The Last Mrs. Summers

by Rhys Bowen

  “Thank you,” Belinda said. “One tries.”

  “Belinda is starting her own fashion house,” I said. “She’s been working in Paris.”

  “Fancy that.” This sounded like something Queenie would have said. The wistful servant trying to picture something beyond her comprehension.

  “Oh, I see my bag’s already been brought up,” Belinda said. “So is it all right if I take this room? Or do you want it, Georgie?”

  “No, please take it. I really don’t mind where I sleep,” I said.

  “That other one is just as nice,” Rose said. “I’ll show you.”

  My room was next door to Belinda’s. It wasn’t really my choice of room—a little too like Castle Rannoch to ever be cozy. The walls were wood paneled, the furniture also dark and heavy, but it was decorated with lilac curtains and pillows on a window seat. There was also a fire burning in the grate which added to the friendliness. The view was mainly across the grounds with that rhododendron wilderness and the wood beyond, but one could glimpse the estuary winding inland from the far right.

  “This will suit me perfectly,” I said. “It really is so kind of you to take us in like this.”

  Rose flushed. “Well, Belinda’s old grandma was always good to my mum. And she gave her a nice legacy that has set her up with her own café. So I’m grateful. And besides that, I’m happy to have the company, especially an old friend.”

  “The bathrooms are all the way at the other end of the hall, I’m afraid,” Rose said. “I don’t know why she chose these two rooms for you. I suppose she had her reasons.”

  “Don’t worry. The rooms are perfect,” Belinda said. “And I’m sure we’re both used to walking miles to a bathroom, aren’t we, Georgie?”

  Rose waited while we arranged our hair and Belinda reapplied her bright red lipstick. I still hadn’t learned the habit of making up my face on a regular basis. Then Rose led us back along the upstairs corridor. At the top of the stairs she paused. “I really should show you what you are missing,” she said. “Come on. You have to see the west wing.”

  We followed her back to the balcony and crossed the foyer to an identical corridor. Toward the end she opened a door. Sunshine streamed into a lovely room, with a spectacular view of the estuary and the Atlantic beyond. It held a bed made up with white lace pillows. White lace curtains hung at the windows. There was a set of blue enamel-backed brushes on a white dressing table in front of one of the windows. Along one wall was a bookcase containing leather-bound volumes. A series of china dolls sat on the shelf above. There were even a pair of slippers placed beside the bed and a robe draped over it.

  “Is this your room now?” I asked.

  Rose shook her head. “No, it’s Jonquil’s,” she said. “Nobody uses it. Mrs. Mannering keeps it exactly as it always was. And her nursery on the other side. I keep hoping we’ll be able to use the nursery one day.”

  She gave me a nervous little smile. I understood. She came out of the room and opened the adjoining door. This was a child’s perfect nursery, a white-canopied crib, a rocking horse in the window, a doll’s house and a sturdy wooden cart big enough for a child to sit in but now full of various dolls and animals, all going for a ride. The room looked lived in, as if the child who owned it was only outside playing and would come running back with red cheeks to tell her dolls about her adventures. I went over and looked out of the window.

  “So is your bedroom on this side of the house?” Belinda asked.

  “No. After Jonquil died Tony decided he didn’t want this view any longer. It looks down on the cliff where she fell. So our bedroom is at the far end of the corridor where your rooms are.”

  “Oh. I see,” Belinda said. “He didn’t actually see her fall, did he?”

  “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Rose said. There was something in her face that I couldn’t read. A wariness. Almost a fear as if she was treading on dangerous ground.

  “Why, there you are, Mrs. Summers.” The voice in the doorway made us jump. Rose sprang around guiltily as Mrs. Mannering stood, arms folded across her chest, disapproval written all over her face. “I hope the young ladies are satisfied with the rooms I have prepared for them.”

  “We certainly are,” I said. “Mrs. Summers wanted to show us the view from this part of the house.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Jonquil must have loved this room when she was growing up,” Belinda said.

