The letter ended abruptly and had been discarded.
The second consisted only of:
Dear Bellinda,
… with a line drawn through “Bellinda”.
The third was more detailed.
Dear Belinda,
You will be surprised to receive this letter
but I must see you urgently. It concerns the cottage and as I intend to leave it to you, you should be aware
of what I have discovered.
No doubt you have heard of Lancelot Bro
Again the letter ended suddenly and had been screwed up and consigned to the waste bin. Belinda considered her reflection in the dusty mirror of the dresser.
‘Lancelot who?’ she asked her diametric twin.
The squeal of the garden gate sent her scurrying to the window. Rosemary made her exuberant way through the weeds clutching Belinda’s coat in her hands. Belinda smiled and hurried downstairs to greet her neighbour.
‘Rosemary. It’s perfect,’ Belinda exclaimed, delightedly inspecting the lining of her coat. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job. How can I thank you?’
‘Please,’ laughed Rosemary, ‘I was just repairing the damage done by my clumsy brother. Talking of whom, he is over the moon about restoring your garden and he told me to ask you to come for dinner tonight. I was going to invite you anyway, because the pub food is just that – pub food, and I’m sure you have nothing in the house.’
Belinda nodded in agreement. ‘That sounds wonderful. I’d be delighted.’
‘And I don’t suppose you have any hot water here either, so if you want a bath, come over before dinner, say about five o’clock and make use of our bathroom.’
Belinda spent the rest of the day in the cottage making discoveries, which included a Spode dining service and a collection of Waterford crystal goblets.
As the sun increased in warmth, she wandered down the hill past the pub and along the old railway tracks, long forgotten now and overgrown with weeds; encountered a rippling stream that lead to an ancient water mill; exchanged pleasantries with a few of the locals; and made her way back to the cottage as the sun began to sink behind the nearby hills. The charm of the country overwhelmed her and the thought of returning to noisy, dusty London on the Monday morning grew more unattractive by the minute.
The far wall of her property formed the side of the pub’s car park, and Belinda decided to return to the cottage via her own garden.
A wooden beer barrel provided a ready-made stile and she dropped effortlessly down into the damp earth beneath a large-oak tree. Various overgrown paths presented themselves and Belinda chose the least congested and the one that revealed the rooftop of the house in the distance. She strode on up the hill, her breathing increasing as the steep slope took its toll, while around her the branches began to thicken. The path stopped abruptly and Belinda paused to catch her breath.
In the thick foliage the silence was almost tangible and her breathing sounded unnaturally loud in her ear. She sensed rather than heard the snap of twigs breaking and held her breath tightly to decipher the cause.
Something was rushing helter-skelter towards her.
With a broken cry Belinda ran.
Crusted fingers of branches mauled her as she ran blindly towards the sanctuary of the house. The pursuing creature crashed wildly through the undergrowth, gaining at every step.
Almost senseless with fright she stumbled into the open space before the house and fell heavily over a displaced paving stone. For a moment she thought she would faint.
Then she sensed and heard the thing approach her and the snorting and licking being was upon her, yelping delightedly after the exciting chase.
Belinda opened her eyes and beheld the black snout and friendly face of a large brown dog that leapt and gambolled about her, begging for the game to continue.
Tears of relief and amusement flooded down her cheeks as she sat upright and patted the energetic mongrel. It licked the tears away and Belinda shrieked with laughter and pleasure. Suddenly the dog was still and alert. Pointed ears pricked up and it looked off into the depths of the garden.
Once again Belinda heard the indisputable sound of something moving in the trees.
The dog bounded swiftly into the shrubs towards the sound, leaving Belinda alone and exposed. She scrambled to her feet and ran to seek the protection of the house. The heavy door slammed shut behind her and she felt secure. For the moment. For there was a growing realisation within her that some obscure dread was slowly beginning to encircle her.
A little after five, as the twilight gave way to the evening gloom, Belinda made her way up the hill to Jacob and Rosemary’s cottage. She carried her overnight bag containing a pair of jeans and a warm woollen top.
