Where There’s a Will

by Beth Corby

  I looked at the cook and she looked at me, and I saw the same impotent fury reflected back. I have never felt such unity with a person I’ve never spoken to before, and with mute agreement, strong because of each other, we turned to face Mrs Jennings.

  ‘No,’ we said together and walked out.

  ‘I hope the devil finds you,’ shouted the cook, and I closed the door. Even though she was only a couple of years younger than me, I took her hand and we ran away from the house like children into the park opposite, only stopping when we had turned several corners and found a bench.

  The cook was shaking. Tears ran down her face and I didn’t feel too steady myself as I started to panic about what might happen to Jane, so we sat down and I handed her my handkerchief. When she had calmed down a little, the cook said she was crying because she was angry, and I wasn’t to get any silly ideas about her being weak. She was just furious, she explained, and glared at me, daring me to say different. I liked her immediately.

  I asked her what had happened and she told me how her husband, a tube driver, had struck a man who’d jumped in front of his train. It had taken hours to clean up the mess, and her husband had lost his nerve and his job, and now suffered from claustrophobia, agoraphobia and nightmares. He needed help, she explained, and they had waited for months for an appointment with a specialist they were seeing that afternoon. She had to take him, she explained, because he wouldn’t leave the house without her. Mrs Jennings, though having previously agreed to the time off, had forgotten, and therefore refused to allow her to go with the results I had seen.

  She shook her head with a grim smile. ‘At least now I can take my husband to his appointment.’ Her expression suggested that what lay ahead would be very difficult. Realising this, I offered my help and she accepted, with the stern warning that she only did so because she’d do anything for her husband.

  That afternoon was an education. She was an abrasive woman, but I watched her manage her nervy husband so gently, without ever mentioning her own problems. I called taxis and helped support him as she kept up a constant stream of comments and admonishments that kept him calm. Over that afternoon I gained a true respect for that stern cook, who was resilient and real. What was more, she knew who I was and what I did, but never mentioned it. And though we were very different people from dissimilar backgrounds, we were sailors caught in the same storm, and it was she who hatched the plan to save both us and Jane. It was a very good plan, and the next day we visited Mrs Jennings.

  Mrs Jennings welcomed us, expecting to crush our spirits beneath her heel. Her confidence suggested she would make us pay handsomely and she expected us to grovel. It was only as we stood our ground that she realised we were not there to apologise. She listened to our proposal with growing incredulity, and could barely contain her indignation when we told her we were leaving. We warned her that, if there were any reprisals, we would embarrass her by telling everyone what we knew about Mr Jennings.

  We knew this would work, because even though Mrs Jennings was powerful, she detested the thought of anyone sniggering behind her back, and she realised that, while she could condemn one of us as spreading malicious gossip, two of her closest assets spreading the same tale would be a very different matter. I told her that if she wanted to give Mrs Crumpton—

  I almost drop the letter.

  — a glowing reference, then all the better.

  Mrs Jennings looked like a rat caught in a trap – for between us, we knew everything about her. There was no way out, but she relaxed slightly when she realised we only wanted a reference. We weren’t blackmailing her, just persuading her to be a decent person, with no room for reprisals.

  Whether she thought us honest or stupid, she never said, and to be fair, it was a glowing reference, though it was never used. We left London, sold my flat and bought The Laurels. And this is where we settled. I wrote novels as Isadora Layton (as you should by now have discovered), and Mrs Crumpton took on the role of cook/housekeeper, while her husband became my gardener – an undemanding role that suited him – until he died a few years ago.

  Your final task is with the solicitor, but please show Alec these letters, if you haven’t already, as for him they will have their own significance. Also, consider how well you and Alec are suited. I know you didn’t get on at that first meeting, but knowing you both, I feel sure you could make each other very happy.

  Beneficially yours,

  Uncle Donald

  ‘Well?’ asks Alec, handing me a mug of coffee.

  I drag my eyes away from the letter and stare up at him. ‘Mrs Crumpton knows what happened in London.’

  ‘What? Are you sure?’

  ‘She was there.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t she said anything?’ he asks, his voice rising.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t think it was important?’ I suggest.

  ‘But she’s seen how worried we’ve been. She knows Mrs Jennings has been here. Why hasn’t she told us what she knows?’

