The Road Home

by Margaret Way

  Bruno sat poised on the edge of the massive desk. “If my dad knew what Abigail kept hidden, he might have been able to solve the mystery of Helena’s disappearance. Only much of the truth was kept from him for a very good reason.”

  “Too much to cover up. Myra could have ridden right into a trap, you know. Christian as the man who betrayed her obviously had to go.”

  “Abigail won’t want to talk about it,” Bruno said. “Hence, we’ll never know.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Isabelle said. “The truth has already started to emerge. On the afternoon Myra met her fate, Abigail was confined to bed with a bad migraine.”

  “With Mrs. Saunders in and out of the room, checking on her.”

  Isabelle picked up. “Mrs. Saunders who looked at Abigail as a friend and supporter. Terrible to contemplate a family member could commit murder.”

  “We’ve all been shocked at how the most unexpected people do that. Desperate situations call for desperate measures. How did Helena manage to become invisible? There has to be a record of her baby’s birth somewhere.”

  “That’s if she had a baby,” Isabelle said. “Our resemblance could be nothing more than freakish.”

  “At least we’ll have an answer to that. We can’t explain Dr. Hilary Martin’s reaction though, can we? If your history is straightforward and she is your birth mother, why did she react as she did? Why did Norville react as he did? The two of them, at least, left a trail. Both young doctors at the time. Their background has to be looked into. The hospital records at the time have to be double-checked. My dad had no idea whatsoever about you, let alone the Martins. He was investigating the case of a young woman who simply vanished. It wasn’t thought all that baffling. It was known she was deeply unhappy at home. Young people do go missing. They move away. They change their names. They live a new life.”

  “It’s a puzzlement and it’s giving me a headache,” Isabelle said.

  “That’s the dust. The place needs a good cleaning out.” Bruno hesitated for a moment. “I do think there was a reason for Dad’s accident. Maybe years later, he came across some lead? Some lead that had been concealed. Why did so many of his papers disappear; files in his office? There was no break-in. The police checked on that. Many of them knew him, attended his funeral. He’d been one of them. He was well liked and respected. I know a lot of questions were asked on and off the record. The missing brief case, for a start.”

  “I’ve come to think of all this—your father’s valiant efforts—as Finding Helena,” Isabelle said. “I feel her loss strongly. She could have been my mother.” Of a sudden, her voice broke.

  What affected her affected him. Bruno reached for her. Pulled her in tight, his chin resting on the top of her red-gold head. He felt her whole body relax against him. His strong arms held her up. “We’ll find her, Bella,” he said.

  * * *

  They had reached the landing before Bruno said quietly, “I’ll go in first. You follow after a minute.”

  “You want to get the best view of the reaction?”

  “Indeed I do. Who knows, she might find it an occult experience. I’m most interested in meeting Abigail.”

  “I’ve got my hand up as well. We’re hoping to nail her?”

  “On something,” Bruno said. “She knows more about the disappearance of Helena than she has ever said.”

  “That’s why you told me to leave my hair out?” She already knew the answer.

  “Of course, Bella. I want to leave her gasping. Why would she have worked at a friendship with Orani? She was family. Her loyalty was to family.”

  “Not if her husband was having an affair with another family member. There’s little doubt she used Mrs. Saunders. I think Orani suits her best.”

  “It’s her name. I’m going in,” said Bruno, looking the picture of energy and purpose.

  “Go right ahead.” Isabelle waved him off. She remained on the landing, feeling the oddest mixture of excitement and fear.

  She heard uplifted voices. Stefan’s query as to where she was. Bruno’s ready answer. “She’ll be here in a moment, sir.”

  That was her cue. She wanted to take the stairs at a nervous rush; instead, she walked down slowly, controlling herself as if this weren’t a momentous meeting. If it turned out Myra was her grandmother, wouldn’t Abigail automatically hate a young woman made in Myra’s image?

  “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” she said, looking smilingly from one to the other as though this was another everyday friendly introduction.

  “Not at all!” Stefan Hartmann answered immediately. “Mother, this is the young lady I’ve told you about.”

