‘You left and took Catherine with you,’ Esme said slowly, watching Polly, daring her to contradict. But Polly said nothing. She sat looking down at her hands, rolling the wretched handkerchief into a ball.
Hundreds of questions hurtled around Esme’s head, the most obvious one was how she had got away with it.
‘I didn’t think of it straight away,’ Polly was saying. ‘Why would I? It was after she’d gone and I read the letter she’d left for Catherine’s father. She gave it to me to pass on to him, you see. She thought the staff would steam it open and read it before he got hold of it.’ Polly gave a short laugh. ‘If she hadn’t said that I’d have never have thought of reading it myself. But I did, then. I was curious to know if she’d mentioned me. As I read it, the idea just came to me. It was perfect.’
‘Why, what did the letter say?’
‘She was teasing him even then. She talked about “we”. “We’re going abroad”, she wrote. She was deliberately omitting to give a name, see, so he wouldn’t know who she was going off with, I assume so that he would find it more difficult to follow her. Not that he did, as it turned out. Follow her, that is. But her mockery was a godsend for me. I reasoned that he would assume she’d taken Daisy, as no doubt any father would, and so I had the perfect cover. He’d think “we” was her and her daughter.’
‘And she would assume Daisy was with her father, where she’d left her?’
Polly nodded.
Esme grappled with the enormity of the decision Polly had taken. Had she thought it through? Did she have a plan? Did she really believe that it would be as simple as she’d imagined?
‘But what did you do? Where did you go?’ she asked, fascinated.
Polly sighed and leant her head against the back of the chair. The confession seemed to have drained her.
‘I had this mad idea that my sister would welcome me with open arms. She had a brood of six. One more wouldn’t make much difference, I thought. Our parents were dead. She was my only family. I used to go there for my days off. I used to help out with the little ones. I loved it. It seemed such a lovely thing to have a family. Perhaps that’s why when I saw my chance with Daisy, I took it. I wanted something of what she had.’
‘But you were only young. There was plenty of time for you to marry and have your own children.’
‘But to my way of thinking, Daisy was my own. I’d looked after her from the day she was born. Don’t you see?’
Esme could understand how she could have felt it that way, particularly considering the apparent indifference of both the child’s parents.
‘So you went to your sister’s?’
‘She was horrified when I told her. I should have invented a story but I was too honest. I thought she’d understand what neglect I would be subjecting Daisy to if I left her with her father. She said it wasn’t my place to judge. She let me stay a week and then we were to go.’
‘What did you do?’
Polly looked wistful. ‘It was September 1939. War had just been declared and children were being evacuated across the country. People were getting out of London. I joined in the chaos. Then when my sister kicked me out, I took the next train and surrendered to fate. I didn’t know where it was going. Somewhere up North. But we never got that far. I got talking to another passenger, an elderly lady. We got quite friendly during the journey. She said she was looking for a live-in housekeeper, here in the Midlands, so I took the job. Like lots of people, she assumed my husband had gone away to war and I had chosen to get out of London for the safety of the baby.’
‘She must have wondered, though, when your non-existent husband didn’t materialise.’
Polly looked at Esme and smiled sadly. ‘I had plenty of time to work on my story.’
Esme tried to picture Polly in her quandary, deciding which way to turn. Then, having acted and settled, wondering whether someone was going to turn up on the doorstep one day, to arrest her for abduction and take Daisy away. The pressure must have been intolerable.
‘Did you ever think of going back?’
Polly shook her head. ‘Not really. At least, never seriously. I’d lose Daisy, wouldn’t I? I wasn’t going do that unless they came for me. And the longer time went on, the more I was convinced that my double deception had worked. Each parent thought she was with the other.’
‘I can’t believe Sir Charles didn’t go after his wife and discover Catherine wasn’t with her.’
‘You don’t know his family. They were set against the wedding from the start, so they say. He was mesmerised by Rosalind when they first met and went against their wishes in marrying her. By the time he saw her true colours it was too late. The family probably breathed a collective sigh of relief when she left.’
‘But his daughter?’
‘What use was a daughter? He wanted a son and heir. He probably thought Catherine would grow up like her mother.’
Esme looked at the tea tray. She had forgotten all about it. She felt the pot.
‘Do you want some tea? It’s gone a bit cold, I’m afraid.’
Polly nodded. Esme poured her a cup and passed it to her.
‘I still don’t understand why Mary would guess the circumstances. She left about the same time as you did.’
Polly sipped the tea and then replaced the cup on the saucer on her lap.
‘We bumped into one another years later, when Daisy was seventeen.’ She pointed to the small cupboard beside the bed. ‘Go and fetch something for me, would you? It’s right at the bottom. You’ll recognise it when you see it.’
Esme placed her cup on the tray and went and looked in the cupboard Polly indicated. On the bottom shelf she found the silver frame with the cracked glass which she had discovered in the cottage. She brought it over to the old lady.
‘Is this Daisy?’ Esme had asked her that once before and Polly had said not. Had she been lying to protect her? But again Polly shook her head.
‘That’s Rosalind, Catherine’s mother.’ Polly gestured to the sideboard. ‘Go and put it next to the one of Daisy.’
