by Allen, Anne
‘Mm, it is. Anyway, Wednesday’s fine with me, Martin. Bye.’
Intrigued by the request, she took a few moments to get back into the head of her characters, but once
achieved managed to finish the chapter feeling pleased with her progress. Perhaps writing a novel wasn’t going
to be as hard as she had previously found, which was a relief. Jeanne’s encouragement had made her see the
process in a different light and she so wanted the chance to be a published author like her. Recognised for her
own creation.
As Andy listened to Charlotte explain about Maud’s request, he became more and more excited, waving his arms
around while they prepared supper.
‘Whatever it is she wants to say, I don’t suppose it will help much. But I can’t help feeling intrigued. I only
wish I could be there, but it would put the cat among the pigeons, for sure,’ he said, pouring them glasses of
wine.
‘I’m only glad I’m still here. By the sound of it, the old lady might not survive much longer and we would
never have learnt what it is she has to say. Which reminds me, I had a chat with Mother and she’s continuing
with the natural treatments.’ Charlotte explained how Annette was now putting her faith in the combined efforts
of Gillian and Paul and would stay clear of chemo.
‘We all know there’s no guarantees, but apparently some new protocols have had good results on liver
tumours and Gillian wants Mother to take part.’
‘I’m so pleased.’ He gave her a keen look. ‘Will this have any bearing on what you decide about moving here?’
She sipped her wine, knowing he was likely to ask. ‘If Mother continues to make good progress, then I’d feel
happier about leaving England. But I doubt we’ll know anything more concrete for a few months so…’ she
shrugged.
Putting his glass down, he then flung his arms around her. ‘That’s okay, as long as you continue to spend
more time here with me, then we can make it work, can’t we?’ he said, adding emphasis with an ardent kiss. For
a moment she wished she could just cut loose from her old life and move in with Andy. But it wasn’t the right
time.
‘Yes, of course we can make it work. But in the meantime, perhaps we should concentrate on getting supper
ready. All the writing I did today has made me hungry.’
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Charlotte was on a roll. Her writing flowed and she began to look forward to sitting at her laptop each day. She
could now empathise with the writers signed to her publishing company. Although their work was non-fiction
rather than fiction, they had told her of the joy of seeing their word count build up and the buzz when the ideas
flowed. Even if her novel was not successful, she could not imagine returning to being solely an editor. She
would need to write.
It was with some reluctance Charlotte switched off the laptop on Wednesday afternoon, ready to go and see
Maud. Her head hummed with the sounds and smells of eighteenth century Naples as the new Lady Emma
Hamilton, wife of the British envoy, awaited the arrival of Horatio Nelson, her future lover. A far cry from
twenty-first century Guernsey.
Charlotte picked up her notebook and pen, pushing them in her handbag, before grabbing her keys and
leaving. The drive along winding lanes brought her back to the present with a bump, with the need to
concentrate and avoid hedges, walls and other vehicles. She arrived at La Vielle Manoire unscathed and five
minutes early.
Sal opened the door.
‘Afternoon, Miss Townsend. I’m glad you could come as Mrs Batiste’s been in a bad way these past few days.
Really upset about something, she is. Let’s go up, shall we?’ She started for the stairs and Charlotte followed.
‘I bumped into Mr Batiste last time I was here, did he say anything to you?’
‘He asked who you were and I said a friend of the rector’s, thought it was for the best. He doesn’t generally
like visitors, doesn’t Mr Batiste. Hope that was all right?’
‘Of course, thank you.’ Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. Harold could hardly have made a fuss about
someone connected to the rector.
Sal stopped outside Maud’s bedroom and before opening the door, whispered, ‘She’s worse than when you
last came, so you might have problems hearing her.’ Charlotte nodded and followed her into the room. This time
Maud was in the hospital-style bed; one which could be levered up and down and with safety rails to keep her
from rolling out. Propped up on several pillows, she looked even more wizened than last time and her eyes were
closed. A sweet, musty smell hung in the air. Charlotte’s heart sank.
‘Maud? Your visitor’s here. That Miss Townsend you’ve been expecting.’ Sal gently touched the right arm
resting on the bed cover.
The old lady’s eyes opened slowly and she turned her head towards Sal. ‘She’s here? Good. Bring a…chair
round…could you, please,’ she said, in a voice so quiet Charlotte strained to hear the words. Sal set a chair right
by the head of the bed and motioned Charlotte to sit down.
‘Would you like any tea? Maud can only drink cold drinks at present and there’s a beaker of water by the bed
if she needs it.’
‘I’m all right, thank you.’
Sal left and Charlotte turned to face Maud. ‘How are you, Mrs Batiste? I’m sorry to see you’re not able to sit in
the chair.’
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Maud grimaced. ‘I don’t think…I’ve long…to go, dear. The doctor’s been visiting…more this past week
than…for months. And I want…need…to tell the truth,’ she said, her rheumy eyes staring at Charlotte. Her
twisted hand twitched on the bed.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that. But are you sure it’s me you want to talk to? Not the rector or someone?’
