“I think it was probably her tendency towards eavesdropping on the telephone calls, wasn’t it?” Beryl said.
“She never would have ended up the way she did if she hadn’t been such a nasty little thing,” he said. His face hardened a little as he spoke, and Beryl could see the ruthless monster beneath his suave and genial façade. “She heard me speaking to you outside the telephone office that day we first met Miss Helliwell.”
“She recognized your voice, didn’t she, from your conversation with Hector confirming the appointment to meet at the churchyard?” Beryl said.
Mr. Fanhurst nodded. “After you pulled away from the curb, she approached me and said I was just as handsome as she imagined I would be when she heard my voice on the telephone that night with Hector. She went on to say that she admired my motorcar and that she had every expectation that I would be happy to drive her away from village life.”
“She blackmailed you into eloping with her?” Constable Gibbs said.
“She did. I suppose she thought she could get away with it. After all, Mrs. Kimberly was no higher in station when she married the colonel than Geraldine was. If you hadn’t gone and argued with her in a fit of jealousy on a public street, we likely would have been in the clear,” he said, facing Mrs. Kimberly.
“You managed to convince Geraldine to keep it a secret from even her closest friend,” Edwina said. “I suppose you told her it was more romantic that way. Young girls are so susceptible to that sort of notion.”
“She really wasn’t very bright. I asked her to meet me behind the telephone office. At first, she was reluctant to abandon her job in the middle of her shift, but I told her no one would blame her when they realized what a fortunate match she had made. She was so gullible that when she arrived and I offered her a gift of a silk scarf as a token of my affection, she asked me to tie it on for her. The girl was practically begging me to strangle her with it.”
“Did you ask her to meet you there because you knew about the sawdust pile behind the carpentry shop? Had you planned to bury her underneath it?” Constable Gibbs asked.
“No, that was just convenient. I had thought I might need to run her body farther out into the country somewhere and dispose of it. As it was, I was able to deal with the whole nuisance much more conveniently and with no waste of petrol,” he said.
Constable Gibbs let out a snort of disgust. As she read the charges against both Mr. Fanhurst and Mrs. Kimberly before leading them away, she gave Beryl and Edwina a grudging look of respect.
Chapter 43
Edwina noted the marked resemblance between Simpkins and the elderly woman seated in the chair opposite her. Simpkins had asked if it would be possible to invite his aunt to call upon them at the Beeches. When he had asked her if she could shed any light on his sudden good fortune, she had mentioned it would be a story best related in person. As he was certain Beryl and Edwina would wish to hear it firsthand, he had asked Beryl if she would collect his aunt in the motorcar and bring her up to Walmsley Parva.
Clorinda Judd helped herself to a second scone and complimented Edwina on the lightness of her baked goods. Edwina accepted the compliment with good grace but found herself impatient for the older woman to get on with things. She could tell that Beryl was feeling restless too. She kept eyeing the clock and clearing her throat. Simpkins seemed to feel the same and leaned forward to urge his aunt into sharing her story.
“Aunt Clorinda, I wanted to ask you if you could tell me where my mother got this ring,” he said, handing Bess’s wedding ring to her.
“I wondered if you were ever going to be curious about that,” his aunt said with a smile. “It certainly took you long enough.”
“It’s very valuable, isn’t it?” Beryl asked.
“You can say that again. In fact, it was valuable enough to serve time in prison for,” she said.
“Does the ring have anything to do with Simpkins inheriting from Colonel Kimberly?” Edwina said.
“In a way, I suppose it does. I expect it will come as a shock to you, Albert, to know that your father, Simpkins, was not your biological father. You are, in fact, the son of a man named William Peel,” his aunt said.
Edwina felt her breath catch in her throat. The idea that Simpkins was not Simpkins was deeply startling.
“I guess that explains why no one could say where I got my ears,” Simpkins said, reaching up to tug on one of his oversized lobes.
“I think it is why no one bothered to explain where they came from. I knew you were William Peel’s child the moment I laid eyes on you in your bassinet.”
“How did I come to have a different father than the man who claimed me?” Simpkins said.
“Your mother, Orelia, came up to London to help my mother during one of her many confinements. While she was staying with us, she met a young man who lived in the neighborhood and fell in love with him,” Clorinda said.
“William Peel?” Edwina said.
“Precisely. One thing led to another, and she soon found herself in the family way. William, being essentially a man of good character, made her an offer of marriage,” Clorinda said.
“So why did they not marry?” Beryl asked.