  “Ah, yes, Isabelle.” Abigail Hartmann, to their surprise, was a little woman, but of apparent robust constitution. She was no more than five two or three, but with considerable presence. She was smartly dressed in a two-piece outfit, upmarket denim jacket and skirt with a white silk blouse beneath. Ankle boots on her narrow feet. She had beautifully cut and styled white hair and far-seeing hazel eyes. She returned Isabelle’s smile with a gracious one of her own, even if a strange spasm momentarily distorted her expression. “You believe you are a relation, my dear?” she asked in a most kindly way. “Do please sit down,” she invited. “Beside me.” She indicated a chair.

  Isabelle obeyed. Something told her that in the days before DNA testing, there was no way Mrs. Abigail Hartmann would have owned her, for all the graciousness she was displaying. The facial spasm was tiny, but it had an effect. Abigail Hartmann could well create the illusion of any emotion she so chose.

  Abigail glanced over at her son. “Why don’t you leave Isabelle and me to have a nice chat, Stefan dear?”

  “Whatever you say, Mother.” Stefan held out a shepherding arm to his son, whose expression said plainly he didn’t want to go.

  “I’d like it if I may stay, Mrs. Hartmann.” Bruno looked directly at the very-much-in-command-of-herself lady. “I promise I’ll keep quiet.” Quick to assure her, he had no definite intention of doing so. He too had noted the facial twitch. Whatever emotion she had felt the moment Abigail laid eyes on Isabelle, it was very real.

  Now she smiled at him benignly. “Isabelle might find it difficult to speak to me with a third-party present,” she suggested. “Just the two of us will bring more ease.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Hartmann,” Isabelle spoke up. She had the strong feeling Mrs. Hartmann was her enemy when she really didn’t know anything much about the woman. All she had to go on was intuition. “Bruno and I are here together. He knows my story. Not the full story of course, which we intend to find out, but the very possible Hartmann connection.”

  “Easily provable of course.” A strained patience crept into the confident voice. “I’ve heard about the DNA samples, but I simply can’t take it in, my dear. You must forgive me. You could well bring to light things none of us as a family want to know.”

  Was that revulsion in her heart? Bruno thought. He kept out of it, allowing Isabelle to take the lead.

  “But you do see the strong resemblance?” Isabelle inquired quietly.

  “I see red hair and green eyes.” Abigail’s reply was calm. “A not unusual combination.”

  “I think it’s more than that, Mrs. Hartmann. For a fleeting moment when you first saw me, you were deeply disturbed.”

  A tight smile touched Abigail’s mouth. “You know that, do you?”

  “It was an involuntary twitch.”

  “You certainly read a lot into that. The fact is, you’re making no sense, my dear. I had been warned. I was fully expecting a young woman who looked uncannily like Helena.” Abigail directed a cool, sharp-as-a-knife glance at Bruno, seated apart. “You’re McKendrick’s son?”

  “I am.”

  “You don’t look the least like him.”

  “I take after my mother’s side of the family,” Bruno said.

  “Ah yes!” Abigail spoke as though she was well aware of the McKendricks’ entire histo
ry. “I believe he was killed in a tragic hit and run?” she said in a sympathetic tone. “It must have been a bitter blow when the police could find nothing.”

  “It was. My father did mention in his files that you were very pleasant and helpful when he was making his enquiries here on the station.”

  “A nice man. A gentleman. I told him what I could, which wasn’t a great deal. Helena was a very secretive girl. She was always like that, from childhood. Some girls are.”

  Bruno thought swiftly. “When did you hear of my father’s death?” he asked.

  Abigail answered automatically, as he hoped she would. “From Erik, of course. How would I have known otherwise?”

  “From Mr. Erik Hartmann?” Bruno repeated with an enquiring inflexion.

  “I did say that, Mr. McKendrick.” She gave him a buttoned-up frown.

  “I have to say, I find that odd. Mr. Hartmann was quite shocked when I told him only a day ago.”

  Abigail’s response was patient this time around, even wearily so. “I can’t think for the life of me why. Poor Erik hasn’t been himself for years now. Myra, then my husband and another great blow with his daughter running off.”

  “What kind of a young woman was Helena?” Isabelle asked. Apart from being secretive, she thought.

