The Guardian of Secrets

by Jana Petken

  “No, of course … It just wasn’t the right time to tell you at Papa’s funeral, that’s all. Anyway, it’s all worked out. I wanted proof, and I got it,” Celia said triumphantly.

  “Yes, and you nearly got killed in the process.”

  One hour later, Celia sat on the couch with her legs curled up underneath her. She held a cup of tea in both hands, accepting now that her aunt would do all the talking, however much she protested.

  “So what do you think, dear?” Marie asked when she’d finished replaying her conversation with Simon.

  Celia stared at the floor. Her aunt’s suggestion about going to Spain had taken her completely by surprise. It was such a strange notion – to leave the country, go to Spain, have a holiday – but she couldn’t help but be attracted to the idea. She remained silent for a moment longer, thinking that she would have to disappoint her aunt now, defend her decision, and be strong enough not to be dissuaded.

  “I think I like the idea, although I’m not sure about the practicality of it. I hate Joseph. He’s beyond redemption, rotten to the core, and I want to destroy him, but how can I do that if I’m in another country?”

  “Joseph will be taken care of. Don’t worry about that. But first we have to make sure that you and the baby are safe; this is non-negotiable,” Marie told her.

  Celia sat back on the plush couch and closed her eyes. She was tired, so tired that her eyes stung from tears shed and lack of sleep. She had been thinking about her future all night and had gone over every possible scenario until she arrived at the same conclusion, the only acceptable conclusion. Her aunt wouldn’t agree with the decision she’d made, of course, but now was not the time to back down, not even for her aunt.

  “Auntie, I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but I must go back to Merrill Farm, and it must be today.”

  “But, my dear …”

  “No, Auntie, please don’t say another word. You see, if I don’t go back, Joseph will know that I’ve told you everything. He was very drunk yesterday, but he might remember that he said he’d killed Papa. ‘The night I did her father’ was what he actually said.”

  “But you can’t possibly …”

  “Auntie, think about it. Joseph will probably run, and if he runs, we will never catch him. I want justice, and I won’t have a future of any kind if I don’t get it.”

  “Justice might be expensive, dear. He could kill you the next time.”

  Celia wagged her finger, stressing that her aunt was wrong. “No, he is too greedy, and he’s not stupid. If I died, he would be the prime suspect. Not only that, but he’d also lose my inheritance in the bargain. Two deaths in one family would be too much of a coincidence for the police to overlook, and he loves his life too much to risk it all in a fit of rage.”

  Celia had thought long and hard about this. If she went back to the farm, behaved as though nothing was untoward, pretended that she’d forgiven him again, he would drop his guard and carry on, giving them time to somehow prove his guilt. Her aunt would have to force Joseph to reinstate Mrs Baxter, of course, for living at the farm alone with him would be foolhardy, and she was not that brave. Joseph hated her aunt; therefore, it was a foregone conclusion that he would try to keep them apart. But she was convinced that he feared her aunt Marie just as much as he hated her. He wouldn’t say no to her.

  “Can you get Mrs Baxter back for me? Get him to agree to her living at the farm again?” she asked Marie, voicing her thoughts.

  “I suppose so, but can I not convince you to leave him now? Please, darling, don’t do this. I’ll worry myself to death if you don’t get away from him now!”

  “No. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going back today. Look, why don’t you come with me? We can pick Mrs Baxter up on the way; I know she desperately wants to come back.”

  “Are you sure about this?” she asked again.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Marie made them both some more tea. Celia remained where she was, alone with her thoughts and glad of the respite from questions and disappointed exclamations. According to Dr Sutton, her baby would be born at the end of June or the beginning of July. She felt sure that she could put up with Joseph until then, especially if she had Mrs Baxter with her. She would ask her aunt for a little money to make sure that she didn’t go without vital nourishment or emergency funds, just in case she had to get away from Joseph in a hurry. As soon as the baby arrived, she would leave Joseph no matter what.

