“Let me introduce Mrs. Shandy.” Arden gestured to the woman. “She’s a long-standing member of our book group and for years before that was a very respected and well-loved teacher here in Eliot’s Corner.”
Mrs. Shandy regarded Laura frankly. “So, this is the long-lost daughter.”
“I wouldn’t say I was lost,” Laura replied evenly. “But, yes, I’m Arden’s daughter.”
“Where have you been all this time? Arden, why have you never told us that you have a child? Laura, will you be staying on in Eliot’s Corner?”
Brent, who was standing behind and to the left of Mrs. Shandy, rolled his eyes dramatically. Laura restrained a laugh. Brent would get her into trouble one of these days.
“The answer to your last question, Mrs. Shandy”—Laura wondered if Mrs. Shandy had already conferred with Lydia Austen—“is that I’m just not sure. The answers to your other questions will have to remain between my mother and me. I’m sure you understand.”
The expression on Mrs. Shandy’s face—suspicious? At least, doubting—proved that, no, she did not understand, but she gave up on her inquisition. Not that Laura didn’t anticipate more questions at a later date.
“What happened to Mr. Shandy?” Laura asked when the woman had gone on her way, off, she said, to lend a hand washing and ironing clothes at the charity shop.
“Rumor has it,” Brent said, “there never was a Mr. Shandy. The grand dame just showed up in Eliot’s Corner one day ages and ages ago, all on her lonesome and calling herself Mrs. Over the years some have dared to ask about the missing husband, but few have lived to ask again.”
Laura laughed. “Slight exaggeration? And does Mrs. Shandy have a first name?”
Arden worked to hide a smile. It was never right to laugh at a person’s name; as she knew too well, a name was in some ways inseparable from the deepest self-identity.
“Her name,” Brent said, with barely suppressed glee, “is Foundation.”
Laura burst into laughter. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, “but all I could think of for a moment was ‘foundation garments.’ Why would a parent burden an innocent child with such a ponderous name?”
“Maybe she chose it herself along the way.” Arden looked meaningfully at her daughter.
Maybe, Laura thought, because Mrs. Shandy had realized the only person on whom she could build her life was herself. “Certainly possible. Stranger things.”
“The Puritans used to name their kids after virtues. Patience. Constance. Fortitude. Maybe Mrs. Shandy’s parents belonged to some strict religious sect.”
“Well, I, for one, have never had the nerve to ask her about her first name,” Arden admitted.
“I know who it is she reminds me of,” Laura said suddenly. “Margaret Rutherford, that great British actress who played Miss Marple and a whole host of eccentric and formidable ladies of a certain age. I wonder if she’d take that as a compliment? I adore Margaret Rutherford, but Mrs. Shandy might not like the comparison.”
“Better keep it to yourself,” Brent advised. “We wouldn’t want to get on her bad side.”
“As bad as all that?” Lauren asked, eyes wide.
Arden smiled. “Not at all. Now, let’s get back to chasing dust.”
Laura was more than happy to abandon the subject of Mrs. Foundation Shandy, return to work, and let her thoughts turn once again to Geraldine and Robert Smith.
Rob Smith’s parents.
Laura Huntington’s grandparents.
Chapter 41
Arden sent Laura off to take a hot shower—she had complained her back was hurting her, possibly the result of all of the lifting and reaching she had done at the shop earlier—while Arden cleared away the dinner things. As she loaded the dishwasher, she found herself thinking about the discussion she and Laura and Brent had had regarding Mrs. Shandy’s first name. Burden or benefit? Gift or curse?
Arden had been named after a great-great-aunt on some distant branch of the Aldridge family tree; presumably, this had been her father’s choice. Victoria was a grand name to bear, largely but not entirely thanks to Queen Victoria and her considerable cultural influence.
Victory. Victorious. A winner. Winners vanquished others. Winners were not losers.
After Victoria, Arden was a great relief. For one, you could hardly “live up to” a forest, and besides, forests were (or they could be, outside of the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tales) places of peace and tranquility, shade and sun-dappled grass, singing birds, and cute woodland creatures. They could also be, like Shakespeare’s forest, a place of fantasy.