‘Come in,’ Rosemary greeted her warmly, and ushered her into the cosy dwelling. The bathroom was warm and smelt of tantalising perfumes. ‘Now you take your time with your bath,’ she continued as she heaped thick towels on Belinda’s arm, ‘dinner will be in three-quarters of an hour. Jacob is on his way home and is bringing a special bottle of wine,’ she concluded with a broad grin.
Belinda sank back into the scented foam and gave herself over to the luxury of the hot water. The country air and the exercise had made her pleasantly sleepy.
‘I’m just popping down to the shops in the next village,’ called Rosemary, from the door, ‘I’m out of mustard and I need some for the roast beef.’ Belinda heard her close the front door and drive away in her car.
‘A car,’ said Belinda to herself, ‘I suppose I shall have to get one. I’ll need it to do shopping and to get into town.’
Her thoughts flashed from the need of a car to the unexplained letters that aunt Jane had begun and discarded.
‘What was it she wanted to tell me?’
Belinda swished the comforting warm water over her arms. Her aunt had obviously started to reveal the secret in one of the letters but rejected the idea, preferring to tell her personally.
‘Was it so important that she feared the letter falling into other hands?’ Belinda wiped her face with a sponge. ‘Was it significant enough for someone to murder her?’
Again the feeling that her aunt had not died a natural death took hold. Yet the police thought otherwise. Was she being over-dramatic? Nevertheless the connection between her aunt’s letters and her death seemed unmistakable to Belinda. Did it have something to do with the incomplete name in the abandoned letter?
‘What was it?’ murmured Belinda. ‘Lancelot Bro…? Bro… what? She ran some more hot water into the tub. ‘Bronte? What was Charlotte and Emily’s brother’s name?’ Belinda racked her brain but the name eluded her. He was a poet and a painter. Had aunt Jane discovered a painting by him? And would that be a strong enough motive for murder?
The belief that her aunt was murdered grew stronger by the minute, but Belinda realised she could produce no evidence to confirm her conviction. She lazily washed her smooth legs and had just pulled the plug when she heard a car come to a stop.
Time for dinner. She rose from the water and enveloped herself in the towel. She began to hum gently to herself and pushed thoughts of murder from her mind, giving herself over to the pleasant contemplation of renovating the cottage.
‘Branwell. Branwell Bronte.’
The name popped unsolicited into her mind.
Well, that put paid to that theory. Belinda’s thoughts returned automatically to the mysterious name in her aunt’s letter.
She had just finished drying herself and was reaching for her clothes when she heard the stairs creak and slow shuffling footsteps at the door.
Her flesh tingled and her eyes widened as she saw the handle of the bathroom door slowly begin to turn.
***
Four
Belinda took an apprehensive step backwards.
The door swung open. Jacob entered yawning, his eyes shut tight in a sleepy grimace and a towel flung over his bare shoulder.
The near-naked Belinda ga
sped, and Jacob came to an abrupt halt. His eyes opened wide in astonishment. Belinda clutched the inadequate towel around her. Jacob swallowed hard and quickly exited, pulling the door closed behind him.
Belinda smiled to herself. A deep chuckle began in her breast and emerged as a full-throated laugh.
A few minutes later, fully dressed and carrying her overnight bag, Belinda descended the narrow staircase to the combined kitchen and dining room. Jacob, now wearing a dark heavy woollen pullover over his amply muscled torso, was standing at a sideboard opening a bottle of wine. Belinda paused at the bottom of the stairs and their eyes met as Jacob turned over his shoulder to look at her.
His serious features suddenly relaxed into a grin, and a moment later when Rosemary stepped in through the front door, she found the two of them roaring with laughter.
‘What’s so funny? Tell me?’
Jacob, almost choking with laughter, replied: ‘I think I owe Miss Lawrence another apology.’
The roast beef was cooked to perfection and the fresh country vegetables, grown in local gardens, provided Belinda with the most enjoyable meal she had had in many a day. After the dishes were stacked away to be washed in the morning, the three relaxed over the last of the wine.