  “Do we have a deal, Auntie?” Celia asked when her aunt returned with the tea.

  “I suppose so,” Marie said with pouting lips. “I can’t stop you from doing this, but I think you’re making a big mistake. You’re in just as much danger now as you ever were. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do … the only thing to do!” Celia snapped, impatient now to end all conversation and return to her home.

  Celia sat with arms crossed and a sullen, stubborn lift of her brows; she would not justify her decisions any longer. Her aunt was displaying the dominance that usually won her every argument, but today she had to be stronger than her aunt. No small feat, she thought.

  “Auntie, I don’t want to fight with you. I am tired of trying to justify myself to Joseph. I don’t want to have to justify myself to you too,” she eventually said. “Will you do as I ask, please? Trust me, just this once.”

  Instead of being angry, Marie nodded her head in agreement, a sad but proud expression in her eyes. She smiled for a moment at Celia and then spoke in her voice that brooked no argument.

  “All right, I’ll do as you ask, but you must promise me that you will leave the moment you feel threatened in any way. This is no time for heroics!” she said, now in control again.

  “I will stay a couple of days and get you settled in. You can tell Joseph that you just had to come visit me. After all, this is your first Christmas without your father. Tell him that you needed to spend some time with me and that you are sorry for disappearing. He won’t dare say anything, not while I’m around, and we must act as though everything is perfectly normal. We mustn’t let him think that anything is out of place, Celia. I’ll arrange for Mrs Baxter to come back but only if she agrees to stay at the farm during the week; otherwise, I’ll take this out of your hands completely and bring you back here even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. Joseph won’t say no to Mrs Baxter, not when I tell him that I’ll be paying her wages and that you’ll need the extra help, what with having his baby and all. That’s what we’ll tell him.”

  “I agree,” Celia said.

  “Once Mrs Baxter is back at the farm, you will have a friend and ally. That husband of yours may be all that he is, but he’s not stupid enough to touch you when someone else is about. Remember, dear, silence will be your only weapon. Do you trust Mrs Baxter completely?”

  Celia thought about the question. She was well aware that Mrs Baxter’s tales were the talk of the tea rooms. She thrived on stories, and the Merrill family had furnished her with some prime gossip through the years, but the old woman loved her and hated Joseph. She would not put her in harm’s way by tipping their hand.

  “Yes, I trust her completely.”

  Marie nodded her head. “It won’t be easy to get rid of Joseph now. You do know that?”

  “Yes,” Celia admitted. “When I heard the news about my father, I was confused. It was like a dream, a bad dream that I had no control over, and I didn’t know what I was doing or saying until much later. I wish I could turn the clock back, Auntie. I might have done things differently, but I can’t …”

  Chapter 11

  Mrs Baxter’s parlour was small and overly furnished with chintz, lace, and heavy oak sideboards so full of china and porcelain ornaments that it took a morning just to dust them all. The room’s bay window looked out onto the front garden. The small lawn was framed with pebbles collected from the coast, and
it was enclosed by a wooden fence and gate that led to the main Goudhurst road.

  When tea arrived, Celia sipped greedily, its luxurious warmth sliding down her throat. Their surprise visit to Mrs Baxter’s house had been timed to perfection, for Mrs Baxter had returned from her sister’s house in Canterbury that very morning. Mrs Baxter was, as always, eager to hear news, but to Celia’s surprise, she hesitated in accepting the offer of a renewed contract of work at Merrill Farm.

  “Mrs Baxter, I thought you would be happy. I thought this is what you wanted,” Celia told her.

  “Oh, I do, dear, and I’m pleased you’ve asked me. I’ve missed you and the farm, and I must admit that I’ve been bored stiff. I swear I’ve aged since I left,” Mrs Baxter told her. “I’ve been lonely and out of sorts ever since the funeral, but excuse me for saying that Joseph’s reputation as a drunk and a heavy gambler has spread even to my sister’s small community in the South. They say he doesn’t pay the men on time and that he’s skint. I’ve got my doubts, that’s all, and I’ll be honest with you both because you deserve to hear the truth: I just don’t like the man. I’m even a bit scared of him. Your family is the closest thing to gentry in Goudhurst, but him – he’s no better than me! Nobody knows where he’s come from or why he suddenly appeared around these parts, but I’m sure of three things: he’s no good for you, he spells trouble, and he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want me around!”

