Frances was waiting in the downstairs hall. ‘I wanted a word, Helen. Is Beatrice OK?’
‘Fine, but tired, having a little sleep before Ben gets here. Very pleased with herself, actually. She said the nicest thing to me. Let’s be ladies, shall we, and sit in the front room? Jan and Wendy have made it so nice between them. What’s on your mind?’ she asked, as they settled on the sofa that faced the front window.
‘I’ve a confession to make,’ Frances began, and then, ‘Oh, hell!’ They had both heard the sound of voices on the steps and then Jan’s key in the lock. ‘Helen, no private session today, please. Make it sociable, don’t leave Ben alone with her?’ Frances broke off as Jan put her head round the door.
‘There you are,’ Jan said. Something was wrong with her today. ‘We’d have been here sooner only we ran into the Fanshaws. Dying to meet Ben, they were. Knew all about him. Full of nods and winks and significant looks.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Helen. ‘And Beatrice wanted it to be a surprise. Ben’s not gone up, I hope? She’s having a little sleep.’
‘No, he’s in the downstairs loo, making himself beautiful for her.’ There was something very odd in her tone.
Frances had noticed it too. ‘How was the farmers’ market?’
‘Crowded as usual. But I found Beatrice some of that honey soap she likes. Ben had forgotten his wallet, so it was spectating only for him.’
‘Aren’t I an idiot?’ Ben joined them, every golden curl in place. ‘I can see it now, sitting on the shelf back at the hotel. I meant to pick it up last thing but I was in a rush, afraid of keeping Jan waiting by the cold river. Lucky you Brits are such an honest lot. Pity though, I wanted to buy Aunt Beatrice some more flowers. OK to go up to her, Helen? I thought I’d best ask in case those two witches had worn her out.’
‘Leave it for a bit, Ben. She said she’d have a little nap.’ She caught Frances’ eye. ‘And then I thought we might all have a glass of champagne, seeing as it is Saturday. You’ll stay, Frances, won’t you?’
‘Love to. Thanks.’
‘A celebration,’ said Ben. ‘Super.’
‘I’ll put a bottle in the fridge.’ Jan slid from the room. What was wrong with Jan?
Thirteen
‘Partying again, such joy.’ Ben raised his glass. ‘Here’s to you, Aunt Beatrice, and all your lovely friends. How I wish Granma could see us now, so happy here. Why was she always so mean about you, Aunt Beatrice? Because you were so much the brightest, or because you saw the lost poet first? I’ve been dying to ask, and you can’t beat good old alcohol for Dutch courage.’ He sipped champagne and went on. ‘Honest and true, Aunt B, it seemed so odd the way he hung around there all the time, talking on and on about that great philosophical poem of his and not writing it. No wonder old Granma got sick of it in the end and threw him out. I wish I’d been there to see. But he must have told you all about it when he got back. I’ve been longing to ask, didn’t have the nerve.’
There was a cold little silence. Then, ‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ Beatrice said. ‘You surely never met my husband.’
‘No, ma’am. Granma saw to that. No way was I wanted when he was hanging about, “recharging his batteries” in her lovely company. But she told me all about it afterwards. And I helped with the bonfire.’
‘Bonfire?’ Beatrice’s hands were working at her quilt. I must stop this, Helen thought. But how? Ben was going right on.
‘That last time he came, the time she threw him out, he’d brought his collected works with him in an old black canvas bag. Ma and the aunts were off in Bermuda that Christmas, I remember it well. Years ago, I was just a kid, but I’ll never forget that bonfire. We had it out in the snow, the day I got there. She’d been waiting for me, see. Bonfires were hardly her line, poor old duck. And the bag stank, burning, and she said, “Thus perish all traitors!” I thought about it a lot, afterwards. Thought I ought to tell someone, never could think who. Then, when I heard you were all on your own here I decided it had to be you. I hope I did right.’ He was becoming aware of the stillness around him.
