Deathline

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  ‘Lovely,’ she said, ate her breakfast and fell fast asleep again.

  She felt better when she next woke and saw that it was nearly twelve o’clock. Dressing rapidly she went down and found Jan in the kitchen, reading cook books.

  ‘I’m cooking supper tonight,’ she announced, ‘and you are going to do nothing all day. Doctor’s orders. He dropped in early on and told me to cherish you. And feed you up. So how about one of my omelettes for lunch?’

  ‘Lovely.’ Helen felt absurdly cross. Why? Because Jan and Frances had not suggested she join them on their walk, or because she had missed Hugh’s visit? Or just because her occupation was gone and she was tired to death? Wretched phrase. ‘I wish they had left her here,’ she said suddenly. ‘It doesn’t feel right, not having her up there.’

  ‘I know. I keep expecting to hear her bell.’

  ‘Should we do something about starting on her room?’

  ‘Not today. Hugh said do nothing, and Frances said don’t worry.’

  ‘Idiotic,’ said Helen. But it was good to sit meekly and let Jan serve her lunch. And when it came to the point she was happy to see Jan and Frances stride off together and settle herself in the front parlour with the Sunday concert and her worries.

  The doorbell startled her awake. Ringing for the second time? She rather thought so and hurried to answer it, feeling shaggy and demoralized with sleep.

  ‘Sorry. I’m afraid I’ve wakened you.’ Hugh stepped across the threshold. ‘And sleep’s what you need.’

  ‘I seem to do nothing else.’ She spared one quick glance at her dishevelled reflection in the hall mirror and led the way into the front room, turning off the radio as she went.

  ‘Best thing you can do. You’ve a right to be tired. You’ve been under a lot of strain, you know, all winter, and now this.’ He reached a professional hand to take her pulse and something very strange happened in her chest. ‘Not too bad, considering.’ He had noticed nothing. ‘But I expected that, didn’t bring my clobber.’ He was, amazingly, without his black bag. ‘You’re a survivor; you’ll cope.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’ It was suddenly the last straw to have him take it so completely for granted.

  It got her a quick, sharp look. ‘Have you cried?’ he asked

  ‘Cried? No. No, I haven’t.’

  ‘Well, it’s time you did.’ He reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket, produced a surprisingly clean white handkerchief and handed it to her.

  ‘To order? Idiotic!’ She began a laugh which turned into tears that grew into sobs.

  ‘That’s much better.’ His firm arm settled her on the sofa and stayed around her shoulders. ‘It’s known as Braddock’s crying cure and it works every time. Well, most times. Better than Valium any day.’

  ‘I’m soaking your jacket.’

  ‘What it’s made for. Irish tweed.’

  ‘It smells nice.’ She blew her nose. ‘I’m so ashamed. It’s not Beatrice I’m crying for, or not only, it’s for me too. I’m frightened, Hugh. I’ve got to start all over again and I’m not sure I’m up to it. Too tired. And I’m broke, too, would you believe it?’ Suddenly it was all tumbling out – the cheques Beatrice wouldn’t sign, her own dwindling bank balance and the letter from kind Mr Barnes telling her just how small her inheritance from her mother was going to be. ‘I’m going to need a job fast, Hugh. Here, if possible; I’d like to stay. I know it seems heartless to be thinking like this, but do you know someone here in Leyning who might need me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hugh. ‘I do.’

  She pulled away to sit up straight, dabbing her eyes with his sodden handkerchief. ‘Oh, Hugh! I never thought. Your awful housekeeper! You’d fire her and let me take over? I could do that.’ But could she? The idea was horrible.

  ‘Oh, no you couldn’t. Not like that. I’m not looking for a housekeeper, Helen, I’m looking for a wife.’

  ‘Hugh!’ She looked at him, thunderstruck.

  ‘It’s hopelessly the wrong moment, idiotically too soon, and all the wrong way round, but Helen, very dear Helen, it is what I have wanted to say to you since the first moment I saw you. Love at first sight. I didn’t know it happened, certainly didn’t think it happened to old codgers like me. Don’t say anything yet, please.’ He had felt her reaction. ‘I know what a surprise, what a shock it must be to you. But think about it, please, dear, dearest Helen? Only first I must tell you the whole dismal lot, what I’m offering; so little. Sandra takes every penny she can get. You do know about Sandra?’