Laura returned to the kitchen just as Arden closed the door to the dishwasher. “I feel much better. A hot shower and an ibuprofen can work wonders.”
Arden suggested they make themselves comfortable in the living room. “There’s more I think you should know before you go back to Port George,” she began when they were comfortably settled. “More about my family dynamic.”
Laura nodded. “I’m listening.”
“My parents lost a baby not long before I was born. His name was Joseph, after my mother’s father, and he was only three months old when he died. My mother never got over it. His loss haunted her. In some ways, it came to define her. ‘If only your brother hadn’t died,’ she would say to me when something had distressed her, and things often did, ‘everything would be okay.’”
Laura put her hand to her heart. “How very sad. How did Joseph die?”
“It was called a crib death. Only a few years later the term sudden infant death syndrome came into use to describe a baby’s death from unknown causes. In my brother’s case, there was no evidence whatsoever of foul play, but my mother was crushed by guilt. And it didn’t help that her own mother was convinced that her grandson’s death could be laid at Florence’s door.”
Laura shook her head. “Oh, Lord. What a nightmare.”
“When I was very young, I used to think a lot about the brother I never knew. I used to wish he had lived so I would have a friend, an ally. But maybe he would have found me just a bothersome little sister. Eventually, I gave up imagining what might have happened if Joseph had survived.”
“Poor little guy. Gone before he had a chance to experience joy—and sorrow. Life can be terribly difficult, but it’s so very worth it.”
“Yes. You should probably also know that until I was twelve, I had a nanny. I adored her. When I was with Mrs. Clarke, I felt safe and happy. She read to me when I was little, and then, when I’d learned to read on my own, I would read to her. She taught me how to identify the various flowers in our garden, and on nights when I couldn’t sleep, she would point out the constellations in the sky and explain how they’d gotten their names.”
“She sounds like a gem. What happened to her after she left?”
“She died three years later. We kept in touch, birthday cards and little notes, and then one day I got a letter from the cousin she’d gone to live with, saying that Mrs. Clarke had died suddenly. I remember bursting into tears. It felt like a terribly important part of my world had collapsed. I was bereft.” Arden sighed. “But I didn’t say anything to my parents about the note. Honestly, I half believed they’d forgotten about Mrs. Clarke by then.”
“Out of sight out of mind,” Laura said grimly. “Too true for too many people.”
“The opposite can be just as sad. If only my mother had been able to forget Joseph just a little, she might have found some happiness or peace of mind. But that’s just speculation after the fact.”
Laura nodded. “Thank you for telling me these things,” she said after a moment. “If it’s okay, I’m going to turn in early. I want to be on my game tomorrow when I meet with Ted Coldwell.”
When Laura had gone up to the loft, Arden stepped outside into the garden and looked up into the night sky. She was reminded again of Mrs. Clarke—and, also of Margery Hopkins—and of how safe and cherished she had felt with each. Arden wanted her daughter to feel the same with her, safe and cherished, but L
aura was an adult now with a mind and will of her own. Arden wished she could convince Laura to let go of the need to find the truth about what had happened to her father. So many things could go wrong. So many terrible facts might be uncovered. But it would be selfish to try to hold her daughter back from this quest.
Arden went back inside and began to turn off the lights in preparation for retiring to her room. Whatever the future held, good or bad, mother and daughter were at least safe for the moment at Juniper End.
Chapter 42
Laura pulled into the small parking lot of the Lilac Inn. She wished there were a motel in Port George, or even one within a ten-mile radius. The Lilac Inn, while charming, wasn’t inexpensive. After stowing her bag in her room, she set out for Ted Coldwell’s office on Main Street.
She was glad that Mr. Coldwell had agreed to see her again and surprised that he had agreed so readily. Why? She would find out soon enough.
Ms. West, no warmer than she had been on Laura’s last visit, ushered Laura into Mr. Coldwell’s office. Laura hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings when here before; now, she made note of it all.