The old lady’s head nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I have to…tell someone who’s not…involved…not know the family.
And I like you…feel I can trust you.’ Charlotte sucked in her breath as Maud went on, ‘It’s too late to make
things…right. That wretched grandson of mine…he shouldn’t be inheriting everything. Should have
been…Edmund’s son.’ She tossed her head side to side, her mouth twisted in despair.
Charlotte felt a pang of guilt; she was hardly “not involved” with the family. Likening herself to the proverbial
Trojan Horse, she said, ‘Please, Mrs Batiste, don’t upset yourself. It was a horrible thing which happened to
Edmund but it was hardly your fault–’
‘There’s the rub. It was my fault. In a way. I could have…stopped him. But…I was afraid. Afraid he would hurt
me, too.’
Charlotte’s heart thumped hard in her chest. Was she saying what she thought she was?
‘I don’t understand. Who could you have stopped? Who was being hurt?’
Maud took a deep breath. ‘I should have…stopped Harold hitting…Edmund. Killing him.’
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chapter twenty-nine
‘What? You saw Harold kill Edmund?’ Charlotte was stunned. This was the last thing she had expected to hear.
But if it were true…
Maud tried to clutch her arm and Charlotte gently gripped the twisted fingers.
‘Yes. God forgive me, but I did. They didn’t…know I was there. It was dark and I was…on my way to
see…Harold at the farm from my parents’ house…at Jerbourg.’
She coughed and Charlotte held the beaker of
water to her lips, letting her take a long drink. ‘Thank…you,’ she said. Taking a deep breath she continued, ‘I saw
them facing each other near…the edge of the cliff and I…hid behind some shrubs. They were…shouting. Edmund
said something about…Harold spreading rumours that he, Edmund, was an informer when they…both knew it
was Harold. Edmund said when he…confronted Harold about it he had promised to stop…but Edmund said he
knew he hadn’t. Said he was going to…report him to the…Resistance. Harold said he wouldn’t…dare, they were
family. Got angry and starting punching…Edmund in the head…Harold was a big man. Edmund fell down…didn’t
get up.’ Maud gasped and mouthed “water” so Charlotte again held the beaker for her. Her head was spinning
with what she had heard and she wished she had asked for tea after all.
Maud went on, her voice sunk even lower, ‘Before I realised what…he was going to do, Harold dragged
Edmund…to the edge and…pushed him off.’ Tears glistened in her eyes and her face crumpled in misery.
Charlotte gently wiped Maud’s eyes with a tissue, feeling sorry for the old lady who had held such a terrible
secret for so many years. Although she did wonder how she could have borne to marry a man she saw kill his
brother…
‘To this day I don’t know…if Edmund was still alive when…when Harold threw him off the cliff.’ She gazed at
Charlotte through wet eyes. ‘I’ve never told a soul. Not even Harold knows I…I saw him that night.’
Charlotte cleared her throat. ‘May I ask why you didn’t tell him?’
‘I was afraid to. And…and I was in love with him. Or at least I thought…I was,’ she added, a bitter note
creeping in. ‘Barely twenty, I was besotted. He had a…swagger, a way of talking, you knew he…would be
somebody. There was a war on…the Germans…lack of food. I wanted someone to protect…me.’ She turned her
head away, saying, ‘I never wanted Edmund…dead, he was a good…man, but after…I realised Harold
would…inherit and if we married I’d be secure.’
She watched as Maud’s face dissolved into a spasm of self-disgust. Again she wondered how she could have
lived with herself, but looking at her now she realised she hadn’t. Her ravaged body was the result of what Paul
referred to as karma. As for the killer himself…her hands gripped into fists at the thought of him not only getting
away scot-free, but of inheriting someone else’s fortune.
‘Have you thought of telling the police? To get justice for Edmund and his family?’
Still with her head turned away, Maud said, ‘I couldn’t face the shame and, and I have no money…of my own.
But when I’m…gone, it won’t matter. Want to stop Dave…inheriting, he’s no good. You could tell the police.’
Slowly Maud turned her head and her eyes seemed to be pleading with her.
‘It’s not that simple. Without evidence the police could do nothing.’ Charlotte thought for a moment. ‘Would
you be prepared to sign a statement of what happened?’
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‘If you promised…it wouldn’t be given to the…police until after I died.’
As it looked as if the poor woman wouldn’t live much longer, she quickly agreed. ‘I can write it all down now,
if you wish. And we can ask Sal to witness your signature. She doesn’t need to see what you’re signing.’
Maud nodded her agreement and Charlotte took out her notepad and wrote what she dictated. She then read
it back to make sure Maud was happy with it before calling Sal upstairs. Covering what she had written, she
asked Sal to witness Maud signing it.
Sal frowned. ‘I’m not sure I should if I don’t know what she’s signing. Could be something harmful to her.’
‘It isn’t, I assure you, Sal, but I respect your decision. Thank you, I’ll sort something out.’
Sal, with a worried look at Maud, left.