  ‘Yes, someone told me; I’m sorry. But, surely, Hugh, she left you?’ She seemed to have stopped crying.

  ‘And had a child that could technically have been mine. And didn’t marry the father. Which left me holding the baby. Or at least paying for it. And don’t say I should have fought it; just think what that would have done to me here in Leyning. End of a career.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’re right. Imagine the Miss Fanshaws …’

  ‘Exactly. But this is entirely the wrong conversation. What I’m trying to say is that I’m a poor man, Helen, always will be, but I’m a poor man who loves you. And needs you—’

  ‘But I thought it was Frances—’

  ‘Frances? So you’ve heard that story too! Trust Leyning. But, darling fool, surely even an innocent like you must know about Frances?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s gay. Always was, I suspect, but didn’t know it. That’s why we are such good friends now, she and I.’

  ‘I see,’ she said slowly. She was looking back over the winter, seeing so much, all of it in a new light. ‘What an idiot I’ve been. But Hugh, Jan…’

  ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘And none of your business. Our business, I hope. Helen, my only love, I am trying to ask you to marry me and you are making it remarkably difficult for me. All these red herrings!’

  ‘Am I really that?’ The world was reshaping itself around her.

  ‘Difficult?’

  ‘No.’ She managed to say it: ‘ “Only love”.’

  ‘At first sight. So cross you were, going for me like an infuriated kitten.’

  ‘You were so rude—’

  ‘I was in such a hurry. I’m always in a hurry, Helen, always shall be, can’t help it. And right now I’m in a furious hurry to cut free from Sandra and marry you, start our life together. And if you try to tell me you don’t feel it too, I won’t believe you. What happened when I took your pulse?’

  ‘Something very strange.’ Still safe in his arms she turned to look at him. ‘You mean I’ve been in love with you all this time and didn’t know it?’

  ‘Didn’t recognize the symptoms,’ he said.

  ‘I’d never had them before.’

  ‘Good. No more had I, though I didn’t realize it. Oh, my darling, we must be married just as soon as it’s decent, not waste another minute. Beatrice would approve, I know she would. She teased me a little, you know, about coming to see her so often.’

  ‘And I just thought the Leyning health service was wonderful.’

  ‘Darling idiot.’ He leaned towards her, and then, ‘Hell and damnation!’ They had both heard the sound of voices and a key in the lock. ‘Are we going to tell them, Helen?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ she said. ‘Hugh, is it real? I’m not dreaming, am I?’

  ‘If you are, we both are. And a very good dream too.’ He rose from beside her as Jan and Frances came into the room. ‘Helen and I have a piece of good news for you,’ he said. ‘We are engaged to be married.’

  ‘Oh, Helen!’ said Jan.

  And at the same moment: ‘Hugh, Helen, I’m so pleased!’ exclaimed Frances. ‘It’s almost too good to be true. I’ve been so worried; I just thought she was mad, been wondering how to tell you.’

  ‘Tell us what?’ asked Hugh. ‘Who’s mad, Frances? What are you talking about? Give it us straight. We can cope with anything now, can’t we, Helen?’

  ‘Absolutely anything.’ Smiling at h
im.

  Frances ran a hand through her short hair. ‘It’s worried me so much,’ she told them. ‘You remember, back after Christmas, when Beatrice summoned me to draft her will. I’d taken it for granted, you know, that it would either be all back to the family in America, or to some charity or other. Lots of lonely old ladies do that. Cats or dogs, that kind of thing. But not a bit of it. She had it all worked out. The house to you, Helen, and everything else to you, Hugh. And when I tried to tell her what a muddle that might create, she just said, “Nonsense, they are going to get married, those two”, and nothing would shake her.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned. And, God bless her, she was absolutely right,’ said Hugh. ‘And I want it clearly understood that I am marrying you for the house, Helen.’

  ‘Naturally,’ she said. ‘And I am marrying you for the money. What a good thing we didn’t know. Oh, goodness!’ It was sinking in. ‘This lovely house, and all its memories. How lucky I am…. We are!’

  ‘Luckier than you realize,’ said Hugh. ‘What a splendid woman, but what a fool. Do you realize, Helen, that if you had let her talk you into providing that cup of hemlock, there was your murder motive, staring the world in its face.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Frances. ‘And that goes for you too, Hugh.’

