A Well Kept Secret

by A. B. King

  “It is an interesting story that should be verifiable. Assuming that she is telling you the truth, why didn’t she go to the police?”

  “There was no proof and she is frankly terrified of the man and his associates, probably with good reason. She confided in my uncle, and it was he that suggested that she should hide herself by changing her name and staying here at Springwater House to recuperate from her injuries. Later, she accepted the post of housekeeper when his former employee retired on health grounds. It is an arrangement that appeared to suit everyone admirably.”

  “Assuming that she is not a local, why did she choose to go to Wellworthy? Does she have family connections there?”

  “No, She originally lived somewhere on the south coast. She tells me that she was taken into a care-home as a young child when her father vanished and her mother died. She subsequently discovered that her father had disappeared when he came to Wellworthy looking for a job. It seems he was full of the prospects of this job but she hasn’t been able to establish what the job was, or with whom. She was convinced that she could find him here, and when her husband was jailed she came here looking for him. For that matter, she still is.”

  “I see.”

  “His name was Charles Edward Carpenter; I’m wondering if your agent can do a bit of digging to see if anything turns up. From what she tells me, he seems to have vanished off the face of the earth once he got here. I just have a feeling that something nasty has been going on, and it is not impossible that he was part of it.”

  “Well, I’ll make no promises; I’ll see what can be done.”

  “Oh, and Charles, whilst you’re at it, can you verify that Paul Collins is still in jail? I may be wrong; indeed I hope I am, only there is a suspicious character hanging about here that matches the description of her husband. If he has been released, then I really do believe that she is in serious danger.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard to determine, I’ll get onto that right away. Anything else?”

  “Well, it’s pretty nebulous, the odds and ends of information I’ve picked up since being here are making me wonder if something of a criminal nature has been going on. I have had the feeling that something wasn’t right soon after I came here, and the feeling is growing. I am starting to wonder if my uncle was being blackmailed about something. There are suspicious characters hanging about the place, a mysterious would-be purchaser, to say nothing about why I should be left a property by someone who never even bothered to contact me since I was a young child.”

  “I can scarcely credit the blackmail idea; it would have been noted if large sums of money were being unaccounted for.”

  “Well, maybe not blackmail,” Martin conceded. “I still think something is distinctly odd here. Look, Carpenter is supposed to have come to this part of the world about twenty five years ago; that near enough coincides with the only visit I can recall ever making to this house until I inherited it. Maybe it is nothing more than a coincidence; just for the sake of argument, imagine that some sort of criminal action took place at that time involving my family, might it not just possibly explain some of the anomalies I’m talking about?”

  “It’s a pretty wild theory!”

  “So it’s a wild theory; humour me! Will you see if you can discover if there were any major crimes in this area about twenty five years or so ago? I accept that even if there was, the chances of such things all being connected are most unlikely, and if you cannot uncover anything then I’ll concede defeat.”

  “Hm,” the solicitor muttered dubiously. “Frankly, I think you are creating mysteries where none exist. Still, if it makes you any happier I’ll see what I can dig up.”

  “Perhaps you will give me a call this evening? I’m off to see the former housekeeper this afternoon; it seems that there is something she wishes to impart. I expect it will be something of a personal nature, but you never know, it may explain some of the mysteries I feel exist in this house.”

  “Like I said, you are creating ‘mysteries’ where none exist.”

  “Maybe.”

  After he had finished talking to Charles, Martin phoned through to his business and held a long discussion with his secretary, and later with his works manager and also some of his co-directors. As he finished, June came into the study after giving a brief tap on the door.

  “I thought you would like to know that Mr Edwards has returned,” she said. “Luckily George is in, and he is giving an eye to him. I’ve rounded up the girls, and they are getting ready.”

  Chapter Eighteen. Thursday Afternoon.

  As far as the girls were aware Martin needed to make a business call, and as his destination lay in a seaside town they were all going along for the ride so that they could enjoy themselves whilst he attended to some private matters, and Martin was content to leave it at that. They were naturally quite excited at the prospect of a trip to the beach, and June joined in with their banter, laughing at their silly jokes, even contributing a few of her own. Just looking at her, Martin found it hard to believe that she had been through so much hardship in her life and yet was prepared to put it all out of sight in order to laugh and join in, and his heart warmed to her even more. The journey was pleasant and uneventful, and eventually Martin drove to a car park situated close to the town pier where he unloaded his passengers. The girls were away like the wind, racing down the sand towards the water’s edge where gentle rollers washed in with ponderous regularity. There were a fair number of people about, but being normal school-term time the place was not excessively crowded.

  “I’m hoping that this will not take too long,” he said, as he helped June extract the somewhat bulky hamper from the back of the car. “I’ll return here as soon as I have finished; don’t let the girls eat everything!”

  “Don’t worry,” she laughed, her teeth sparkling white in the sunshine, “I’ll save you a crust; even if I have to fight them off!”