  “Miss Jonquil loved everything. She loved life. ‘I can’t wait to be up and out there, Manny,’ she’d say to me every morning when I came to brush her hair. One hundred strokes every day. She had hair like spun gold, didn’t she? I used to tell her she was Rapunzel and one day her hair would be so long that she could lower it from her window. But do you know what she said? She said, ‘I think it might hurt if a prince climbed up it, don’t you?’ Such a witty child, always.”

  “I think we’ve seen all we need to,” Rose interrupted. “Is coffee ready?”

  “That was why I came to find you, madam,” Mrs. Mannering said. “Coffee is served in the morning room.”

  As we headed along the hallway I heard the sound of a key being turned in the lock behind us. Mrs. Mannering followed us down the stairs. Just as we reached the bottom of the stairs the front door opened, sending in a great blast of wind and swirling leaves. The man who stood framed against the light was tall, broad shouldered with striking blond hair and a tanned face. Cornwall seems to be full of handsome men, I thought.

  “Oh good, Tony, you’ve come home,” Rose said. “We have guests, darling. Two old friends coming to stay. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Tony Summers crossed the foyer toward us. He was wearing a Harris Tweed jacket and riding boots. “You didn’t tell me anyone was coming, Rose, or I’d have spruced myself up first,” he said. He came toward us, hand extended. “How do you do? I’m Tony—” He broke off as recognition dawned. “My God,” he said. “Belinda!”

  Chapter 10

  OCTOBER 16

  AT TREWOMA

  Golly, I really wish we hadn’t bumped into Rose Summers. It already feels uncomfortable staying here, even though we are being well looked after. Mrs. Mannering is too perfect. I’m so glad she’s not my housekeeper.

  “Hello, Tony,” Belinda said in a remarkably even voice. “How lovely to see you again.”

  “You recognized her,” Rose said. “I’m impressed. She certainly didn’t look like that when she used to stay at her grandma’s and we used to launch those rafts from their dock.”

  “No, I’d say she’s improved since then,” Tony said. His voice had that smooth, almost lazy quality of the Eton educated and I noticed how his gaze lingered on Belinda. “So what brings you to this part of the world?”

  “I’ve come down for a few days with my friend Lady Georgiana,” Belinda said. “We wanted to inspect a property I’d been left, but it turned out to be White Sails.”

  “White Sails?” he asked.

  “The old fishing cottage,” Rose interjected. “You know. After you go around Little Rumps.”

  For some reason hearing this again made me grin like a schoolgirl. I’d really have to learn to look grown-up and sophisticated now that I was married.

  “Oh yes.” Tony nodded. “With that strange little harbor. Hardly the sort of place for a city girl like you, I’d have thought. Will you sell it?”

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Belinda said. “We obviously can’t stay in it the way it is. It would need considerable remodeling, but it might be nice to have a cottage in Cornwall to retreat to occasionally.”

  “Yes. That might be nice.”

  I was watching the way he looked at her. He was clearly hinting it might be nice to have her as a near neighbor. “So do I take it you’ll be staying with us?”

  “I invited them,” Rose said. “I hope that’s all right?”

/>   “It’s your house too,” he said. “And I’m always delighted to have guests, particularly attractive ones. You must let me give you a tour of the estate. And the home farm. They are coming along splendidly. We’ve a herd of Jersey cows and you must taste the clotted cream. I’m trying to find a way to export it to London.”

  “Coffee is ready in the morning room, Tony,” Rose said. “Shall we go through before it gets cold?”

  “If I know Mrs. Mannering she will make sure it is piping hot.” Tony paused, testing it with a nod of satisfaction. “Isn’t she a marvel? This place runs like clockwork,” he echoed exactly what Rose had said previously. “And you wait until you try the food.” He turned back to us and brought his fingers to his lips in a sign of appreciation. “I’m so glad she didn’t leave after Jonquil—” He broke off and I saw a spasm of pain cross his face. He really loved her, I thought.

