“I saw trunks full of dusty old ledgers, but I wasn’t concerned with how much Lord Renlow spent on bacon in 1843.”
“If I were writing a book set in that year, I’d be very interested in that. Money expenditure tells a lot about people.”
“Too right.” He pushed a spiral-bound notebook toward her.
Sara opened it. There were pages of notes about financial transactions, but Chris encouraged her to keep turning until she came to the heading Mary Williams. When Sara looked at him, he nodded, and she read aloud.
“Mary Williams, a widow, was hired as a maid at Oxley in 1948. In one year, she was promoted to head housekeeper and given three pay raises.”
“Sounds like she was really good at her job,” Sara said.
“So good that in 1950, there was a special allowance to pay for her new clothes. Twice.”
“Unusual that the house paid for them.”
“I thought so too,” Chris said.
“There could have been an accident,” Sara said. “One that the house was responsible for and they made amends.”
“True,” Chris said. He turned a page and ran his finger along a line. “December 24, 1950. A midwife was paid for delivering Mary’s child.”
“Ah. She was pregnant and the house paid for her maternity clothes.” Sara leaned forward. “As a fellow researcher, let me guess what you did next. You went to the chapel to see if there were any records of the birth.” Sara’s eyes were sparkling. Historical mysteries were her favorite kind. “What did you find out?”
He picked up his phone and showed her a photo of an entry in the Parish register. Bertram Nicholas Renlow born 24 December 1950. The parents were listed as Hume and Sybilla Renlow.
“Bertram...” Sara whispered.
He showed her another photo. It was of a couple standing by a Christmas tree at Oxley Manor. The man was fastening what looked to be a spectacular diamond necklace around the neck of the woman. She had on a 1950s dress with a portrait neckline that exposed her from the shoulders up. Her belted waist was tiny. Written on the photo was Sybilla and Hume. Christmas. 1950.
“And she gave birth to Bertram the day before? Ha!” Sara leaned back in her chair. “That had to be Mary’s child, but the Renlows claimed him. So what happened to Mary?”
“There was an expense for the burial of Mary Williams four months after she’d given birth.”
“I wonder if Bertram ever knew that his mother was actually the maid? He—” She halted. “But Bertram thought he had a sister?”
“He was their only child.”
“But what about Mary? She was a widow. Did she have any other children?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see any mention of that. There were expenses for children, but I assumed they were the kids of people who worked at Oxley.”
“Exactly,” Sara said. “I’m trying to piece this together into a story. Mary Williams, a widow, gets a job as a maid at Oxley Manor, then she was quickly promoted to head housekeeper.”
“So she was smart and good at her job.”
“Or very, very pretty,” Sara said. “Whatever, she was soon pregnant.”
“By an unknown man.”
“I don’t think Lady Sybilla would have agreed to take the kid if his father was the local blacksmith,” Sara said. “And I don’t think that necklace was a coincidence of timing. Maybe ol’ Hume gave her the diamonds as a peace offering.’”
Chris nodded. “Sounds plausible. Especially if she was barren. Then Mary died four months later. How convenient for the Renlow family.”
“Byon’s story said Bertram got drunk and talked about the sister he never wanted. He didn’t like her. Said she was too bossy. Maybe the sister wanted a cut of the place. She wanted to share everything. And why not? They had the same mother.”
“And Bertram’s response to this proposition?”
“He told her to get the hell away from him.” For a few moments, they looked at each other in silence.
“I bet she was really, really angry,” Chris said.
“Like maybe she would do anything to get Oxley Manor. Maybe like crazy obsessed,” Sara said.
Again, they were silent.
Chris moved his chair back. “I have to see to my horse, take him out for a run. When I get back, maybe we should...”
“Take a car and go see some of the sights of England? Leave Oxley Manor forever?”
“Perfect idea. Give me a couple of hours.”
As Sara left the room, she texted a single word to Kate. Bella.
