The Secrets of Palmerston House

by Phillipa Nefri Clark

  “Are you planning on following him all day?”

  “What?”

  “He’s in my sights now. So relax. Let me worry about Bernard Cooper.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She forced herself to look at Trev and wished she hadn’t. His expression was intense and serious as his eyes moved from hers to the scene playing out up the road, then back to her face again.

  “Sure you do. And you’d make my job a whole lot easier if you’d trust me enough to be honest about him.”

  “I do trust you.”

  “Then what’s the issue? And before you run off or lie to me again, I stood here and saw you watching Bernie all the way down the road. Ready to take off after him.” Trev reached over the gate and took one of Charlotte’s hands in his.

  She started at the contact but the warmth of his skin was so nice. His hands were large and hard but he held hers gently. The warmth spread up her arm and through her body.

  “Was he a patient? You feel you can’t break some doctor-patient confidence?”

  Charlotte stared at Trev through pleading eyes. Anything she said would be wrong. But she couldn’t talk about Bernie.

  Trev looked past her and his face hardened. “Now what.”

  Daphne headed toward the jewellery shop at a fast walk. George and Bernie were on their feet. “George is upset.” Charlotte said.

  “And so is Daphne. There goes Bernie.”

  Before Daphne was halfway over the road, Bernie stomped off in the direction of Palmerston House.

  Trev opened the gate with his free hand. “We’ll continue this later.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Charlotte, if you won’t help me, then no.” He released her hand and a chill replaced the warmth. “This is police business and unless you intend to assist me when I ask you to, then you’re better off being somewhere else.”

  The finality of Trev’s words sunk in as he strode away. One minute his hand was there to steady her, then he’d left her in no doubt of his expectations. Help me or stay out of the way. “I can’t help you.” She whispered, tears pricking. With a few blinks and a couple of deep breaths, she regained control. Better off alone. Always better alone.

  ***

  Over a casual lunch of salad rolls in the cottage kitchen, Christie updated Martha and Thomas about her visit with Angus and Elizabeth.

  “So, do you know what Martin’s up to?” Christie bit into her roll, not missing the look passed between the other two. “I saw that.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear.” Martha poured tea.

  “Besides, the poor man is about to lose his freedom. At least let him have a day to himself.” Thomas grinned as Christie almost choked on lettuce. “In other words, whatever Martin is doing is not for you to know about. Not yet.”

  “Do you and Angus rehearse your answers?” Christie grumbled. “How does Martha put up with you?”

  “Surprises me every day to wake up and find her there.” Thomas reached his hand out and Martha put hers into it. “Reminds me I have one or two redeeming features.”

  “More than one or two, old man.” Martha squeezed his hand.

  “Anyway, why were you up in the attic? There’s not much there now.”

  “Window was open.”

  About to take a bite, Christie stopped. “The attic window?”

  Thomas nodded, picking a piece of tomato from his roll and tossing it in his mouth.

  “I will admit I have never checked whether it was locked. How did you even know?”

  “Could hear the creak of it swinging around all night. It opens outwards, not up and down like the others. It wouldn’t have been opened in decades, not since the attic was my work space.”

  “It probably just worked loose over time. Bit of wind and it opened.” Martha played with her own food, not really eating anything. “Stop worrying.”

  “We were out last night. You didn’t hear it before then?” Christie asked.

  “Nope.”

  “You have a theory, Thomas?” Christie glanced at Martha, who was pulling bits of lettuce out of her roll, then stuffing them back in. “Auntie, it’s just speculation.”

  “We’ve had quite enough upsets here.”

  “And if something else is going on, then it’s better to know.”

  Martha nodded and picked up her roll. “Just don’t let the old man go off on some tangent.”

  “I’m here, you do know I can hear you?”

  “So, what is your theory?” Christie winked at Martha then turned to Thomas. “Is it a giant possum?”

  “More like the driver of an SUV.”

  Christie put the remains of her roll on her plate, eyes never leaving Thomas’. His face was grim. Did he mean Elizabeth’s guest? Her mind raced back to the conversation with Elizabeth. Why was Bernie Cooper interested in a timber trunk?

  “Thomas.”

  “Yes, Christie?”

  “What old records does Green Bay library keep on Palmerston House?”

  “You’re not making sense. What does this have to do with the attic? Unless...”

  “The trunk.”

  Martha pushed her plate away, finished at last. “Neither of you are making sense. I’m putting the kettle back on.”

  “Thanks, Auntie. I’d love another. Sorry to upset you.”

  “Ireland seems very peaceful and non-eventful.” Martha got to her feet and began clearing plates.

  “Explain.” Thomas leaned forward.

  “Okay. This morning, Elizabeth told me Bernie Cooper asked if she knew of a timber trunk. He’d apparently been to Green Bay library to research the region for his book, and came across some reference of interest.”

  “Allegedly.”

  “Sorry?”

  You said apparently. Sounds like allegedly to me. There’s old pictures and newspapers, some mention of my paintings, a record of the decline of the local timber industry, and the change in the railway gauge. Go and look, Christie. Actually I’ll come with you. I’ve read a lot there because it helped with my work, but I never saw a word about the trunk.” Thomas sat back.