  After coffee Tony fetched the estate car and drove us to the home farm. Rose insisted on coming with us which made the journey rather cramped. “I haven’t seen the cows in ages,” Rose said. “The calves must be quite grown-up by now.”

  “Oh come on, Rose. You can see the cows anytime you want,” Tony said.

  “But you never invite me to go with you,” she said calmly.

  “I don’t have to invite you. You are my wife.”

  I could feel the tension as we got into the vehicle. She doesn’t want to chance his being alone with Belinda, I thought. We drove past a stable yard. “We’ve a few good mounts if you care to go for a ride,” Tony said. “I’m busy today but tomorrow I could come with you. Early morning gallop.”

  “They won’t want to get up at the hour you do, Tony,” Rose said in a peeved voice.

  “Just because you can’t ride and won’t learn, don’t think that everyone else hates horses.”

  “I don’t hate horses. I just don’t see the point of being bumped around on a hard saddle when you have a perfectly good motorcar to take you.”

  “If you’re here long enough, I expect we could find a hunt,” Tony said.

  “I’m afraid we didn’t bring our riding clothes,” Belinda said. “And besides, we are only here for a day or two.”

  “Oh, but you must stay longer than that. What’s the rush?”

  “I need to get back to my house,” I said before Belinda could answer. “I promised my husband I’d hire a new cook while he was away.”

  “What does your husband do?” Tony asked. “Or is he a fellow aristocrat and does nothing much?”

  “He’s a spy,” I replied.

  Tony laughed. “No, really?”

  “He goes abroad a lot on various commissions,” I said, “but he is a fellow aristocrat. And we have just acquired a big estate to run.”

  “Good for you. It takes a lot of work, doesn’t it? As I have been finding out since I came here.”

  “We don’t have a home farm, just the estate, but the grounds are quite big and have been neglected for a while.”

  We drove in through a white-painted gate and up to a field of cream-colored cows. They were adorable with their big dark eyes and long lashes.

  “I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a farmer,” Tony said as we complimented him. “It’s been a good challenge to get the herd up and running, but doing this every day, for the rest of my life when there is a big world out there? We have properties in Barbados, you know. Sugarcane. That might be fun.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like Barbados,” Rose said from the backseat. “It’s awfully hot, isn’t it? And all the servants would be natives.”

  “Oh, Rose, you are so horribly provincial,” Tony said. “Travel broadens the mind, you know. Belinda knows that, don’t you?”

  I was glad Belinda had put me between her and Tony on the seat as I saw him sneak glances in her direction. Poor old Rose in the backseat, I thought.

  * * *

  TONY JOINED US for luncheon in a dining room down yet another corridor. I began to feel I might lose my way if left to wander unescorted in this house. The dining table could easily have seated thirty and we four sat at one end of it. I couldn’t help thinking how lonely it would be if just Rose and Tony sat there. Perhaps they had a less formal room when no guests were present. Then I remembered that we always ate in such a room at home in Scotland. It’s what aristocrats do. The lunch itself was a gammon steak with parsley sauce followed by a blackberry and apple crumble. Both delicious.

  “Would you like a little rest?” Rose asked. “I usually have one.”

  “No, I think I’m going to see if we can get a closer look at Trengilly,” Belinda said. “Now I know there is nobody in residence, I think we might be able to get into the grounds along the shoreline and up the rocks.” She paused. “You don’t think he has watchdogs or anything, do you?”

  “Not that I’ve heard,” Rose said.

  “At least we’ll be able to peek in through the windows and Georgie can see a taste of what it was like.”

  “I bet you won’t even recognize it,” Rose said. “I hear it’s frightfully modern now.”

  We found our way back to the foyer, rescued our coats and set off. The day had clouded over, as so often happens after a fine start. “Let’s hope it doesn’t rain before we can see the house,” Belinda said.