Twenty-Nine
Jack and Kate stopped for lunch at a pub in a pretty village. They sat in a little walled garden that was heavy with the scent of roses.
“Puck would like this,” Jack said.
“She would. I wonder how she’s getting along in London.”
“I think that without her mother, she may blossom like one of these roses.”
“I hope she stops hiding in trees.” Kate was looking down at her plate. “Think Aunt Sara is okay without us?”
“I think she’s probably doing exceptionally well.”
She looked up at him. “It was like she couldn’t wait for us to leave. Not like she wanted peace, but like she wanted to do something.”
Jack frowned. “Something she doesn’t want us to know about? Something dangerous that she wants to protect us from?”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Kate said.
Jack lowered his voice. “The inspector said Mrs. Aiken was screaming that she had nothing to do with Mr. Howland’s death. She said he was a nice man. He used to compliment her cooking and gave her a silk jacket from Japan. She said he didn’t deserve to die.”
“Unlike Sean, who did?”
“Welcome to the evil logic of Mrs. Aiken.”
Kate didn’t say anything for a moment. “What do you think Aunt Sara is investigating all by herself?” When Jack didn’t answer, she looked at him. “Mr. Howland,” she said softly.
“Someone was trying to get rid of us.”
“You don’t think Mrs. Aiken was the one who made Clive think a billionaire client wanted him back in London? And the party for Nadine?”
“Mrs. Aiken thinks Cambridge is a big city. I can’t see her dealing with a bank in London or lord somebody.” Jack looked at her. “Remember when we first met Mr. Howland?”
“Very well,” Kate said.
“He mentioned a woman named Thelma Thompson.”
“Who used to work at Oxley,” Kate said.
“I was curious about her so I did a search of the name. It’s too common to come up with anything, but then Puck helped me. She knew where there was a tax list of employees—with their addresses.”
“How very interesting,” Kate said. “You wouldn’t happen to know where she lives now, would you?”
“As a matter of fact, I believe she lives with her mother in a cottage about eight miles from here.”
“What a coincidence. I wondered why you were so set on a scenic route.”
Jack gave a bit of a smile. “It is remarkable, isn’t it? You—” He broke off because Kate stood up.
“We are losing daylight. Let’s go.” She signaled the waitress. “Could we have a dozen of these lovely scones to go? We’re going to visit someone.”
* * *
It was raining hard by the time they found the cottage. The building was what the English called “chocolate box” meaning it was cute enough to be on a box of candy. It had a stone path through a garden that was a mix of fruit trees and tall flowers that stood upright in the rain.
“I’m in love,” Kate said as she looked through the windshield.
“It’s too much to hope that’s meant for me,” Jack said. “If it’s for that thatched roof, it’s too much maintenance.”
“Spoilsport.”
She got her umbrella and the bag of scones. “Are we sure we want to do this? It was all a long time ago.”
“Mr. Howland’s death wasn’t,” Jack said as he opened the car door. “And yes, I want all the information I can get.”
Jack took her umbrella, held it over both of them, and they hurried to the front door. They clanked the brass knocker but there was no answer.
They were about to leave when the door opened. An older woman stood there, her eyes dark and bright, her face wrinkled. She was too old to be the woman they were seeking.
“We’re looking for Thelma Thompson, who used to work at Oxley Manor,” Jack said loudly over the rain.
The woman smiled. “That’s my daughter. She’s just out to do the shopping.” She pushed the door open wider. “Come in out of the rain.”
Kate went into the house, and Jack followed her.
The ceilings were low, with giant, blackened beams across them.
“Come into the kitchen and I’ll make a pot of tea. Or are you one of those Americans who only drink coffee?”
“We love tea and I brought scones.” Kate held up the bag.
The kitchen was adorably quaint, and Kate thought Sara would love to photograph it. A narrow Aga in bright yellow was at one end. The warmth emanating from it filled the room. A side wall held a huge oak cabinet that was packed with dishes with many different patterns. “This is lovely,” Kate said as Jack sat down at the table. “Truly beautiful.”
