Poet's Cottage

by Josephine Pennicott

  Sadie couldn’t help wondering if Birdie really believed in Maxwell’s innocence, or if she was trying to convince herself. But she realised she was unlikely to get any more information out of Birdie today. As she got up to leave, she remembered the rats Jackie had found in the cellar. She described them and the other mysterious happenings to Birdie and asked if it was likely to have been Violet.

  Birdie looked alarmed. ‘I cannot imagine Violet even having the brains, let alone the motivation, to do such things. I believe she makes her way into Poet’s Cottage because it reminds her of happier times. She loved Pearl so much. I think she feels close to her there. And you returning to Poet’s probably sparked her interest as well. No, that doesn’t sit right with me, dear, about rats in baby clothes. Are you sure you don’t have any enemies in Pencubitt?’

  Sadie thought about it. There was Kristie from the beauty salon, but somehow she couldn’t envisage her handling dead rats and crawling down hidden smugglers’ tunnels.

  ‘Somebody must wish you harm,’ Birdie insisted. ‘It sounds like the work of somebody who wants you out of Pencubitt. Can you think of anybody who would want you to leave?’

  Only Jack, my ex-husband, Sadie thought. She shook her head and Birdie eyed her, hugging her cardigan around her thin body. ‘What about Thomasina?’ the old woman suggested. ‘She’s a very strange woman. Always has been. Perhaps she feels you’re trespassing in her mother’s house? It sounds like the sort of prank she might enjoy playing.’

  Birdie kissed Sadie on both cheeks. ‘Talking about the past always tires me out,’ she said. ‘I prefer to focus on the present these days – when my old ghosts let me. The past is a photograph that lies to you. You see in it the details you want to. That’s why I lost my interest in Webweaver. Take what you wish from it for your own book. I’m sure it will be a far more interesting read than mine!’

  ‘What should I do about the tunnel and Violet?’ Sadie asked. ‘It seems cruel to shut her out but I can’t have her creeping around the house.’

  ‘You must shut her out,’ Birdie said firmly. ‘Claim Poet’s Cottage for yourself and then hopefully your ghosts will leave.’ She smiled her sly, sweet smile and began to close the door. ‘You are welcome to visit again,’ she said. ‘Do try to give me more notice next time.’

  Walking through the town, Sadie wondered about Birdie’s version of events. How would they ever know the truth about her grandmother? Had Birdie distorted the story in her book to show herself in a better light? It was so difficult to discover who Pearl really was. Marguerite had loved her mother but Pearl’s other child despised her. Pearl’s father had adored her – but her siblings appeared to have had no interest in her. Whoever she had been, she’d obviously suffered from some mental imbalance long before those things were diagnosed. Sadie reminded herself to do some research on depression and the creative personality. She cursed the fact that she had looming magazine deadlines as she was dying to start work on her book about Pearl. After recent events she felt driven to write it.

  At dinner that night Sadie could only pick at the food; her stomach still felt sensitive. In a total role reversal, Betty urged her mother to eat. After dinner, they sat together in front of a small open fire in Sadie’s bedroom while Sadie read Violet’s letter out loud.

  I, Violet Bydrenbaugh, being of sound mind and disposition, write the following and entrust it to my confidante, Miss Birdie Pinkerton, in the hope she will know what to do with it. I find myself unable to choose the best person to go to with this confession. To go to the police would betray the confidence of my best friend. I have thought of talking to a priest but I am not a believer.

  I have witnessed what some might call a murder but what I took to be a tragic accident. It is not easy for me to relate what happened – writing and academic things are not my strong point. I shall stick with a literal retelling of what happened on the night I saw Miss Emily McCarthy, otherwise known as Angel, killed at Poet’s Cottage.

  I never did like Angel as I believe she was sly and had loose morals. I am convinced she was taking things from Pearl (small pieces of jewellery, money, cosmetics and so forth). Still, I do not feel that she deserved her ill treatment. Nor did her poor mother deserve such sorrow. That is what grieves me the most. I have often longed to tell her mother, who I’m sure must be missing her daughter terribly, but dare not. I fear the noose too much! Pearl has said over and over that Mrs McCarthy has so many children that one being gone is neither here nor there – but I do not think it works that way. I have seen the cats at Blackness House cry for days as they hunt for the kittens we have drowned. The mother instinct is strong whether we have one or many.

