The Secrets of Palmerston House

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “Where’d you think you be going?” The man spun around and grabbed for Harry, who ducked and scampered past. Fear drove Harry toward the pond then around it but his pursuer was catching him.

  With a flick of his wrist he tossed the key into the shallows. He’d come back for it. His feet slipped on the softer ground around the edge of the pond and he scrambled for higher ground. Straight into Eoin Ryan’s fist.

  ***

  In bed, Bernie crossed his arms behind his head, eyes on the ceiling. Was the key still in the pond, or had Harry come back for it? The diary mentioned Eoin Ryan warning him to stay off the property or face prosecution. Then some self-pitying speech about his bad luck. The final entry a week later referred to obtaining rope long enough to climb down to the cave entrance.

  And then you died. Or gave up. He’d probably taken his final breath as an old, lonely and bitter man somewhere miles from River’s End. Beaten by the Ryan family and his own lack of pride. No guts. First he wagered the family home and then he simply walked away.

  Bernie closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be busy. First, a visit to Senior Constable Sibbritt to sort out his good name. Then, another visit to the cliff. And once it was dark, his search for the key would continue.

  ***

  Hand in hand, Martin and Christie wandered across the meadow to the house, pausing for a kiss, or a moment to look at the sea. The air was cool but still pleasant in spite of the hour. They’d walked up the hill talking about the revelations after dinner.

  “Have you met this Bernie Cooper?” Martin asked.

  “Nope. I’ve seen him from a distance on the beach. Taking photos.”

  “Of the sea?”

  “Actually, no. Of the cliff face. He was at the far end of the jetty with some huge lens pointing to this end of the beach.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Now you sound like Thomas.”

  “Thomas has formed an opinion of him.”

  “And Trev wants to speak with him. Wonder what about?”

  “None of our business, sweetheart.”

  “But—”

  “Christie.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Martin unlocked and opened the sliding door. Randall rushed out, tail plumed high in excitement. He followed them inside, then dashed out again. Christie went to the kitchen. “Coffee? Water? Wine?”

  “Water, thanks.”

  By the time Christie brought two glasses of water to where Martin sat in the living room, Randall was at his side. She put the glasses down and closed the sliding door, locking it.

  “Thanks. I think today has caught up with me.”

  Christie sat beside Martin and handed him a glass. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

  “No. Did I tell you I ran into Trev at the roadhouse? He was drinking some excuse for coffee and enjoying the view.”

  “Oh, that’s where he was going so early.”

  “He mentioned he saw you in town.” Martin stared at Christie over the rim of his glass as he sipped.

  “River’s End is safe. Again.”

  “I’m not comfortable with you wandering around in the dark.”

  “It was almost light. Stop worrying about me.” Christie kissed his cheek with a smile.

  “Never going to happen.” Martin put his glass down. “You’d better enjoy these last days of single life.” He took Christie’s glass from her and put it beside his. “My wife won’t roam the streets before dawn.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Nor will she take risks such as lifting heavy objects from attics.”

  “It wasn’t heavy.”

  “She won’t forget to charge her phone and tell people where she’s going. And definitely she won’t ignore her husband when it comes to looking after herself.”

  Christie tilted her head, eyes sparkling. “This wife of yours has a lot of don’ts. What if she refuses such archaic control over her free will?”

  “It is her free will to change her ways.” Martin brushed his lips over hers. “I’m not forcing her to do anything.”

  “So, what is she allowed to do... with her free will.” Christie’s fingers played with the buttons on Martin’s shirt.

  “She can laugh a lot. And create her beautiful new salon. Spend every night with her handsome husband. Raise their children with him.” He kissed Christie deeply, crushing her against him. When he raised his head, his eyes were dark as the night. “Does that outweigh the small changes she’ll make about her own safety?”

  “I love you so much.” It was barely a whisper. “There’s nothing I won’t do for you, Martin.”