  The room grew silent. Celia was at a loss as far as how to respond. Mrs Baxter was right about everything, she admitted to herself, but her words cut her like a knife, opening wounds that were impossible to heal. She had tried so hard to hide the truth about Joseph by behaving like a loving wife to a loving husband, but it was apparent that Mrs Baxter not only knew about Joseph’s bad habits but had also come to the correct conclusion that Joseph had been violent towards her. She looked to her aunt for support.

  “Auntie?”

  Marie said on cue, “Mrs Baxter, if you are at all worried about Joseph or about getting paid, don’t be. I’ll be paying you. You just agree to come back. I’ll take care of the rest. Celia needs you. She can’t manage on her own, and as for Mr Dobbs, we don’t care what he wants or doesn’t want.”

  Mrs Baxter nodded her head. “Does he know about this, that I might be coming back? I don’t want any trouble.”

  Celia shifted in her seat, uncomfortable talking about private matters that she’d tried so hard to hide. “Joseph will accept the situation – don’t concern yourself about that – and I know that if you come back, it won’t be because of the money. My father left you five hundred pounds, so you don’t need to work ever again, but the choice is yours; I promise I won’t try to force you to do anything you’re not happy about.”

  Marie jumped in. “Mrs Baxter, I’m not going to lie to you, because I think you deserve to know what’s going on. My niece is in trouble and so is the farm. If you come back with us, you must understand that anything you see or hear up there must remain there. Celia has been honest with you, but she hasn’t told you everything. Her marriage is a bad one, worse than you can imagine, but that is between her and Joseph, so can you be discreet about this? Celia’s safety depends on your silence. She trusts you and so do I.”

  Celia asked, “Will you help me? Please say yes. It won’t be forever, just until I have the baby. Please. Just until then …”

  Mavis Baxter held out her two arms, and Celia stepped into them. Mrs Baxter wrapped her arms around Celia’s bony body and kissed the side of her head.

  “Of course I’ll help you,” she said, outwardly emotional. “You’re like my own daughter, so you are. Now I know there’s a lot you’re not telling me, but I’m sure you have your reasons. All that matters is that you want me back to help you, and that’s exactly what I’ll do. Joseph Dobbs needs to be brought down a peg or two, and I’ll be glad to see it happen. And I promise not to say a single word to the nosy parkers in the village. You have my word on it!”

  Chapter 12

  Joseph hadn’t slept a wink all night. He’d wandered aimlessly around the house, going into unused rooms, shouting Celia’s name and becoming angrier and more determined to punish her for the pain she was causing his pounding head. His head felt as though a shovel had hit it from a great height. His mouth felt so dry that not even a bucket of water would quench his thirst, and he couldn’t find his wife. He couldn’t remember much. She was there one minute, and then he fell asleep, and she was gone. He couldn’t actually remember when she left; all he knew was that when he woke up, it was dark. The house was cold and empty.

  He drank some tea and imagined the worst possible scenario. If Celia was at Mrs Baxter’s house, he could handle that. He’d go there and drag her home, and then he’d give her a bloody good seeing to and slap her around a bit so she wouldn’t do it again. But, he thought, if she’d been stupid enough to go all the way to London to see her aunt, he’d be in pig shit. He slumped over the table and tried to remember if he’d marked her face this time. It was all a blank; Christmas Day was a blank. He went to the window and stared out at the bleak horizon

  He saw them long before they spotted him. He groaned as he looked at them. They were marching up the path as if going into battle. He groaned again. For the first time in his life, he felt an apprehension that only weaker men felt when their wives were on the warpath. He wondered how much Marie Osborne knew. Did Celia tell her everything? Was the old cow here to threaten him? If she was, she’d have a fight on her hands. And what the hell was that Baxter woman doing back here? He’d got rid of her. Something had been said. He was sure of it. Celia wouldn’t dare bring Marie Osborne and that Baxter woman here unless she had something on him.