  Now I am crying again! And the ink is ruined but I must persist with this tale whilst I still have the courage to do so.

  Angel was having an affair with Maxwell. This was something openly encouraged by Pearl. I believe it suited her purposes as she was so terribly in love with Teddy. Pearl was afraid that Maxwell would put his foot down about Teddy and so she threw Maxwell at Angel. Angel felt herself to be rather important to have the master of the house giving her attention and it all went to her head. She actually came to believe, the silly girl, that Maxwell had intentions to marry her – that he would leave Pearl for her. As if any man would leave Pearl for a housemaid! She was no beauty if you understand my meaning. Angel was insane not to see that Maxwell was only interested in the one thing.

  As Mother has always said, girls who chase after men and don’t say no to them come to a bad end. Angel had started to give herself terrible airs. Many times I saw her acting as if she was châtelaine at Poet’s Cottage, and I occasionally saw Pearl and Angel argue. I told Pearl of my suspicions that Angel was pilfering when I spotted her in High Street wearing a shade of red lipstick similar to Pearl’s and Pearl began to complain she was missing small items.

  On the night I saw Angel killed we had all been drinking. It was Christmas Eve and Teddy Stephens was present – he and Pearl were knocking them back. Birdie Pinkerton, to whom I’ve entrusted this confession, left fairly early in the evening, at around ten pm. I think she was outraged at our behaviour. I could sense things were coming to a head that night. When Pearl told Angel that she would have to leave, the girl claimed she was carrying Maxwell’s child, which was quite disgraceful of her. She was the sort of person who would say anything if she thought it would get her what she wanted.

  After Birdie left, Pearl and Angel were bickering in earnest; Angel was demanding full wages and Pearl was refusing and demanding to search her luggage for stolen items. Maxwell was sitting in the front room and he got up to rebuke the pair on the landing, worried they’d wake the girls. Their language was dreadful. Teddy lay back on the sofa oblivious to it all – to him it was just another row at Poet’s Cottage. Pearl was struggling with Angel on the upstairs landing and then she pushed out at her. I saw it happen, and I swear on my mother’s grave that I don’t for one second believe Pearl wished to harm Angel. She was trying to get Angel away from her.

  But Angel stepped back, forgetting she was so near the steps, and she fell in a terrible sort of cartwheel somersault. It was horrible to witness. She lay at a terrible twisted angle at the bottom of the stairs and I knew she was dead. Maxwell lost his temper, shouting at Pearl as he tried to revive the girl. I backed away, my hand over my mouth in horror. It was the way Angel’s head flopped like some stupid big rag doll that haunted me for countless nights afterwards. Teddy was kneeling beside Angel, trying to feel a pulse, when one of the girls – Thomasina, I think – woke up and came out to see what was happening. Pearl screamed at her to return to bed. As Pearl shepherded her back to her room, I could hear the child asking, ‘Why is Angel sleeping on the floor? Why is Daddy crying?’

  Perhaps if we weren’t so drunk we would have thought up a less shameful solution. But we were foolish, inebriated, impulsive and afraid. The penalties for murder were severe. Birdie had already witnessed a bitter dispute between Pearl and Angel – would
anyone believe Angel’s death was an accident?

  It was Teddy who thought of using the old sea tunnel, taking Angel to Bradley’s Cave. We all agreed without much thought. Even Maxwell, whose head was as much in the noose as Pearl’s – after all, his affair with Angel also gave him the motive to kill her, Pearl kept insisting. Although I had never been in the sea tunnel I had known about it for a long time; Pearl had sworn me to secrecy. She used it to smuggle Teddy into the house. To keep the girls out of the cellar where she had set up a makeshift bed for her and Teddy’s liaisons, she told the girls that she had a wild Tasmanian devil chained up down there.