  ***

  Much later, Martin sat before the easel in the studio, one spotlight creating a narrow workspace around him. He dabbed at the painting, unsettled. He’d slept but only briefly. Christie’s words bothered him.

  “There’s nothing I won’t do for you, Martin.”

  Yet she was keeping secrets again. Not to hurt him or be deliberately deceptive, of this he had no doubt. She was an honest person. But also a deeply caring one who never liked burdening those in her life. Coupled with how her grandmother taught her to put up barriers to protect herself, Christie’s default was to say nothing, share nothing, unless it was positive.

  He put down the paintbrush and stared at the canvas. What must have gone on in her head out there? In the painting she was safe in his arms, along with Randall at his side. The end result. But for Christie, when did she feel safe? When did she know the ordeal was over? Does she know? And what would happen when Jasmine Sea returned?

  Exhaustion overwhelmed him. Too tired to even clean his brush, he stood and picked up the sheet. This was the other problem. His gut instinct was she’d seen the painting. It bothered him on so many levels, but mostly because she’d said nothing. He didn’t want to ask outright. Give it some time. His usual approach.

  Martin turned off the light and locked the studio door. The grass was damp from a low mist. He left his shoes on the deck and quietly closed and locked the sliding door. All was peaceful in here, although Randall raised his head with sleepy eyes.

  Christie was asleep on her side, the covers pushed down. He touched her shoulder and it was cold, so he pulled the covers up. She stirred as he slipped into bed, but didn’t wake, so he watched her until his eyes were too heavy. Soon, this would be their reality. Every day and night together. Perfection.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  On her way home the next morning, Christie dropped in to see Elizabeth, finding her in the kitchen having tea with Angus.

  “Did you even leave?” Angus hugged her, then drew out a chair as Elizabeth found another cup.

  “Only as far as Martin’s house. He shooed me out after breakfast, something about secret bridegroom’s business. Do you two know what he’s up to?” Christie sat and smiled her thanks as Elizabeth handed her a coffee.

  “Not a thing, and you shouldn’t be worrying about it either. A man needs time to prepare for such an important day.” Angus took his seat again.

  “So, is he meeting with Thomas?”

  “Christie.”

  “Now you sound like Martin. Don’t ask questions. Don’t worry about what other people are doing. He refuses to speculate about why...” Christie looked at the doorway, then lowered her voice, “Trev came to see your guest.”

  “And here is not the place to discuss it.” Elizabeth smiled slightly but her tone was firm.

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. So, I did wonder if you know any of the history of the trunk.”

  “The one you found at the cottage?”

  “Yes. Thomas and I talked about it the other night for a while. He said he was surprised I wasn’t curious about why those letters and rings were locked inside it and hidden in the attic of an empty cottage. And it kind of shocked me, because I’d imagined he lived there with Frannie and she’d kept her secrets close by.”

  “But he didn’t. As long as I’ve owned Palmerston House, until he married Martha, I’ve only known him to live at his little cab
in in the mountains. Of course, by then he was raising Martin on his own.”

  “I wonder where Thomas and Frannie lived. Or was it in his mountain house?”

  “No, he bought it after the tragedy happened. I remember Daphne mentioning it once. John handled the sale of his family home and found him the other place. Going back to the trunk though, you’re not the first person to ask me about it.” Elizabeth played with her cup. “Bernie Cooper asked me the other day.”

  “He did?”

  “He said he’d come across a mention of a timber trunk in some old papers at Green Bay library and was curious about it. I did mention there was one in the cottage. Oh dear, have I done the wrong thing?”

  Angus put his hand over Elizabeth’s. “The young man was just interested in history. It’s not as though he’s a thief, dear lady.”

  “Exactly. No harm done, Elizabeth. I’m sure if he’s as nice as you say he’s simply curious about anything to do with your home. But I had no idea Green Bay library kept any records. Might be worth a drive over.”