  I shake my head helplessly. I don’t know what to tell him.

  ‘Well, when she arrives, we’ll ask her,’ says Alec firmly.

  ‘When does she usually get here?’

  ‘Soon,’ he says, pacing irritably around the kitchen.

  I bite my lip anxiously, feeling sweaty and totally unprepared for Mrs Jennings’ visit, but if Mrs Crumpton knows something then we need to be ready. ‘OK, well, if she does know something, shouldn’t Jane hear it, too?’ Alec nods. ‘Could you call her and ask her to come as soon as possible, while I run upstairs and take a quick shower?’

  Alec agrees, still glowering. ‘And then, when she arrives, we’ll ask Mrs Crumpton what she’s been playing at.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I agree, but as I turn to go, he reaches out and grabs my hand. I turn, startled, and glance down at it, warm and strong in mine.

  ‘We’ll beat Mrs Jennings,’ he says, looking earnestly into my eyes, and I’m caught staring into his as if the meaning of life and the universe might be found there.

  I nod, unable to speak, sincerely hoping he’s right, and he drops my hand so we can both make a start.

  I come back downstairs feeling clean, fresh and a little more ready to face Mrs Jennings. Alec gestures towards the kitchen to let me know that Mrs Crumpton has arrived, and realising we probably don’t have time to wait for Jane, I follow him through.

  Mrs Crumpton is scouring the cooker as if she’s scrubbing away the sins of the world, and I clear my throat uncomfortably.

  ‘Mrs Crumpton?’ I begin in clipped tones. ‘Could we please speak to you for a minute?’

  Mrs Crumpton turns with the scourer still in her hand, and for once her suspicious expression is justified.

  ‘Mrs Jennings is coming here at ten and I understand you’ve been keeping something from us?’ I say, trying to sound businesslike.

  I expect her to be defensive, but she sags back against the cooker. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she says with all the relief of Atlas putting down the world. ‘Donald said only to tell you in the direst need, but what with your sister stayin’ and that Jennings woman poppin’ in as the fancy took ‘er, I thought I’d miss the right moment, but ‘ere we are.’

  ‘Here we are,’ I agree, and we all jump as the doorbell rings.

  ‘That’ll be Jane,’ says Alec, mildly amused. Mrs Crumpton gives me an enquiring look, and I bite my lip.

  ‘I let slip to Mrs Jennings that I knew her, and now Jane’s been pulled into this, too,’ I explain.

  Mrs Crumpton’s frown deepens. ‘I’ll make some tea and bring it through,’ she says. ‘You go an’ say hello, and then you can tell me what’s been goin’ on.’

  I meet Jane in the hall and give her a hug. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘Was there something in Donald’s letter? Because my London friends didn’t turn up anything that wasn’t common knowledge,’ she says anxiously.

  ‘Yes . . . perhaps. At least, we think so. Mrs Crumpton was there when
it all blew up between Donald and Mrs Jennings—’

  ‘And she can help us?’ interrupts Jane hopefully, not in the least annoyed. She’s a better person than I am!

  ‘We don’t know, yet,’ I clarify, not wanting to get her hopes up, and we all stare at Mrs Crumpton as she comes past with the tray.

  Mrs Crumpton cocks an eyebrow at us. ‘Come on, then,’ she says, and we follow her into the drawing room. ‘Before anyone asks,’ she begins, eyeing me and Alec with disfavour, ‘he –’ she gestures at the ceiling (Donald apparently having a position in here as well as in the kitchen) ‘– said I might need to help if Mrs Jennings crawled out of the woodwork, but that I had to wait until it was necessary or I might ruin everythin’.’

  ‘How?’ I demand. ‘Surely putting a stop to Mrs Jennings can only be a good thing.’

  ‘Well tell me this, then. How would you have felt if you knew what Donald did in London before you knew anythin’ else about ‘im?’ Mrs Crumpton’s beady eye pierces through me, harpooning my soul. ‘Would you have walked away? If you had, what then? It wasn’t like I could get you back once you’d gone. It would all ‘ave been over, with Donald’s plans ruined, and we couldn’t even be sure she’d try anythin’ in the first place.’

