by Dawson, H A
Aw, you poor little mite.’
She smoothed her hand across his head and back. He lifted his head and his one functioning eye glistened. He was doing his best to show his appreciation, despite his suffering, but it was an effort and her concerns deepened. Needing to check him out, she stretched him out. His stomach had ballooned. Touching it didn’t seem to cause him added anguish, yet it was clear he was in pain.
There had to be a link to the note. Whilst her first thought was that a poisoning had occurred, she also feared the curse. Whoever had been responsible for the atrocities that had occurred at Primrose Cottage had been unable to get to her children; instead, they’d targeted her cat.
She raced downstairs.
‘Bloomer is ill. Come see for yourself.’
How so?’
‘His belly is swollen. I said we should take the warning seriously.’
‘I still think he’s just eaten something that disagrees with him.’
She folded her arms. ‘Why do you never believe me?’
‘I do.’
‘No, you don’t. Grace has done something to him. It would be so easy for her to put some poison down.’
‘I think you’re overreacting. I’m confident it’s not Grace.’ His eyes wandered. ‘She doesn’t seem the type . . . and she’s been very friendly towards me.’
‘To you maybe, but she hates me.’
‘I don’t think she does.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll go and have a look at him.’
She led the way, hurrying upstairs and returning to their bedroom. Sam trailed on behind and appeared to be walking slower than necessary. He didn’t seem at all concerned and acted as though he wasn’t taking her seriously. Whilst irritated, she remained patient and waited for his arrival and inspection.
‘He does seem a little bloated,’ he said, ‘if he’s still the same tomorrow, we’ll take him to the vets.’
‘I’m not sure we should wait that long.’
‘Then let’s see how he is in a few hours.’
She touched Bloomer’s soft, silky fur. ‘Are you sure this is not Grace’s doing?’
Absolutely.’
Then who?’
‘It’s coincidence. Try not to worry.’ He kissed her on the cheek and left the room.
Not convinced, she perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the little cat and praying for a miraculous recovery. He did not respond to her tender touch or soothing words and kept his eyes shut and his body hunched. Sleep was his best hope. Wishing him well, she shuffled out of the bedroom and meandered down the stairs. Her mind was in a whirl and her stomach was tight.
‘Do you fancy a trip out today?’ Sam asked.
‘Not really. Not with Bloomer ill.’
‘Grace told me of a man who was a good friend of Jack Cooper’s. I’ve managed to track him down and he’s willing to see us.’
Her face brightened. ‘Why haven’t you told me about him before?’
‘I wanted to surprise you. I know how important it is for you to find out the truth about Catherine.’
She grinned. ‘Thank you.’
It didn’t take long for her to finish her breakfast chores and for them to leave the house. The news that she could speak to someone who had been Jack’s confidant excited her, and it eased away her anxiety. Archie Sanders would know the truth regarding the deaths of Jack and Catherine’s children, and he would share the details. Finally, the truth would be out. It would be a breakthrough moment.
A growing list of questions crisscrossed her brain.
‘How willing is he to talk?’ she asked Sam.
‘He seemed quite keen.’
‘What do you think I should ask him first?’
‘I would just let him reminisce a bit, and see what he tells you.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ Dreamy-eyed, she pondered the outcome. If only she could share the news with Catherine. Should she tell the villagers of her news? Should she tell the press? ‘I’m so excited. Do you know if anyone has spoken to him before?’
‘I think Grace has.’
Her head jerked. ‘Then she must know Catherine was innocent!’
‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ he said. ‘He’s an old man, and it all happened a long time ago. And if he was a friend of Jack’s then he may have a biased viewpoint. He might not tell you what you’re expected to hear.’
Regrettably, he was right. He would tell her Catherine was a murderer, he would say Jack was an upstanding citizen, he would tell of his love for his wife. She may not even learn anything new.
Despondent, Michaela slipped down the car seat and rested her arm on the door handle. Much had happened since their arrival at Primrose Cottage, and she felt emotionally drained and desperate for it to end. The vision she had had, so long ago, of her living a happy life with her children in the house, now seemed a distant dream. She had been foolish, yearning for the impossible. She drifted into a restless sleep.
Sam nudged her awake. ‘We’ve arrived.’
Startled, she peered through the cracks in her eyes and gazed at the row of townhouses. They looked to be Victorian built and were three-storey and with large bay windows on the first two floors. In silence, they exited the car and entered his small garden via a wrought-iron gate, and pressed the bell.
An elderly man, probably in his eighties, introduced himself as Archie, speaking in a firm, distinct voice. Moving with caution, he guided them to the lounge decorated with embossed wallpaper and painted cream. High up on a narrow ledge, near the ceiling, were character ornaments. The collection was extensive and appealing and continued around three walls. She voiced her compliments and sank onto the sofa next to Sam.
‘So,’ Archie said, ‘you live in the Cooper’s house.’
‘Yes, Jack was my great-grandfather.’
‘But you know nothing about them.’
‘My parents kept their distance from the rest of the family.’