The centerpiece of the office was a massive oak desk, on which stood a classic brass lamp with a green-glass shade. One entire wall of the office was covered in shelves, on which rested thick books bound in tooled red and blue leather. On another wall were three framed maps of the world; the fantastical creatures shown emerging from the seas dated the maps to well before the modern age. Framed photos of a woman Laura took to be Mr. Coldwell’s wife, as well as photos of three young people she thought must be his children, sat on his desk and along the room’s deep windowsill. Along with those were framed photos of two border collies.
Mr. Coldwell must have noticed Laura smiling at the latter. “Our fur children. I never had a pet growing up, but my wife has lived and breathed dogs since she was a baby. She converted me pretty quickly.”
A bouquet of summer flowers in a cut-glass vase sat on a small occasional table by the side of a high-backed leather armchair; next to the bouquet was a copy of National Geographic and a recent members’ magazine from the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. In one corner of the room a fishing pole rested against the wall. A large tackle box sat on the floor beside it. Ted Coldwell was a man of interests outside of his professional life.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Huntington?” he asked when Laura had taken a seat across from the commanding desk in a beautifully upholstered chair with impressively wide armrests.
“First, I’d like to thank you for seeing me today. I wasn’t entirely honest with you when we last met. There is no podcast.”
Mr. Coldwell gave a small smile. “I suspected as much. You don’t spend all these years as a lawyer without learning how to spot a lie or a prevarication.”
“And yet, you agreed to meet with me again.”
“I was curious. You see, I agreed to see you in the first place because I was intrigued by your theme of the negative effects missing persons can have on a small community. And I know that sometimes a popular podcast can lead to new information coming to light and, on occasion, even the conviction of a guilty party. Assuming a crime was committed. I agreed to meet with you today because I have a—let’s say a vested interest in the Aldridge family.”
Laura smiled briefly. “I’m afraid that what I have to tell you is going to come as a shock, and I have to ask that it remain between us, at least for a time. There’s a good reason for secrecy, I promise.”
Mr. Coldwell frowned. “Are you going to tell me that you’ve committed a crime or that you know someone who has? Because if you are . . .”
“No,” Laura said hastily. “Sorry. Let me start again. The thing is, I’m the daughter of Victoria Aldridge and Rob Smith. I was adopted when I was born. I always knew that part of the story, about the adoption I mean, but until just a few days ago, not the identity of my birth parents.”
For a moment, Mr. Coldwell looked as if he might cry. Instead, he cleared his throat and spoke. “I always thought there was a child. It was just a feeling I had. And now, to know that I was right . . .”
“There’s something else.” Laura smiled a bit. “I’ve found my mother. She lives only a few hours from here. We’ve met.”
Much to Laura’s embarrassment, a sob broke from her and she put her face in her hands. A moment later, Mr. Coldwell was patting her shoulder and offering a wad of tissues. Laura accepted them and began to mop up her tears as Mr. Coldwell returned to his seat.
“Sorry,” Laura mumbled.
“There’s no need to apologize,” Mr. Coldwell said soothingly. “This is a stirring time in your life, revolutionary even.”
Laura nodded and took a deep breath.
“How is she? Victoria. Is she well?”
“She’s fine,” Laura assured her mother’s old friend. “She goes by the name of Arden Bell now and she owns a lovely little bookshop in Eliot’s Corner. It’s called Arden Forest. She lives in a charming cottage, which she shares with three cats. Their names are Prospero, Ophelia, and Falstaff.”
Mr. Coldwell laughed. “That’s Victoria all right! Well, Arden I mean. My God, this is so hard to take in. Is she . . . Did she ever marry?”
“No. At least, not that I know of. I do know she never had any other children. But we’ve hardly had time to learn much of anything about each other. I also know for sure that she never heard from my father after he went missing. I—I don’t think he’s alive. Neither does my mother.”
“No,” Mr. Coldwell murmured. “Neither do I.”
