Other portraits showed Mr Marshall to be very talented indeed, if not adventurous. She guessed these were his bread and butter, as they were mostly portraits of people, and some f family groups or pets. Some paintings were more experimental, clearly inspired by cubism, and were not quite to Peg’s taste. Another set still was made up entirely of white feathers and red poppies. She wondered at the symbolism, and would have liked to discuss it with him, but had other things to worry about.
“She came to you to have her portrait painted,” Peg murmured.
“Yes, before your father died. She wanted to present it to him as a Christmas present. When he died, she decided it was not appropriate. I think she could not really afford it, which is why I offered to buy the house. Now, Miss Bradbourne. Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
Peg, still fascinated by the portraits, turned to look at Alexander Marshall. “Veronica is dead. She died a fortnight ago, only they didn’t find her body straight away.”
“Good Lord!” Marshall was either a good actor or he was genuinely shocked by the news. “But she was so young. How? What do you mean they didn’t find her body? I’m sorry to ask so many questions. I am just so shocked by this news.”
“They say she took her own life, in a hotel in Shrewsbury.” Peg mentioned the name of the hotel and saw a glint of recognition in Marshall’s eyes. Mr Jones, the manager, had been right. “You do know it?”
“Most single men of my age do,” said Marshall, grinning slightly. “In fact, Veronica telephoned me to ask if I knew of a discreet place she could meet someone. I told her the name of the hotel.”
“Did she tell you who she was going to meet?” asked Peg.
Marshall shook his head. “No, but she sounded very happy and excited.”
“I have to be honest here, Mr Marshall,” Peg said. “And tell you that I thought she had gone there to meet you. I saw you together driving away from our house and I saw the way she looked at you.”
“I promise you that whatever interest Veronica had in me was not requited. Yes, she was a very beautiful and charming woman, but I was only interested in her from an artist’s point of view, and then when I saw the house I realised I could help her. It’s a wonderful old house. I gather it used to be a priory.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And you’re still going to sell?”
“As soon as we’ve got over grieving for Veronica, yes,” Peg said, sharply. She knew she was being unfair, as though she regretted Veronica’s death, she could not really say she had grieved.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to sound callous. But I do want that house, and I imagine your tax problems are going to be even greater now that Veronica is dead. I could help you. I’m happy to help you.”
“I’ll discuss it with my sister, Sheila and get back to you,” said Peg, calming down.
“So you definitely weren’t at the hotel with Veronica,” Gerry cut in, sounding peeved.
“No, certainly not.”
“Do you have an alibi?” asked Gerry.
“Gerry!” Peg exclaimed.
“Sorry.”
Marshall looked from Gerry to Peg and back again, before smiling. “As I don’t know what day she died, I can’t say if I have an alibi or not.”
“None of us really know,” Peg admitted. “She had been dead several days when they found her, and she left our home on the Saturday morning after being seen alive by our maid, Izzy, but other than that, we don’t know the exact day that she died.”
“It’s a dreadful thing to happen,” Marshall said. He crossed his arms, and then put one hand to his chin, as if ruminating on the meaning of life and death.
“And you’re sure you don’t know who she was going to meet?” asked Peg.
“I’m afraid I don’t. Whatever you may think of the relationship between your stepmother and I, it was purely business. First for the portrait and then because I wanted to buy the house. I imagine that when you saw us, I was taking her out to tea in order to make an offer.”
“Thank you,” said Peg. “I’m sorry we’ve taken up your time, but I should warn you that I’ve given your name to the police.”
“Yes, they’ve already been around.”
“Have they? In that case, I apologise for bothering you.” Peg made her way to the door, followed by Gerry. She nearly bumped into him when she turned back. “Mr Marshall?”
“Yes, Miss Bradbourne.”
“About the portrait. How much did Veronica owe you for it?”
“Twenty pounds.”
“Oh, I see.” Peg did not have that amount of money hanging around. She could use her savings, but they were meagre enough. “The thing is, I think my sister, Mary, might like it, as a memory of her mother. I don’t suppose you’d consider accepting fifteen pounds?”
“I’ll tell you what, Miss Bradbourne, you take the picture for young Mary and tell her it’s a gift from a man who admired her mother greatly.”
Peg felt tears sting her eyes. She had always been awful to Veronica, and it never occurred to her that others might admire her stepmother. Peg had never given Veronica enough credit for dealing with two stepdaughters, one of whom could be very difficult, and her own child. “She will be very glad to hear it. Thank you.”
“And do get in touch when you’re ready to sell the house.”