He nodded, a knowing nod it seemed. She wondered if he knew about the drowning incident, but she was unwilling to speak of it and urged the conversation to progress. Thankfully, Archie did just that and spoke of his relationship with Jack. He explained how they had met in a bar in London, and added that despite their age difference, they’d found commonality.
‘I was in my late twenties at the time. He told me about his mental health issues. It was not something men generally spoke of, and it surprised me. At first, I was uncomfortable, but he was such a nice man - genuine, well-spoken and with a caring nature - that my reluctance to participate in the conversation evaporated.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘He said he used to hallucinate, but at the time had been unaware of it. Everything he had seen and heard appeared genuine. That was before he received treatment.’
‘How long had it gone on for?’
‘He suspected it started soon after he married. He had a mental breakdown after Catherine died and that was when it peaked. He was never so bad after that.’
‘Any ideas what caused it?’
He shook his head. ‘Do they ever? He started to doubt his past and everything that had happened, and became unsure of what was real and what wasn’t.’
‘Did he talk of Catherine?’
All the time. He would describe her in detail, and tell me how her cheeks were smooth and pink, and her lips were narrow and formed a tight line. He said she had a beautifully rounded figure with large womanly hips.’ He raised his eyebrow. ‘Not all his memories were muddled.’
‘He loved her then,’ she said in a clipped tone.
‘That he did. He would tell me about her favourite spot in the garden, and how she’d sit there and the early morning sun would creep onto her skin. He said it looked like it should tickle, but she never flinched, and waited there, motionless, until her entire face was aglow. Then she would return to the house.’
‘Where was her favourite spot?’
Surprised, he hesitated. On a bench by an apple tree.’
/> Michaela nodded, she knew the spot. It was one of her favourites too.
‘He had many regrets,’ Archie continued, ‘but mostly he regretted his inability to save Catherine.’
‘It’s said she killed herself.’
‘That’s right. In fact, he told me to carry his secret to my grave, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.’
She leaned forward, urging him on.
‘She fell into the sea, but he couldn’t swim. He watched on as she struggled to breathe. He panicked. Later, when they asked what happened, it slipped out that she had committed suicide. The lie seemed to fit.’
She glimpsed at Sam and her lips curled. It was exactly like her dream.
‘He told me over and over again that he didn’t kill her,’ the old man continued. ‘I didn’t know whether to believe him or not. Thing was, I liked the man. I couldn’t question something that caused him such pain.’
‘If he suffered from mental problems, it would be difficult to ascertain the truth.’
Archie was thoughtful, his eyes a blur. ‘I suppose it would, but he always seemed coherent to me.’
‘Did he speak of his children?’
‘He often spoke of Josephine. He was guilt ridden, maybe even more so than regarding Catherine. Josephine was . . .’ his gaze drifted, his eyes hazy. ‘I’m sorry, where are my manners. Would you like a drink?’
It seemed such inappropriate timing, especially when she had a myriad of unanswered questions before her, but Sam had already replied and Archie was levering himself to his feet.
He walked out of the room leaving the door ajar. There was a sound of movement in the next room - the gentle clunking of his footsteps, the sound of rushing water, and cups clunking on a surface.
She leaned forward and whispered to Sam. ‘Do you think he’s telling the truth?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘He doesn’t seem to be confused.’
‘I did tell you she didn’t kill herself.’
Sam nodded.
‘It seems like she slipped. I guess we’ll never know the exact details.’
She leaned back into the sofa. A bookcase was to her side. On the lower shelves were encyclopaedias, art books, and a wealth of information on medicine, and higher up were the fiction, PD James and James Patterson being the most common. There was nothing to indicate he had a female partner; even the décor was unfussy and with a masculine feel.
Moments later, Archie returned with a tray of fine bone china mugs and a matching teapot. His hands wobbled and the cups rattled. He placed them on a table and proceeded to pour.
‘You were talking about Josephine,’ she said, ‘what happened to her?’
‘I don’t know. He only ever said how sorry he was, and that she didn’t deserve to die.’
‘All the reports say Jack blamed Catherine for her death. He said she pushed her from the rim of the well.’
‘Did he?’
‘You don’t remember?’
‘I never took much notice of the papers.’
‘What do you think happened?’
‘I only know what Jack said, and that was that he overcome with guilt. Once I even saw a tear in his eye. It was unheard of back then. Men didn’t cry.’
‘So he didn’t mention her death.’
He shook his head.
‘Do you think he pushed her?’
‘I wouldn’t like to say . . . he could have done.’
Joy lingered on Michaela’s face. She looked to Sam, and his eyes danced too. Finally, they seemed to have a little proof.
‘Did he tell you about his other children?’ she asked.
‘He wouldn’t talk about them. Most of what he said was about Catherine. He regretted the way he treated her. They didn’t have a housemaid, which was a bit strange considering how wealthy he was.’
‘That must have been hard.’
‘I should imagine it was. There were no electrical appliances back then, everything had to be done by hand.’
‘What happened when she was pregnant or had young children to care for?’
‘So far as I know, she did everything herself. That house of yours is a bit remote from what I remember, so I don’t think she even had help from the locals. She was a strong, determined woman.’
Or maybe very weak.’
Archie gave her a questioning glance.