Beatrice’s hands clenched on the quilt. ‘Of course you did right,’ she told him. ‘I needed to know. Just think of it! All those years. To and fro. “Recharging his batteries.” Here and there. Her and me, and his great work. And you helped her burn the lot! Oh, that’s funny, that’s a real joke. Helen, are you there? I can’t see you properly. It is funny, isn’t it? The joke’s on all of us. But especially on you!’ To Ben. And then, ‘Helen, where are you? I am laughing, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, darling, of course you are laughing.’ Helen had her arms round her, holding her up, feeling her shake. ‘Gently now, gently …’ She felt Beatrice stiffen in her arms, then relax, heavy against her.
Frances was there, helping. ‘She’s gone.’ Together they laid Beatrice softly down. ‘Jan, ring Hugh. Tell him. And you,’ to Ben. ‘Get out of this house. Now.’
‘But—’
‘Just go,’ she said, and he went.
‘Hugh’s coming.’ Jan put the receiver down. ‘Is she really … ?’
‘Yes. I think we’ve just seen murder done.’ Frances had watched the door close behind Ben Norton. ‘My fault. I should have stopped him.’
‘But, Frances.’ Helen was beginning to take it in. ‘I won’t believe it. He can’t have done it on purpose. Can he? And if he did –’ she thought about it – ‘it was what she wanted after all…’ She reached a gentle hand to close the staring eyes. ‘ “Partying with her friends.” But, surely, Frances, he was just stupid, not wicked?’
‘Wicked as hell. It’s what he came to do. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Didn’t get the chance. I didn’t like the feel of things the other night, when he turned up. I put a call through to a friend in Boston. Asked him to check up on young Ben Norton. Roger came back to me this morning at the office when I was getting that codicil typed up. He’s got a record a mile long, that young charmer. Cut off by the family long ago. Out on his uppers. Took a chance on charming his way in here with an eye on Beatrice’s estate.’
‘Horrible,’ said Helen, beginning to believe. ‘But how did he know?’
‘He is horrible,’ Jan broke in. ‘I’ve got a tale to tell too. But not now, not here. Poor Beatrice …’
‘Not poor Beatrice,’ said Helen. ‘We’re not going to think like that. She’d enjoyed having him so much, right up to the last moment. She’d come alive for him.’
‘And the joke was on him,’ said Frances. ‘And she saw it, bless her. She really was laughing. What a woman.’
‘Oh?’ Helen did not understand.
‘I really don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you. That codicil she signed this morning. He took it for granted she’d left him everything, didn’t he? Saw himself as the obvious heir and wasted no time. Well, there was no time to waste. His past was bound to catch up with him soon enough. But what Beatrice actually left him was her husband’s papers and permission to write about him. She thought it was what he needed, something to do. He reminded her of Paul, she said. It was right Ben should do it; he would understand him. And he had helped Benedicta burn the lot. The joke really was on both of them, wasn’t it?’
‘Not all that funny.’ Helen looked down at the still figure on the bed. ‘What will Ben Norton do now, do you think?’
‘Get out of town smartish, I imagine, but wait about close by, expecting to hear something to his advantage.’
‘He’ll get out all right,’ said Jan. ‘I haven’t had a chance to tell you what happened last night. Not here …’ She was making heroic efforts not to cry.
‘No, downstairs, while we wait for Hugh.’ Helen straightened the duvet with gentle hands while Frances and Jan quietly picked up the bottle and glasses.
‘So, what is it, Jan?’ Helen asked. Nobody had even thought of another drink and they were perched miserably on kitchen chairs, in what felt like suspended animation. ‘What happened last night? I didn’t hear you
come in.’
‘No, I was late. I went for a walk by the river, afterwards, trying to decide what I should do. I couldn’t think straight. Well, obviously I couldn’t or I wouldn’t have let any of this happen.’ Jan was crying now, but quietly, tears of relief. ‘It’s all my fault. I should have told you right away, this morning, but he begged me not to, said it would spoil everything with Beatrice. She was the first bit of loving family he had ever had, he said. Told a terrible tale of his childhood; said sometimes he just couldn’t help himself, lost control. Flipped.
‘Everything went wrong last night, you see. He’d wanted to take me out to the Leyning Bistro, but they don’t take American Express cards, he said, so we ate at the Black Swan and it was pretty gruesome. He was feeling bad about that, and I was trying to cheer him up, so when he suggested we go up to his room to fetch his jacket before he walked me home I never thought twice about it.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Frances. ‘What happened, Jan?’