  “Elizabeth suggested I should speak with George.”

  “Yes. Not much he doesn’t know about River’s End.”

  “Maybe she told Bernie to talk to him as well.”

  “Then we’d better go talk to George.”

  The kettle whistled and Martha picked it up to fill the teapot. “All of this is interesting, but what makes you suspect this Bernie person isn’t above board?”

  Thomas tapped the table a few times with his fingers. “Didn’t want to say anything, but the night you were out with the ladies, he was up the road. Randall got all security dog on me and I had to stop him chasing after the SUV. Went hurtling past me in the dark.”

  “What! Where?”

  “I was at the end of the driveway, Christie, and Randall went stiff. Growled in fact. Then this vehicle hurtled past, stones flying everywhere. Trev reckons he stopped him a few minutes later speeding down the hill. Warned him and let him go.”

  “You’ve not said a word!” Martha carried the teapot over and put it down with a bang. “Why not tell me?”

  Thomas stood and wrapped both arms around Martha. “Sorry. Thought I was imagining things after all the troubles with Derek and Rupert.”

  Christie’s stomach churned. Surely there wasn’t another problem in town? Years of peace and then she moved in and all these wonderful people were subject to endless issues. She put her head in her hands. Then she felt Thomas’ hand on her shoulder.

  “Talk to us.”

  “Elizabeth mentioned something to Bernie.”

  “Mentioned what?”

  Calm down. Christie lifted her head. “She told him there was a trunk in the cottage.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “What is so important about the trunk?” Martha lowered herself onto her seat, eyes troubled. “And what does it have to do with the attic window?”

&
nbsp; Thomas and Christie stared at each other.

  “Somebody speak please.”

  “Sorry, Auntie. I have no idea why the trunk matters to this man, but assuming it does, would he really go to the trouble of climb—”

  “Anyway, it might be better to go for a drive to Green Bay library. In case he’s telling the truth.” Thomas shook his head at Christie.

  “Thomas Blake, I am not some child to protect! You think he was in the cottage, don’t you both?” Martha turned to Christie. “Finish what you were saying.”

  “Martha—”

  “No, I’m quite able to understand this may be some kind of problem and would much rather know than have an unpleasant surprise. Did he climb up to the attic, through the window, and come down through the hatch?”

  Christie shrugged. “If he did, he certainly didn’t touch anything that I am aware of. The trunk is still in the dining room. Do you remember anything else about it? Is it valuable?”

  “It is old and unique. But why wouldn’t he take it, dear?”

  Why indeed? None of this made any sense to Christie.

  “What are you thinking?” Thomas began pouring tea whilst Martha watched him, still looking upset.

  “I might go and see George. Find out if this man has asked him about the trunk and what George knows about it. Afterwards, I’m not sure. Let’s see what comes of it first.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Thomas started to stand.

  “No, why don’t you stay and spend some time with Martha? I don’t like it when you two are at odds.”

  “We’re not. You two go together and I’ll clean up here. Then take a walk in the garden.” Martha reached for Thomas’ hand with a smile. “Go on.”

  Thomas leaned over and kissed Martha on the lips. “Whatever you say, bride.”

  ***

  Bernie peered over the edge of the cliff at the sea swirling at its base. The wind was picking up and he braced himself against its buffeting. His rope remained tied to one of the bushes, neatly coiled in the undergrowth. Like a snake waiting to strike. Not long now and he’d be the snake. Unnoticed by his prey until it was too late.

  He laughed.

  From somewhere above him, the wretched dog barked. Bernie slipped back through the bushes and leaned against the rock face. Why couldn’t it stay away? For that matter, the whole damned town should leave him alone. He clenched his hands into fists. The only one who’d shown him any friendship was Elizabeth, but now this Angus person was here, even she was less accommodating. Time was against him.

  There were no more sounds from the top of the cliff, so Bernie went back through the bushes. From here he could just see the top of the cave. How much easier to access by boat, if only the tides would cooperate. High tide at dusk or dawn would be perfect, times when fewer people would notice a small boat than midday. And the middle of the night was asking for trouble. Even if one managed to get a boat close enough to climb up to the cave, tying it up and filling it with treasure in the dark was beyond possible.

  So, two options. Up and down this cliff, dragging load after load of the precious collection once he worked out the logistics of hauling stuff back up. Or through the tunnel. Bernie groaned. Why couldn’t the key have been in the trunk? Now he had to paddle around in a pond in the cold of night.

  ***

  The grandfather clock was as beautiful now as the day it was made. Perhaps more so, with the ageing of the timber and small signs of its long life. George ran a hand down its smooth surface. It almost breathed. What a story you would tell, had you words.

  “George? Everything okay?”

  Martin let the door close behind him with a jangle of the bells at its top.

  George patted Martin’s shoulder as he made his way around the counter. “I’m going to close up early. No shoppers around.”

  “Trev called me.”

  “Did he now?” George opened the cash register to count his takings.

  “Should I be having a talk to this Bernard Cooper fellow?”

  “Such a confused young man.”

