She would have to phone the police, even though she knew the truth could ruin her. She backed out of the room, and felt something hard sticking in her back.
“I have waited a long time to be able to see them properly,” said Monsieur De Lacey. Philly turned slowly, and saw he held a gun in his hand. “They belong to me.”
“No,” said Philly. “They belong to the people you stole them from.”
“They are mine. I knew all along she had deceived me, telling me there were no more paintings left. She tried to pay me off, but I did not take the money. I knew what was behind here was worth much more. I realised the extent of her lie when I saw your house on television, with Robespierre’s fakes on the walls.”
“Let the girl go, Armand,” said a voice from the attic door. “She’s innocent in all this. What’s more, she’s Robyn’s girl.”
“She is merely her goddaughter.” De Lacey turned slightly to look at Mr. Scattergood.
“She’s still Robyn’s girl. The one she gave it all up for.”
“She deceived us both, Robespierre,” said De Lacey. “She did not give it all up at all. She merely kept the best for herself. As she always did.”
“That’s because she was the one who took all the risks,” said Scattergood.
“Not so,” said Armand.
“She was Dominique, wasn’t she?” said Philly. “My godmother was Dominique DuPont.”
“That’s right, lass,” said Scattergood. “She was always young looking, so it was pretty easy for her to get a place in the school. Armand there played her father. As well as being a damn good actor, he also happens to be one of the finest cat burglars ever. Still very good at it by the sound of things, though a bit slippery nowadays. He used to send your godmother the stuff disguised in food parcels, I’d copy them, and then we’d replace the original with the fake. All whilst the owners were away living it up on some tropical island with Princess Margaret and the Aga Khan. Half the time they never even noticed the change. Then we’d sell the originals to buyers who weren’t too fussy about where they got their art from.”
“The dates in the tower were the times you met, weren’t they?” asked Philly.
Mr. Scattergood nodded. “Yes, and when I was caught that time, I deliberately told the police the truth, knowing that they wouldn’t believe me. I had met a man and a beautiful woman who gave me money. Dominique – your godmother – and De Lacey. I just fudged knowing their names. It was a double bluff that worked.”
Philly turned to De Lacey. “You hurt your ankle, falling from the roof.” She struggled to keep her voice calm. He still had the gun pointed at her. “So you had to pretend you’d fallen downstairs to explain why you were limping.”
“You are as clever as your godmother,” said De Lacey. “And as greedy. Keeping the paintings to yourself.”
“No!” Philly exclaimed. “I didn’t know about them till today or the secret room for that matter. I guessed there was something hidden up here, but I didn’t know what. I’m going to phone the police and they can find the original owners.”
“No!” De Lacey waved the gun about. “I need the money. I’m an old man now and not able to do what I used to do. It damn near killed me climbing over your roof. I cannot earn a living.”
“Yes you can,” said Philly. “You could do something honest. Work in a bank, pack groceries, work in a burger bar. No one has to be a criminal.”
De Lacey laughed. “You foolish, self-satisfied girl. Perhaps you will not be quite so self-righteous when you realise what paid for your education and your place in drama school. Your godmother never worked a day in her life either. She was not born to it.”
“She could have been,” said Scattergood. “She just never tried. Don’t think too harshly on her, Philomela. It was drummed into her from a very early age that she had to keep this house, no matter what. She met Armand here in France and he taught her how she could do that. When she came here to the school, their usual forger had just died. She saw the work I’d done for the church nativity and approached me. I was only fourteen, so you can imagine how excited I was when this beautiful, sophisticated woman involved me in her exciting plot. It was a real adventure for me.” Mr. Scattergood smiled. It was the first time Philly had seen him do so. “Put the gun down, Armand,” he said. “You’re not going to shoot the girl. We’re not about that. We never were. Our rule was always that no one got hurt. Only the rich suffered, and they could afford it. Remember.”
“I remember your ideals, Robespierre, but they were never mine. You always wanted to strike back at the upper classes. Not that it stopped you taking your cut when the money was shared out. I do not have your ideals. I do not care if this girl is hurt.”
“You always were the odd one out, De Lacey,” said Scattergood. “I do care if the girl is hurt, and so does everyone standing outside this attic door.” Scattergood stepped aside a little, to show the group of guests. The Reverend and Mrs. Cunningham were at the head of them, clinging together, their kind faces full of concern. “When I saw you follow the girl up, I told them to come with me and see a real denouement.”
“Then I have nothing to lose,” said De Lacey. “Because I am not spending the rest of my life in prison. I want what is due to me.”
What happened next was something of a blur. Philly became aware of one of the trunks opening, and a figure emerging from it. He clonked Monsieur De Lacey on the head and knocked the gun from his hand.
“I don’t know about what’s due to you,” said Matt, “But you’ll certainly get what’s coming to you.”
People rushed into the attic, to surround De Lacey and ensure he could not get away.
“Matt?”
“Hi, darling.”