  “She was beautiful certainly and talented. At one time, we had high hopes for her,” she said unsmilingly.

  “This was when?”

  “When would you imagine?” Abigail countered, sounding displeased for all her poise. “Before her mother was killed. Afterwards, well. She seemed to shrink inside. It was clear to all of us she wasn’t going to make a woman of substance.”

  “Weren’t you judging her a little harshly?” Isabelle asked. “She was scarcely out of her teens.”

  “We know for a fact Mrs. Saunders, the woman you had taken under your wing, was tormenting Helena using the didgeridoo to make moaning sounds during the night,” Bruno said, his tone openly accusatory. “Mrs. Saunders has admitted it. She seemed quite proud of it. I’m sure your son has told you she claims to have Hartmann blood.”

  Abigail gave an unladylike snort full of subterranean anger. “What I judge most likely is that her insane mother filled her head with foolish tales.”

  “Yet you encouraged her to believe those foolish tales?” Isabelle charged.

  “I did nothing of the kind. I would remind you, my dear, you’re a guest in this house. Mrs. Saunders never heard any such nonsense from me. It was a fantasy she and her truly unstable mother wanted to believe.”

  “She has given us a DNA sample,” Bruno said.

  Anger must have flooded Abigail’s being because her small face flushed. Her voice, however, gave no sign of it. “She’ll be devastated I know, when the results come back in the negative. Poor Orani is Tom Saunders’s daughter. You only had to see them standing side by side. As for her claiming she’s Konrad’s daughter, the idea is preposterous. Konrad Hartmann and a servant? You can put that idea out of your heads at once. You might as well say I had an affair with one of the stockmen. Konrad had two wives. He did not have a mistress.”

  “It’s a pity you didn’t make this perfectly plain to Mrs. Saunders. You would have saved her a lot of grief,” Bruno said.

  “Please don’t blame me,” Abigail said with a fussy little shake of her body. “No one was going to convince Orani her mother hadn’t fallen pregnant to Konrad. Total make-believe. Psychotic, I suppose you could call it.”

  “Can you tell us anything more about Myra Hartmann’s fatal accident?” Isabelle swiftly changed the subject.

  “My dear, the police as well as Mr. McKendrick’s father investigated that. It was thought something spooked Myra’s horse, causing it to rear and throw her. She was a splendid horsewoman. There could have been no other explanation.”

  “You didn’t join her that day?”

  Abigail flashed him a sad smile. “Alas, a bad migraine. I lose the sight in my right eye for an hour or two. No pain, but very limited sight. It’s a great source of grief to me that I wasn’t with her on that fatal day. I might have been able to prevent whatever happened. We shall never know.”

  “Of course you and Myra Hartmann were very close. I imagine you would have been,” Bruno said in a deep, soothing tone.

  “We were the greatest of friends.” Abigail examined her rather chunky hands folded in her lap.

  “Forgive me, but there was a suggestion—” Bruno began, allowing a hesitation to gain her reaction.

  He did that. “What are you talking about?” Mollified by his previous sympathetic tone, she rounded on him swiftly, imperiously.

  “Well, we know Mrs. Saunders—Orani—played nasty games with Helena. Wasn’t it possible Orani could have had something to do with Mrs. Hartmann’s accident? She told us she hated her.”

  “As well she might!” For once, Abigail couldn’t control an abrupt outcry.

  “You’re saying Myra Hartmann was as cruel to Orani as you are kind?”

  “Myra was my dear friend.” Incredibly, Abigail’s sharp hazel eyes misted. “We were sisters-in-law after all. But I can’t deny she had a malicious side. I never saw it, but others did. I saw Myra as she was with me. As for what Orani was doing that day . . .” She winced.

  “Wasn’t she supposed to be looking in on you?” Isabelle asked.

  “She was, but how could I say for sure? The room had been darkened. I fell asleep. All I know is that she was in a terrible state when Myra was brought in. We all went to pieces, I’m afraid. Myra was so vivid, so vital, it didn’t seem possible she was dead. I wish you hadn’t brought all this up. It’s very upsetting. This young woman might well have Hartmann blood. We’ll soon find out. The connection could only be Helena who abandoned her loving, generous family and ran away.”