Esme took the photograph across the room and compared the two images. Although the ages of the two women were different, the likeness was unmistakable.
‘Mary would have known Lady Monkleigh,’ said Esme, realising Polly’s dilemma. ‘She would have seen the similarity in Daisy. But it would be a huge leap to conclude that she was Catherine, surely?’
‘Possibly. As I said, Daisy was only seventeen, when we met Mary. The likeness then wasn’t strong but I could see it becoming more marked as she grew older. But there was something else.’ Polly clutched the handle of her cup, as though bracing herself. ‘On the day I went, she saw me leave. After I’d manhandled the perambulator out of the front door on to the pavement, I turned and saw her watching me from the cellar steps.’ Polly looked over to Esme. ‘She wouldn’t have made anything of it at the time. After all, I was Catherine’s nursemaid. I took her out all the time.’
‘So why…?’ began Esme.
‘I took a piece of jewellery, a brooch with a timepiece in the centre. Well, I needed some security, didn’t I? I didn’t have much money of my own. It was insurance. It would be Catherine’s anyway when she grew up. I was just keeping it safe.’
Esme was saddened by the huge burden that Polly had put upon herself as a young girl for the love of a baby who wasn’t hers. A moment’s decision and a lifetime of dealing with the consequences.
‘Mary was accused of stealing it,’ Polly said.
‘And that’s why she got the sack.’ Now it made sense at last. ‘But how did she know it was you who had taken it?’
‘When we came across each other years later, it was because she’d met Daisy. And one day, unbeknown to me, Daisy had worn the brooch.’
‘And she recognised it?’
Polly nodded.
Too many
coincidences. Esme could see why Polly was convinced that Mary had worked out the truth.
The question now was, knowing the full story herself, could Esme have any influence over Mary and persuade her she no longer had a case for blackmail?
25
Esme sat in her car at Wisteria House clutching the documents Polly had entrusted to her. She understood now why Polly had been unable to confide in her before. The papers showed that the property had been made over to Polly recently from the previous owner – Catherine Marguerite Monkleigh. Sight of the document would have raised questions which were no longer relevant now that Esme knew about Catherine and Daisy. Daisy had apparently acquired the cottage after a reunion with her father, some years before he died. Esme wondered whether his exasperation with Leonard’s behaviour had contributed to his change in attitude towards his daughter, assuming what Polly had said about him was correct.
Now Esme intended to tackle Mary. She wondered how much she genuinely knew or whether it had been Polly’s response to Mary’s threats which had alerted Mary into thinking Polly had something to hide, without knowing the details. Mary had told Esme that Polly had a ‘guilty conscience’, easy enough to read into Polly’s reaction, whilst Polly had been too distressed to call Mary’s bluff. Was that all this was – a bluff? Even if Mary had guessed the truth, she wouldn’t know whether Polly taking Catherine wasn’t a legitimate instruction from her father to move his daughter to a place of safety from the feared bombing campaign. Mary had left the household immediately after the sighting and wouldn’t have known that Catherine had never returned.
After Polly had passed Esme the document she was supposed to sign, she appeared drained of emotion, as though finally unleashing the truth had exhausted her. Or perhaps she had simply reached a state of acceptance, realising that the fight to keep the past hidden seemed suddenly futile and she hadn’t the strength to continue any longer.
Esme leaned over and shoved the papers into her bag in the passenger footwell. She hadn’t yet worked out her approach with Mary yet, but she hoped that she would think of something before she got there. She fitted the key in the ignition and turned it. The car rumbled into life. Esme reached for her seatbelt and clicked it into place. She hesitated. There was something she had wanted to clarify with Polly but she couldn’t place it. She was sure it was significant. She banged the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. Everything about this situation was like this. Something always on the edge of consciousness, which she couldn’t quite grasp.
She put the car into reverse to manoeuvre around the Land Rover parked next to her, then engaged first gear and steered towards the exit. The driveway opened out on to a quiet road with little traffic. She paused to ensure the way was clear and then pulled out.
Suddenly a black car shot from nowhere to her right, threatening to ram her in the side. She slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel hard to the left, throwing files and books from the back seat on to the floor behind her. The car roared past.
She cursed the driver but by now the car was almost out of sight. It had been an Audi, she was sure. They seemed to be appearing everywhere she went. Either going very slowly or very quickly.
She took a deep breath and resumed her journey. She was approaching the junction to the main road when she suddenly remembered something. Perhaps it had been the black car which had prompted her to think of funerals. Daisy died on 1 December. She’d known the date was significant when she saw it printed on the front of the Order of Service for Daisy’s funeral in Polly’s drawer, but she couldn’t think why. Now she knew. It was the date the police had said Leonard Nicholson was suspected of stalking Catherine. Which meant, of course, that he’d been following Daisy. Had he caught up with her? And more significantly, if he had, did his presence have any bearing on her untimely death?
Esme did a U-turn at the junction and sped back to Wisteria House.
*
Esme burst through the front door. Mrs Rowcliffe was standing in the hall putting on her coat, presumably about to leave for home. She looked round in surprise at Esme’s explosive arrival.
