Susan looked at her and seemed to grow tired suddenly. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ she said. ‘OK, I’ll tell you. I had a phone call from her family saying –’
‘Let’s be clear. Which side of her family? Her own or her husband’s?’
‘Certainly not her own!’ Susan said with a sudden harshness. ‘Marietta hadn’t spoken to her brother for years, and he and his wife and children are the only relations she has. She hated him because he got not only the title but every penny their father left, as well as the estate. The old man had this thing about keeping big estates whole for the heir, and wouldn’t let his other child have any of it, apart from enough to educate her and to give her a sort of wedding present. And her brother’s just as mean – even when David and Marietta were right on the breadline he wouldn’t help them out. Said it was her own fault for marrying a Bolshie.’ She laughed then. ‘Not that David would have taken any money from him. If he’d even known she was asking her brother for help … Oh, well. It’s all long ago now. No, it wasn’t Marietta’s brother who called. It was her brother-in-law.’
George tried to keep calm, to show no reaction. ‘Her brother-in-law …’ she said softly.
‘Well, his secretary to be precise. That’s what he called himself, though I gathered he was more of a personal assistant. He said Lord Durleigh – and I suppose we have to call him that now, don’t we? He’s the last of the brothers – was in Brussels as usual, so he had to make the arrangements. He said Lord Durleigh wanted her to be treated at home. That he had adequate care for her, a resident nurse – their old nanny, who is a sensible enough soul. I know her, of course, used to meet her on family holidays years ago. Anyway, he said Edward wanted Marietta to come home, and of course I couldn’t hold her against her will. She wasn’t sectioned or anything of that sort. If she wanted to go, she could go.’
‘Did she want to go?’
‘I told you she was so withdrawn she didn’t care about anything. I told the secretary he had to come and ask Marietta herself what she wanted, and he did come. I was there when he talked to her. After a while she muttered, yes, she would go with him, though I told him I thought his questioning was a bit heavy. But there you go. I couldn’t stop him, not legally. So, he took her away. And that’s the last I saw of her. Or heard. I’ve phoned a few times, but the answerphone’s always set and they never return any messages. So, there you have it. Go and talk to Edward if you want to know what’s happened since then.’
‘But it wasn’t Edward who came for her,’ George said, endeavouring not to let her excitement show. Her pulse was thick in her ears, rapid and heavy. ‘The secretary, do you know his name, by any chance?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Susan said. ‘Jasper Powell. It isn’t a name you’d forget, is it? Rather old-fashioned, I suppose. Nice chap, he seemed. Very caring. Do you know the man?’
32
George drove back to London at a much easier speed than she had used coming out. It was now well past eight and the evening rush hour had petered out. When she stopped at traffic lights she could see people in their suburban living rooms at supper tables, or in front of the faint blue flicker of TV screens, and found herself thinking how comfortable it would be to be one of such a family, with no more to think about than the appetites of the children, the mood of a husband and the state of the housekeeping budget. Then, as she let in the clutch when the lights changed to release her, knew she was being foolish. The time would come for such activities; right now there was a puzzle to be solved and she had the heady sensation that comes just before the last pieces fall into place.
The plan of action, she decided, was to tell Gus all that she had worked out and then to go with him to Durleighton. The safest thing to do would be to reintroduce herself to Edna Lyons. She had shown herself to be a garrulous soul and if she were looking after Marietta, she would be sure to give the fact away, even if she’d been told not to. George remembered her conversation with the old woman and her lips curved a little. If I’m careful, I can coax her to tell me what I need to know, she thought, though I hope she does it without biblical quotes. I’m not as hot on those as I might be. She tried to remember the quote Nanny Lyons had used and the reason she had used it; but the memory eluded her. It wasn’t significant anyway. It was more important to think about explaining to Gus why she had gone to seek out Marietta on her own when she’d promised him she’d do nothing in the meddling line ever again, or at least not until she had talked to him. But I couldn’t talk to him, she told herself as she left the suburbs behind and took the slip road that led up to the speeding traffic on the A40. He wasn’t there to talk to, was he? And I couldn’t explain on the phone, because he was on a mobile and you can’t trust them; radio buffs are always picking up stuff on police signals and it was a police rule that radio silence be observed on important matters.
