Forgotten Murder

by Dolores Gordon-Smith

  ‘It could easily have been done before the Trenchards’ time,’ said Jack easily.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t the Misses Holt who had a nursery, that’s for sure,’ said Mrs Offord, still puzzled. She looked indulgently at Jack and Betty. ‘Ah well, when you need a nursery, I dare say you could have the bars put back. I expects you’re looking forward to that.’

  ‘It’s early days yet,’ said Betty with a slightly embarrassed laugh. ‘We’ve only been married a few weeks.’

  ‘Isn’t that nice?’ said Mrs Offord with a sentimental sigh. ‘And you after a proper family house already. Did you have a nice day for the wedding?’

  ‘We did. Jack’s aunt and uncle have a house in Sussex and we were married there. It was a wonderful day.’

  Talk of the wedding carried them comfortably round the rest of the house until they got out into the garden. Here Mrs Offord left them to their own devices.

  ‘I didn’t know all those details about the bridesmaids’ dresses,’ asked Jack with a rather bemused air as they walked away from the house. ‘And as for your wedding dress, all I could have said was that it was white and you looked an absolute corker. All that deep stuff about pin-tucks and so on totally escaped me. Are you sure Mrs Offord wanted know all about the wedding cake with four tiers and what Arthur said in his best man’s speech?’

  ‘Mrs Offord,’ said Betty, slipping her hand into his, ‘was gripped. Why did you want me to take her away from the attics?’

  ‘I wanted to have a look at the toys inside the ottoman.’ He glanced down, grinning at her in supressed excitement. ‘And guess what I found? A teddy bear with a pink ribbon.’

  Betty rolled her eyes. ‘So what? A teddy bear is nothing to get excited about. Every child has a teddy bear.’

  ‘When were teddies first sold?’

  Betty thought for a moment. ‘I don’t know. We’ve always had teddy bears, haven’t we?’

  ‘Not before 1900 or thereabouts. I don’t know the exact date but it’s around then or later. Certainly not before. What d’you make of that?’

  ‘What should I make of it?’ asked Betty cautiously.

  ‘The dates, old prune,’ he said, squeezing her hand affectionately. ‘Look, we know the Miss Holts didn’t take the house until January 1898, correct?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘I didn’t write the dates down.’

  ‘I did. And from what we’ve heard of the Holts, they don’t seem to have put a welcome mat out for any kids, let alone keeping a box of toys for them.’

  ‘They could have been bought by the Trenchards. They had grandchildren.’

  ‘Yes. Three boys,’ he reminded her. ‘I doubt if any of them would have a teddy with a pink ribbon. I think the toys in that box belonged to a little girl and the only people a little girl could belong to are the Trevelyans, who had the house, if you recall, in the summer of 1907.’

  Betty still looked unconvinced. ‘I suppose you might be right. So you think the Trevelyans are the people we’re looking for?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jack, his eyes bright. ‘I’m sure we’re on the right lines, Betty. And that means we’ve gone from knowing practically nothing to having names and a date. That gives us something to get to grips with.’

  Their walk had brought them under the spreading branches of the cedar tree. It really was a magnificent tree. Betty reached out and touched the ridged bark.

  Jack watched her closely. ‘D’you feel anything?’

  ‘Just wood,’ said Betty with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I wasn’t really expecting anything else. What on earth are you doing?’ she added in surprise.

  Jack stripped off his jacket and, catching hold of a low branch, levered himself into the tree. ‘I haven’t climbed a tree for ages,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It’s odd how the urge leaves you.’

  ‘I wish it hadn’t struck you now. Jack, get down! If Mrs Offord sees you, she’ll think you’ve gone nuts.’

  ‘She’ll put it down to my natural exuberance. Did you know the new wood has little hairs on it? All the twigs feel a bit furry. Aunt Alice has a cedar tree and I used to climb it as a kid. Here, have a pine cone,’ he added, picking one off and tossing it down to her. ‘They have a wonderful smell when they’re burnt and the smell keeps insects away.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Betty tightly. ‘Jack, Mrs Offord’s looking!’