“He wanted to provide his new family with a fine start in life. Unbeknownst to Orelia, he and a couple of other lads from the neighborhood burgled a jewelry store. Sadly, they were caught, and he was sentenced to twelve years in prison,” Clorinda said.
“How dreadful,” Edwina said.
“It certainly was. Orelia needed to find a father for her unborn child, so she returned to Walmsley Parva and accepted the proposal of Alfred Simpkins, who had long fancied her. They married straightaway, and he believed Albert to be his biological son. When William was released from prison, he went in search of his young love, but he discovered her to be happily married to another.” Clorinda took a sip of her tea.
“How heartbreaking,” Edwina said.
“She was in a right state. She begged him not to ruin her marriage or to tell Simpkins that the boy was not his child. She told him she was happily married and that her son had a good father. He agreed not to destroy their lives but convinced her to accept a gift as a token of his affection.”
“Is that how she came to have that ring?” Simpkins asked.
“Yes. She accepted it with the understanding that she would pass it on to you for your own bride one day.”
“So William Peel was Colonel Kimberly’s business partner. William must have wanted to make things up to his son, even though he could not provide for him during his lifetime,” Beryl said.
“Not long before she died, William sent a note to Orelia, telling her that he had made good, after all. He said he had been keeping tabs on all of them from afar and knew that her husband had passed on. He promised that he would leave a legacy for Albert upon his death.”
“How did he come to be involved in Colonel Kimberly’s company?” Edwina asked.
“It was his prison sentence that did it, really,” Clorinda said. “The food was so bad, you see, that he smothered everything in mustard. When he came out, he found he had developed quite a passion for the stuff and devoted himself to perfecting a recipe.”
“How did he team up with Colonel Kimberly?” Beryl asked.
“As far as I know, they just met on a train or in a pub or some such thing. William needed an upstanding front man for his idea. He couldn’t imagine that England was prepared to buy foodstuffs from an ex-convict. They made up a story about the colonel having a secret recipe passed down to him by a revered cook in India. They started the product line with chutney to help make the story seem more plausible.”
“My father died many years ago. And so did William Peel. Why didn’t my mother ever go to Colonel Kimberly and ask him for what she was owed?” Simpkins said.
“Your mother didn’t want you to think less of her. Or to think less of your father. She said the money was simply not worth what it would cost, and she preferred to leave the whole thing
well enough alone.”
“So Colonel Kimberly decided to keep all of it for himself until he found out his wife was betraying him with his nephew?” Beryl said.
“I suppose so,” Clorinda said.
“I hate to say so, but it sounds to me that Colonel Kimberly got what he deserved,” Edwina said. “And in the end, so did Simpkins.”
“It almost seems as though the money is tainted. I’m not sure that I want anything to do with it,” Simpkins said. “Perhaps I would be better off not accepting such ill-gotten gains.”
Edwina was aghast to think that Simpkins might not enjoy his unexpected legacy. Although she had been saddened to think that he might leave her employ, she found she was even more distressed to consider that he might not enjoy his due. She looked over at Beryl.
“Having been the recipient of many ill-gotten gains, I can tell you that they are often the nicest sort of winnings. It really doesn’t matter the source of your income so long as you use it for a purpose that you can feel good about,” Beryl said.
“I agree with Beryl,” Edwina said. “There are any number of charitable causes that could use a generous donation. The church roof fund, for instance.”
“I shouldn’t want to look as though I were getting above myself,” Simpkins said. “They might put a plaque up or something in the church, and that would just be embarrassing.”
“There’s no reason you would have to announce that you are the one to make the donation,” Beryl said. “It could be completely anonymous. You could stuff a bunch of notes into an envelope and slip it through the letter box at the vicarage when no one was looking.”
Simpkins leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Edwina would have thought he had fallen asleep from the excitement, except for the fact that he drummed his fingers on the arms of his wingback chair. When he opened his eyes once more, he had a mischievous grin on his face.
“I think I would like to use the money to follow in my father’s footsteps,” he said.
“In which way?” Edwina asked.
“Which father?” Beryl said.
“I think I would like to follow William Peel’s example and invest my income, at least a portion of it, by becoming a silent partner in a worthwhile company.”
“And which company would that be?” Beryl asked.
“Why, your private enquiry agency, of course,” he said, with a giant grin spreading across his face.
Edwina felt a wave of disbelief wash over her. It had been one thing to consider that Simpkins might be far wealthier than she could ever hope to be. It had been at least as troubling to think that he might head off in a completely new direction and no longer spend any time at the Beeches. It was even more distressing to consider that he might have an equal say in her adventure.
