“We haven’t received anything lately. In any case, I’m selling the Salinghurst shares. I want no part of it.”
“Have you informed the Yard?”
“Yes. Dean’s already approached me to buy them. I know Teddy would want to keep it in the family, so I’ll sell to Dean.”
“You’re selling to Jack Grimshaw, too,” I reminded her. “I think he did it, Ellen. I think he killed your husband.”
Sinking farther into the pillows on her bed, a soft cry escaped her lips. “Do you know what the papers are saying about me, now? That I’m a murderer. Oh, Daphne, I’m afraid. I was nowhere near that hotel but I lied to the police. I wasn’t here. I took Charlotte to the park that afternoon. The police know that I lied but they haven’t come back yet. I’m afraid they’ll come for me and say I did it.”
I paused stroking her back. Over the years, we’d formed our friendship through letters. Those heartfelt letters, exposing and declaring all our inner fears and secrets, consoling our losses, celebrating our successes … had I missed something? I’d never known her to lie before.
How well did I really know Ellen? Had she become a character to me and not a real person?
I forced myself to swallow the truth. I’d waited eagerly for those letters to arrive. I savored every word. It was like living someone else’s life in all its intricate detail and emotion.
But deception lurked. I sensed her fear now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I am happy for you, Daph,” Angela said early the next morning, sneaking into my room without invitation.
Yawning, I half-opened an eyelid. “It’s all right. I didn’t expect you to blow a trumpet. Go back to bed, Ange.”
“No.” She planted herself on the edge of my bed. “I’m sorry. I should have shown more sisterly jubilation. It was unfair of me.”
Maybe she was jealous? I tried to open my eyes but I was so tired, they insisted on sticking together. “It doesn’t matter,” I assured her. “I won’t take offense.”
“But this is one of these moments I feel like I’ve failed. I’m your sister. We’ve shared a great deal together. I don’t know what overcame me … perhaps jealousy because I’ve missed my chance.”
Struggling to keep my eyes open, I propped myself up to see a single tear fall down her cheek.
“You haven’t missed your chance.”
“I have,” she choked, “I-I have…”
“You said you didn’t want to marry.”
“I know and now he’s married with a child on the way. Oh, Daphne, I spurned him and sent him packing. Why did I? For some foolish reason that he wasn’t good enough in my parents’ eyes and I could do better? Ha! I’ll end an old maid on the shelf.”
“You’re still young.” I sighed. “Remember Dorothy? She married when she was thirty-six. And look at Ellen. She loved and lost and then loved again.”
“And lost again.” Angela lowered her head, miserable. “I won’t make a splendid match. I’ve always known that and I rejected a good man. You’re lucky, Daphne. You’ve got a great catch, a handsome, charming man, and I know you’ll be happy.”
Forcing myself awake, I scanned her face, looking for clues. “Is it my eventual going away that concerns you?”
“Yes and no.” She sighed. “I suppose I never expected my younger sister to set up house before me … establish herself in society, that sort of thing.”
“I’m not getting married tomorrow.” I grinned. “Mother insists on a two-year engagement. I say one.”
A twinkle returned to Angela’s blue eyes. “I’d not wait for a man like that. Speaking of which, your engagement announcement is sure to cause a stir.”
“The only person I wish to rattle is Lady Lara,” I confessed, recalling the hard, determined look in that too-perfect face. “I fear she’ll always be a thorn in my side.”
“Then tread carefully, sister. You are too naive in such matters.”
Was I? Chewing on my lip, I abandoned my bed for the mirror. The face that stared back at me did appear young and innocent, I thought: porcelain skin, neat, clear features, a tiny snub nose, and a mouth too eager. Faint shadows drifted over deep-set eyes, secretive eyes, and I wasn’t sure what lurked in those mysterious depths.
I set down to write a few pages before breakfast. I was very excited about the concept for my novel. I’d wanted to write a family saga since the Padthaway case, but I couldn’t settle upon characters or a location. Now I had both: Cornwall and Janet. My Janet was middle-class, from a working family, I decided.
