House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  ‘How do you do, Mr Bardwell. I’m Cat Carlisle and this is Bede Turner. Lucy lived at my home until she was—’ Cat stopped, embarrassed at her insensitive remark.

  ‘It’s a terrible business. The police were here yesterday. I had a bit of an episode. Haven’t been able to handle things since I left the service. Shell shock, that’s what the doctor says. Why don’t you come in. I could use a cup of tea about now.’

  They followed him around to the back of the house, where the smell of fresh biscuits emanated from the kitchen. There were stacks of them, arranged in racks on a professional looking baker’s shelf tucked into a corner.

  ‘What’s this?’ Bede exclaimed, not bothering to keep the surprise from her voice. ‘Did you bake these?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Ambrose Bardwell said. He put the kettle on. ‘We’ll sit in here. Have a seat.’ He pointed to a table in a windowed alcove which looked over a fenced-in garden area that boasted another well-tended rose garden, complete with an obelisk upon which three different varieties of clematis grew.

  Soon the three of them were drinking tea, eating biscuits and discussing the pros and cons of mulching roses, as though they were old friends.

  When the tea was drunk and the biscuits consumed, Ambrose turned to Cat. ‘What happened to my sister? Is it true they found her in the woods behind your house?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Bardwell.’

  ‘Call me Ambrose.’ He stared out the back window, not meeting Cat’s eyes, as he struggled with his grief. When he spoke, his voice was wistful. ‘I just can’t take it in. Can’t believe she’s gone.’

  ‘She was under my care and I feel responsible for her somehow,’ Cat said.

  Ambrose Bardwell looked at Cat with sympathy. ‘Don’t try to take responsibility for Lucy’s actions. That’s a fool’s errand. Spoiled she was, by my parents – god rest their souls – and by me after they died. Lucy was a pretty thing, but she had a wild streak. As much as I hate to admit it, I knew she was headed for trouble. She was boy crazy, for one thing. Didn’t listen, either.’

  As if reading her thoughts, Ambrose Bardwell said, ‘It’s not your fault, miss. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. The truth of the matter is Lucy is what they call a fast girl. I know she’s had boyfriends, some of them married. She had a reputation, but there was nothing I could do about it. Once some of the ladies came to my door and offered to help me with Lucy, get her involved in church activities and the like. But she refused, laughed in their faces. Told them what they could do with their church ways.’

  Cat sighed. ‘I feel as though I should be honest with you, Mr Bardwell – Ambrose.’

  ‘Honesty’s always best. I’ve never been one for false words or pretence. Tell me about my sister. What sort of trouble did she stir up in Rivenby?’

  ‘You don’t sound surprised,’ Bede said.

  ‘Nothing shocks me anymore,’ Ambrose Bardwell said with a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘And Lucy had a way of influencing other young girls around her, those that were easily led astray.’

  ‘She told lies,’ Cat said, gauging Ambrose Bardwell’s response.

  ‘Oh, no doubt. Lucy could spin a yarn. She were a right good liar,’ he said.

  ‘I run a home for women who have been battered by their husbands and families. Lucy came to me, claiming you abused her and withheld money from her. She was desperate to train to be a secretary, so she could get away from you. Horrible accusations, I know, but that’s what she said.’

  ‘Mrs Carlisle is a bit gullible,’ Bede said.

  Ambrose Bardwell tipped his head back and laughed. Cat and Bede looked at each other as his laugh became louder and louder. Finally he slapped the table before he stood and picked up the dirty tea things. ‘I’ve never laid a hand on my sister. My parents were non-violent. They never even spanked us as children.’ He gave Cat and Bede a serious look. ‘My sister was a liar, ladies. That’s the sad and sorry truth.’

  Cat thought about the things Lucy had done, stealing Cat’s clothes, lying about her situation. She believed Ambrose. ‘Ambrose, would it be an imposition for us to see Lucy’s room?’

  ‘Of course not, miss. If you’ll follow me.’ He led them down the hall, into a spacious bedroom situated in the back corner of the house.

  ‘This was our parents’ room,’ he explained. ‘But I let Lucy have it when she turned 13. I thought if I gave her this room, she’d stop being so wild.’