“Just an old cottage,” she said, but they could tell she was pleased.
“Can I help?” Kate asked.
“You can put the scones on a plate.”
Kate enjoyed looking at the patterns on the dishes and chose one with a peacock on it, placed the scones on it, then sat down beside Jack.
“Your daughter used to work at Oxley Manor,” he said. “We want to talk to her about that. When will she be back?”
“It will be quite a while,” the woman said. “I’m Edna Thompson.”
“Oh, sorry,” Kate said and introduced them.
“Medlar?” Mrs. Thompson said. “That’s the name...” She shook her head. “My memory’s not what it used to be. Something to do with Bella.”
“Yes,” Kate said. “They’re friends, and Sara Medlar is my aunt.”
“Bella,” Mrs. Thompson said. “That poor girl. She wasn’t treated well. Her ladyship hated her. Then Bertram... Well, that wasn’t fair at all.”
“Sounds like you know a lot about what went on at Oxley Manor,” Jack said.
“I should. I worked there for over forty years. Thelma was there for a while, but she wanted to work in an office. Don’t blame her. There were things that went on in that house... Many times, I wanted to leave.”
Jack and Kate were looking at her with wide eyes.
“My daughter says I talk too much. That’s why it takes her hours to go shopping. She says train stations are quieter than living with me.”
“We’d love to hear anything you can tell us about Bella Guilford and Oxley Manor.”
“Guilford? Is that what she calls herself now? It was Williams when I knew her. But Bella always was ambitious. She said she’d own Oxley Manor someday. Said she’d find someone gullible and stupid enough to give her the money and the house and land would be hers.”
At that remark, Jack looked angry. Under the table, Kate put her hand over his and squeezed tight.
“Why did Bella want Oxley Manor so much?” Kate asked.
“She’s Bertram’s half sister. Same mother, different father. Only back then, that was a secret. Bertram! Now there was a nasty little boy.”
“We didn’t know Bella was Bertram’s sister,” Kate said. “Could you tell us everything, please? From the beginning?”
“Who was Bella’s mother?” Jack asked.
Mrs. Thompson poured them cups of tea and sat down across from them. “That house! I don’t know what about it made them love it so much. It was cold and creaky. I like this place better. It’s always warm.”
“The Renlows loved it,” Jack said.
“They were a vain lot. They liked to say that the house and land were given to them by a king so they had to take care of it. That’s why the old earl married Sybilla. She was a shrew.”
“But a rich one?” Jack asked.
“Yes, very rich. But from trade, if you know what I mean. But she wanted something money couldn’t buy. She wanted a son. And his lordship couldn’t—not with her, anyway.” Mrs. Thompson got a wicked gleam in her eye. “One day he told me, ‘Edna, it just won’t go up when I’m with her. It lays there like a dead fish.’”
“It sounds like you two were close,” Kate exclaimed.
“Grew up together. Of course my pap was the gardener but that didn’t stop us from playing together. He—”
“And Bella’s mother?” Kate asked.
“That was Mary. Pretty girl she was, and we all liked her. Her husband had died in the war and she had a young girl to take care of.”
“That was Bella,” Kate said.
“Yes. She was an odd child. Rarely ever smiled. She wasn’t pretty, but she had airs about her as if she had always lived in a Great House. When Mary had a swollen belly, we never said a word. We knew where it came from. But so did the shrew. We thought she’d throw Mary out, but she didn’t. We should have known that she had something up her sleeve. She was always one for making plans.”
Mrs. Thompson took a sip of her tea. “She took Mary’s baby, and we were told to say that Lady Sybilla had given birth to the child.”
“I guess no one protested,” Jack said.
“Back then, things like that happened often. Adopted children were never told they were adopted for fear that they’d feel left out. Mary had a hard labor and she never really recovered.”