Reviewing what I’d written earlier at Thornleigh, I suppressed a groan. Those few chapters gave me a glimpse into Janet’s world but I had to force myself to agree it wasn’t the place to begin.
Scrapping the chapters by shoving them in my notebook for future reference, I glanced at a fresh page and began:
Janet Coombe stood high on the hill above Plyn, looking down upon the harbor. Although the sun was already high in the heavens, the little town was still wrapped in an early morning mist. It clung to Plyn like a thin pale blanket, lending to the place a faint whisper of unreality as if the whole had been blessed by the touch of ghostly fingers …
“Daphne! Major Browning is here.”
Oh dear. I hadn’t even brushed my hair. Making haste to the bathroom, I discovered I looked worse than I initially thought. After combing out the knots to look less like a bird’s nest, I tucked my hair behind my ears and washed my face.
Still in my dressing gown, I hunted through my wardrobe for a pretty day dress. Drat. I couldn’t find one of those, either. I must pay more attention to my wardrobe as my mother warned me.
Going into Angela’s room, I borrowed a dress of hers, a cream base with red frills. There, I checked my image in the mirror, pleased with the result.
My heart started beating faster the moment I heard his voice. The low timbre suggested his entertaining the women and enjoying it. For a moment, I paused outside the door. I don’t know what overcame me but I felt afraid. I didn’t want to go inside; I didn’t want them all looking at me.
Of course I must. He was my fiancé. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.
“Daphne darling.” He leapt to his feet, taking my hand and sweeping me into the room.
Gazing up at his handsome confidence, my love for him deepened. He knew I had these occasional bouts of flagging self-esteem. And he’d come to my rescue, a real modern-day knight in shining armor.
“How lovely you look in my dress.” Angela grinned, eager to make up for last night’s icy reaction. “Keep it. It looks better on you than me.”
“I have just the hat to go with that dress.” Ellen beamed, happy to be going home to Thornleigh. “Charlotte, race upstairs and tell Nanny to leave out the red hat. Daphne must put it on for her outing.”
“My outing?”
“I have gained permission to take you for a stroll in the park,” the major drawled. “Forgive the early morning intrusion, ladies.”
“Oh, you may come anytime,” my mother assured him, sending him a winsome smile before a motherly embrace. “You are like family now.”
“Thank you.”
Once outside, I burst out laughing. “I’ve never seen her so happy. I’ll never understand all the bother about daughters getting married.”
“Maybe you’ll understand when you have a daughter of your own.”
I stopped. I hadn’t imagined having children until then even though it was the natural progression of life.
“You do want children, don’t you?”
He was amused by my hesitation.
“Or do you wish to pursue your career as a novelist?”
On arriving at Hyde Park, I smiled at the sunny day. “Both. Some consider their books babies, you know.”
“The less noisy kind.”
Offering his arm while I adjusted my hat, he chose a path for us. He looked so tall and handsome, I felt proud to accompany him and prouder still to belong to him.
/>
The day was splendid, the sunshine spreading over us like a warm woollen blanket. Many seized the initiative to bask in it, walking, sitting, running, reading books under trees, playing with children on the green and by ponds, or strutting the path like we, a newly engaged couple.
“Mrs. Edgecombe.” The major tipped his hat, passing a plump lady of austere character. “She’s a friend of the Rutlands,” he whispered.
“That explains her austerity. I hope you warned your family?”
“I did that before I left Germany.”
“Oh no! They must think—”
“That you’re extraordinary. My future wife is extraordinary and they’ll see for themselves in a moment.”
I held my breath. “What did you say?”
“Don’t bite your nails nervously.” He tucked my hand under his arm. “We are walking toward them.”
“You scoundrel,” I whispered under my breath, trusting I looked as I should meeting his parents for the first time.
They waved at us from ahead. I swallowed and smiled, accepting his mother’s embrace.