‘Whatever’s wrong?’
‘Where’s Mrs Roberts?’ panted Esme.
‘Having her tea, I expect. What’s happened?’
‘I need to talk to her.’ Esme sailed past the matron and ran round the corner towards the entrance to the dining room. Several residents were moving along the corridor on their way to tea. Polly had just reached the door.
‘Mrs Roberts?’ called Esme. ‘Can I have a word?’
All heads turned as Esme caught up with the old lady.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ said Polly. Leaning on her stick, she reached out with her free hand and touched Esme’s arm. ‘Is it Elizabeth?’
Esme shook her head. ‘No, she’s fine. There’s something I need to ask you.’ She looked around at the audience they had attracted. ‘Shall we go and talk in the lounge?’
Polly turned and they made their way along the corridor into the visitors’ lounge. Polly dropped into the armchair nearest the door and propped her stick up against the arm.
‘What is it?’ Her eyes were wide open and her lip quivered.
Esme crouched down in front of the old lady. ‘The day Daisy died,’ she began.
Polly flinched. ‘Daisy? Why do you need to ask about Daisy?’
‘It’s important, please,’ urged Esme. ‘Was Daisy at home on her own that day?’ This was critical. If Polly had been with Daisy when she died, it would change everything and Esme could relax.
The old lady looked alarmed. ‘Well, for a short time…but why? I don’t understand.’
Esme hesitated. She couldn’t say anything until she was sure. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Polly stared at Esme for a moment as if considering whether to speak or refuse and go back to her tea. After a tense moment she chose to speak.
‘I’d been here in the afternoon.’ Her eyes flickered and she blinked. ‘A vacancy had come up and I came to see it. Elizabeth brought me. Daisy had an appointment.’
‘With her solicitor?’
Polly nodded. ‘We got home about four o’clock. It was getting dark. I remember thinking Daisy couldn’t be home yet because there were no lights on. I was relieved in a way. I didn’t like leaving her on her own, though Carol would have stayed with her until we got back.’
‘Carol?’ Esme shifted her position and pulled up a footstool in front of the old lady’s chair.
‘Her friend. She’s a nurse. She went with Daisy to her appointment. She carries oxygen in her medical bag for emergencies, you know the sort of thing. Daisy occasionally needed oxygen, you see. Her condition meant that she had to have it close by.’
‘And did Carol stay on after they got back?’
Mrs Roberts shook her head. ‘Carol told me later that Daisy had said not to wait as she expected us back soon and Carol needed to collect her children from school.’ There she paused for a moment, composing herself before carrying on. ‘Daisy was lying on the floor in the living room when we walked in. It was too late.’ The old lady reached for the handkerchief in her sleeve and blew her nose.
Esme reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘And they thought her illness was the cause of death?’
‘They assumed she didn’t reach her oxygen in time.’ Polly squeezed her handkerchief into a ball in her fist. ‘It was in the hall,’ she said slowly. She looked up at Esme. ‘Why was it in the hall?’
Esme’s stomach leap-frogged. ‘So it wasn’t usually in there?’
Polly shook her head furiously. ‘No, of course not. It was kept in the living room where she could get to it easily. Beside the armchair. I didn’t stop to think about it at the time, but it shouldn’t have been in the hall. What was it doing there?’ She grabbed Esme’s arm. ‘Who would have moved it?’
‘When the police came and asked a
bout Catherine,’ said Esme, ‘they mentioned her cousin, Leonard.’ Polly looked terrified. Esme wondered if she’d already guessed what Esme was about to suggest.
‘They said they suspected him of following her,’ Esme continued. ‘What if he’d followed her back to the cottage and when Carol left, he’d gone in to talk to her? Could it be Leonard who moved the oxygen? Maybe he pulled it out of her reach as a threat?’
‘Why would he?’ gasped Polly. Her face was white and drawn but Esme couldn’t stop now.
‘Because that’s what this is all about. Your cottage used to be part of the estate, didn’t it? Perhaps he thought it ought to belong to him? Maybe he tried to persuade her to part with it?’
Polly shook her head in bewilderment as if she couldn’t cope with the enormity of what she was hearing. ‘Don’t you see?’ urged Esme, unwilling to spell it out but desperate for Polly to understand the true state of affairs. ‘He could have been responsible for her death.’
The old lady gave a sob and pressed her handkerchief to her mouth.
‘We must tell the police,’ said Esme.
‘No!’ Polly began shaking uncontrollably.
Esme laid her hand on the old lady’s arm. ‘We have to. The police don’t know that Catherine and Daisy were the same person. They wouldn’t realise the significance.’
And neither had Leonard Nicholson.
At first Esme hadn’t understood why Leonard believed that Daisy’s death would get him the cottage. Daisy had beneficiaries; her daughter Elizabeth and granddaughter Gemma. Surely his investigations would have thrown up that piece of information?
But Leonard wasn’t looking for Daisy. He was looking for Catherine. He would have tracked down Catherine and found the cottage registered in her name and would have learned that Catherine had no children. As far as Leonard Nicholson was concerned, he was Catherine’s next of kin and in line to inherit the cottage on her death. It must have seemed so simple to him.
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