  ‘And no doubt she’s enjoying the spectacle.’ He lay flat on the branch and ran his hand along it. ‘I say, Betty, there’s old nails in the wood.’

  ‘Fascinating with knobs on,’ said Betty in a strained voice. ‘There must’ve been a swing or something up there. Jack, get down! Mrs Offord will think you’re crazy.’

  ‘It wasn’t a swing,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘The nails aren’t in the right place for that. I think someone had nailed planks up here. It must’ve been a tree house.’

  ‘All right, it was a tree house! What does it matter? Get down.’

  He didn’t move. ‘Betty,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘we know there was a family called Trevelyan, yes? And they, we’re supposing, because of the bars in the nursery and the box of toys, they had a child, a little girl.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose we are,’ she said impatiently, glancing round. The housekeeper was visible through the dining-room window, placidly wielding a duster. Betty relaxed slightly. ‘You worked out that Jenny must’ve come here when she was little. I imagine that if her mother, Mrs Langton, was friends with this Mrs Trevelyan, the fact that they both had a little girl of around the same age would give them something in common. I bet she and her mother were regular visitors. They must’ve been, really, for the house to have seemed so familiar years later.’

  ‘Yes …’ said Jack slowly, levering himself up and sitting astride the branch. ‘What I was actually wondering, granted how familiar Jenny Langton found the house and the garden, was if there was only one little girl and she was it.’

  Betty stared up at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘To put it another way, I wondered if your pal Jenny Langton was actually Jenny Trevelyan. That this house was her house and those toys were her toys.’

  ‘And the Trevelyan family was her family?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the size of it.’

  Betty continued to stare up at him. ‘I think there must be something about that tree,’ she said eventually. ‘Everyone who comes into contact with it seems to go off their rocker. Jack, Jenny can’t be Jenny Trevelyan. She’s got a perfectly good family of her own. I knew the Langtons, remember? Her mother and father and her two brothers. She even looks like her mother. And her brothers, come to that. I bet if you asked, she’d be able to produce baby photographs and all sorts of stuff.’

  ‘Maybe I’m on the wrong lines, then,’ said Jack thoughtfully. ‘It was just an idea that occurred to me. By the way, what d’you mean, that everyone who comes into contact with this tree goes off their rocker? Don’t you believe what Jenny Langton told us?’

  Betty sighed. ‘Jack, I don’t know what happened but she can’t have seen a monster. I certainly believe she saw something that frightened her but we know there wasn’t anything actually here.’

  ‘I said it was a memory.’

  ‘A memory of what, though?’ said Betty impatiently. ‘Monsters don’t exist and you won’t ever make me believe that they do. I can’t see why what I suggested can’t be the truth of it. Jenny fell asleep under the tree when she was very small and had a horrible nightmare. Or, perhaps, someone – maybe an elder brother or another child who was visiting – dressed up and frightened her. You know what boys are.’

  ‘I should do,’ he murmured. ‘I was one for ages.’

  ‘And still are at times,’ she said reprovingly. ‘I do wish you’d come down from that tree. It seems so odd that the first thing you do when let out into the garden is to start climbing trees. Mrs Offord must think you’re barmy.’

  ‘I’ll try and convince her otherwise,’ he said with a laugh. ‘She’s o
n her way,’ he added as the housekeeper opened the French windows and stepped down into the garden.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Offord,’ he added conversationally as she joined them under the tree. ‘This would be a terrific place for a tree house.’ He grinned down at the two women. ‘Just peeping into chapter two, as you might say. Children an’ all that.’

  Betty sighed dangerously but Mrs Offord beamed warmly at him as Jack swung himself down. ‘I can see you’re going to have a very happy family, sir. It’s nice you’re thinking of children so soon and you still shaking the confetti out of your clothes, so to speak. It’s funny you should think about a tree house. There was one up there, years ago.’

  ‘Did the Colonel build it?’ asked Jack, dusting off his knees.

  ‘No, it was here when they arrived. You’ve got pine needles in your hair, by the way, sir. No, the Colonel didn’t build it but he took it down when the boys got too big for it. Not that they ever played in it much because it was too small for them. More like a baby’s tree house it was, I remember them saying. They thought it was very tame, being so close to the ground. Little monkeys for climbing, they were.’

