot believe how cruel you can be towards him.” Daphne, who had been seated on the sofa opposite Phyllis, stood, her hands grasped tightly together to prevent them shaking or, as she had been told by The Cuckoo so many times, wringing them in such a pathetic and irritating manner.

  Kenneth, both surprised by Daphne’s uncharacteristic outburst and admiring of her defence of him, came swiftly to her aid and placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. He was concerned for their unborn child and his wife who, if he knew anything about his mother, was due for a dressing down. Nobody ever stood up to Phyllis. Kenneth’s fears were well founded when in an imperious tone, his mother responded.

  “How dare you speak to me in that manner in my own home? What I say to my son has nothing to do with you so I would remind you to know your place and refrain from making such piteous observations.” Phyllis would not tolerate being spoken to in that way, especially by Daphne. It irked Phyllis greatly to accept that the vicar’s daughter had been a poor choice where matters of procreation were concerned but until recently and for the most part, Daphne had remained manageable and servile.

  Daphne, in the meantime, felt slightly unhinged. The contrast of emotions she had experienced since their appointment with the doctor were beginning to take their toll, and after almost ten years of tiptoeing around Phyllis, Daphne’s brain, quite frankly had had enough.

  “And I would remind you, Phyllis, that contrary to your belief, Kenneth is master of this house and I demand that from now on, especially in front of our children, you show him respect and gratitude because if it were not for him you would be living alone on the edge of the estate or if I had my way, the edge of the county.” On saying the words, Daphne gasped, quite shocked by her own admission and that her silent thoughts had escaped.

  As one shaking hand flew upwards and covered her lips, Daphne’s high-pitched and almost hysterical voice was accompanied by shushing noises from Kenneth as his arm tightened around her shoulder. Daphne was unsure if this gesture was giving or receiving comfort but one thing she did know was that rather than silencing Phyllis, she had simply enraged her.

  The Cuckoo didn’t speak immediately. Daphne noted the draining of colour from the old woman’s pinched and lined face, the white-grey pallor of shock quickly replaced by two spots of red hot anger.

  Phyllis observed the two contemptible specimens before her, tapping her cane rhythmically, marking time with the beat of her raging heart. When she deigned to reply, her voice scathing, a look of pure disgust etched upon her face, cruel words cut through the air like a knife, piercing the panelled oak door and reaching the little ears listening attentively on the other side.

  “Our children? You may refer to that worthless creature you saddled us with in any manner you so wish, however, I will never accept the monstrous lump of sullied flesh as my own, now or ever. You infested this house with a rejected abomination that you found in a home for whores and for that reason alone, I refuse to acknowledge her, do you understand?” Phyllis looked from one to the other and once she was satisfied both were sufficiently silenced, continued, pointing her bony finger at Daphne’s stomach but addressing her horrified son.

  “And as for the one you have miraculously conceived, had it not been for the fact that no other man would look twice at Daphne, I can only presume its parentage is assured. Therefore I suggest we rid ourselves of that which is rendered unnecessary and pack Vanessa off to boarding school the minute she turns seven. The sooner she is gone the better, and I for one can forget she ever existed, a notion I am sure appealed to others before me.”

  The silence in the room enveloped all of them. It was as though time stood still, suspended in a ball of pure shock once the words impacted. Only the ticking clock could be heard.

  Before the sob escaped, it appeared to catch in Daphne’s throat causing her to choke somewhat before the full force
of her anguish was unleashed upon the room. Her once-nervous hands had ceased their wringing and were now clutched to neck and mouth as she fled. It was as Daphne reached the door that something stirred within her. Rage, repugnance, wretchedness, but whatever it was spilled forth and somehow, through eyes awash with tears and with a body trembling so badly she required the support of the wall, she managed to reply.

  “You wicked, wicked woman. Never in my life have I heard something so abjectly offensive. You are poisonous and despicable and I refuse to bring our children up in the company of someone so callous. We will relocate to the London house immediately and before you make one of your manipulative threats, be assured that I would rather live in poverty than spend one more second with you, so do your worst. Mark my words, Phyllis, I would rather die than ever have to look upon your spiteful face or hear your heartless words again. Goodbye.”

  As Daphne stormed from the room and slammed the door shut behind her, little feet raced ahead, taking the stairs two at a time, horrified and frightened by the commotion yet filled with hate for her horrid, horrid Granny.

  Vanessa ran through the first door she came to, her parents’ suite, and then into the dressing room where she jumped upon the Queen Anne chair that her mummy used when she made herself look pretty. Hidden from view, crunched into a ball, Vanessa heard Daphne enter the room, sobbing loudly, followed shortly after by Kenneth who did his best to soothe his disconsolate wife.