So, she argued into the night as the car fled at ten miles an hour above the permitted speed towards the centre of town, I had no choice. In fact, I’m behaving very well; I could so easily have turned right on to the A40 when I left Harrow, and gone straight to Durleighton. As it is, I’m heading for home so that I can explain everything to Gus. He should be really pleased with me. And she bridled inside, as a child does, when contemplating the parental response to a good school report.
But she knew her lovely plans had all gone wrong as soon as she put her key in the door. He wasn’t there. She could feel the emptiness out here in the road. The house was dark and quiet, with just one light burning in the hall, over the phone table, illuminating the sheet of paper which had been propped against the answerphone.
‘Dear old B.,’ she read. ‘This is a bit of a bugger. I’ve been trying to call you all day, but you’ve had your phone switched off, or the battery’s gone or something.’
She slapped her hand on her pocket and realized she’d gone out without her phone and felt the heat of shame filling her face. Of all the stupid things to have done! She read on.
The thing is, ducky, I have to go to Belfast. Panic you not, there’s no big push on. It’s just they’re having a major summit-type get-together of police people to sort out some security stuff, and the Commissioner can’t go on account of the old boy’s promised his missus he’ll be with her tonight for a dinner. In all fairness, it’s their Ruby Wedding celebration, so you can hardly blame him, and seeing I’m his blue-eyed boy, smirk, smirk, I have to go for him. Roop’s got the Ripper case in hand, knows what he’s got to do and if you come up with anything, share it with the lad. He may be dour but he’s dead reliable. Take care, my darling, I shall miss the warmth of your interesting anatomical parts against my back as I sleep, but I’ll pretend. I’ll phone you in the morning. I love you. Be sure to eat a good supper – maybe you can have eels again with Kitty? – and I’ll see you on Thursday evening, with a bit of luck and a following wind.
PS Did I say I love you? I do!
She dropped the note on the table and scowled at it. Oh, shit, she thought. Now what? He’s left no number and I can hardly try to track him down by calling Scotland Yard. They’d have a fit that he’d even told me he’s going to Belfast, with their passion for secrecy in these matters. Gus had told her often enough about how important it was he kept a low profile as far as his movements were concerned and she understood that. So what could she do?
Call Roop? The thought stuck in her mind like a burr. It’s what I should do. It’s what Gus would want me to do. And if it was anyone else in charge but Roop, I might do it. But damn it, he’s the one who’s in charge and I know what’ll happen. He’ll take it right out of my hands, tell me he’ll deal with it and try to send me home to be good and wait for Gus.
Well, to hell with that, or, as Gus would say, bugger that for a game of soldiers. It’s my clue and if Gus were here he’d understand and agree we could both go to Durleighton to track it down. No Gus, so I’ll have to go alone.
‘And if you don’t like it, Gus, do the other thing,’ she said aloud. On an impulse, she went and pi
cked up her mobile from her desk, where she’d left it under a drift of papers. She dialled their own number and when the phone rang, and the answerphone clicked, stood there watching it record as she left Gus her message.
‘You’ll be livid when you get this message, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘But there you go. Life’s like that sometimes. I’ve found out who the Italian is, only he isn’t an Italian, but someone we know well. And I’m heading north – well, northwestwards I suppose it is, to see what more I can find out. In case you pick up this message with your mobile, I’ll say no more. I too expect to be home by Thursday evening. And who knows? I may have the case in the bag. Something for you to look forward to? ’Bye now. Oh, and I love you too.’ She banged the key on her phone to end the call and watched the answerphone bleep, flash its light and then settle down. She felt rather like a rebellious teenager. Which was, of course, nonsense. She was just getting on with the job. Wasn’t she?
She was on the road again within half an hour. She had the forethought to pack a change of clothes, a toothbrush and some odds and ends of make-up and so forth, and threw the bag into the boot with a flourish that was, absurdly, aimed at Gus, and set out to drive to Durleighton.