  “And don’t forget George knows just about everything about our town. I’d be asking him.”

  ***

  “Whatever are you doing, old man?” Martha hurried down the hallway from the kitchen, having heard the ladder drop from the attic.

  Thomas stood underneath the open access door, staring upwards and tapping the hooked tool on the ground. “The window’s open.”

  “Open? How would that happen? More to the point, Thomas, how do you know?” She took the tool from him and hung it on the ring Christie had added on the hallway wall.

  “Heard it in the night. Creaking back and forth. Thought it was a tree on the roof but I’ve been around outside to have a look and it’s open.”

  “I’m sure it can wait until Christie gets home.”

  “Martin already blames me for her falling off the ladder last time, so I’m not about to let her back up there. Here, you can hold it and I’ll be right back.” Thomas raised a hand to grasp a rung.

  “I’m not happy about this.” Nevertheless, Martha gripped the upright.

  “Used to shimmy up and down here every day.” He grunted as he lifted himself onto the first rung.

  “You’re not a teenager anymore.”

  He grinned and aimed a kiss at her cheek, missing as the ladder swayed. “Feel like one around you, bride.”

  “Watch your footing. I’m not at all happy about the idea of having to call an ambulance. Perhaps I should do it now. Just in case.”

  Rung by rung, Thomas hauled himself upwards. At the top he stopped. “See. All good. Put the kettle on. I’ll be ready for some coffee in a couple of minutes.”

  “I’m not moving until you’re back on solid ground!”

  He grinned and rotated his body to sit on the edge of the hatch. Then his smile faded. Almost five decades since he’d last been up here. He’d packed up his brushes and paints, easels and canvases, carefully taking everything downstairs after his parents moved out.

  Thomas got to his feet and turned on the light. Everything was the same. His workbench still covered with splatter upon splatter of colour. Once, hard earned paints lined the top of it, punctuated with his favourite brushes. Hours working at the pub would pay for just one, but he demanded quality and every cent was worth it. He’d kept three easels. One with a blank canvas, one part finished, and one ready to sell. Not that he’d sold many at first. Only after Martha left and he’d poured his heart into his work had the buyers come. One then another until he expanded to four and five easels. Money he’d raised a family on.

  “Tom? Are you okay?”

  “Just checking for mice.”

  “Mice?”

  With a laugh, Thomas went to the window. It swung back and forth in the breeze and he reached out and caught it. He closed and locked it. Then pressed against the timber frame. It didn’t yield. He frowned. How had it got open?

  A long time ago, rain thundering on the metal roof, he’d stood here for hours, staring sightlessly at the storm. The storm that took Martha from him. Changed his life and hers forever. Broke his heart yet made him the man he was today.

  Outside, brilliant sunlight filled a garden rich with greenery and emerging flowers. Thanks to Christie, the other woman in his life. Frannie was no longer a love of his. She’d ruined that with her deception. All she was now was the mother of his beloved son, and grandmother of Martin, the light of his life.

  “Hi. Need a hand?” Christie appeared through the hatch.

  “Did the bride send you? Doesn’t trust me.”

  “She’s making coffee and she does trust you. Just doesn’t want to lose you.”

  “Not gonna happen.” Thomas had been there long enough. “Glad you’re here though. Not sure how to get back down again.”

  ***

  “I believe you want to see me?” Bernie leaned on the counter in the police station as Trev headed his way from a back room. He glanced around. Small for a cop shop. One office with two desks. The doorway Trevor Sibbritt just came through – probably to his residence out the back. Another door with heavy locks. Cells?

  “Thanks for dropping by. Bernie, isn’t it? Or do you prefer Bernard?”

  “Bernie.”

  “Enjoying our town, Bernie?”

  “Love it. Elizabeth is a wonderful hostess and Palmerston House feels like... home.”

  “And how long are you planning on staying?”

  Bernie stared at Trevor, forcing the smile to stay on his face. The copper’s arms were crossed and he stood back a bit from the counter. As if he was sizing Bernie up.