  ‘It didn’t work?’ Cat asked.

  Ambrose shook his head. ‘She started leaving school, sneaking out at night, stealing alcohol. It was a difficult situation. In hindsight, she might have done better with a mother figure.’

  ‘This is beautiful,’ Bede said. She stood in the centre of the room and turned a slow circle, surprised at the canopy bed, the large wardrobe, and the chaise tucked under the window. She shook her head. ‘Looks like one of them pictures you see in magazines. Fit for a princess, this is.’

  ‘I don’t understand why she’d want to leave,’ Cat said.

  ‘I was good to my sister,’ Ambrose said. ‘She received a generous allowance. Our parents left us both pretty well situated, but I’m the trustee of Lucy’s money. Given her reckless nature, I had to be diligent. Before she left, she started seeing someone. Wouldn’t be surprised if he were married.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Cat asked.

  Ambrose Bardwell looked sheepish. ‘I eavesdropped on her phone conversations and heard her talking about it. He didn’t come right out and say he was married, but he never took her to the cinema or out on the weekends.’ Ambrose shrugged his shoulders. ‘I just had a feeling. When I suggested this man wasn’t available to court her properly because he was married, she became angry with me. Told me to mind my own business, insisted I give her control of her money. When I refused she told me she hated me and didn’t care if she never saw me again. The next morning, she packed her things and left. Didn’t even say goodbye.

  ‘About a month ago, she came home to visit. Dressed in fancy new clothes. Said she was training to be a secretary, and she was getting married. When I asked questions about her beau – as her brother and guardian, I felt I should meet him – she became angry. But she needed money. I wrote her a generous cheque and agreed to start her allowance again. She seemed satisfied, and we left on good terms. That was the last time I saw her.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea who her boyfriend was?’

  ‘No. Lucy’s had many boyfriends, but she grew bored easily,’ Ambrose said. ‘Some will say she deserved what she got.’

  ‘She didn’t, Mr Bardwell. No one deserves to have their life taken,’ Cat said. ‘And we should be going. Thank you for the biscuits and for taking the time to talk to us. I’m at Saint Monica’s in Rivenby. If you think of anything, or if I can do anything to help you, please contact me.’

  ***

  The bus ride home was a quiet one. The meeting with Lucy’s brother had proved enlightening, and Cat – thank goodness – was realising Lucy Bardwell had indeed created a dangerous situation for herself. Could I have done more to keep her safe?

  ‘It’s not your fault, Miss Catherine,’ Bede said, as if reading her mind. ‘Women like Lucy Bardwell often wind up in trouble. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry she was murdered, but the police will find out who killed her. You did a kindness to Lucy and your heart was in the right place. And if anyone ever says otherwise, they’ll have me to contend with.’

  ‘Bede, I don’t think we should tell Mr Charles we’ve visited Ambrose. He may take our visit the wrong way and think we’re meddling.’

  ‘I don’t like keeping secrets, but I do see your point.’ With that, Bede crossed her arms over her ample bosom and drifted off to sleep.

  Cat dozed too and didn’t awaken until the bus pulled into Rivenby, Bede snoring softly next to her.

  ‘Bede, wake up,’ Cat said, shaking her gently.

  Bede startled awake. ‘I wasn’t asleep. Never have been able to sleep in a
moving vehicle.’ As the women stepped off the bus, Bede clutched her purse to her chest. ‘I’ll just run to Mrs Henson’s and pick up the eggs. No need for you to come with me. You go on home and put your feet up. There’ll be omelettes and green beans for dinner.’

  Cat buttoned her coat against the afternoon chill, longing to see Thomas and wishing for a cup of tea before a toasty fire. As she turned onto the lane to Saint Monica’s, she saw Thomas and a surly-looking man dressed in ill-kempt clothes and in need of a shave loitering in front of Beth Hargreaves’s house. Beth – who now lived in Scotland and worked as a professional baker for a fancy Edinburgh hotel – had decided to leave her house empty until she was certain of her new position. When Thomas saw Cat, he pointed to his colleague and walked in her direction with a purposeful stride, an intense look on his face. Cat’s heart quickened. Something was wrong.