It was late, very late; and she realized even before she left the London suburbs behind that there was no hope of furthering her investigations tonight. If she turned up at the pair of houses in the lane outside the town now, she’d cause a great deal of consternation. She would have to spend the night at the horrid Bald Monk and go first thing in the morning. It was maddening to have such a delay, but once she accepted its inevitability it made the journey much more pleasant. She could allow herself to drive within the speed limit and even decided to stop and have some supper at a motorway café. Whatever she ate there wouldn’t be as bad as the offerings at the Bald Monk, she told herself, and also took the precaution of phoning ahead to the hotel to book a room. To arrive and be turned away at midnight would be tiresome to say the least. If she had to find other accommodation, better to discover that now.
The woman on her desk took her booking with a reasonable degree of efficiency and George finished her journey comfortably, checking into the Bald Monk just before midnight. The woman she had spoken to was still on duty, so that eased matters. George was in her room and in bed within half an hour.
She slept uneasily on the uncomfortable mattress and woke early, grateful to find that at least it wasn’t raining, but it was a cold dull day and she felt the heaviness in her mood as she dressed, glad of the extra warm clothes she had brought. She waited till she felt it was late enough to go visiting; to appear before nine would be strange to say the least. Half past would be barely tolerable.
All the way there, retracing the journey on which Jasper had taken her after the injury to her leg, she rehearsed what she would say, knowing the likelihood was that she would not use her planned words; somehow they never worked out right, but it was helpful to go through the exercise anyway. She needed some sort of mental activity because the elation of the previous afternoon had quite gone. She felt uneasy as well as oppressed by the weather.
The houses looked much as they had when she had first seen them, though somehow rather less charming. But at least there was, to her relief, a wisp of smoke coming from a chimney. That showed that someone was up and about, and she parked the car outside and pushed open the gate.
There was a slick of early frost on the path and she almost slipped over at one point, landing on the doorstep with a small gasp of dismay as she righted herself; and the door opened at once. She had not had a chance to ring the bell, or to compose herself. Clearly she’d been seen from inside the house.
The old woman was peering round the door, her face creased with anxiety. ‘What d’you want?’ she said with some pugnacity, though her voice was shaky.
‘Oh, Mrs Lyons, good morning,’ George said, trying to sound friendly without being gushing. ‘How are you?’
The door opened a little wider and the old woman peered at her. Then her face seemed to clear a little. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it? The lady what had her leg all battered by our Jasper.’
Relief filled George and she beamed at her. ‘Indeed it is. How good of you to remember me.’
‘Well, you got a look that people would remember,’ Mrs Lyons said, a touch ungraciously. ‘Is it better now?’
‘Oh, yes, thanks. Almost. I only need a small plaster now.’ George held out her leg to demonstrate.
‘That’s all right then.’ Mrs Lyons stood there, making no move to invite her in or to hold the door any wider open.
‘Um,’ George said, and opted, if a little uncertainly, for the direct approach. ‘May I come in?’ She reached a hand out and pushed gently on the door in as ordinary a manner as she could. Mrs Lyons gave way, clearly disconcerted, and George immediately moved forwards, till she stood on the inside doormat, beaming at the nanny as she pulled off her coat.
‘What a lovely fire you have going here! May I go and warm my hands at it? Then I’ll feel the benefit of my coat when I go out. It’s a very chilly morning.’
She handed her coat to Mrs Lyons with all the aplomb she could muster and went over to the fire, smiling cheerfully. ‘It is nice to see you again! You were so kind to me that morning and I did appreciate it.’
‘My pleasure, I’m sure,’ Mrs Lyons said, sounding surly, and dropped George’s coat on a chair beside the front door. She came further into the room. ‘There’s no one ’ere but – Jasper and Mr Edward, they’re not ’ere, you know, and what’s more I don’t know when they’ll be back, so there’s no sense in your waitin’ for ’em, is there?’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ George said sunnily and straightened up. None of the things she’d planned to say seemed to fit in; she looked at the old woman and decided that this time guile had to be her answer. ‘I didn’t come to see either of them,’ she said. ‘It’s Marietta I want to see. I heard how ill she is, poor dear, and I thought the least I can do is pop down to visit her. I’d have brought some flowers, only to tell you the truth, the ones I saw in the shop in the town were so droopy, I thought they’d be an insult.’ She laughed merrily. ‘But then I thought, Marietta won’t mind. It’s having visitors that people like when they’re ill, isn’t it, not just flowers?’