‘Horrible. He just took it for granted he was going to have me there and then, wasting no time, on the floor. Thought that was what I had come for. When I tried to stop him, he went mad – literally. He changed. his eyes changed colour; it was terrifying. He’s strong, too.’
‘What did you do?’ Helen was almost afraid to ask.
‘Screamed like a steam engine. I didn’t know I could do it, but I did. And he let me go, and said sorry, and his eyes changed back to blue again, and someone came knocking on the door and I told them it was nothing, just a fright. And Ben was on his knees, grovelling, begging me to say nothing; to meet him in the morning, let him explain. He kept saying about Beatrice, how it would upset her, and of course it was true, she was enjoying him so. He was doing her such good. So in the end I agreed to meet him this morning, and came away and walked and walked and walked, wondering if I was right not to tell you at once. So then, of course, I overslept, and rushed out to meet him and he told me this terrible tale about a wretched childhood, parents who hated him, kept on sending him back to a school he loathed. He got these violent fits, he said, couldn’t help himself. All he wanted was not to upset Beatrice, begged me to let him have one last happy meeting with her and then he’d go, leave her with good memories. And I believed him. Idiot … fool …’
‘He fooled us all,’ said Frances. ‘A practised hand. I’m just grateful it was no worse, Jan. That you had the wits to scream. His record’s terrible. Ah.’ The front door bell had rung. ‘That’ll be Hugh at last.’
‘Just what I expected.’ Hugh joined them in the kitchen. ‘And what she wanted. We must remember that. I do see, Helen, that what that young ruffian did almost certainly precipitated it, but it was going to happen anyway, and she’d be the first to say he did her a kindness. Let it go … let him go. He’ll be his own disaster in the end. In fact, he’s in trouble already. I was called out to the Black Swan first thing this morning. There had been some kind of a ruckus there last night and an elderly visitor had suffered what she claimed was a heart attack. Indigestion, if you ask me, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, when I came away there was a panic on at the desk. Young Norton had eaten a hearty breakfast and vanished. Nothing in his room; he only had a rucksack apparently. He must have got it out when they were busy with my patient.’
‘He told me he made a point of travelling light,’ Helen said. ‘Now I see why. But what a fool, scarpering like that. How does he think he’s going to be able to turn up and claim the estate he expects to inherit?’
‘I reckon he had no choice,’ said Jan. ‘I think he was skint. He always managed not to pay for things. I’m such a fool. I should have noticed. Those flowers he brought Beatrice. They were dripping, no wrapping paper. He must have stolen them from the florist in the market. I thought it was funny at the time, forgot all about it.’
‘All his credit cards had been stopped some time ago,’ put in Frances, rising. ‘I’d better get in touch with the police. Put them in the picture. Pity the Black Swan didn’t ring here when he vanished, but I suppose he had said nothing about Beatrice. Nasty, careful young man. I’ll be in the office, Helen dear, let me know if there is anything I can do. All right to go ahead with arranging the funeral, Hugh?’
‘Of course. Do you know what she wanted?’
‘The least possible trouble for anyone, she told me. She didn’t reckon much to bodies. Didn’t want to be a nuisance. But that was back at New Year’s, before she knew us, when she was all alone.’
‘And now we want to take trouble for her,’ Helen said. ‘Celebrate her. But how?’
Peter provided the answer to this, calling late that afternoon, soon after the undertaker’s men had driven away leaving the house an empty shell.
‘I am so sorry.’ He took and held both of Helen’s hands. ‘I came as soon as I could. We both know it is what she wanted, but that won’t stop us missing her.’
‘Dreadfully.’ It did her good to say it. ‘I’m all at sea.’
‘Bound to be, for a while. Just take it as it comes. And I promise you, you will feel better after the funeral. And that is what I came to talk about.’
‘Oh?’ Surprised.
‘She didn’t tell you? I did wonder. She told me she would like to be buried in my graveyard, among the snowdrops. I promised her a good, plain funeral without what she called any religious nonsense. Will you trust me for it?’
