‘What in the hell do you want?’ Belinda demanded, her voice hoarse and authoritative.
The man stumbled back in fright and into the morning sunlight. To Belinda’s amazement, it was not the man from the train but a tall, handsome man, dressed in a dark suit and exuding refinement.
‘Oh,’ gasped Belinda, ‘I thought you were someone else.’
The stranger smiled.
‘Someone you don’t like, I imagine.’ Before Belinda could reply he produced a card from his pocket and presented it to her. ‘You must forgive me for trespassing, but I knew the old house was empty, or at least I thought it was. If I had known you were in residence, I would have arranged to call at a convenient time. My name is Mark Sallinger.’ Belinda glanced at his card and saw that it belonged to a real estate firm in Bath.
‘Well, Mr Sallinger, how may I help you?’ asked Belinda, giving this attractive visitor a relieved smile.
‘Business, I’m afraid, Miss …?’ He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘Lawrence. The cottage belongs to my aunt, or rather did. It’s mine now. My aunt left it to me.’
Her visitor absorbed this information.
‘I see,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I heard that old Miss Lawrence died recently. That was why I came to visit. I thought that perhaps it might be going up for sale and wanted to inspect the property.’
Belinda gave a small laugh. ‘Oh, Mr Sallinger –’
‘Please call me Mark,’ he interrupted. Belinda nodded.
‘Mark … I think it’s a little early for that. I only arrived last night and I’m not sure yet what I intend to do.’
‘Will you be staying on here?’
Belinda considered this.
‘As I said, I’m not sure. Perhaps I will.’
Mark smiled. ‘If you do, you’ll be a welcome addition to the village. But in the meantime should you decide to sell, I’d be delighted if you would consider my company. We have vast experience selling property in this area. I’m sure we could get you a good price.’
Belinda was amused at his smooth business manner.
‘Yes, I’m sure you would … Mark.’
Mark stepped back from the door and turned to go. He gave another smile and waved goodbye. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you again,’ he called as he moved down the path to the garden gate.
Belinda watched him disappear and slowly closed the door behind her. As she pulled the shutters open to admit the daylight the enjoyable thought ran through her head that it might not be such a quiet village after all.
Belinda hardly had time to wash her face in icy water when she heard a knock at the door. Peering through the window she saw her visitor was a hearty-looking young woman about her own age and that she carried a tray covered by a tea towel.
‘Hello,’ said the woman cheerfully, as Belinda opened the door, ‘I’m your next-door neighbour, Rosemary Aitkins. I heard that you’d arrived and I thought that you might not have anything to eat, so I prepared you some tea and toast.’ Beaming a wide smile she held the tray forward.
‘Oh, thank you very much. How kind. Come in,’ said Belinda, grasping the tray and inhaling the luscious aroma of hot buttered toast. The two women entered the long room and sat by the fireplace.
‘I’m Belinda Lawrence,’ said Belinda as she took a huge bite out of the toast and wiped a drop of butter from her chin. ‘Thank you for breakfast. I only had some cheese and biscuits that I found in the kitchen for dinner. Now I’m starving. But how did you know I was here?’
Rosemary laughed and wandered about the dusty room with a curiosity that seemed a natural gift.
‘Things don’t remain a secret long in this village. I’m sorry about your aunt. You are her niece, aren’t you?’
‘Great-niece,’ mumbled Belinda through a mouthful of toast.
‘If we’d had any idea that she was …’ Rosemary hesitated and Belinda smiled understandingly.
‘Thank you. But you weren’t to know. And accidents do happen.’ Even as she said the words Belinda felt the doubts returning.
‘Your aunt never welcomed visitors, and I’ve been dying to sneak a look around the cottage,’ Rosemary said as she turned back to Belinda who was pouring a mug of steaming tea, ‘you know what I mean. I’m such a sticky beak.’
Belinda laughed. She felt relaxed with this happy-go-lucky girl. ‘Feel free to wander about. Actually, you can come upstairs with me to investigate the rooms up there. I didn’t have the nerve to go by myself last night.’