  “My father knew nothing of the existence of a Piers Osbourne, the piano tutor.” Bruno changed tack.

  Abigail gave another derisive snort. “Why would he? Piers was long out of the picture. He had returned home.”

  “Surely Helena would have kept up the connection? Possibly a strong friendship. They weren’t that far apart in years,” Isabelle said.

  “Piers fell head over heels in love with Myra,” Abigail said, condemnation all over her. “He was a very susceptible young man, and let’s face it, Myra enjoyed having men fall in love with her. She was a great beauty, you know.”

  “We intend to find Piers Osbourne,” Bruno said, meeting Abigail Hartmann’s eyes.

  “Any special reason for needing to do that?” Abigail challenged, looking even more condemnatory.

  “Helena had to look to someone. She needed to get away. She had her reasons; we don’t yet know what they were. She could well have asked Piers Osbourne’s support. We know she did get away to England. Obviously under a false name. It wouldn’t be the first time a flight passenger gave a false name.”

  “Well, I wish you every success,” Abigail barked, clearly wiping her hands of the whole business. “All I know is Helena betrayed her family. She put a curse on us. It has never gone away. After Myra was killed, I was especially kind to her. I helped her with her studies, but I’m afraid she didn’t look on me as her friend. Helena wasn’t easy to deal with. She spread a lot of trouble.”

  “How?” Isabelle was quick to ask.

  A flush of anger spread over Abigail’s good skin. “Helena was a liar and a troublemaker. There, I’ve said it. She couldn’t be allowed to continue. It was like having a serpent in the house.”

  Bruno’s raven head jerked up. “That’s very extreme, isn’t it?” he asked, taken aback by the image of the serpent and the vehemence with which the remark had been delivered.

  “You did ask,” Abigail said sardonically, a flicker in her eyes. “I loathe being put in this position, young man. So far as I’m concerned, Helena no longer exists.”

  “But I do,” Isabelle said quietly.

  Abigail gave an odd laugh. Obviously, she found Isabelle’s statement very funny. �
��Are you hoping for some kind of payout, my dear?”

  There was an edge to Bruno’s voice. “We’re sorry you think that, Mrs. Hartmann. If there’s any possibility Helena is Isabelle’s mother, that’s all we want to know. That and what happened to my father and a good many of his files on the Hartmann family.”

  “Then I wish you every success.” Abigail spread her strong, chunky hands. “Could you please find my son? I’ve done my duty. I’ve met you. I’ve sighted you, young lady. The resemblance is more to Myra than Helena on a number of counts. I grant you, it’s uncanny, but I can’t possibly help you.”

  “I think you have a few dark secrets, Mrs. Hartmann,” Bruno said quietly.

  Abigail’s expression was set and closed. “Do you know anyone who doesn’t?”

  “You’re taking Orani with you. Finding her a job?” Isabelle asked.

  “Orani trusts me.”

  God knows why, Bruno thought. Orani by this time was so sure she was a Hartmann, the truth that she was not could send her over the edge.

  “Yet you’ve used her,” Isabelle said. “She thinks of you as a friend. As a supporter of her story.”

  Another derisive snort. “More fool she.”

  “And when she finds out?”

  “Finds out what?”

  “That you’ve been allowing her to believe a lie? That she is not the late Konrad Hartmann’s daughter?”

  Abigail spread her hands. “What else could I do? Get her locked up for life? Her mother should have been. I’m doing my bit for the family, my dear. I’m taking Orani Saunders off poor, gutless Erik’s hands. Orani got her claws into him long ago. All part of her plan. He’s been screwing her for years, if I might use that crude term. I’m letting him off the hook. I’m taking Orani away. I’ll give her enough money to keep her going until she finds a job. I’ll even provide her with a reference. At least she’s a competent housekeeper, if mentally unstable.”

  “Is that your way of easing your conscience a little?” Isabelle asked. “I have to say, despite all she’s done, she did get a lot of malicious encouragement from you. I feel pity for the woman. Her mother wasn’t the only one playing with her mind, and from such an early age.”