Briefly, Laura told him about Victoria’s being sent off to have the baby in secret. “Everyone or almost everyone assumed she was away at college. But she wasn’t. She only returned to Port George after I was born in late spring of 1985.”
Mr. Coldwell shook his head. “I saw her not long before she left Port George for good. It was at one of those ghastly parties her parents used to throw. I was there with my own parents. I’m not sure why they agreed to go other than good manners, but I do know the only reason I went along was in hopes of seeing Victoria.” He smiled sadly. “But she wanted nothing to do with me that evening. I never knew exactly why but . . .”
“You see, she believed that her father had played a part in Rob’s disappearance, and she just couldn’t have anything more to do with either Florence or Herbert, so she left.”
Mr. Coldwell sighed. “We all thought she’d gone back to school a bit early, maybe for a summer session, and when she never came back, most people assumed that life had taken her in a more exciting direction than what she would have found back here in Port George.”
“My guess is that my mother’s parents never bothered to look for her. If I could find her today, with virtually no information and absolutely no financial resources, Mr. and Mrs. Aldridge could have hunted her down easily back then.”
“Yes.” Mr. Coldwell was silent. “I’ve told you that my parents were friends with the Aldridges. But the relationship wasn’t close. And not long after that awful party I mentioned, my parents retreated from any association with Herbert and Florence. I know they both felt bad for Florence; she was never emotionally strong. It was more Herbert they had no time for, but Florence and Herbert came as a package deal as it were. As for me, without Victoria, the Aldridge family held no appeal.”
Laura nodded. “I can see why. I mean, from what my mother has told me about her parents, they don’t seem very likable. They’re still living in that big place out on Old Orchard Hill, I hear.”
“Yes, but hardly anyone sees Herbert and Florence these days. In fact, it’s been years since he quit the golf club, which was the main source of their socializing when he was in Port George and not traveling on business. Every once in while you see that big old Cadillac they’ve had forever passing through town, with either Florence or Herbert in the back seat, rarely the two together. Who knows where they’re headed. A skeleton staff takes care of their shopping and other chores. Rumor has it that
neither Herbert nor Florence is in good health.”
“Be that as it may, I want to know if Herbert Aldridge did have anything to do with my father’s disappearance and the shutting down of the police inquiry. Because from what I could tell from the articles in the Port George Daily Chronicle, the investigation came to a complete and abrupt halt with no official explanation of why.”
Mr. Coldwell frowned. “You’ll need to be careful. Even now, retired for many years, largely reclusive, Herbert Aldridge is seen as formidable.”
“I’ll be careful. But the man doesn’t scare me.” It was not a lie.
“I’ll do what I can to help you, as long as it’s within legal bounds.”
“Thank you,” Laura said feelingly. “That means a lot to me. The first thing I’d ask is that you would keep my real identity a secret. I feel bad about lying to people in Port George, pretending I’m working on a podcast, but I think the pretense might be helpful. I don’t want to give anyone a chance to slip away.”
“By ‘anyone,’ you mean your grandfather.”
Laura frowned. “Yes. If Herbert Aldridge is responsible for my father’s disappearance, I’m the last person he wants meddling around, trying to dig up the past.”
“Yes, you’re probably smart to keep your real identity quiet for now.” Mr. Coldwell paused. “Your mother—Arden—knows you’ve come to see me?”
“Oh, yes. And she sends you her love as well as her apologies. It seems that for a brief time after Rob’s disappearance she wondered if you were in cahoots with her father. She was just so scared and confused.”
Mr. Coldwell smiled sadly. “No wonder she didn’t want anything to do with me at that party. And I understand why she might have thought I had a hand in making Rob go away. It was no secret that I’d been in love with her for years, though I was well aware she thought of me only as a brother. And though I’m ashamed to admit it, I did take it upon myself to, er, have a talk with Rob that summer of ’84. Kind of warn him that if he didn’t treat Victoria right, there would be consequences. I guess I was a bit of a macho idiot back then. But please believe, I would never do anything to hurt Victoria—Arden—not then and not now.”
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