Peg nodded, guessing that his kind gesture had more to do with his interest in the house than any genuine feelings of sympathy for Mary. But it did not matter, as long as Peg had the portrait for her sister.
“That was very good of him,” Peg said to Gerry as she drove them back to Midchester, with the portrait in the back seat of the car.
“Hmm,” said Gerry.
“What? Don’t you think it was kind?” Even though Peg had her own suspicions about Marshall’s motives in letting her have the portrait, it irked her that Gerry seemed to share them. She would rather be told she was wrong.
“He can afford it,” Gerry said. “Men like that who claim to give up their titles, but still have a manservant and can think of buying a house with little thought of cost… they make me sick. My guess is that he gave up his title, but not the money that daddy left him. He hasn’t really had to earn a day’s wage in his life and when he’s tired of painting portraits of spoiled socialites, he’ll find some other hobby to pretend he’s a working ma.”
“Says a man who has just inherited a vast estate!” Peg snapped. “What’s wrong, Gerry? Are you jealous of him?”
“Well you clearly liked the handsome devil.”
Peg laughed, delighted. “You are jealous! Well don’t worry. The likes of Mr Marshall are not for a plain girl like me.”
“You’re not plain, Peg. You’re lovely.”
“That’s very sweet of you to say so, Gerry.”
“No, really. You’re lovely and if things were different…” He paused.
Peg took her eyes off the road briefly. The car swerved and she fought to bring it back under control. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, Peg. Let’s just enjoy the time we spend together, hey? I like being with you. You’re not like the others of your class.”
Peg frowned. “Says the current heir of Bedlington Hall.”
“Yes, I am aren’t I? Strange, I keep forgetting that. I’ve spent so much of my life with nothing, I can’t quite conceive of having so much.”
“So what did you do, before you inherited the estate?”
“I was in the army, of course.”
“I mean before that. Before the war started. What did you do?”
“A bit of this. A bit of that. You know. Selling used cars. Door to door salesman.”
“It’s strange, but it never occurs to me that when an estate is entailed away it can go to anyone in the family line, even if he is a dustman. But your mother was the daughter of the last Lord Bedlington, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. But we weren’t rich. Er … most of the money went on caring for my father and my mother was too pr
oud to claim off the family estate, even though there was no one else it could go to. There weren’t any Bedlingtons left. She and old Lady Bedlington, her stepmother, didn’t get on most of the time. It was only after my mother died that I decided to claim what was mine.”
“Oh yes, of course. Your father was sick, wasn’t he?”
“Completely mental.”
“Poor man. I heard he was locked up by mistake, but then it made him mad anyway.”
“Who told you that?”
“My mother and father. They knew your parents before they moved to India. Your father’s brother was murdered, right here, in Midchester. Mama worked out who the killer was. Father said she was incredible, and saved him from the gallows.”
“How romantic.”
“I always thought so,” said Peg, feeling that Gerry was making fun of her.
“No, really it is. She must have really believed in him.”
“She did.”
“Do you believe in me, Peg? If push came to shove, would you stand by me?”
Peg answered carefully, afraid of letting her feelings show. “I hope I always stand by my friends, Gerry.”
“That’s all we are?”
“That’s what you said, wasn’t it? About enjoying our time together.”
“Yes, of course. And I meant it. You’re a very special woman, Peg. Sometimes I don’t think you actually believe it, which is why you’re so sharp with people.”
“I’m not special at all. Sheila is special and Mary is special. I’m … oh I don’t know. Sometimes I feel as if I got into this family by mistake. Mother used to call me her changeling, because I was always angry as a child, whereas Sheila was so placid and well behaved. She – Mother – would hold me tight when I had my tantrums, and tell me over and over that it didn’t matter how angry I got, she would always love me.” A tear rolled down Peg’s cheek, remembering her gentle mother and how much trouble Peg had caused her. “I think she thought it helped, but it didn’t, because I got to thinking that she and Father only made allowances for me. Sheila is the same. She’ll tell me she loves me, and then comes the ‘but’…”
“I think you’re being hard on yourself and on them,” said Gerry.
“Do you?”
“Yes. Because what they’re saying is that they love you unconditionally. You’re lucky to get that, Peg. Some people wait all their lives to be accepted for what they are. You had it from the very beginning.”
“Did I? Yes, I suppose I did. I’d never thought of it like that. And now you’ve done that thing again where we start off talking about you and it ends up about me.”
Gerry smiled. “It makes sense. I’m boring. You’re not.”
But there was more to it than that. For a man who had inherited a fortune, Gerry was surprisingly bitter about the upper classes. Perhaps it was because he had gone so long without, due to his mother’s pride, but that was not it. There had been a strange light in his eyes as he spoke, full of darkness and hatred.