  Jan was on her feet. ‘I’m going to put some champagne in the fridge,’ she told them. ‘We’ve got some celebrating to do.’

  ‘Yes,’ Frances agreed. ‘But before you do, Jan, one other thing. There’s a legacy for Wendy of course, and one for you too, one I didn’t understand. Paul’s portrait by Vanessa Bell. Do you know about that, Helen?’

  ‘Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you? She keeps… she kept it in the closet in her room, said she couldn’t face it any longer after she knew he wasn’t coming back. Do fetch it, Jan. At the end of the closet.’

  ‘No, let’s take the champagne up to her room,’ said Jan. ‘Drink a toast to her there for the beloved witch she was.’

  ‘Do let’s,’ said Helen as they all recognized this as a bridge to be crossed.

  Beatrice’s room looked very empty, but it smelled deliciously of the lily of the valley Helen had taken up as soon as the undertakers had gone the day before. By tacit consent they had filled their glasses downstairs; now she raised hers. ‘To dear Beatrice.’

  They drank it standing and Helen saw Jan close to tears. ‘Fetch out the portrait, Jan dear,’ she said. ‘It’s at the far end of the closet, tucked well away. I’d never have found it if Beatrice hadn’t told me.’

  ‘Right.’ Jan put down her glass, opened the closet door and reached inside to produce the big canvas. She propped it on the chest of drawers, stepped back, and said, ‘My God!’

  It was Ben Norton who stared at them from the unfinished canvas, the fair hair, the blue eyes and the look that challenged the world.

  ‘So that’s why they left in such a hurry all those years ago after Benedicta’s engagement party.’ Helen had been working it out. ‘Beatrice thought Paul and her sister were getting on too well by a half. She would never talk about that visit; I suppose she hoped she had got him away in time. The likeness must have skipped a generation, come out all too clear in Ben. No wonder his family didn’t like him much, living proof of what they must always have suspected.’

  ‘But Beatrice didn’t see the likeness,’ said Frances.

  ‘You know how awful her sight was; she just saw people as blurs. And, remember, she did keep saying Ben reminded her of Paul.’

  ‘So she did. And no wonder.’

  ‘She couldn’t see what colour his eyes were in the portrait,’ Helen remembered. ‘Asked me. Blue when he was happy, she told me, green when he lost his temper … What is it, Jan?’

  ‘That’s Ben,’ said Jan. ‘Night before last, his eyes went green. I was terrified.’

  There was a little silence. Then, ‘Dear Beatrice,’ Helen said. ‘I am so glad I didn’t get her new glasses.’ And got up to turn the picture to the wall. She did not want to think about Ben Norton.

  The front doorbell rang.

  ‘Damn,’ said Jan, and went to answer it. She returned with Susan Fanshaw, looking distracted in a cardigan buttoned up wrong, wispy hair and no make-up.

  ‘Oh, such a relief to see you go by.’ She spoke to Frances as if there was no one else in the room. ‘We saw you, Ellen and I, and she sent me straight away, while he’s on the phone. He frightens us, rather. Oh, I should have said how sorry we are about poor Mrs Tresikker. I’m ashamed, but so much has happened since he came and told us. And I don’t want to leave Ellen alone with him too long; it’s when his eyes go funny, so scary, and what we need to know is how soon he can get his legacy and settle with the Black Swan, and, well, get away. Oh, thank you, Dr Braddock.’ Hugh had put her gently into a chair and poured her a glass of champagne. ‘How delicious. We really aren’t used to having visitors, you see, only how could we turn him away when in a way we felt responsible for his being here at all. So, Frances dear, how soon … ?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news,’ Frances told her. ‘Mrs Tresikker only left Ben Norton her husband’s papers and permission to publish them.’

  ‘What? But he was so sure … Oh, my goodness me, what are we to do? He said it was just for the weekend, until he could get things worked out with Finch— With you people, Frances … Such a charming young man; we had no idea what it was really going to be like. So when we saw you going by, Ellen just told me to run for it. But what am I going to tell him?’

  There was a little shocked silence as they took in the plight of the two old ladies saddled with this disastrous guest, so much more dangerous than they knew.

  Jan spoke first. ‘We’ve got to do something!’ she said. ‘Frances, think of something.’