Rosemary rubbed her arms as though suddenly cold.
‘I don’t know how you did it. I wouldn’t have stayed here alone if you’d paid me. Not at night.’
As they delicately stepped around the dried blood at the foot of the stairs, Belinda wondered why, if Rosemary knew she was alone there last night, she had not visited and introduced herself then?
In what was obviously once her aunt’s bedroom the two women inspected the faded lace bedspread and doilies that covered the dresser.
‘Your aunt was very pretty,’ said Rosemary suddenly. Belinda looked at her curiously. Pretty was not the word she would have used to describe the old woman. ‘I mean when she was young,’ continued Rosemary hurriedly, as she nodded at the oval photograph on the wall above the bed. Belinda joined her.
‘You’re right. She was.’ The black and white features of Jane Lawrence, twenty-one years old and posed in a white ball gown, gazed down on the two women from another age.
‘Sad to think how she finished …’ Rosemary stopped suddenly. ‘Sorry. That was a bit crass.’ She glanced guiltily at Belinda.
‘Yes. I know what you mean.’ Belinda turned and walked thoughtfully to the window. Rosemary, anxious to change the subject of the old lady’s death, joined her. The two women looked down onto the overgrown garden.
‘Will you be staying?’ asked Rosemary as she turned away and idly inspected the contents of an old sewing basket.
‘Do you know, I think I will,’ replied Belinda, scanning the distant hills.
‘I was hoping you’d say that. We could do with some new blood around here.’
‘It seems so peaceful after London. Besides, to tell the truth I’ve been restless for the past few months and a change like this might be just the thing. Of course, I will need to make some modifications to the house.’ Belinda ran her fingers along the dusty window ledge. ‘Get central heating and paint the place.’ She glanced out the window and sighed. ‘And then there’s the garden. I don’t know when I’ll find time to do that. It’ll take months.’
Rosemary joined her at the window.
‘Perhaps we can help you. My brother and I, I mean. He’s a landscape gardener and could give you some ideas.’
‘Would he do it for me if I paid him? Gardening isn’t my thing.’
Rosemary laughed. ‘Try and stop him. He said last night that it broke his heart to see Miss Lawrence’s garden going to wrack and ruin. He’d jump at the chance, I’m sure.’
‘Good,’ sighed Belinda, ‘then I must meet him.’
Rosemary pointed out the window. ‘Well, you won’t need to wait long. Here he is now, coming up the road.’ Belinda looked down onto the road and her heart sank to her shoes.
It was the young man from the train.
‘The village idiot,’ she muttered involuntarily.
Rosemary gave her a sharp look.
‘What did you say?’
Belinda blushed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just that I think we’ve already met. Yesterday on the train.’
Rosemary gave Belinda a searching look and a smile hovered about her lips.
‘You don’t mean,’ she chuckled, ‘you don’t mean that it was you. Oh, you poor thing. Jacob told me last night that he made life hell for some unfortunate woman on the train yesterday. He was so embarrassed.’ She grasped Belinda’s arm. ‘You must come and meet him and allow him to apologise. He’s really harmless.’
&nbs
p; ‘I don’t know how you can say that,’ retorted Belinda, as Rosemary dragged her down the stairs. ‘You haven’t seen the damage he did to my coat, not to mention my skirt.’
Rosemary’s eyes widened. ‘I haven’t heard about the skirt. You must tell me.’ She ran out into the garden and called over the wall to her brother. ‘Jacob. Jacob, come here. I have someone for you to meet.’
Jacob, his fair hair brushed back from his strong face, sauntered over to his sister and looked up to her as she stood leaning over the wall.
‘Jacob, may I introduce Miss Lawrence. However, I think you’ve already met.’ She collapsed into silent laughter. Jacob looked bewildered and his handsome masculine face reddened as Belinda appeared beside his sister.
‘You!’
The two women looked down at him and, for an instant, Belinda thought that he was going to make a run for it. She took pity on him; after all, he was going to be a neighbour.