Never mind. Do you think Jack told the truth?’ she asked.
‘He believed what he said was true. However, there may have been flaws in his recollections. There’s no way of knowing. Even so, he told me the same stories for years word for word.’
Despite his poor mental state?’
He nodded. In spite of that.’
She reached for her mug. ‘I find it difficult to believe that Jack ever loved Catherine from the stories I have heard. If he had, as you say, why did he make her life so hard?’
‘That was one of his biggest regrets. He never realised how much he loved her until she died.’
‘That’s sad,’ she said with a bitter tone.
‘Yes, it was. He was a very sad man. Do you know about his mistress?’
She nodded.
‘Well they married, but it didn’t last. She went off with another man. That’s when he realised how stupid he’d been regarding Catherine. He told me how she – Catherine - had worked tirelessly in the house, and all he ever did was complain. Her good nature was probably her downfall, as from what I could gather she took huge pride in her role as wife and mother.’
‘He took her for granted?’
Archie nodded. ‘If only he had realised it at the time, maybe things could have been different.’
‘She sounded to have had a tough life,’ she said.
‘I think she did, although I’m not sure who suffered the most, Jack or Catherine.’
‘Oh?’
‘Catherine, from what I gather, had it hard during their married lives, but Jack suffered for the remainder of his. He never found happiness and was very lonely. Yes, he had money and was sociable and well-liked, but that wasn’t who he was. Inside he was depressed. He suffered greatly. I saw it all for myself.’
‘I hope you’re not going to take offence,’ Michaela said, ‘but I find it difficult to sympathise with Jack. From what I can gather, he made Catherine’s life hell, and even now, people talk about her as though she was the worst person to have ever walked the earth. He can’t have been the innocent that we are all led to believe – he must have played some part.’
‘Jack knew he’d done wrong, and maybe he could have done more to clear Catherine’s name. My guess is that he didn’t know how to go about it.’
‘So you agree, she was innocent of the crimes.’
‘She admitted to them.’ He paused, caught her eye. ‘I don’t know what happened. Jack didn’t tell me everything.’
Archie fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve and seemed distressed by the direction the conversation was heading. Fearing alienating him, she gritted her teeth and forced her unconstructive comments aside.
‘Everyone tells me what a wonderful man Jack was,’ she said, ‘even the newspapers at the time talk about his position in the community. Was he really such a good character?’
‘He was a smooth talker, very friendly. Everyone he met seemed to like him. It was a given.’
‘Then it’s a pity he suffered an illness. Maybe if he hadn’t they might have repaired their tattered relationship.’
‘You’re right there.’
They talked around the subject for a little while longer, but Archie was unable to enlighten her with anything new. Aware that nothing more could be gained from extending the conversation, she announced their departure and thanked him for his time.
‘Oh, there is more thing,’ he said, ‘Jack said Catherine kept a diary. He read bits of it the day before she died. He told me it nearly broke his heart.’
‘What did it say?’
He looked thoughtful and then shook his head. ‘I can’t remember.
He said she had placed it in a tin, but the following day it had gone. He never saw it again.’
‘Did someone take it?’
‘He didn’t think so. He said she either burned it or placed it somewhere safe. He never found out.’
They shook hands and departed.
‘Let me know if you find anything else out.’ Archie said.
‘We will.’
‘He was a very dear friend.’
Michaela nodded, and as they strode to the car, she passed Sam a gratifying smile.
Michaela enthused to Sam for only a short while. During the journey home, Bloomer’s sickness became predominant in her mind, and her gut tightened with dread. Upon their arrival, she hurried to the house in a fretful state. However, as soon as she opened the door, a delightful sight greeted her. Bloomer was walking down the stairs with his tail erect and his one good eye tracking her. She flung down her handbag and skipped towards him.
When she saw his bloated belly, a weight tightened her gut. If he had eaten something disagreeable, it would have passed through his system by now.
Suffering from a sense of helplessness, she reached for his dish, filled it with fresh chunks of meat, and placed it onto the floor. Bloomer displayed a vague interest, sniffing it and tasting it with his tongue; ultimately, he would not cooperate and moved away disinterested.
Downhearted, she believed she had no other option but to take him to see a vet. It was an undesirable choice as an unreasonable fear lingered. They were places of doom and gloom; places where the ill died. It did not seem a better option to know the reason for his bloat, especially if the cause was a serious systemic condition. She would rather remain ignorant and pretend he was happy, energetic and pain-free.
Nonetheless, she called a local surgery and requested an immediate appointment. There was one available, so she placed him into his brand new cat carrier and carried him to the car. She drove in silence to the vets, obliterating every negative thought and focusing entirely on the songs and chatter on the radio.
About ten minutes after she had arrived, the veterinary surgeon called her into a small room. Her pulse throbbed in her throat despite the caring aura that radiated from the young woman, and she watched on, silent in her helplessness. The vet prodded his abdomen, touched the lumps on his neck, and listened to his heart and breathing pattern. For a while, she did not speak, not even a word, and scrutinised the little cat in detail. Her expression was one of deep concern, causing her heart to beat faster and a frown to carve deep grooves on her face.