  “Do you think it’s okay, sneaking in like this? I didn’t like the look of that great padlock on the front gates.”

  “We’re not going to burgle the place, only to take a look at it,” Belinda said. “If there is a watchman, I’ll tell him who I am and he’ll understand.”

  We parked the motorcar beside the road and took a footpath down to a small beach. Now that the tide was almost in, there was only a couple of feet of sand and these were threatened to be swallowed up any moment. Belinda strode out ahead with the confidence of one who knows her way and started to climb the rocks at the end of the beach. I followed, wishing I had put on more sensible shoes. My old Scottish brogues would have been ideal. We made our way along the shoreline, working our way around rocky outcroppings until a jetty appeared ahead of us.

  “Aha. Here we are.” Belinda sounded triumphant.

  She clambered up ahead of me. I followed and we found ourselves standing on a grassy bluff. Ahead of us was the house with a new conservatory added at the back. To one side was a former kitchen garden and apple orchard. To the other a new tennis court.

  “My, my,” Belinda said. “We used to play tennis by putting up a net and painting lines on the grass. I wonder what they’ve done with the stables. He surely doesn’t bother to keep horses if he’s only here occasionally.”

  “Perhaps he’s converted them to garages,” I said. “Most people do these days. Although I’m looking forward to getting a couple of horses for Darcy and me. I’d like to ride with the local hunt.”

  “That’s what I really miss about living in town,” Belinda said. “So far so good. Come on. Let’s take a look at the house, shall we?”

  I noticed that she didn’t walk straight up the lawn but rather hugged the trees to one side until we were quite close. “That’s the drawing room at this end,” she said. “And then a little sitting room, the library and the morning room facing east. The dining room was at the front.”

  She sprinted across the last stretch of grass, which had been impeccably mown, and went up to the nearest window.

  “Oh rats,” she exclaimed. “The curtains are all closed That is really unfair. There must be one that is open a little. I think I can see in. Goodness, what an awful color scheme. And look at that furniture. Granny would turn in her grave. Come and see this, Georgie.”

  Suddenly I heard footsteps on the gravel. “Wait, there’s someone coming.” I tugged at Belinda’s coat sleeve.

  Belinda looked up. A man was walking toward us. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s only Jago. I wonder what he’s doing here? Up to no good,
I’ll bet. Let’s see him try and talk his way out of this.”

  “Hey!” Jago quickened his pace. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello, Jago,” Belinda said. “We meet again, it seems. I used to live here, remember. And more to the point, what are you doing here?”

  “I work here. And you are trespassing.”

  “You work here? Really?”

  “Yes. Really. Now I must ask you to leave.”

  “Oh come on, Jago. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Belinda said. “I only want to let Georgie get a glimpse of my old house.”

  “She’s had a glimpse,” Jago said. “Now I’m afraid you should go. The owner is rather paranoid about anyone on the property. How did you get in anyway?”

  “Along the rocks, like we used to,” Belinda said.

  Jago rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you a little old for such things these days? The tide comes in quickly, you know. You’ll find yourself cut off.”

  “We can manage it perfectly well, thank you.”

  “Only if you head back right away.” He paused, then sighed. “Very well. I suppose I should take pity on you and let you out through the gate. I wouldn’t like two bodies to be on my conscience.”

  He set off at a brisk pace around the building. We had to break into a trot to keep up with him. “I’m sorry,” Belinda said. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  “It’s all right. There is nobody here but me,” Jago answered. “But you’re lucky. The owner is thinking of installing some of his art collection. Some pretty valuable paintings from his villa in the South of France. And he’s suggesting we keep watchdogs.”

  We came around to the front of the house. Here there were charming formal gardens. Lines of rosebushes were neatly pruned back for the winter. Holly bushes were already showing some red berries, but otherwise there was no color at this time of year.