“So taking that baby looked like a kind and generous act,” Kate said.
“It did. And Mary died just four months later.”
“Of natural causes?” Jack asked.
Mrs. Thompson took her time answering. “There was talk among us. If Mary had recovered, Lady Sybilla might have had to give the baby back, but she doted on the child. Spoiled him horribly.”
“What about Isabella?”
“She was sent away to boarding school and never allowed to come back. I’ll never forget her screams the day she was taken away. Nearly broke my heart. She said she loved Oxley Manor and it was hers. Hers!”
Mrs. Thompson shook her head. “She came back only once from that fancy school she was in. Poor thing. It was like in that book... What was it?”
“Jane Eyre?”
“Yes, that’s it.” She paused. “They’re all dead now so I can tell you. His lordship used to secretly take clothes down to Bella at school, and he sent her to university. He was very generous to Mary’s daughter. But...”
“But what?” Kate asked.
“His lordship died suddenly, just as she was about to finish university. He fell off his horse and broke his neck. It was hard to believe since he was a brilliant horseman. Then we found out that he’d lied to Bella over the years. She returned to Oxley Manor for the funeral, thinking she was part of the family and that she’d be staying there. His lordship had told her that he was leaving her the dower house in his will. But there was nothing in the will for Bella, and Lady Sybilla threw her out.”
“I can’t imagine her hurt,” Kate said.
“I heard later that her fancy fiancé dropped her. If he wasn’t going to get to live in a fine house, he wanted nothing to do with her.”
“Poor Isabella,” Kate said.
“Did you see her later?” Jack asked.
Mrs. Thompson frowned. “I saw her at Nicky’s funeral. Oh but that was sad. Bertram had no one to leave the place to. He was broke and didn’t know what to do. I think he and Bella had been fightin
g again. She had...well, she’d had too much to drink and she was very angry. She said, ‘The wrong one drove the car. It was supposed to be Bertram.’ I guess she meant fate had made a mistake. She said she could have managed Nicky, but not Bertram.”
“Is that when she said she’d find some rich, gullible person to pay for it?” Jack’s anger was showing.
“Yes, it was.”
“What happened—?” Kate began, but stopped when the front door opened.
“I’m home. They had a sale on salmon so I got us some. Oh! We have company.”
“This is my daughter, Thelma.”
She was older but still pretty—but she didn’t look as friendly as her mother. “What’s going on here?”
Kate stood and introduced herself and Jack. “Mr. Howland died a few days ago and—”
Thelma gasped.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “He spoke very highly of you. Since you were on the way of our journey to Scotland, we thought we’d stop by and tell you in person.”
Kate and Jack held their breaths to see what the woman would say.
Her face softened as she put a bag on the table. “Mr. Howland. What a lovely man. He used to tease me that we should get married. He kept saying he’d buy Oxley Manor for me. After I left, I should have let him know where I was, but I was too afraid of her to give out that information.”
“Afraid of who?” Jack asked.
“Isabella, of course. She’s why I left. Mr. Howland and I heard her tell Mr. Bertie that he had to let her live there, that Oxley Manor was hers as much as his since they had the same mother. He shouted back that her mother was the maid and had nothing to do with him. He told her to get out and never come back. Then she said she’d own Oxley Manor no matter what she had to do to get it.
“When she left, she saw us standing there. Mr. Howland was laughing. He thought it was all a joke, especially since he was planning to buy Oxley. He said to Bella, ‘Maybe you can come clean for me. Like your mother did.’ Oh, but he could be arrogant! Very proud of himself, he was.”
“How did Bella react to that?” Kate asked.
Thelma’s face seemed to lose color. “In all my life I’ve never seen anyone look like that. Pure hatred. Made my hair stand on end. The next day I gave in my notice. I knew she would find a way to make my life hell so I got out. I couldn’t stand what went on there anyway.”
A Forgotten Murder Page 31