  “Dunno. I’m putting together photographs and some information on the town, particularly its history. For a book, you know.”

  “So, what kind of information are you after?”

  “The usual. Early settlers. Who built the town. Where did the residents come from? Where did people go to gamble? Ha ha, just joking about that. Why?”

  The copper leaned his hip against his side of the counter and uncrossed his arms, placing a hand on the timber top. “This is a nice town. Nice folk live here. Families, older people. Teenagers. All nice.”

  This is leading us where? “Sure are.”

  “So it bothers me when one of these nice people has an unpleasant experience with a... visitor.”

  “Before this gets out of hand, I need to apologise.” Bernie dropped his gaze and softened his tone. “Yesterday morning, early, I got a call about my uncle. Real close to him, almost like a dad to me.” He looked up at Trev, eyes glistening. “He’d had a heart attack. Died in his sleep and no warning anything was even wrong.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thanks. Hit me hard, have to say. Went for a walk in a bit of a daze and ended up sitting outside the bakery. No idea the seats belonged to them and was pretty upset when the young girl there told me to move on. As if I was a vagrant or something.”

  “Why don’t you talk me through what happened?” Trevor put his other hand on the counter and stood with his legs apart. Strong body language and a stare he probably imagined was authoritative. Bit comical really.

  “With the girl? I sat down and drank some of my water. Always carry a water bottle. Sorry to say I was having a small cry to myself. Feeling alone now he’s gone. My uncle.” He gave a big sigh. “She came out and said unless I ordered something to eat, well, I had to go. I said I just needed a moment to compose myself. Had some more water and realised I couldn’t stand the thought of food. Told her that but it kind of came out wrong. Think she misunderstood me.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Took my bottle of water and left. Felt like the world was against me. Still pretty sad.”

  “Right. Bernie, your account is quite different from Jess’s. Who is a teenager helping her mother out at work.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realise. Perhaps I was more distressed than I realised and said stuff out of grief. I’m going to go and offer a sincere apology right now.
If you think that’s okay?”

  Come on. Let it go. Trevor stared at Bernie as the seconds dragged on. “I won’t upset anyone else. Never planned to and I don’t know why I let my uncle’s death affect me so badly.”

  “I’ll speak to Sylvia and if she and Jess are comfortable with it I’ll set up a time and attend. As I said before, I’m sorry for your loss. But we’re a tight-knit town, mate. Someone messes up and we all hear about it. Okay?”

  “Understood.” Bernie offered his hand and Trev shook it. “Thanks for the chat.” Not waiting for Trevor to ask any more stupid questions, Bernie turned and let himself out. He had no intention of apologising to anyone.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Charlotte watched Bernie storm down the path from the police station to the gate, which he flung open. Even from across the road it was evident how angry he was. Something was going terribly wrong in Bernie’s head and she’d missed the early signs. His obsession with Palmerston House was escalating and his ability to control his behaviour diminishing. Not a good combination.

  He stalked along the footpath. She took a few steps along her side of the road, coming to a halt when he stopped and looked at his watch. He stared at it for a while. He remembers! At one of his first sessions with Charlotte she’d taught him a calming technique, using a watch to time his breaths until what then was anxiety came under control.

  When he started walking again it was less hurried. The tension was gone. He crossed to the opposite corner where George sat on the bench outside his shop in the sunshine. Bernie dropped beside him, out of her sight. She ran over the road to get a better view.

  Trev leaned on the gate, eyes on her.

  Her heart jumped. “Oh. I didn’t see you. Nice day.”

  “Morning, Charlie. It is.”

  “Not off on some patrol today? Visit to the mountains?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay.”

  “Coffee?”

  Charlotte couldn’t help herself. She shot a quick look at the jewellers. Bernie was talking, but George looked straight ahead, not giving him any attention. “Thanks but no. I’ve got to go.”