‘I’m willing to bet, Miss Lawrence, that you’d find no finer food in any of your grand London restaurants.’ Jacob spread his long legs out, stretching and yawning. Belinda felt her eyes drawn uncontrollably to Jacob as he raised his arms above him and threw his head back so that his strong throat was exposed and blond hairs, that she now knew covered his chest, appeared at his collar.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she replied hurriedly, ‘but as I seldom have the opportunity to dine at grand restaurants, I’ll have to take your word for it.’
Rosemary began to prepare coffee. Belinda decided that now was as good a time as any to make enquiries about her aunt.
‘How long have you lived in Milford?
‘Most of our lives,’ replied Rosemary as she lit the flame under the pot. ‘Jacob was born shortly after we moved here from Wells. That’s where we lived when I was born and our parents moved shortly after, so Jacob grew up here in Milford.’
Belinda transferred her attention to Jacob who was toying with the salt cellar.
‘Then you would have known aunt Jane very well?’
Jacob’s fingers froze on the salt cellar and Rosemary turned abruptly to face the table. Brother and sister exchanged a hasty glance.
Rosemary shrugged. ‘Not really. No one did – very well.’
Belinda looked from one to the other.
‘But you live right behind her house. Do you mean over all those years you never spoke?’ she questioned unbelievingly.
Rosemary hesitated and dropped her eyes as she turned back to the coffeepot.
‘Well, your aunt didn’t welcome visitors. She was –’
‘She was a cantankerous old maid who made life uncomfortable for everyone who came near her.’
Rosemary shot Jacob a look that implied he should hold his tongue. Belinda looked at him and he met her gaze steadily.
‘Perhaps,’ said Belinda frostily, ‘she may have had good reason. After all some people can be unpleasant.’
‘Point taken. It’s just that your aunt rejected every neighbourly advance we made to her.’
‘Including, no doubt, your offer of renovating her garden?’
Jacob’s eyes became steely.‘Especially that.’
‘And because you didn’t get your way,’ continued Belinda, ‘you decided that she was a difficult old maid. Just because you couldn’t get your hands on her garden. Was it that important to you? A weed-infested yard?’
Before Jacob could reply, Rosemary hurried to the table with the coffee cups.
‘No, dear. Jacob is quite right. She was a very difficult woman. Not just with us, but the whole village.’
Belinda breathed deeply in the following silence. Then she shrugged.
‘I apologise. I may have been wrong. It’s just that …’
‘I know,’ interrupted Rosemary soothingly, ‘she was your aunt.’
‘And she died a horrible lonely death,’ Belinda concluded, more sharply than she intended.
‘Now look,’ snapped Jacob, ‘don’t accuse us of …’
‘I’m not accusing anyone of anything.’
‘Honestly, dear. We never dreamt that she had fallen,’ said Rosemary gently. ‘If we had had any idea that she was in trouble, don’t you think we would have gone to her aid?’
‘If your aunt had made an attempt to be neighbourly,’ said Jacob steadily, ‘we would have been friends and in and out of her house the same as we are with all the other villagers. We are a close-knit community; furthermore we support each other. Your aunt chose to be alone.’
There was a silence. What they said was true, Belinda realised. She flushed and ran her hand over her brow.
‘I’m sorry. Forgive me. I believe you.’ She looked at brother and sister and gave a weak smile.
Rosemary returned it with a beaming grin and began to pour the coffee.
‘And don’t you think, under the circumstances,’ Belinda added, sipping her wine, ‘seeing that I am to be a neighbour, you should call me Belinda?’
Jacob raised his glass. ‘I’ll drink to that,’ he replied, and took a healthy gulp of wine. He leant forward and put his elbows on the table. ‘I think it is a good thing that you will be living there, keeping the property in the family, so to speak.’
‘Well, we shall see what the future brings,’ Belinda said, stifling a yawn, the country air and the wine combining to lull her into a relaxed mood.
Jacob looked at her quizzically. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he asked, a belligerent note creeping into his voice.