“Why, Tommy, she’s lovely. Younger than I expected.”
“I look younger than I am,” I replied, shaking hands with his father.
“Tommy’s told us all about you.” His mother pulled me aside to inspect the flowers by the lake. “And Susanna speaks well of you.”
“That’s kind of you,” I replied. “I’m afraid we’ve attracted some unpleasant remarks for his breaking with the Rutlands—”
“Now, now, you’re not to think we’d rather see him wed to Lady Lara. We want our boy to be happy. He mentioned you long ago and I wondered.”
“Oh, indeed?”
“Yes … he sent us a postcard from Cornwall. He said he was on a fishing trip and that he’d found ‘a rare fish from the sea with ancient eyes.’ Later, he spoke of a girl with a penchant for writing and getting herself into trouble. ‘She needs looking after,’ he said and I knew then that you were special. He never spoke of the other girls like that and especially not Lady Lara. Theirs has been a very public romance.”
“You knew it was a farce?”
A serene smile touched her lips. “I guessed. It’s a sense intrinsic to mothers.”
We walked a little way with them. They said they were rarely in town and invited me to stay a weekend at their home.
“There, that wasn’t so awful, was it?” the major teased later, steering me down a prettyish kind of wilderness. “The humble wayside flower has a charm all of its own.”
“It does,” I agreed, grinning, “and am I really like a storm?”
“You certainly have stormy eyes when you’re angry.”
“And foolishly inquisitive?”
“I trust you have learned caution after your shoulder wound.”
“I have.” Linking my hands around his neck, I pinched him on the ear. “Where’s your sympathetic concern?”
“It’s here.” He removed my hand to his heart.
“A ring!” I gasped, ripping open the box. “Oh, it’s lovely…”
“It’s a family heirloom. The reason we met my parents today is because of the ring. They offered to bring it. Does it fit?”
I examined it under the sunshine. Old gold, a scrolling pattern entwined with rubies and diamonds.
“It belonged to my great-great-grandmother. I thought you’d prefer something antique?”
“How well you know me. I love it! It’s perfect.”
Inspecting my hand, he frowned. “Even if a little big? We’ll have it resized.”
Walking back arm in arm, proud to show off my ring to any passerby, I told him of my intentions in regards to Ellen.
“Go back to Thornleigh? Are you mad?”
“Ellen’s sold her shares. There’s no reason for her to stay on in London and she’s keen to resume the renovations. She asked me to go home with her, only for another month or so.”
His brows knitted together as I explained that I must go. “I’ve started my novel. I have a feeling about this one but I need to do some more research. I’ve decided to set it in a fishing village instead of a grand estate. What do you think?”
He laughed, tucking my hand under his arm. “You’re impossible. I had envisaged going out with you every night. Enjoy the town and so forth.”
“You know I prefer the country. You could come? Ellen wouldn’t mind—”
“Before you race ahead and scheme, my precious, remember I’ve work to do and I need to do it here.”
Hailing a cab home, we climbed in and sat close together. I leaned my head against his chest, thanking him for the wondrous day and for my ring.
“Darling, go to Cornwall if you want. You must go, if it’s good for your writing.”
“There’s less distractions there.” I smiled up at him. “It’s the quiet I love. I hope we live there one day.”
He was amused. “What do you have in mind? Grand estate or modest fishing village?”
“Either.” I laughed back. “As long as we are there, overlooking a harbor. Can you imagine? Looking at the sheet of white water daily, the jetties, the moored ships, the gray roofs, and clustering cottages—”
“All right, Miss Writer. It’s an agreement.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I had promised him to stay out of trouble. That meant screwing up my page of murder suspects and the notes I’d made about those suspects.
It was a difficult thing to do. Though the police put Teddy Grimshaw’s death down to “unknown,” doubt still lingered in the air.
“I never want to go back to London.” Ellen shivered. “Those ruthless newspaper people. Hounding the door every day. I hope they won’t follow us to Thornleigh.”