  She looked so happy and radiant he had to fight down the impulse to embrace her before leaving. He watched her walking down the beach, and when she found a suitable spot she turned and waved, and he found himself feeling extraordinarily delighted by that spontaneous friendly gesture, and waved back vigorously before returning to his car.

  Once he was out in the traffic again he tore his mind away from thoughts of June and back to the business in hand. The ‘sat-nav’ system had been primed with his destination, and he mechanically followed the instructions, wondering as he went exactly what it was that the old housekeeper wished to impart. His mind had lately become so pre-occupied with thoughts about June that other matters had rather tended to slip into the background, and as he drove to the address he had been given in her letter all the many unanswered questions returned to the forefront of his mind. He found himself hoping that quite aside from what she wished to talk to him about, she would be able to resolve at least some of these puzzling matters for him.

  Presently he came to a standstill close to a small but obviously well cared for terraced property in one of the smaller side streets, and he was fortunate enough to be able to park right outside the front of the building. He exited the car, and entered through the small ornamental front gate that gave access to a minute but neatly tended front garden. He walked the few paces up the concrete path and rang the doorbell situated in the frame to the right of the modern white plastic front door. He heard the bell ring somewhere deep in the building, and a few moments later the door swung open to reveal the questioning face of a plump middle-aged woman.

  “Good afternoon,” he said politely. “I’m Martin Isherwood, Mrs Jefferson is expecting me?”

  “Oh yes,” the woman exclaimed, stepping back a pace and gesturing for him to enter. “I’m sorry; I forgot that you were coming. I’m Mollie, Mrs Jefferson’s daughter, do please come in.”

  He stepped over the threshold into a small hallway, and she reached round to close the door behind him.

  “If you wouldn’t mind waiting here for a moment, I’ll see if
she is ready,” Mollie said, and then she added as an afterthought; “She is now bedridden you see.”

  Mollie walked down the hallway and went in through a door set at right angles to it as Martin shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. It had never occurred to him that the old housekeeper might be seriously ill, and he now felt rather embarrassed by the situation, although of course there was no backing out of it at that point.

  About a couple of minutes later Mollie re-appeared.

  “If you would like to go in,” she said, gesturing towards the open door “Mum is awake and looking forward to seeing you.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that she was so ill,” Martin said apologetically. “Perhaps I should call again when she is feeling a little better?”

  “She won’t be getting better,” Mollie explained in a voice carefully devoid of emotion. “My mother is dying. Cancer, you know; doctor says it could be only a matter of weeks now. She ought to be in a hospice, only neither of us want that.”

  Martin looked at her in astonishment. The woman had announced the fact that her mother was dying as if it was nothing of consequence. His own tragic loss was still too close to him to allow him to accept such things with equanimity. That the old housekeeper might be at the end of her days was something that simply hadn’t crossed his mind until the woman’s daughter had come out with it in such a matter-of-fact manner.

  “I truly had no idea,” he started to say, but she cut short his apology.

  “It’s quite all right,” she said. “We have all come to terms with it. Luckily, we are not a sentimental family. I’m a widow myself, and mum has been suffering from cancer for some while now. We both know what the score is and have made all the arrangements. I suppose you could say that we are by now both quite used to the idea. After all, there is no good weeping about what we can do nothing about, is there? She is not in pain now, but she does tire easily and sometimes her mind wanders just a bit. You will have to make allowances.”

  “Of course!”

  “She told me that you were coming; there is something she wants to get off her chest. She hasn’t told me what, and I haven’t asked.”

  “Yes, so I understood from her letter.”

  “Right, I will leave you to talk to her; I have put a chair for you by the bed.”

  “Thank you.”

  “When you’ve finished, or if you want me for anything, I shall be across the hallway in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll try not to tire or keep her talking too long,” he said, and entered through the door and into room beyond.

  It was small, and probably designed to be a breakfast-room or similar. Roughly square in shape, with cheap patio doors looking out over a small and well tended flower garden, it was surprisingly light and airy. Behind the door was a bed, with a small bedside cabinet on one side festooned with the paraphernalia inseparable from the sickroom, and on the other side he saw the padded dining chair that Mollie had mentioned. There was little else in the way of furniture in the room nor, as he realised immediately, would there have been room for it.

  Sitting up in the bed, well propped with pillows was an elderly lady with white hair. She looked understandably weak and drawn, yet her eyes were bright and showed that even if she was ill, she still retained her faculties; she gave the impression that in her younger days she may well have been a formidable character.

  “Hello Mrs Jefferson,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “I’m Martin Isherwood. I didn’t realise that you were so unwell; I do hope my visit hasn’t come at a bad time?”

  She vouchsafed a slight smile. “I’m afraid you have no choice; I only have ‘bad times’ now,” she said with wry humour. “Please do take a seat.”

  He settled quickly in the chair beside the bed.

  “I do hope that you coming in the place of your uncle is not bad news?” she ventured shrewdly after a few moments.