  “Stop being so generous. Trev told me he upset you.”

  George glanced up at Martin. “Not the correct word.” He went back to counting.

  “What does he want?”

  “Seventy-two. He rather likes the grandfather clock, and Palmerston House. Now, he’s asking about a key.”

  Martin leaned on the counter. “What key?”

  Not speaking again he finished tallying his takings, George nodded at the front door.

  Martin locked it and returned. “You mentioned Bernie Cooper asking about a key.”

  “Ah.” George placed his takings into a calico bag and rolled it up. “He asked about a trunk. One with a key. Told me it is the property of the Temple family.”

  “The Temples? What world does he live in?”

  “Quite. He was, however, insistent.”

  “I think I’ll pay him a visit.”

  “Trev has things under control. And Daphne is keeping watch over me.”

  Martin laughed shortly. “So I heard. I wonder what she’s done to make Cooper afraid of her.”

  “She has taken a dislike to him.”

  “Do you know what he’s going on about?”

  “I didn’t say one word to him. Would you like a drink?”

  “Thanks. No, I might go to the cottage. Check in.”

  “Give my love to Christie.”

  “I will, George. Are you sure you’re okay?” Martin watched George closely. “I can stay.”

  “Not necessary, son. I’ll let you out.”

  ***

  Daphne locked the front door of the real estate agency, checked it twice, then turned the Open sign to Closed. It was exactly five o’clock and she wasn’t waiting a minute later to finish for the day. John was showing a house up in River’s End Heights to a potential buyer, and she had to run to the supermarket and find something for their dinner.

  She stared across the road to the jewellery shop. Already closed, which was not at all like George. He was normally sweeping the pavement outside his shop when she arrived, and closing up as she left. During the day, if not working on a piece of jewellery or taking care of a customer, he was often on the bench outside the shop, chatting with someone he knew, or watching the world go by.

  With a heavy sigh, Daphne turned off the lights and went to the kitchen to collect her handbag. Somebody needed to do something about Bernard Cooper! Yet again he’d been bothering a valued member of River’s End, and although George assured her nothing bad happened, the hairs on her arms went up the minute she spotted the man sitting beside George on his bench earlier. By the time she’d got there, Bernie was long gone. Coward. As if a small, older woman like herself would be threatening.

  The office phone rang just as Daphne had her hand on the back door. She hesitated, but then hurried back to the reception counter to answer.

  “River’s End Real Estate. Daphne speaking.”

  “Mrs Jones?”

  “It is she.”

  “Is your husband John Jones?”

  Daphne sat. Something about the tone of the male caller’s voice was unsettling. “Yes. He’s not here at present but I’m able to help you.”

  “I’m calling to let you know he’s on his way to the hospital.”

  “What!” Daphne jumped up. “Why? Is he okay?”

  “There was an accident. You might want to meet the ambulance there.”

  “At Green Bay hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  Daphne’s hand snaked around inside her handbag for keys. “What accident?”

  “Not sure. I was asked to ring.”

  There was only her house and office keys. She rarely used their car and the keys were at home. But John had the car anyway. How will I get to Green Bay?

  “Please, wait a moment. I haven’t got a car.”

  The caller was gone.

  “Hello? Oh, no. John.” She hadn’t even heard an ambulance, which would ha
ve come from Green Bay. But John only left twenty minutes ago, perhaps thirty. This didn’t make any sense. Hands shaking, she dialled the police station.

  “River’s End Police. Senior Constable Sibbritt.”

  “It’s Daphne. Oh, Trev, John’s had an accident.”

  “Tell me what’s happened.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, someone just rang and said he was on his way to Green Bay hospital and I haven’t got the car and I don’t know if he is okay and—”

  “Hey, hey, deep breath. Give me a sec and I’ll check, because I’ve had no alerts.”

  Daphne’s legs gave way and she landed on the chair with a plonk. There was photograph of their wedding day near the phone. John smiled at Daphne. Such a handsome young man. Her heart might have stopped because she couldn’t feel anything.

  “You there, Daph?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was tiny.

  “I can’t find anything. No ambulance call out, no accident report. Nothing. Where was John?”

  “At River’s End Heights. Showing a house to someone.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you hang up and phone him. Where are you?

  “At the office.”

  “I’ll be there in two minutes. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Was it even possible the caller was mistaken? But who would mistake John for anyone else?

  “Hang up, Daph.”

  “Yes. Okay.” Daphne disconnected the call and dialled John’s mobile.

  Tears poured down Daphne’s face as she heard it ring three, four times, then go to voicemail.

  “You’ve reached John Jones but I’m not at my phone, so please leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

  “John, John call me. Please. Please, love. It’s Daph.”

  Of course it’s Daph. Phone me back. John was the love of her life and if someone happened to him... what would she do? They were going to retire soon and travel. She picked up the photo and kissed his picture. She wanted to ring him again but what if he was trying to call at the same time? What if it is true? It couldn’t be.

  The phone rang and Daphne almost dropped it. “John?”

  “Hi, Daphne. No, it’s Christie.”

  “I can’t talk.” Daphne hung up and burst into tears.