So did I. Nothing sabotaged quiet inspiration time like noisy cockney reporters.
“I can’t wait to show Uncle Harry my bird,” Charlotte said when we reached the gates.
I offered to open the gates. The drive from London went too quickly for my liking. I so would have loved to stop for lunch, but Ellen was determined to get back. She was not the most confident of drivers.
As it happened, the usually splendid drive gazing at the passing scenery became a nightmare. Charlotte’s bird, sitting on a gilded cage on her lap, squawked the whole time, dissatisfied upon being confined behind bars.
Grinding my teeth, I pushed open the gates and the car went through. “I’ll walk the rest of the way.” I waved to Ellen.
We’d left the good weather in London. A light shower drifted from a deepening gray sky. More rain. Suddenly, I ached for the warm sunshine with my major.
Bearing down the long winding path with its foreboding ancient trees and ghostly branches, I questioned the wisdom of my decision. The doubt lingered only a moment for there, through the rustling leaves stood Thornleigh, proud and old and beautiful.
Approaching the place, I understood Ellen’s passion for it. It was her home and filled with memories.
“I’m going to mount our family portrait up there.” She pointed upon entry, Harry carting in the package for her. Waylaid by Charlotte and the bird, he put the portrait down.
“His name is Harry, too,” Charlotte informed him with a parental gravity.
“Well, hello, Harry. Nice to meet ye.”
“How is everything?” Ellen asked. “Did you contact the builders while I was away?”
“Yes. They said they’ll start after a first payment. I have the bill in my office.”
Ellen nodded. “Good. I’ll see you later then. Oh, Harry. Ask Nelly to set another place at dinner. Nanny will be joining us from now on. She is, after all, family.”
“I know certain people of my acquaintance would frown at such a thing,” Ellen said to me later, “me having nannies and estate managers to dinner, but we’ve all suffered the anguish of loss. Alicia lost her father and Teddy took her up. She’s quite determined to stay on as a governess. I warned her doing so she’s less likely to meet men cooped up here down in the count
ry.”
“What about her mother? Doesn’t she want to go home eventually?”
“She doesn’t get on with her mother. It’s exactly like me. Remember how hard my parents were on me?”
I recalled what Alicia had said about her parents.
I spent the rainy afternoon in the library. Convinced I was starting my novel at the right place, I drafted out the first chapter.
Rereading what I’d written, I was pleased with my effort. As the time grew close to wash and change for dinner, I wished I’d stayed in London. Dining with Ellen, Harry, Alicia, and Charlotte came in a miserable second to an evening out with my fiancé.
I smiled whenever I glanced down at my ring, though. I’d insisted on taking it with me. There was time to resize it later.
“Don’t lose it,” Ellen warned me over dinner. “You’d be in a sorry state then.”
“The Pendarrons called while you were gone,” Harry informed after a mild tête-à-tête with Alicia. “They are having the annual masked ball. Everybody who’s anybody is invited.”
Feverish with excitement, I dropped my fork. The Pendarron ball was famous. My mother had always craved an invitation but had never made the list.
“The household of Thornleigh is invited,” Harry went on.
“They honored us with a personal invitation?” Ellen gasped.
“You are relations,” Harry reminded, smiling.
“A cousin of a cousin of a cousin. They didn’t invite us in previous years because my parents never went. I always begged them to go but I was either too young, in the war, or in the black books.”
“Her ladyship also passed on her sympathies,” Harry murmured. “She asked after Charlotte, too.”
“Oh Mummy, can I go? Can I go?”
“You’re too young, dearest.”
“But I’m not too young. Really, I’m not.”
“They have an age limit at these kind of things.”
“I shall stay home with her,” Alicia said.
She blinked away, seemingly immune to the thrill of a ball. Didn’t every girl long to go to one? Perhaps she’d had a bad experience and dreaded the idea?
The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) Page 18