“Puck and Meg said you’d gone.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I asked them to lie. I’ve been here all along. I had a feeling something was going to happen in here today.”
“You did?”
“Well it’s the last day the house is open to guests, so I figured our prowler would be getting desperate.”
After that, everything became chaotic, as the police arrived. As Mr. Scattergood was led away in handcuffs, Philly went up to him. “I want to thank you, Mr. … I don’t even know what to call you.”
“Harry, Harry Johnson,” he said. His sister came to stand by his side.
“I thought I’d lost him forever,” she said, sniffing loudly. “But now I’ve got a brother again.”
“Probably not when they take me to jail, sweetheart,” said Harry.
“Oh well at least I’ll know where you are for a change,” said Mrs. Bennett.
“Thank you, Harry,” said Philly, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “I’ll tell the police about how you tried to save me. With any luck it will go towards your defence.”
“I appreciate that, lass, thank you. I knew it would catch up with me eventually, though. A man can’t run away from his past forever. I’m glad it’s over now.”
“You’d better come with us too, Miss,” said one of the policemen. “We’ve a lot of questions we want to ask you and your two friends.”
“But we didn’t know anything about it,” said Philly. Her pleas and those of everyone present were ignored as Philly, Meg and Puck were taken to the police station.
As Philly was led away, she heard Mr. Graham’s new love interest say, “The police are very convincing, aren’t they?”
Another lady said, “Best murder mystery weekend ever!”
***
“I can hardly believe it,” said Mrs. Cunningham, pouring Philly a cup of tea in the cluttered living room of the Cunningham’s bungalow. “All this time, I’ve had nightmares about Dominique coming to serious harm, and all along she was your godmother in disguise.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Philly.
“Oh no, don’t be. It isn’t your fault, and I’m glad the police finally accepted that. It was ridiculous to think otherwise.” Mrs. Cunningham smiled. “I think I guessed, you know
, when you sang No Regrets. Your phrasing in the French parts were so much like Dominique’s.”
“My godmother coached me in a French accent when I was at drama school,” said Philly. “I suppose I must have picked up her bad habits.”
“Yes, you did rather. Fancy Mr. Scattergood turning out to be Robespierre and Harry Johnson. I think that’s far too many aliases for one person, don’t you?”
Philly smiled. “Yes, and I still don’t know what to call him. It’s sad really. I keep thinking that if my godmother hadn’t corrupted him, he might have become a really great artist.”
“He was very young and impressionable, that’s for certain.”
“I’m still struggling with it all,” said Philly. “The idea that my whole life is a lie, paid for by organised crime.”
“That’s hardly your fault, dear, and it doesn’t change the honest person that you are. I think we have to give your godmother some credit for that. She could easily have corrupted you too, but for some reason she chose not to.”
“She still lived on the earnings from stolen paintings.”
“Yes, that is a problem, but it’s not your problem. The truth is out there now, as they say on the X-Files. Oh I do like Agent Mulder.”
“You are incorrigible,” said Philly, with a smile. “Thank you for still allowing me into your house.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You must stop taking the guilt of everything on your own shoulders, dear girl. You have done nothing wrong.”
“I feel as if everyone is judging me, wondering whether it’s possible that I was involved. I even ask myself how I could have spent time with my godmother without ever guessing.”
“Because as with when she pretended to be Dominique, she made sure no one guessed, Philly. She was a clever woman. It’s only now, with hindsight and a lot of information I did not have at the time that I can see she wasn’t quite right as Dominique. Even when I had misgivings, I took her as I found her. You had even less reason to suspect her. Presumably she was a woman who was kind to you soon after you lost your parents. Children are just grateful to be loved and cared for. It doesn’t matter what else their parent or guardian does.” Mrs. Cunningham took a sip of tea. “When I was a teacher I met parents who seemed absolutely awful. Certainly not people I would trust with a child. Yet when I saw them with their children, it was clear they wanted the best for them. They may not have always gone the right way about it, but the love was genuine.”
“I don’t know that my godmother did love me,” said Philly. “She was stuck with me, that’s all.”
“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself for the sake of it,” said Mrs. Cunningham with uncustomary brusqueness. Philly knew that she meant well. “Why don’t you invite that nice young Matt over? I’m sure he can put you straight.”
“I haven’t seen him much since the day we were arrested,” said Philly, glumly. “He went back to America to tell his dad what happened. He hasn’t called or anything.”
“I see.” Mrs. Cunningham smiled secretively.
“So I guess he did just want to find out the truth.”
“Well, you know how the saying about fat ladies and singing goes. I wouldn’t rule him out yet. What are you doing for lunch today?”
“Meg and Puck have been invited to his mum’s for the day. I could go too, she says so. But I don’t know if I’m very good company at the moment.”
“It’ll be much better than you sitting up at that house all alone and miserable. If you change your mind, Andrew and I would be delighted to welcome you here. It will be ready around two.”
“Thank you.” Philly stood up and leaned over to give Mrs. Cunningham a kiss. “I am so glad I met you and your husband. You’ve both been wonderful to me.”