  He turned from the window and ran up the stairs, dressing quickly in clothes recently purchased but never worn. He poured cologne onto his hands and splashed some on his face, smoothing down his hair with the remainder.

  When Joseph walked out to greet them, the first thing Celia noticed was that he was sober, well dressed, and smiling. He looked almost handsome with his broad smile and newly washed hair, just like the Joseph she’d fallen in love with, she thought. She shook herself out of her delusions; she couldn’t think of such things. She hated him and wanted him dead. He would never be handsome to her now, for the ugliness inside him was plastered all over his face, from his shifty eyes to his malicious smile.

  Joseph’s eyes read her own and then settled on Mrs Baxter. “Marie, Celia, what’s she doing here?” he asked with a voice laced with contempt.

  Marie asked him innocently, “Oh, you mean Mrs Baxter? I’ll talk to you about that later, dear. Would you be so good as to take our bags to the guest rooms?”

  “Are you staying, then … and her too?”

  “Yes, dear, I’m staying for a couple of days, and as for Mrs Baxter, I’ll explain everything just as soon as you put our bags away.”

  When Joseph’s heavy feet reached the bottom step after depositing the bags upstairs, Mrs Baxter served tea, fitting into the household as though she’d never left. Celia sat opposite Joseph, her hands folded demurely on her lap. She wore a sorrowful, submissive expression on her downturned face. It wasn’t overdone – just enough to ooze sincerity. Her aunt had warned her not to be too apologetic, for it would appear artificial.

  “I’m sorry, Joseph,” she began.

  “Yes, she is sorry, and so she should be,” Marie butted in. “She had no business leaving you like that without a word. I don’t know what she was thinking; I really don’t. She was very naughty to do what she did.”

  Joseph sipped his tea and nodded in agreement. “Celia, did you think for a single minute that I might be frantic with worry?” he asked her, playing the victim.

  “No … I mean, yes. I’m sorry, Joseph.”

  “I never slept a wink all night; anything could have happened to you. You’ve no idea what you put me through. I was beside myself with worry, what with your father not long murdered and all the gypsies hanging arou
nd looking for money anywhere they can find it. Promise me you’ll never do anything like this again.”

  Celia looked to her aunt. She could not face him, couldn’t speak; all she could hear in her mind was his confession to murder.

  Marie said, “I think Celia has learned her lesson, Joseph, and I pointed out to her that having a baby meant being more responsible. However, in her defence, I have to say that she came to me because you two had a fight. She wouldn’t tell me why, but I imagine it was because she misses her father. She is still grieving, you know, and still very angry, and to be honest with you, Joseph, it didn’t help that you forced her to stay here when you could both have been with me in London yesterday.”

  “Yes, well, maybe you’re right about that, but she still shouldn’t have done it. Anyway, what I want to know is why Mrs Baxter is here.”

  “Well, dear, I’m sure you don’t want Celia to tire herself out, do you? She’s got to take things a bit easier now, what with a baby on the way. This house is far too big for her to manage on her own. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “No buts, Joseph. Now, I would like to pay for Mrs Baxter’s services. This was my idea, and I absolutely insist upon it. Celia was quite adamant that she could manage on her own, and it took a lot of persuasion on my part to convince her otherwise, so it’s only fair that I cover the costs … Call it a Christmas present if you like.”

  Celia knew Joseph better than anyone else did, and she had calmed herself sufficiently to notice that he was sweating, a trait of his and a sure sign that he was about to lose his temper.

  “Auntie, are you sure?” she intervened. “I will need Mrs Baxter right up until July. We can’t possibly expect you to pay for months … I agree with Joseph. We don’t really need her.”