  I shrink a little under her biting certainty, and glance at Jane, who is nibbling her lip. Alec is staring at me anxiously. How come I’m suddenly the one under interrogation?

  ‘I might not have done,’ I say quietly.

  ‘I couldn’t take that chance,’ says Mrs Crumpton decidedly. ‘And Donald knew that.’

  I glance at Alec, who gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘So, what happened in London?’ he asks, shifting the attention back to Mrs Crumpton.

  Unwilling to be rushed, Mrs Crumpton purses her lips and pours the tea. ‘What do you know already?’

  I hold up Donald’s letter. ‘Perhaps it will help if I read this out. Do you mind?’ I ask Mrs Crumpton. ‘It’s about the day you met.’

  ‘Fire away,’ she says, and careful to skip any mention of Jane, I read out the relevant section, sensing Alec and Jane’s attention shift as Donald reveals the identity of Mrs Jennings’ cook.

  ‘I always wondered where you came from,’ says Jane. ‘You arrived with him at The Laurels, and he wouldn’t hear a word said against you. You were as thick as thieves, and yet I’d never seen you before. I thought you must be a relative.’

  ‘No fear!’ scoffs Mrs Crumpton, making us all laugh, and releasing some of the tension.

  ‘So, do you know something that will stop Mrs Jennings?’ asks Alec.

  ‘Hopefully,’ says Mrs Crumpton. ‘But first I need to know why she asked you ‘ere,’ she says, looking at Jane.

  Jane glances nervously at Alec. ‘I had a . . . fling, for want of a better word, with Donald.’ She blushes, but neither Alec nor Mrs Crumpton show the slightest surprise, and I’m guessing Mrs Crumpton suspected as much from Mrs Jennings’ threats all those years ago.

  Mrs Crumpton nods. ‘Right, what you all need to know is the truth about Mrs Jennings’ husband. That’s what we had over ‘er.’ We all wait for her to continue, but she glances at her watch. ‘What time did you say she’s comin’?’

  ‘Ten o’clock. We’ve still got over twenty minutes,’ says Alec.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ says Mrs Crumpton standing up. ‘When I worked for ‘er, whenever she wanted people on their toes, she always turned up fifteen minutes early. Boasted about it, she did, to one of ‘er nasty friends who came to tea. “Catch them on the hop”, she said, and I don’t see why she’d change ‘er ways.’

  ‘We need a plan,’ I say quickly.

  Mrs Crumpton purses her lips. ‘Stop panickin’,’ she says scornfully. ‘Now, she’ll have been plannin’ this for months, if not years, and she’ll have a whole set of things to try until she finds the one that has you cowerin’. The trick is: don’t cower, and don’t show weakness. Now, my problem is that I need to hear what she says, but since I’m staff and should be in the kitchen, that could be tricky.’ Mrs Crumpton frowns hard. ‘But seein’ as she didn’t recognise me—’

  ‘How could she not recognise you?’ I ask.

  Mrs Crumpton huffs at my interruption. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘How old were you?’ I ask curiously.

  ‘I was eighteen when I started with ‘er. I wasn’t cook to begin with, though, nor married until a few years in, but I learnt from Old Cook and took over when she was sacked.’ She stares into the middle distance, looking into the past. ‘I ‘ad long hair back then and I used to have ever such crooked teeth. They were my definin’ feature, you might say. I never did smile, but when we came here Donald sent me to a dental surgeon. Still, I didn’t think I’d changed that much,’ she says, coming back to the present. ‘And after twelve years in ‘er service, I was a bit offended, to be honest with you.’

  ‘Twelve years?’ I blurt out, then boggle at the thought that Mrs Crumpton smiles more than she used to.

  Mrs Crumpton shakes her head. ‘I know. A bit insultin’ really – but it might be useful. That doesn’t solve the problem of me hearin’ what she says, though.’ There’s reproach in her voice for me taking her off topic.

  ‘May I make a suggestion?’ asks Jane. ‘What if you and I arrive together? Won’t Mrs Jennings assume you are some sort of chaperone? And it won’t look odd if you stay in the room.’

  A slow smile spreads across Mrs Crumpton’s face. ‘That could work.’

  ‘But Mrs Jennings saw you here before,’ I point out.