‘I thought you was a stranger when Jasper fetched you here.’ Nanny Lyons was staring at her, torn between suspicion and relief. ‘You never said you knew none of the family. You never said you knew our Marietta.’
‘Didn’t I? I thought I did.’ George looked her frankly in the eyes with a direct inviting gaze. ‘Are you sure I didn’t say how I’d known Marietta for – oh, years? Through Susan, you know. They were at school together and my sister was at the same school.’ Don’t ask me which school, for pity’s sake, she prayed inside her head, or I’m in deep do-do.
Nanny Lyons didn’t ask. She produced a rather unlovely gap-toothed grin and nodded, allowing the relief to overwhelm her doubts. ‘Well fancy that! And me never knew! So what would your sister’s name be? And how come she was at school in England and you an American an’ all?’
George took off on one of her wild improvisations at once, and at a deep level loved every minute of it, risky though it was. ‘Oh, she was my half-sister, you see. My mother married twice. After he left my ma – you know how it is with divorce these days – he came to England and he married an Englishwoman and it was their daughter, Dorothy, who was at school with Susan and Marietta.’ Dorothy? she thought. What possessed me to use such a Godawful name? If I had a sister called that I’d refuse to speak to her. ‘Yes, indeed,’ she said and beamed again. ‘Darling Dottie and Marietta were very close.’
Nanny shook her head. ‘I thought I knew all the girls who were her friends,’ she said. ‘Seeing she and them used to come to the boys’ parties when they was little. But there you go. I dare say my memory’s not what it was.’
‘Oh, Dottie left England many years ago,’ George said reassuringly. ‘Went to South Afri
ca where she married a lawyer. So I dare say you’d have forgotten her. Anyway, how is Marietta?’
Nanny Lyons accepted the question without any anxiety this time. ‘Not a bit well, poor baby.’ She shook her head. ‘I do all I can, o’ course, to get her talkin’, but she just lies there. I’ve had to change her medication, now she’s so deep in her sleep. He told me it would make her sleepy, give her a chance to recover, like, that she needed the rest, and I was to see she got it, no matter what. But, well, it’s very difficult.’
She shook her head again. ‘I can’t get her to swallow a thing now. So I’m putting the medicine into a rectal tube, the way we used to do for the very sick little babies when I was a student.’ She nodded wisely. ‘If they can’t swallow and absorb their food through the mucous membrane of the stomach then they can have it put into the rectum and absorb it through the mucous membrane there.’ She said it as though she was reciting a learned lesson and her eyes, distorted behind her heavy glasses, were bright with an air of satisfaction as she did so. ‘I can’t get a lot into her that way, but she gets her fluids and she gets her medicine and that’s the most important. I’ll soon get her plumped up again when she improves and I can start cooking for her, poor lamb.’
‘May I see her?’ George felt the anxiety thick in her belly and had to concentrate hard to avoid conveying it to Nanny Lyons. She had to be relaxed, relaxed, relaxed, she told herself deep inside, very cool does it. ‘I’m a doctor myself, of course, so I’d be glad to check her for you.’
Nanny Lyons beamed. ‘I’d forgotten that,’ she said. ‘You did say you was a doctor, didn’t you? Well, well, imagine me, trained as I am, forgetting such a thing! Of course, doctor. You come along with me. I’m sure he won’t mind you seeing her, not at all, though they was very strict about no one else disturbing her, on account of her needing all this rest. That’s what a rest cure is, after all!’ She laughed, pleased with herself. ‘But a doctor’ different, o’ course. He didn’t think much to the doctors here in Durleighton and I can’t say as I know them, but he’ll be glad indeed to have a London doctor to see her. Jasper was saying only yesterday that he thought a London doctor might have to come sometime. And here you are! Well, well. Did he send you then?’
Fifth Member Page 32