The old lady blinked rapidly. ‘Does that mean what I said isn’t…going to count for anything?’
Charlotte had an idea. ‘Not necessarily. What if I asked the rector to witness you signing it? I’m sure he’d be
willing to help and wouldn’t tell the police until…’
‘I suppose so, if there’s no other way. Hadn’t wanted him to know…ashamed, but if no choice…’
‘Good. I’ll contact him and he can get in touch with you. By the way, you said something about Edmund’s son.
Surely he should have inherited instead of Harold?’
‘By rights, yes. No-one knew he…had a son back then, his widow disappeared to France. It was a big…shock
when he…turned up years later! Harold nearly had a heart attack,’ Maud said, looking puzzled. ‘He…came here to
see us and…Harold took him off somewhere…to talk. Next thing I knew the…man left, looking as white as
a…sheet. Harold told me they’d come to an…arrangement and we were…to keep everything. Thought it was odd,
but was glad…my son.’
‘I understand. It would have been a big upset to lose your home and land.’ Charlotte was disappointed Maud
didn’t know more, had hoped to solve the mystery, for Andy’s sake if nothing else. ‘I think I’d better leave you to
rest now, Mrs Batiste. Do take care.’
She patted her arm and the old lady nodded before closing her eyes. Charlotte put the statement in her bag
and returned downstairs to find Sal hovering in the hall, looking unhappy.
‘I didn’t mean to imply you were doing anything wrong, Miss Townsend, but Maud hardly knows you and–’
‘It’s all right, Sal, you were right to be cautious. We’re going to ask the rector to be a witness instead.’
The woman’s face cleared. ‘Oh, that’s a relief. If he thinks it’s okay, then I needn’t worry.’
‘There’s just one thing, Mrs Batiste would rather her husband didn’t know about this, so if you’d keep it to
yourself please?’
Sal smiled. ‘No problem. I won’t breathe a word.’
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‘Thank you. Bye for now,’ Charlotte said, keen to get away. As Sal opened the front door she was relieved to
see Harold’s car was not outside and after jumping into her own, sped down the drive. At the bottom she halted,
then made a sudden decision to turn right towards Jerbourg. Once in the car park she phoned the rector. Luckily
he was at home and she asked to call round to see him, saying it was urgent. He said to give him thirty minutes
and she agreed. Her hands shaking with excitement she called Andy.
‘Hi, I’ve got something incredible to tell you…’
Charlotte pulled into the rectory drive, a multitude of butterflies flapping around her stomach. The rector had to
agree! Or else…she didn’t want to think about that and rang the bell with gusto. Martin opened the door,
eyebrows raised. ‘I know you said it was urgent, but–’
‘Sorry! Forgive me, Martin, but once I explain I hope you’ll understand.’
Once settled in his study, Charlotte told him about Maud’s confession and her request concerning the police.
Martin’s eyes widened in surprise as he listened.
‘I hadn’t been aware of this man Edmund until now. I’d assumed Harold had inherited as the only son. It’s
quite a sorry tale, isn’t it? And Edmund had a son who should have been the heir?’ He shook his head, frowning.
‘Yes, apparently. Look, I have her statement here,’ she said, handing it over. ‘It’s not signed, of course, but if
&nbs
p; you were willing to witness Mrs Batiste signing it, then it would be evidence against Harold, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose so. It does explain a lot about why she seems afraid of him, doesn’t it?’
Charlotte nodded. She wanted to hurry Martin on, but realised as she wasn’t supposed to have any
connection to the family, it might look odd. ‘Are you happy to witness it? Mrs Batiste was happy to have you
there and no-one else. Because of confidentiality.’
‘I don’t see why not. If it eases her conscience and brings justice to the poor man’s family. Although it will be
up to the courts to decide.’ He sighed. ‘I had no idea what a can of worms we’d open when I put you in touch
with her. Still, you weren’t to know either. Must have been quite a shock,’ he said, gazing at her.
‘Yes it, er, was. But perhaps some good will come out of it, as you say. I’m a great one for justice,’ she said,
squirming in her chair.
‘Right, well thank you, Charlotte. I’ll go round tomorrow as time seems to be running out for the old lady. Am
I supposed to hold on to her statement until…later?’
She hadn’t thought about that. She knew Andy would have liked it in his own hands but couldn’t think of a
valid reason to ask for it back. But if you couldn’t trust a man of God, who could you trust?
‘Please. And would you let me know when you’ve been to see her? So I can feel at ease.’
‘Of course. It sounds as if you two built up quite a rapport for Mrs Batiste to trust you with something so, so
momentous. I’m glad, as I don’t think she had many friends.’
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Charlotte left feeling a little calmer but still anxious. Afraid Maud would not live until the rector witnessed
her sign the all-important document. One which would at last guarantee Jim’s inheritance.
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chapter thirty
By the time Charlotte arrived home it was after five and she found Andy drinking coffee in the kitchen. He
jumped up as she came in, asking, ‘What happened with the rector?’