Belinda glanced at him and was surprised to find an aggressive look in his eye. ‘Just what I said. I’ll wait and see.’
‘Does that mean you may not be staying? Do you plan to sell the cottage?’
Belinda shrugged. It was too late in the evening to be having this sort of discussion and, after all, it was none of his business.
‘I might,’ she admitted in an off-hand manner. ‘I’ll live here for a time, and then decide.’
Jacob pushed his chair away from the table and drew his legs closer to him in an aggressive stance, as though he was about to spring into action.
‘Folk around here care for their homes, Belinda. They care for the land and they don’t just sell off their property for a quick profit.’
Rosemary put her hand on his arm to restrain him but he brushed it aside. Belinda began to feel uncomfortable and angry.
‘You seem to forget, Jacob that I am not “from around here”, as you put it. I have just this weekend become aware that I own the place, and as I do own it, you will allow me to make up my own mind as to what I do with it.’
Jacob opened his mouth to reply, but his sister spoke ahead of him.
‘Of course you should, Belinda,’ she said soothingly, ‘but if you are going to live here, what will you do for work? Have you any plans?’ Belinda gratefully dragged her eyes away from Jacob and turned to Rosemary. She realised with a shock that she had not even thought of that aspect of living in the village.
‘Do you know, I hadn’t thought of that? I suppose I will have to find some work. Perhaps I’ll find something in Bath.’
Rosemary swilled the dregs of her wine in her glass.
‘Well, if you are interested, I may be able to help you.’
Jacob gave a mock snort of disgust.
‘You don’t think Belinda would be interested in what you call work, do you?’
‘I’ll thank you, Jacob, to not be dismissive about my job.’
Belinda nodded. ‘Yes, Jacob. And allow me to make my own decision as to whether I would be interested in the job, thank you.’ She turned to Rosemary. ‘What work is it?’
‘Housework,’ said Rosemary tentatively. Jacob gave a snigger as Belinda’s face fell.
‘What I mean is,’ continued Rosemary, ‘I do house cleaning for some of the professional people who live in the villages surrounding Bath. Most of them don’t have time, what with their work and all, and so I do a couple of hours a week for each of them. Frankly, I’ve got more than I can handle and it would be a relief if you could take some of them over for me. It’s just dusting and running the vacuum cleaner over the rugs. You don’t have to do ironing.’
‘Ironing?’ Belinda almost shrieked.
‘Not unless you want to,’ Rosemary replied hurriedly. She looked pleadingly at Belinda. ‘It pays quite well, and you can work the hours to suit yourself.’
Jacob stood and stretched his large frame.
‘I told you she wouldn’t be interested,’ he said dismissively.
Belinda looked at him with a flash of impatience.
‘Well I am interested,’ she exclaimed a trifle unconvincingly, ‘it sounds ideal, actually. If I can suit myself when I work, but …’ She stopped suddenly as a new thought hit her.
‘What?’ asked Rosemary, fearful that she had lost a workmate.
‘I’ll need a car, won’t I?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Rosemary, ‘but I can help you there. Mr Jackson, who lives in Pebble Cottage nearby, his wife bought a small car last year but she’s since decided that she hates driving so I know they want to sell. You can probably get it for a good price.’
Belinda glanced at Jacob and saw a judgmental look in his eye.
‘That sounds fine,’ she said firmly, ignoring him, ‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow Rosemary, about the car and the job. And now, if you’ll excuse me, thank you for a wonderful meal, but I must be going.’ She rose and bent to pick up her overnight bag.
‘Oh, by the way. Does the name “Lancelot” mean anything to you?’
She straightened up and saw that Jacob was watching her with an odd expression – watchful and suddenly alert.
Rosemary was folding the tablecloth. ‘Wasn’t he one of the Knights of the Round Table? You know, King Arthur and all that?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Belinda replied uncertainly, ‘I expect that’s who I’m thinking of.’ But it wasn’t.
Jacob let his breath out slowly and relaxed a little.
Capable of Murder Page 5