“Well, I care what happens to Dominique’s girl, even if Dominique wasn’t really Dominique. All the time I was in the house over that weekend, I felt that she was sending me signals, asking me to take care of you. I shan’t let you disappear, Philly, you can count on it.”
Philly choked back a sob. “I shan’t go anywhere, I promise.” She went to the door and opened it, turning back. “Aunt Robyn didn’t tell me much about her life, for obvious reasons. But she did occasionally talk about a wonderful teacher that she once knew. I think I know now who she was talking about.”
“Thank you for that, child,” said Mrs. Cunningham, wiping a teary eye. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
Chapter Fifteen
What Philly told Mrs. Cunningham was not strictly true. She had been in touch with a developer about selling the house. It seemed to be the best thing to do. She could cut her losses, pay off her crippling business loan, and maybe have enough to buy a nice flat in which to live. She had promised Meg and Puck she would get one with two bedrooms so they had somewhere to live too.
She loved Bedlington Hall, but she did not like the associations or the recent intrusion. For days after the mystery weekend, the newspapers and television had covered the story, bringing photographers to her front door, and causing the phone to ring incessantly. So much so that she had unplugged it from the wall.
Things had quietened down a little, with other news overtaking the story of her godmother’s gang, but there was still the feeling that her home had been sullied in some way. The bricks with which it was built were bought with the proceeds of crime.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Robyn,” said Philly, standing looking over the lake on a frosty Christmas morning. “I don’t believe the house should be kept at any costs.” Nevertheless, she felt a deep ache in her heart at letting it go. As if she had somehow failed her godmother. But it was a terrible burden to place upon someone. In many ways she pitied Robyn, imagining how much that message must have been drummed into her by her parents when she was a child. At least Philly had been saved much of that. Only her godmother’s deathbed plea had put a burden on Philly. She wondered if Robyn had resisted saying it until that last moment, and was suddenly overcome by her parents’ teaching as she died.
Philly could hear the church bells ringing in the distance, and the aroma of dozens of Christmas turkeys filling the air. Perhaps she would walk back down to the Cunninghams for lunch after all.
She walked back up to the house, noticing that the smell of cooking grew stronger as she got nearer.
“There you are,” said Meg, when she opened the front door. “We wondered what had happened to you, until we phoned Mrs. Cunningham and she said you’d been there.”
“I thought you were at Puck’s mum’s.”
“They had another fall out about him not getting a proper job.” Meg rolled her eyes heavenward. “Same old same old. Besides, there’s no way we’d have left you on your own today.”
Philly ran to hug her friend. “Thank you!”
“We’ve invited the Cunninghams up to lunch,” said Puck, coming from the kitchen wearing his favourite pinny. “I hope you don’t mind, but Rachel and Joe are coming too. They were too busy to go home for Christmas. I’ve made Joe promise to keep the camera off.”
“Of course I don’t mind.”
“Oh,” said Puck, grinning. “There’s a present for you in the drawing room.”
“I thought we’d agreed on no presents,” said Philly, feeling alarmed. “Because we’re all broke.”
“Yeah, well luckily we didn’t have to pay for this one. Go on, before it gets cold.”
Meg punched Puck playfully. “Behave. Come on, back to the kitchen with you. Dinner won’t cook itself.”
“At last,” cried Puck, “after all those years staring at the cooker with a blank expression, she realises.”
Laughing, Philly went into the drawing room, where someone had lit a lovely warm fire. And standing in front of the lovely warm fire was Matt, looking utterly gorgeous in a thick Arran sweater.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“How are you?”
“Great, thanks. And you?”
“Yeah great… Ph
illy…” He held out his arms, and she threw herself into them. They kissed, and for the first time, Philly was able to let go of all the doubts and fears.
“I thought I was never going to see you again,” she said, teary eyed. “After everything…”
“You don’t get rid of me that easily. I had to go home and explain to my folks why I wouldn’t be spending Christmas with them. So they insisted I spent a few days with them first. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Oh no. I’m so glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you. I’ve been so stupid, Matt.” Philly rested her head on his chest.
“No, you haven’t. I’ve been stupid.”
“Well yes,” she said, impishly. “You were a bit more stupid than I was.”
“And after I’d brought you a present!” said Matt, laughing.
“You’re a wonderful present. I love you.”
“Well that’s the best present I’ve ever had,” he said, kissing her passionately. “I love you too. I have loved you since the day we met. Even when I thought you were a sultry thief. When the police took you I was busily planning how to break you out of prison.”
“Were you?”
“Yep, it involved a lot of cake and several files.”
“I love you for even thinking of it.”
“In the end I just told them that you were the most wonderful, honest girl I’d ever met.”
“You did?”
“Yep. Luckily our company are well known to the police in Britain. We’ve helped on a few of their cases, so they took my word for it.”
“Just as well they don’t know about the Mona Lisa I stashed in my bedroom then.”
Mistletoe Mystery Page 15