  ‘Boys are,’ he said with a grin.

  Betty sniffed. ‘And some men.’

  ‘Shall we look round the rest of the garden?’ he said, ignoring the barb. He took Betty’s arm and steered her away.

  ‘And what,’ she said, once they were out of earshot, ‘was all that about? Whatever made you want to climb the tree?’

  ‘I was looking for the tree house.’

  ‘You’re kidding,’ said Betty with a dismissive laugh. ‘You couldn’t have known it was there.’

  ‘I thought it might be. Don’t you remember what Jenny Langton said? That it was as if the world had suddenly turned upside down. Instead of looking up at the tree, she was looking down. She was in the tree house, Betty.’

  She gazed at him. ‘You’re right. She did say she was looking down.’ Betty put her hands wide. ‘Jack, I don’t know what to think. I just can’t believe she saw a monster.’

  ‘No, of course she didn’t. But she saw something, something flesh and blood that scared her witless.’

  ‘And she remembered that as a monster, you mean?’ Betty bit her lip. ‘I suppose that could be the explanation but she seemed very certain about some of the details. The glistening skin and the staring eyes and so on.’

  ‘There might be an explanation for that but I don’t know what. The first thing we’ve got to do is find out about Mr and Mrs Trevelyan. That’ll give us something to go on. But, Betty, you suggested a kid had dressed up and scared her. I think there’s far more to this than a harmless prank. I think she witnessed something real and something very nasty. I want to find out what it was.’

  FIVE

  For the sake of the watching housekeeper, they walked round the rest of the garden before returning to the house.

  As they approached the bridge across the little stream, they saw an elderly man with a trowel and a bucket of cement fixing a loose stone on the balustrade. ‘This must be George Meredith, the gardener,’ muttered Jack. ‘The one who came to Miss Langton’s aid.’

  Approaching, he smiled broadly and offered his cigarette case. ‘Hello. We’re just taking a look around the house. The gardens are very well kept.’

  ‘I do my best,’ said the gardener, straightening up. ‘Thank ’ee very much. I won’t have a cigarette, sir, I’ll stick to my pipe, but thank ’ee all the same. The gardens aren’t too bad if you can keep on top of it.’ He paused then added, with natural politeness, ‘Do you like the house?’

  Betty nodded enthusiastically. ‘Very much. The funny thing is, I think I used to come here when I was little. I’m sure some friends of my mother lived here. They were called Trevelyan. I don’t suppose you remember them, do you?’

  ‘Trevelyan,’ repeated George Meredith thoughtfully. ‘No, I can’t say as I do. When did they live here, Miss?’

  ‘It must be twenty years or so ago. I was only a little girl, of course, but I’d very much like to see them again.’

  ‘Twenty years ago,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Hold on. I do remember something now. Trevelyan. They weren’t here long and there was some talk …’ A gleam of recollection came into his eyes and he looked away.

  He knows something, thought Jack with absolute conviction. ‘What sort of talk? Do you remember?’

  The gardener looked pointedly at Betty. ‘I can’t say as I do, sir. Not more than what was just gossip, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘I’d like to know,’ said Betty plaintively. ‘My poor mother’s died, so I can’t ask her, but I would like to know what happened to the Trevelyans. They had a little girl who I remember playing with. I’d love to meet her again.’

  The gardener drew a deep breath. ‘Perhaps you should speak to Mr Laidlaw,’ he said. ‘He owns the place. He would know if anyone would. But Miss – it’s in the past. It’s a long time ago. If I were you, I’d let it be. You can’t do any good by digging up old scandals. It won’t do any good.’

  That was so clearly his last word on the subject that there was nothing for it but to wish him a good afternoon and continue their walk.

  ‘Jack,’ said Betty excitedly, squeezing his hand, ‘there really is something there.’

  ‘I knew that,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I worked it out. A pink teddy bear and a tree house, remember?’

  ‘So what do we do next?’

  ‘I think we should call on Mr Laidlaw. Hopefully he’ll be a bit more forthcoming than George Meredith.’