  The tide was against us so we had little time to think it through. And what was Angel to us? She was a servant, in my eyes not fully a person. In fact, once I had recovered a bit from the shock of seeing a person die, it all seemed a bit of a jolly jape, like something from a movie. That’s how drunk and foolish I was. I soon came to bitterly regret my actions.

  The entry to the old sea tunnel was cunningly disguised and painted, so that in the cellar’s dim light it would be nearly impossible to detect. Pearl had marked the spot with a wooden shelf lined with old paint cans. We had to stoop down to enter the tunnel through a low door. It was difficult to drag Angel’s body but the men managed between them; she really was a lump of a girl. I was quite frightened as I kept imagining spiders or spirits, or even that the tunnel might collapse on top of us. Pearl kept reassuring me that it was no more likely to fall in on us than Poet’s Cottage itself; she pointed out that they were both designed by my ancestor Hellyer who knew what he was doing. I still couldn’t help the clammy, sick feeling in my stomach as, crouching, we picked our way through total darkness towards a distant thumping sound; as it increased in volume I realised it was the sea. After what felt like hours we reached a gap in the stone – we had arrived at Bradley’s Cave. The smell of the ocean, the crashing black water and the moon above chilled me. I was afraid but there was no turning back.

  ‘Quickly.’ Teddy’s voice was filled with a raw urgency. ‘Throw her in before the tide gets any higher and this cave becomes treacherous.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Maxwell said. ‘What if the tide carries her back?’

  ‘We’ll take that chance,’ Teddy said. ‘Do you have a better idea? Are you willing to risk your wife’s life? We’re not doing anything so wrong. She’s dead anyway.’

  It is wrong. It is wrong. She has family who will need to know. The words were beating in my head but I refused to listen to them.

  ‘Sharks and predators of the ocean. Oh great Neptune, praise thee!’ Pearl cried. ‘Accept our offering and receive this humble maiden. Carry her to full fathom five where she can reign over the watery kingdoms forever.’

  ‘Shut up and help me!’ Teddy yelled at her.

  I looked down at the body, and in the moonlight saw her eyes open for a second. I cried out in fright. ‘She’s alive! Don’t do it. For God’s sake! She’s alive!’

  But caught in some drunken mischief they were pulling her to the edge. I caught her legs but Pearl pushed me back with a laugh. ‘Don’t be a lunatic, Violet! She’s dead.’

  I watched as the three of them threw Angel, chanting together, ‘One two, heave!’ And I stood screaming into my hands as I witnessed Angel being thrown into the darkness of the ocean.

  And that is that. I am not proud of my part in this tale. I have spent many wretched nights in tears and mortal terror. I have longed to confide in my own mother but fear her disappointment.

  Of the four who carried Angel through that tunnel, I alone seem to be badly affected by that night. I don’t know if the others knew that Angel wasn’t dead. Perhaps they were too drunk to care. Maxwell did not speak to us for days afterwards but why I do not know. He didn’t confide in me – I think he always saw me as a foolish influence on Pearl.

  Pearl seemed to have no regret at all. The only thing she ever said to me about the incident was that I had displayed the spine of a jellyfish and had disappointed her badly. Was it worth risking prison or the hangman’s noose when the girl had brought it on herself? You saw what happened that night, Pearl pointed out to me. It was an accident.

  And yes, it was an accident, but I know now that what we did was wrong and we caused a lot of suffering for her poor mother. I feel distraught when I see the wretched woman walking down High Street with her lined, sad face. She reminds me too much of the cat missing its kittens.

  Angel’s body has never yet washed up. Perhaps some day it will be found on some wild shore but then who will be able to ascertain what happened to her?

  Some nights I cannot sleep at all. I lie remembering with terror the moment when Angel’s eyes opened and met my gaze. The fall down the stairs was an accident but we threw an innocent woman into the ocean. We are murderers.

  And now Pearl too is dead. She has been slain by some madman and the entire town is afraid. There is nothing to protect anymore. My beautiful, bewitching friend is no more. I do not know where to go to confess. I would talk to Maxwell if he would see me but he remains in deep mourning. In any case, he has never liked me and I do not know if he would listen. I entrust this confession to Birdie Pinkerton and hope she will know what to do with it.