  ‘There’s one thing we could do.’ Frances spoke at last. ‘Suppose we were to make him an offer for Paul Tresikker’s papers? You’ve been working on them with Beatrice, Helen, haven’t you? Mightn’t you think of writing something about the two of them? Need the papers for that?’

  ‘Oh?’ Helen sounded as doubtful as she felt. She had other plans now.

  ‘I could,’ Jan broke in. ‘I have to do a long paper next year. I could buy them. How much should I offer?’

  ‘He hasn’t even got a return ticket,’ wailed Susan Fanshaw.

  ‘Five hundred pounds,’ said Frances. ‘And I’ll share it with you, Jan, or Finch & Finch will. We’re partly responsible, after all. If James Finch hadn’t let Miss Ellen persuade him to get in touch with the American lawyers, none of this would have happened.’

  ‘But he had to do what we said, didn’t he?’ Miss Susan finished her champagne. ‘Seeing as how we knew about him and Wendy. Mind you, now the little trollop has taken up with that dreadful black clergyman it’ll all be different, won’t it? You couldn’t write me a cheque right now to take back with me, I suppose? He’s pretty bored with being shut up in our house. I think he might just take it and go.’

  ‘No,’ said Frances.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jan.

  ‘Hang on a minute.’ Frances rose. ‘I must make a call. Find Miss Susan something to eat, Helen?’

  It was a long call, but Frances came back at last, looking relieved. ‘Finch minimus is on his way,’ she told them. ‘He’ll help if he can. He was in the office yesterday morning when Roger rang from the States about Ben Norton, as horrified as I was. He’s about had it with his uncle and grandfather, didn’t a bit like the way they let Miss Fanshaw talk them into alerting their American contacts about Mrs Tresikker, suggesting you were exerting undue influence, Helen. Sorry, Miss Susan, but there it is. Anyway, he feels responsible about it all and wants to help.’

  Young John Finch arrived wonderfully soon. He looked very young indeed, but he was immensely helpful. He had brought five hundred pounds in cash, pointing out that a cheque would be useless to Ben Norton, and a carefully worded receipt for him to sign. Best of all, he volunteered to go back with Miss Susan and persuade Ben Norton to sign it.
‘I’m afraid he would probably take it better from me,’ he said with an apologetic glance at Frances.

  ‘You are absolutely right,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘And anyway, the less I see of that young man the happier I shall be. We think he shocked Mrs Tresikker on purpose.’

  ‘Hoping to kill her?’

  ‘And inherit. Yes. Use that, if he turns difficult.’

  ‘I certainly will. Come along, Miss Susan, we’ve left your sister alone with that young man quite long enough.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Mr Finch. Such a comfort to have a man to cope with things.’ She had eaten a sandwich, rebuttoned her cardigan and combed her hair, and went off almost cheerfully, still floating on her glass of champagne.

  ‘Will it work, Frances, do you think?’ Hugh asked.

  ‘Oh, I think the combination of cash in hand and the judicious touch of blackmail will do it. He’s a very capable fellow, that young John Finch, for all he looks about seventeen. He and I had quite a talk yesterday morning. We’re thinking of starting up our own firm, he and I, and talking of blackmail, that bombshell of Miss Susan’s about James Finch and Wendy may have given us just the lever we need to get John free of the two old barnacles he’s been saddled with for so long. That really was a piece of news, and I’m sure it’s true. Did you know, Hugh?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said quietly. ‘And the less said about it the better.’

  ‘Of course.’ She had the grace to look ashamed.

  ‘And that goes for you too, Jan.’ He turned to her. ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Not a word. But I hope it’s true about Peter and Wendy.’

  ‘If you want it to be, keep quiet. Leave them alone, don’t even think about them.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Think about Helen and me instead. We have now been engaged for nearly two hours and we are overdue a little time alone. Why don’t you two go and cook supper or something?’

  ‘A very good idea,’ said Frances. ‘If you will stay for it? Come along, Jan, we know when we aren’t wanted.’

  ‘In Beatrice’s room?’ Jan looked at the two of them.

  ‘She’d love it,’ said Hugh. ‘After all, she was the first to know, God bless her. What an amazing woman. Just think how she has changed all our lives. You and I are going to live here in her house, aren’t we, Helen, and this is going to be our room. It’s full of her still.’