  When he drew close, she was dismayed by the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and the deep lines etched into the sides of his mouth. Why hadn’t she noticed his exhaustion? She longed to run to him and wrap her arms around him, but something in his manner gave her pause.

  ‘Thomas,’ she said, when he got close. She almost kissed him, but stopped herself again. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Blasted newspaper reporters. They’re camped in front of Saint Monica’s. I’m here to convey you through the woods to your back door to make sure they don’t bother you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Cat said.

  The other man came striding up behind Thomas, not bothering to hide his displeasure. Cat wondered why he was so angry.

  ‘How do you do?’ she said, thinking if she were polite to him, he would reciprocate in kind.

  ‘Very well.’ The man nodded and looked at Thomas. ‘What do you need me for? I need to get back to the station.’

  ‘Where’s Bede?’ Thomas asked Cat.

  ‘Mrs Henson’s. She went to get our eggs.’

  ‘Hinks, wait here until Bede Turner arrives. Then bring her through the woods to Mrs Carlisle’s back door. I’ll be there waiting for you. Understand?’

  ‘I’m not daft,’ Hinks said. ‘And I don’t know why you think you can order me around.’

  ‘Just do it, Hinks. For god’s sake, man, just do as you’re told.’ Thomas took Cat’s hand and led her towards the woods.

  Exhausted all of a sudden, Cat didn’t give voice to the questions running through her head. She walked next to Thomas, enjoying the feel of his warm hand in hers. When they stepped up to the back door of Saint Monica’s, Cat turned to him. ‘What’s the matter? Something’s wrong. And don’t tell me it’s Lucy Bardwell’s murder and the reporters camped in front of my house. I know you too well.’

  For a brief moment, the anger and exhaustion lifted. Thomas reached out and touched her cheek. ‘Let me get you inside. I’ll tell you while you put on the kettle.’

  Thomas kept watch while Cat unlocked the back door and let them in.

  ‘Thank goodness you don’t have any women living here now,’ he said.

  ‘But I do,’ Cat said. The bread and butter Bede had left out for Margaret stood untouched on the counter. ‘A new woman arrived yesterday.’

  ‘Okay. Well, find out where she is. Make sure she’s safe,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ll shut the curtains in the front of the house.’

  Cat left Thomas to his own devices and hurried up the stairs. Margaret’s bed was unmade, a damp towel thrown across it. But Margaret was nowhere to be seen. Cat grabbed the damp towel and headed back downstairs, where she found Thomas in the kitchen pouring hot water into the teapot.

  ‘Do you want some brandy?’ Cat asked. ‘No offence, Tom, but you look like you could use it.’

  Thomas turned to face Cat, the look on his face one of defeat and despair. Her heart broke looking at him. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘The chalice has been stolen.’ He walked over to the table and sunk down into one of the chairs. ‘The guard who came with Stephen Templeton was an imposter. I found him checking the safe. When I confronted him, he said he was making sure the chalice was securely locked away. I took him at his word.’ Thomas rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m getting soft in my old age.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Cat said. She sat down across from him at the table. ‘That’s not true and you know it. Tell me what happened. Don’t leave anything out.’

  He told her about Stephen Templeton’s phone call, the guard who turned out to be an imposter and the empty safe.

  ‘That’s unbelievable,’ Cat said.

  ‘It was planned. The entire fiasco was an orchestrated scheme.’ Thomas sighed. His shoulders slumped. ‘And I didn’t bloody see it.’

  Cat stepped behind Thomas, rubbing his neck and shoulders until she felt the tension start to lessen.

  He reached back and took her hand. ‘How the devil am I going to fix this?’

  ‘Are you asking a real question or a hypothetical?’

  ‘Neither. I don’t see how I can remedy this situation. Stephen Templeton trusted me. I let him down.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Stephen Templeton allowed an imposter into this scenario, not you. He’s not going to blame you, Thomas.’

  ‘I know. But I still feel responsible.’

  ‘Of course you feel responsible. If I were in your shoes, I’d feel responsible, too. Are you not even going to try to find the chalice? Thomas, you’ve dealt with men far worse than this common thief. Find him. Find the chalice. You’ve seen him, you know what he looks like. Does he have a car? Where is he staying? Is he still in Rivenby? Surrounding villages? Has he tried to sell the chalice? Surely you can use your connections and investigation skills to get some answers.’