In her vast experience with Simpkins, she had never known him to be silent about anything. Not about the proper double digging of asparagus beds, the correct manner of overwintering dahlia bulbs, or the need for vigilance when deadheading petunias. She could no more imagine him keeping silent about the day-to-day running of a private enquiry agency than he had been about his gardening duties. It had been difficult enough to adjust to the idea of becoming a businesswoman in the first place. Sharing such duties with her jobbing gardener was unthinkable.
“I think that’s an absolutely marvelous idea. Imagine all that we could do with a little bit of capital to really set us up,” Beryl said. “What do you say, Ed?”
Edwina felt the eyes of the other three bearing down on her. She did not wish to insult Simpkins, but it was the sort of proposition she felt required much mulling over. He seemed to recognize her hesitancy.
“I can see that you need a little time to think it over. But here’s a notion to sweeten the pot. The very first thing I would want to pay for would be driving lessons for Miss Edwina at the Blackburns’ driving school. After all, I expect you would like to learn to drive if the lessons weren’t quite so harrowing.”
Edwina felt her heart give a little leap. Perhaps Simpkins wouldn’t be such a terrible partner, after all.
Author’s Note
One of the very best parts of my job is the research that leads to the creation of the stories. I begin each of my historical mysteries by researching real events that occurred at the time and in the area in which the story is set. When something tickles my fancy, I dig around until I have satisfied my curiosity. I noodle and stir and tuck away each idea next to the last until I have enough to propel me into the actual writing.
While most of this book was constructed from imagination, there are some parts of it anchored firmly in reality. Sometimes real events inspire large parts of a book, and other times they provide small details and texture concerning life in another era. This book owes more to the daily life details than it does to major trends or happenings. I hope you will have enjoyed reading about them as much as I enjoyed sharing them with you.
June 1, 1921, was the first time the results of the Derby Stakes were broadcast live over the wireless. It opened a whole new era of possibilities for both those who placed wagers and those who ran the books. A British thoroughbred named Humorist was the second favourite for the race but came in first to win. Sadly, despite his string of early successes and his future filled with bright promise, he died of tuberculosis later that same month.
The drought mentioned in the story was sadly real and caused much grief. This book begins on June 1, and as a result, takes place during the hundred-day drought that ended on June 25, 1921. Walmsley Parva is located in Kent, a thriving small-fruits region of England. As an avid gardener myself, I found my mind wandering easily to murder when considering the ways a lack of water would damage my own trees, shrubs, and flowering plants.
Fortunately for Edwina, as of 1919, Beryl’s beloved automobile, a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, came equipped with an automatic starter. I am quite certain Beryl would not have convinced Edwina to try driving if something as unseemly as a crank starter was involved.
Edwina was unusually fortunate to have access to a hairdresser well versed in the art of cutting hair. In 1921 many women who wished to lop off their long locks were forced to take their trade to a barbershop, where there was no assurance their business would be welcome. Men were known to gather around and jeer at women who made so bold as to ask for such services.
The social ramifications for women who took the plunge and cut their hair could also be daunting. Friends and family were not always supportive of what was widely believed to be an unfeminine spectacle. Still many women, like Edwina, braved extraordinary criticism, and before the decade was out, had helped to normalize the unthinkable. I, for one, am extremely grateful!
Acknowledgments
I consider myself very fortunate to have so many people in my life who help make my books possible. It is always such a pleasure to be able to thank them.
I am always grateful for the support and enthusiasm shown for Beryl and Edwina by my editor, John Scognamiglio. I also want to express my thanks to all the other supportive people at Kensington who do so much to send the books out into the world in the best possible light.
Thanks go out to my agent, John Talbot, who was the first champion of the series. I would also like to mention my cherished blog mates, The Wicked Authors, Sherry Harris, Julie Hennrikus, Edith Maxwell, Liz Mugavero and Barb Ross. I don’t think I would have made it here without all of you. If by some miracle I had, it would not have been nearly as much fun.
I want to thank Susan Van Kirk for generously sharing her knowledge of bridge. I also wanted to thank my friend and neighbor Linda Richards for her willingness to humor me by answering my impertinent questions about all things British.
I am privileged to have such a supportive and accommodating family. My sisters, Barb Shaffer and Larissa Crockett know just when to call to ask how things are going. They also are kind enough not to take offense when I forget to answer the phone. My mother is willing to wade through knotty questions of grammar with me at the
last minute. My children, Will, Max, Theo, and Ari provide encouragement, good humor and patience, especially when deadlines draw near.
And finally, I owe a lasting debt of gratitude to my husband, Elias Estevao, who cheerfully slays all the dragons.
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