‘Won’t you come in?’ she asked. Jacob hesitated and then, taking a deep breath, he strode up to the gate and entered the garden.
‘Miss Lawrence?’ he said, as he put out his hand. ‘Welcome to Milford. I want you to know that I am sorry for what happened yesterday and I hope you’ll forgive me.’
‘I’m sure she will,’ said Rosemary, ‘and if she gives me her coat, I can repair the damage.’
Belinda took Jacob’s hand, and he grasped hers firmly.
‘Thank you, Jacob,’ she said, ‘please, let’s forget about yesterday.’
‘But you must allow me to make recompense.’
Belinda was aware that he was holding her hand far too long and she quickly removed it from his grasp. ‘I thought we had settled that on the train,’ she replied testily. ‘I told you to forget it, and I meant it.’
‘But you …’
Rosemary stepped forward quickly.
‘Jacob, Miss Lawrence is interested in restoring the garden.’ Turning to Belinda she continued: ‘If you’ll fetch me the coat, I’ll do the repairs now.’
It took Belinda only a few minutes to show her neighbour the tear in the coat lining and Rosemary set off for home with the promise that she would return it shortly.
Belinda wandered out into the garden. There was no sign of Jacob. A precocious spring flower thrusting through the overgrown grass caught her attention and she stooped to inspect it.
‘It’s a crocus angustifolius,’ said a disembodied voice. Startled, Belinda stood upright as Jacob dropped to the ground from the tree above.
‘Can’t you behave like a normal person,’ she snapped sharply, ‘you frightened the life out of me. Hiding in trees like a schoolboy.’
Jacob looked defensive. ‘I was just inspecting the branches in the tree, to see what damage had been done to them. I call that normal behaviour, even if you don’t.’
Belinda silently cursed him. He was a pain, she decided, but he might be able to help her with the garden, so she determined to humour him.
‘I was thinking about repairing the garden, and Rosemary suggested that you might be able to help me.’
‘Do you mean it?’ Jacob said earnestly. ‘Because for years I tried to talk the old battleaxe – begging your pardon – your aunt, into permitting me to restore it, but she kept to herself most of the time and would have none of it.’
‘Well, if I do stay here I shall want the garden neat and tidy, and the same applies if I should decide to sell. I intend to do some of the repairs to the house myself, such as painting and wallpapering, so I won’t have time to do the garden as well. Rosemary tells me that you do landscape gardening. What would it cost if you were to do the garden for me?’
Jacob cast his eye over the jungle of weeds and overgrown shrubs and slowly scratched his head. ‘Ah, Miss. That’s the question. I shouldn’t like to say until I had the chance to inspect the damage done and lay out some plans for you.’
‘Plans?’ asked Belinda, sudden doubts assailing her. Plans suggested time and paperwork and that added up to money unnecessarily spent. ‘Why would you need plans? Couldn’t you just set out a garden …?’
Jacob eyed her questioningly.
‘I could, but what d’ you mean when you say “a garden”?’
Belinda floundered. ‘Just … a garden. You know. A country garden … am I making sense?’
‘Well, Miss. If it’s a country cottage garden you want, that may take a little time. It appears that the original garden laid down here was something more than that, and it will take some time and effort to turn it back into what you want, always supposing …’ He left the statement unfinished. Belinda glared at him.
‘Always supposing what?’ she demanded.
Jacob scratched his head again and shuffled his feet.
‘Begging your pardon, Miss, always supposing you really know what you want.’
He glanced up to Belinda’s face and was met by a steely gaze. Belinda swallowed hard and with great restraint idly kicked a weed with her foot – instead of his head as she wished.
‘Mr Aitkins, I think it may be assumed that I do know what I want, and I would be pleased if you’d provide me with a quote for renovating the garden. Firstly clearing it, so that it becomes workable, then I …’ She hesitated, and glanced away from Jacob. ‘Or perhaps … we … can decide just what sort of a garden it should be.’
Jacob smiled and placed his cloth cap on his fair head. He nodded and pulled a small worn notebook from his pocket.