  They reached for each other, impervious to George Hinks and Bede Turner approaching the back of the house. When George Hinks banged on the back door, a devious grin on his face, Cat and Thomas both jumped. Thomas yelped. Bede stepped inside, white-faced and wild-eyed, while Thomas went outside to speak to George Hinks, shutting the door behind him.

  ‘Bede, whatever’s wrong?’

  ‘That’s him,’ Bede whispered. ‘As I live and breathe, that’s him.’

  ‘Who? Mr Hinks? Bede, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Mr Hinks is the man I seen Lucy Bardwell kissing in the woods.’

  Cat had been living in the same house with Bede Turner for well over a year. Never had she seen any incident shake Bede’s stubborn sense of calm. The terror on Bede’s face now prompted Cat to lock the back door. ‘You’re safe, Bede. Thomas won’t let anything happen to you.’

  At the mention of Thomas’s protection, Bede nodded. ‘You’re right. We must tell the police. I expect they’ll want a statement?’

  ‘Probably. Why don’t you go and take off your coat and hat. I’ll get Thomas away from George Hinks and tell him myself.’

  Bede scurried out of the room, unpinning her hat as she went.

  Cat watched as Thomas and George Hinks continued their rather spirited discussion, Thomas speaking non-stop, George Hinks pretending to listen, an exasperated look on his face. Finally, George Hinks turned on his heels and left. Thomas headed back to Cat, a grimace on his face.

  ‘I have tried my best to show Mr Hinks every professional courtesy, but he continues to argue with me. One of these days he’s is going to irritate the wrong person—’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘What is it?’ Thomas said, concern etched on his face.

  ‘Bede just told me George Hinks is – was – Lucy’s lover.’

  Thomas cocked his head, a bewildered look on his face. ‘George Hinks?’

  ‘Yes. She’s rather shaken, Tom.’

  ‘I had better call DCI Kent.’

  Cat left Thomas alone in her study to telephone DCI Kent. Meanwhile, Bede came back into the kitchen, still pale, but determined to carry on. After DCI Kent arrived, Cat polished the silver in an attempt to keep herself occupied, while Bede gave her statement in the drawing room. After the men had left, Bede and Cat ate dinner and retire
d to their rooms early. Margaret never returned. Cat wondered if they had seen the last of her.

  Chapter 15

  During the sixteen months Thomas had known DCI Kent, he had always admired his superior officer’s keen intellect and open mind. Now, as Thomas watched DCI Kent’s face redden and the small vein on his forehead throb, he made a mental note not to wind up on his DCI’s bad side.

  ‘The bloody idiot didn’t think he should tell us about his relationship with this girl? He bloody well knew we were searching high and low for the identity of Lucy’s mysterious lover.’ They were in DCI Kent’s office with the door closed. Although the constabulary was lightly staffed in the evening, Thomas knew everyone outside the office had stopped working in hopes they would hear something to indicate the source of Kent’s agitation.

  ‘That may not be true, sir. You did assign him to the file room. And he hasn’t been involved in the investigation.’ Thomas had Lucy Bardwell’s file on his lap and was thumbing through the scant information they had so far. He pulled two photographs of the dead girl out, glanced at them briefly and placed them on top of the myriad of papers and reports that waited for review and processing.

  ‘What if he’s killed her, Tom? What if I hired a murderer to work with my men?’ DCI Kent stood up, knocking his chair over in the process.

  ‘You’re overreacting,’ Thomas blurted without thinking. He regretted his impetuous outburst the minute he said it. ‘No disrespect intended.’

  ‘What the devil are you saying then? Explain yourself.’ DCI Kent sat back down at his desk.

  ‘You couldn’t have known what he was up to, could you? Everyone knows your police force is frighteningly short staffed. Your qualified and trained officers are off defending queen and country. There are scant resources to vet the men you hire and virtually no time to train them. You’re doing the best you can.’

  DCI Kent placed his hands on his desk, palms down, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. ‘Thanks, Tom.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you anything you don’t already know, sir.’ Thomas stood, clutching the Bardwell murder file. ‘Are you coming with me?’