  It was the question he had been dreading, and he found himself wishing now that he had explained matters more fully in the letter he had sent.

  “Mrs Jefferson, there is no easy way of telling you. I am sorry to have to say that both my uncle and his wife have passed away. I did not mention the fact in my letter because I thought it better to explain matters to you in person. Unfortunately I did not realise that you were so ill yourself. I am his heir, and I am winding up the estate.”

  He watched her closely as he spoke, and was relieved to note that she didn’t appear to be unduly shaken by his news.

  “I had a feeling that something had happened,” she commented. “The moment I opened your letter, I suspected something of the sort.” She looked up at him thoughtfully. “You don’t remember me, do you? No, of course you don’t. You were only a small boy when I last saw you; scampering around the house and getting into mischief. Seems like only yesterday, although I suppose it must be twenty five or more years ago now?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes, I do seem to remember you, yet only vaguely,” he admitted. “As you say, it was a long time ago.”

  “I spent some of the happiest years of my life at Springwater House,” she mused. “I went there not long after my husband died, and I never regretted it; the doctor was the kindest man I ever knew. I can honestly say that, along with his wife, the pair of them were loved by everyone. People used to tell me that they felt better as soon as the doctor appeared, no matter how unwell they were feeling, and his wife was always at the centre of every charity event going. Your uncle was a man in a million, and he had the perfect wife.”

  “I’m only sorry that I didn’t know either of them better. Everybody has been telling me what a wonderful person he was, yet I am sorry to admit that I grew to manhood having forgotten his very existence. When I learned that he had left me his entire estate it came as a complete surprise. As I expect you know, he was my mother’s only sibling, yet there seems to have been no contact between them since that last visit when I was a child. My parents are both deceased, and my mother scarcely mentioned his existence and I am at loss to understand why.”

  “I think,” the old lady said after a few moments, “that it was all done to protect you.”

  “Protect me; from what? I don’t understand. How would ignoring our existence protect my parents and myself? Come to that, why would we need protecting at all?”

  “It is a long story,” she responded. “Now that your uncle has gone to his rest, you have right to know as much as I do, and I have no wish to die without having done what I can to put right something I have always felt was wrong. Before I start, please tell me, how did the doctor and his wife die?”

  “They both died of natural causes,” he replied. “My aunt died first, and from what I’ve heard, my uncle lost interest in life after that, and became something of a recluse until his own death some while later. I have spoken to my late uncle’s physician, and he assures me that the deaths were perfectly natural.”

  “I am so glad it was natural,” she sighed enigmatically, and closed her eyes for a moment. “I just wondered.”

  Martin was at loss to understand what the old housekeeper was implying by suggesting, however indirectly, that the death of his relatives could have been anything other than natural.

  “As near as I have been able to tell,” he said, “my uncle was heartbroken following the death of his wife, and he seemed to give up on life. He passed away in his sleep.”

  “Then I expect they are together again. They were such a devoted couple you know. It was sad that they were never able to have any children, yet it was something they came to terms with. Your mother was the only close relative on your uncle’s side of the family, and in the early days she and your father used to visit quite regularly, and later, when you were born, you became the apple of your uncle’s eye, the son he never had. You were too young to remember that of course, but he doted on you. He would play with you, he would teach you things, tease you. Sometimes he would set you puzzles which you would have to unravel, and he always ga
ve you something as a prize when you succeeded.”

  “I remember virtually nothing of any of this,” he admitted wryly. “What happened? Did my uncle have a falling out with my parents about something?”

  She was silent for a while, resting back on her pillow with her eyes closed. Presently she opened them up and looked at him again.

  “Do you know Phillip Burton?” she asked.

  “No, I cannot say that I have ever heard the name.”

  She seemed quite relieved that he denied any knowledge of the person she had mentioned.

  “Phillip Burton was an old acquaintance of your uncle’s” she explained at last, “I gather they went to the same school together, although he was a class or two behind, being a few years younger. They rather lost track of one another when your uncle went on to university and finally medical school before qualifying as a doctor. It was a black day when Phillip Burton came to Springwater House.”

  He waited as she paused to gather her strength.

  “When the doctor and his wife first came to Wellworthy all those years ago he was a young GP recently taken on as the junior partner in the only medical practice that existed here in those days. It was perhaps a fortunate co-incidence that Springwater House was up for sale at that time and at a very reasonable price because of its relatively remote location, and they fell in love with the place. I was already a widow when they came to Wellworthy, and I badly needed employment. I answered an advertisement for the position of a cook/housekeeper, and it was my good fortune to secure the situation. I took to the doctor and his wife at once and never once regretted going to work for them. They were a wonderful couple, they really were; they even paid for my orphaned daughter’s education! I think that I spent the happiest days of my life there. The doctor worked hard, while his wife was worshipped by everyone she met. When Dr Maidstone retired, your uncle became the senior partner, and much later he took on Dr Rawlinson; I expect you have met him?”