‘Certainly, Miss. I shall need access to the garden for a few days to determine what needs to be done …’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Belinda, walking towards the cottage door, ‘I shall be going back to London on Monday and it will be a week or so before I return, so please, take as much time as you like and come here whenever you need.’ She stopped at the porch, folded her arms and leant against the doorframe. Jacob followed making pencilled observations in the notebook.
‘Are you frightened you’ll forget?’ Belinda asked mockingly.
‘No,’ replied Jacob slowly, as he put away the pad and pencil, ‘I always keep a note of any job I begin. A job I mean to finish, that is.’ He thrust his hands in his hip pockets and stood for a moment looking at her, a happy smile on his handsome face. Belinda shifted uneasily under his inspection.
‘Well, I’ll say goodbye then,’ he said, lifting his cap, ‘and I’ll have a quote for you when you’re next in the village.’ He paused, glanced away, and then back at Belinda. ‘And, might I say, it will be a pleasure having you as a neighbour, Miss.’
With a nod of his head he walked down the path and onto the road. Belinda watched him stride away, his long legs thrusting firmly down at each step and his broad shoulders swinging to an unheard natural rhythm. She smiled to herself and had to admit, once again, that he might be dim, he might be irritating, but he was an attractive creature.
Belinda spent the next few hours exploring the cottage. The first task was the most unpleasant. With an archaic mop and a bucket of water she cleaned the blood from the floor. The water coloured a light ruby, and Belinda reverently poured it over the rudimentary tips of some crocuses. She said a little prayer, wiped her misty eyes, and turned resolutely to the task of cleaning her house.
Her house.
Belinda’s breast swelled with pleasure as she gazed at the facade of the building. The windows of the top floor were open to air the musty bedrooms and it struck Belinda that there was something odd about the end room that had been her aunt’s. She could not define what it was that struck her as curious but it seemed that the window was in the wrong place even though it appeared to be architecturally correct. She shrugged off the uncertainty to hurry indoors.
The kitchen was old fashioned and although it had a gas stove it dated from the nineteen-thirties and would have to be replaced. The furnishings needed some repair and apart from the obvious requirements such as central heating and some new appliances, the house was in surprisingly good condition.
‘A new coat
of paint, and some elbow grease, will have the place sparkling in no time,’ Belinda thought as she climbed the stairs to what had been her aunt’s bedroom. As she did, she inspected the carpet for wear. If her aunt had fallen on the stairs, perhaps she had tripped on a worn carpet? But there was no sign of anything that could trip a person. Belinda got down on her hands and knees and pulled at the carpet on the top stair. It was firm and secure.
‘Well, she didn’t trip over the carpet, that’s certain,’ she thought with some disappointment. It would have laid her doubts to rest if there was evidence that proved the police’s theory. ‘I suppose it is always possible that she just lost her balance and fell.’ But even as she thought it, Belinda instinctively rejected the notion. Yet why should she be so convinced that it was not an accident?
The bedroom had an Old World quality of lace and faded flowers, and as Belinda began to collect her aunt’s clothes to give to a charity, her gaze fell upon the waste paper bin beside the dresser. Some scraps of cotton and a garish red business card revealed themselves as Belinda rummaged through the bin. She inspected the card that bore the inscription:
Heirloom Antiques – Specialists in objets d’art & Georgian Silver. Proprietor, H. Whitby
and an address in Bath.
Turning the card over, Belinda read, in barely decipherable handwriting,
“Do you have anything you wish to sell? If so give me a call.”
It was signed “Mrs Hazel Whitby”.
Belinda put the card aside. There were also a number of screwed up pages from a writing pad. Belinda unfolded them. The easily recognisable spidery handwriting of her aunt scrawled across the page. Three notes were addressed to her and were obviously attempts at drafting the letter that had finally been sent to Belinda. The first read:
Dear Belinda, you will no doubt be surprised to
hear from me but I have something that will
interest you. It concerns the cottage and as you
Capable of Murder Page 4