  Mrs Crumpton dismisses this with a clipped shake of her head. ‘Doesn’t matter, staff are all the same to ‘er – even after twelve years. But you learn a lot about a person over that amount of time,’ says Mrs Crumpton, a satisfied expression on her face.

  ‘Shouldn’t we go?’ asks Jane, anxiously checking the clock.

  ‘Might as well, though the hob isn’t finished,’ says Mrs Crumpton regretfully. ‘But we can’t have that woman thinkin’ she’s won, now, can we?’

  ‘But we still don’t know what you have on her,’ I say, following them into the hall. ‘Are you sure Mrs Jennings will back down?’

  ‘She’ll run for the high hills if she knows what’s good for ‘er,’ mutters Mrs Crumpton, disappearing off to the kitchen to get her bag.

  I stare at Jane, feeling a little panicked, and I can see she feels the same.

  We trail into the kitchen where Mrs Crumpton is re-laying the tea tray.

  ‘Right, you two,’ says Mrs Crumpton, addressing me and Jane. ‘Neither of you back down, look scared or agree to anythin’. Let ‘er use up all ‘er threats, and only then will I step in, understand?’

  Jane and I nod. Alec comes in behind us.

  ‘Hot water in the teapot when she comes,’ Mrs Crumpton says to him. ‘Can’t have her noticin’ anythin’s different.’ There’s a determined gleam in Mrs Crumpton’s eyes, and I get the impression she’s enjoying herself. She focuses on Jane’s anxious face. ‘It’s Mrs Jennings that should be worried, not you. So, are we going, or lettin’ the grass grow?’

  ‘Going,’ agrees Jane meekly, and follows Mrs Crumpton out of the house, leaving me and Alec waiting nervously for Mrs Jennings.

  Chapter 25

  Alec and I wander listlessly into the drawing room and sit down, but neither of us can relax.

  ‘God, I hope she knows something really shocking,’ I say with feeling.

  ‘Mrs Crumpton has never let me or Donald down,’ says Alec, fiddling with a coaster.

  ‘Then let’s hope she doesn’t start now.’ I check the time and jump as the doorbell rings.

  ‘It seems Mrs Crumpton knows what she’s talking about,’ says Alec, tapping the face of his watch. We go out to the hall together and Alec opens the front door.

  Mrs Jennings sweeps in clutching her dog, and eyes me head to toe. ‘Good, I’m glad you have the sense to face me, but whether you have the intelligence to accept my offer remains to be seen.’


  Remembering Mrs Crumpton’s advice, I look her in the eye. ‘Good morning to you, too.’

  ‘No Jane?’ she asks, looking around as if Jane might be playing hide and seek.

  ‘It’s not ten, yet,’ I point out, and she smiles tightly.

  ‘Please go through,’ says Alec, indicating the drawing room, and I follow her in and take a seat, while Alec goes to sort out the teapot.

  ‘So, you said you weren’t the sole heir,’ says Mrs Jennings conversationally, though we both know this isn’t a polite enquiry.

  ‘No,’ I say, and happily leave a long silence as she waits for my sense of duty to make me fill it with the answer she wants. She can wait all day as far as I’m concerned.

  ‘So, tell me, how are Donald’s affairs settled?’ she finally asks.

  I just have to keep blocking her moves, like in chess. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’

  Her eyebrows flick up. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’m just a distant relation.’

  ‘And yet you know a lot about his past . . . though not everything. And you are friends with Jane,’ she adds thoughtfully. ‘She’s happily married, I believe?’

  I’m digging myself into a hole whichever way I answer that, so I let the underlying threat to Jane’s marriage lie like an open grave between us.

  ‘Yes, Donald was always fond of Jane,’ she adds. ‘And you like her, too?’

  I glance at the door, wishing Alec would hurry up with the tea. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Oh, isn’t that . . .’ she hesitates, and words like ‘useful’, ‘convenient’ and ‘handy’ all elbow their way into my thoughts, ‘. . . nice,’ she finishes blandly. She smiles as Alec comes in with the tray. ‘Handsome and practical. You would have been quite my type,’ she says as he places the tray on the coffee table. Knowing what she did to Donald, I struggle to maintain a calm expression as I get up to pour the tea. I hand her a cup, and the doorbell rings.