Maybe he was as mad as his father…
Chapter Eleven
The two couples met in the market square, just outside The Quiet Woman pub. Pearson tipped his hat to Peg, and Gerry did the same to Carrie.
“Nice day,” said Pearson, coughing awkwardly.
“Yes, perfect for a walk,” said Peg, politely. Inside she tried not to seethe. After all, why shouldn’t Doctor Pearson walk in the sunshine with a beautiful young woman? She was with Gerry, and had noticed that when she was in Sanderson’s company, she did not think of Pearson. Yet seeing the doctor with Cassie caused an ache she could not account for. “Have you been walking in the hills?”
“No,” said Cassie. For the first time, Peg noticed the girl looked pale. “I wanted to see where my father died.”
“Oh… I’m sorry. That must have been hard for you.”
“Yes, but I’m glad I did. So much of my early life is a blur. I can’t say things are any clearer, but I remembered some things.”
“Such as what?” asked Peg.
“Hiding in the outhouse from my mother!”
“I’ve heard…” Peg paused. She had heard the rumours about Penelope’s mental state, but she felt awkward mentioning it, which was odd, considering how blunt she had been about Gerry’s father. The situation with the two men seemed to be affecting her in ways she could not understand. If she behaved brusquely with Cassie, Pearson would know she was bothered. Not that it had worried her before, things had changed.
Before he had only been attracted to a girl who was a stranger, and therefore seemed exotic to the inhabitants of Midchester. There was something else in Pearson’s eyes now; a protectiveness that could only come from a man who was falling in love.
“You were saying?” said Cassie, looking Peg square in the eyes.
“I’ve heard that your mother was unwell. Please don’t worry about it. Poor Gerry’s father was a complete madman! Oh…” Peg looked at Gerry, but to her surprise he was laughing.
“Honestly, Peg,” he joshed. “Your milk of human kindness is a bit on the sour side sometimes.”
“I don’t mean to be unkind,” Peg said, feeling bristling on the back of her neck and a flush in her cheeks. “I just say what I think, hurt or offend.”
“Do you think that’s right?” asked Pearson. He looked more annoyed than Gerry
“To tell the truth? Of course I do.”
“Has it occurred to you that your truth might be different to someone else’s, Miss Bradbourne?”
“Well I …” She wanted to run away and hide, but Peg was no coward. “I apologise, Cassie, Gerry. My mouth does rather run away with me sometimes.”
“There’s no need to apologise,” Cassie said, gently. She patted Peg on the arm. “You’ve been very kind to me, even though I know it must be an imposition to have me in your home at such a dreadful time.”
“Actually it was Sheila’s idea, but thank you. It’s a much worse time for you, I’m sure.”
“Peg is an original,” said Gerry, his eyes twinkling. “She’s one of the chaps. And I wouldn’t want to change one bit of her.”
“No, me neither,” said Pearson, placated. “Midchester needs characters like Peg.”
Rather than be mollified, Peg was seething. They might think they were being kind, but she neither wanted to be ‘one of the chaps’ or a ‘character’. She wanted to be like Cassie Harrington; the sort of girl that men fell hopelessly in love with after one meeting. The silly dreams she had about Gerry liking her as more than just a friend burst like a party balloon.
She was struggling with what to say when they heard an almighty screech coming from the train station. A train had ground to a halt just along the track.
“What on earth?” said Pearson. He quickly became professional and ran towards the station. Peg, Gerry and Cassie followed him, curious as to what had happened. Other villagers came out to do the same.
“A young lad, fallen into the tracks,” said one of the guards, running along the platform. “Fetch the police and a Doctor.
“What lad?” said a voice from somewhere behind Peg. “Is it my Tom? Is it?”
Frank Yeardley dashed forward, his face pale and terrified. “He’s been missing for days. Is it my Tom?”
“Now, Frank,” said Constable Archer, who had come to take control of the situation. “We’ve been looking for Tom, discreetly, just as you asked us to. There’s no evidence that he was still in Midchester.”
“I have to go and see. I have to know.” Before anyone could stop him, Frank dashed past the guard and towards the end of the platform. He jumped down, ignoring the shouts of the guards.
“Frank, come on,” said Archer, chasing him. He turned back to Peg. “He doesn’t want to see this if it is.” He held up his hand when Peg and the others went to follow. “No, stay back. No one needs to see this.” Only Andrew Pearson was allowed to go with him.
The Doctor's Daughter (The Peg Bradbourne Mysteries Book One) Page 8