‘Of course I will. I’m so relieved. Just over the garden wall, and then we can all come back and have a wake for her here. Oh I am so grateful, Peter. It makes it seem almost easy.’
‘She told me she liked the idea of being buried. Said she hadn’t been much use in the world, but at least she would grow a few more snowdrops. A cardboard coffin, she wanted.’
‘Oh.’ She had let the kind undertaker talk her into expensive mahogany.
‘I’ll tell them, don’t worry.’ He had read her mind. ‘I could do it Wednesday afternoon; over before Easter.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ She had been worrying about this too. So much to worry about.
‘I loved her,’ he said.
‘So did I. So did we all. She was worrying about not being useful, but I don’t know what I am going to do without her.’
He looked at her very kindly and she was afraid he was going to tell her to leave it to God. But instead he just said, ‘Take it a day at a time.’
Wendy appeared later that evening, fresh from work, with Clive on the carrier of her bicycle.
‘I can’t stop,’ she greeted Helen. ‘Peter told me. I’m so sad and so glad for her that I don’t know what to do. And I came to say shall I come Wednesday instead of Thursday and help you get straight for the funeral?’
‘Oh, thank you, Wendy. And come back afterwards, help with the wake?’
‘I’d like that. Can I bring Clive? You’ll likely get quite a few people. She was loved.’
‘She had heard pretty fast.’ Jan had been in the kitchen, making soup.
‘Yes. Peter told her.’
‘Oh.’ And then, ‘Helen, you look all in. The soup’s almost ready. Early supper, don’t you think, and bed? Things will look better in the morning.’
‘I certainly hope so.’ Deeply worried about Jan, she had hoped that making supper would do her good.
They ate it almost in silence. At last, Jan looked up from rinsing out the sink. ‘Helen, I feel so awful. Such a coward! If I’d only spoken up last night, or even this morning, none of this would have happened.’
‘But how were you to know?’ Helen had expected this. ‘And Beatrice was enjoying him so much. I can see how you didn’t want to spoil it for her. After all, being a rapist doesn’t necessarily make a man a murderer. And do remember, Jan, that he did Beatrice a kindness, really. And me too, come to that.’
‘You? A kindness? What on earth do you mean?’
‘You’ve not been here since New Year’s. She was getting steadily worse, and she knew it. She was beginning to talk more and more about sending me down to the
marsh for a bunch of hemlock for her. A final draught. She was putting pressure on Hugh, too, I think, when she saw him alone, though of course he never said anything. But I’m sure that’s why he has been coming so often. He was afraid of what she might get me to do.’
‘And Ben did it for her. For his own wicked reasons. How very strange.’ She thought about it. Then, ‘Thank you, Helen, that is going to help, I think. What a brave woman. Would you have done it for her in the end, do you think?’
‘Jan, I don’t know. But I have to say that I do feel some relief mixed up in all the sadness. Not to have to think of her any more, straining for memory, struggling to the loo by herself and pretending it didn’t hurt.’
‘You should have told me how bad it was getting.’
‘You’d have seen soon enough. I’m so glad you are here, Jan.’
‘Me, too,’ said Jan.
In bed at last, Helen lay awake for a long time worrying about Jan, and then, when sleep was just beginning to hover, she started to worry about herself. It was so strange not to be listening for Beatrice’s bell. And what was she going to do without her? Shaming to be thinking financial thoughts, but impossible not to. It had become increasingly difficult to get Beatrice to sign cheques lately, and more and more she had shirked the battle and simply paid the bills herself. A recent statement from her own bank had given her a fright and she had promised herself that she would sort things with Beatrice, but the chance had never come. She was back where she had started from, homeless and almost penniless. Disgusting to be thinking like this. She fell asleep at last, late and heavily, and was wakened by the telephone and Jan’s voice answering it. Amazingly, the clock by her bed said half past nine.
‘Stay right where you are.’ Jan put her head round the door. ‘You’re going to have breakfast in bed, like it or not. That was Frances. She sends her love and says everything is under control for Wednesday and you are just to take it easy today. Not much else we can do actually, being Sunday. We thought we’d go for a walk this afternoon and I asked her back to supper. I hope that’s OK?’
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