  Mr Laidlaw turned Jack’s card over in his hands with a puzzled frown. On it Jack had written: ‘Concerning Mr and Mrs Trevelyan’ and, to the clerk’s obvious surprise, when it had been sent in Mr Laidlaw had agreed to see them right away.

  ‘It’s very good of you to spare the time, sir,’ said Jack, pulling out a seat for Betty and drawing a chair up to the desk.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Mr Laidlaw absently.

  He was a big man in his early fifties, with a friendly, open face with grey eyes, a shock of untidy grey hair and a pleasant burr of a Scottish accent. A sheaf of meticulously drawn plans for a house lay on the desk and, across the room, pinned to a board on an easel, was a half-finished architect’s plan of another house drawn in blue ink. Jack noticed a smear of the same coloured ink on Mr Laidlaw’s index finger.

  Anyone who could draw like that obviously had very precise hands, to say nothing of a precise mind. He was, Jack reminded himself, seeing the framed scroll of the Royal Institute of British Architects on the wall, an architect. That would take a very precise mind, wouldn’t it?

  Plans of the layouts of the houses at Resthaven, presumably the work of Mr Laidlaw himself, adorned the walls. Pinned to a corkboard was a map showing the connections from Resthaven to London and three large prints of an artist’s idyllic impression of the finished houses. Eternal sunshine, a contented husband, a smiling wife and two happy children apparently came as standard with a Resthaven house.

  Betty looked at the prints with approval. ‘I like those houses,’ she said impulsively. ‘Did you design them, Mr Laidlaw?’

  He smiled at her enthusiasm. ‘Yes, they’re all my work and, I must say, I’m very happy with them. They look good, don’t they, Mrs Haldean? I was very pleased with the artist’s impressions, but they show nothing more than the truth. If you’re interested, it’d be well worth your while to put your name down as soon as possible. We anticipate a ready sale to those who have to work in London and yet want to live in the fresh air of the countryside. The connections to London are first-rate.’

  They’d need to be, thought Jack. To his way of thinking, looking at the map, Resthaven was practically in Woking.

  ‘I can guarantee,’ continued Mr Laidlaw, ‘in fact, we will guarantee, that all the Resthaven houses are finished to the highest degree commensurate with the price.’

  Jack had read too much about teething troubles with new houses to take this statement entirely
at face value.

  Mr Laidlaw must have sensed his cynicism, because he shook his head vigorously. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Mr Haldean. I know new developments often throw up unexpected problems, but, as I say, I can guarantee that will not happen at Resthaven. I’ve made sure of that. After all, what could be more important than the house you live in?’

  ‘Nothing,’ agreed Betty, completely won over by his obvious sincerity.

  Andrew Laidlaw beamed at her. ‘Exactly. Ezra Wild, who started the firm, was a master builder and he passed those skills on to his sons. My father-in-law – I inherited the firm from him – was very keen that I should be a practical builder as well as an architect. Knowledge of the materials and the craft was his watchword. That’s where good architecture starts and there’s no substitute for practical knowledge. I’m glad to say,’ he added, with pardonable pride, ‘that I’m a practical man.’

  Betty turned to Jack. ‘What d’you think, Jack? The houses look lovely.’

  ‘I’d certainly be interested in looking round,’ he said. A bit of tact never hurt and Mr Laidlaw was obviously very proud of Resthaven.

  ‘Let me give you one of our brochures,’ said Mr Laidlaw, pressing the bell on his desk. ‘Ah, Taylor,’ he said to the clerk who opened the door, ‘Mr and Mrs Haldean will require a Resthaven brochure. Please have one ready for them when they leave.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said the clerk.

  ‘However,’ continued Mr Laidlaw, looking at Jack’s card as the clerk shut the door behind him, ‘you didn’t come here to talk about houses, did you?’

  He picked up Jack’s card and frowned at it with puzzled politeness. ‘“Concerning Mr and Mrs Trevelyan”,’ he read aloud. ‘I must say, I don’t know who Mr and Mrs Trevelyan are. Your name, on the other hand, Mr Haldean, seems familiar.’ He looked mildly sheepish. ‘As a matter of fact, the reason why I was happy to see you was because I was sure I knew your name.’