  May truth out and Justice cleanse my soul if she has mercy.

  I am afraid. I am fearful of the fiery flames of Hell if it is true that such a place exists.

  Violet Bydrenbaugh

  Blackness House, September 1936

  Sadie finished reading. ‘The poor woman. And she did have to endure the flames of Hell, only they were here on earth. What a terrible ending for Violet.’

  Betty sat thinking. ‘A terrible ending for Violet?’ she said. ‘What about Angel? Tossed into the ocean like a piece of rubbish! I feel so ashamed that my great-grandparents were capable of such an act. Thomasina must be right about Pearl – which means Nan was wrong. All the years she brought you up, putting Pearl on a pedestal – and her mother was a murderer! How could Marguerite have been so blind towards her own mother?’

  ‘How do we really know what’s true or not?’ Sadie asked. ‘I feel so confused. All we have are different versions of events.’ She felt guilty at seeing her daughter so distressed. Jack had warned her about digging too much into the past and the skeletons she might uncover. ‘It’s easy for us to sit here and judge what was right or wrong on that night. How do we know that we wouldn’t have acted exactly the same way?’

  ‘Oh come on, Mum! You’d toss a young woman into the ocean?’

  ‘Maybe I would. If I thought she was already dead and I was drunk and there was a death penalty attached for murder. It’s hard to judge somebody from another time.’

  Betty shot her a disbelieving look. ‘How do we know Violet’s burns were an accident?’ she said. ‘What if Pearl’s murderer burnt her room down trying to shut her up?’

  ‘Shut her up from what?’

  ‘Mum? How can you be so dense! Shut her up from talking about Angel’s death! And with Teddy and Pearl dead, who were the two people remaining that know about it? Maxwell and Violet. That’s it! Maxwell is the murderer!’

  Sadie felt her stomach clench. ‘Really?’ She stared at her daughter, swayed in spite of herself. ‘You think Maxwell could have done it?’

  ‘Totally!’ Betty flopped on the bed and then sat up quickly again with her best sleuth expression. ‘He had a motive and you know you always have to watch those quiet, sneaky, butter-wouldn’t-melt types. He was probably a Jekyll and Hyde, simmering away for years and building up all this secret rage. Everybody knows stabbing is a crime of sexual passion!’

  ‘They do?’ Sadie wondered over her daughter’s education, which no doubt involved a large number of forensic crime television shows.

  ‘Mum! He did it and Birdie covered up for him! She held on to the confession all these years to protect him! I just know he did it. I feel it in my gut! It’s often the one you least expect,’ Betty said smugly, unconsciously echoing Gracie.

 
‘Everybody suspected him!’ Sadie protested. She paused for a few moments to reread Violet’s confession. ‘Or’ – Sadie warmed up to her own intuitive work – ‘Birdie is the murderer! She’s behind it all and she’s framed Pearl nicely with Webweaver. She had a motive, she was head over heels in love with Maxwell and so she had to get Pearl out of the way.’

  ‘Maybe . . .’ Betty didn’t seem as convinced. ‘It’s hard to imagine Birdie Pinkerton stabbing somebody multiple times in a jealous rage, Mum. She looks like a gust of wind would knock her over.’

  ‘She was a lot more robust then and she’s a determined old thing.’ Sadie thought again of Birdie’s steely eyes. ‘I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of her.’

  ‘We need Jean the medium here! I bet she would have all the answers!’ Betty said. ‘It’s so frustrating, like losing a book before you get to the end.’

  ‘Well, it’s real life, Betty, and sometimes life is a mystery.’

  Loud knocking sounded from downstairs and Betty jumped. Sadie glanced at her watch – ten pm. It might as well have been midnight. Who could it be at this hour?

  ‘Sadie? Hello?’

  Sadie went to the front window. Three figures stood below.

  ‘Sadie? It’s Maria! I have Simon and Gracie with me. Can you open up? It’s important! Gracie has something to say to you.’

  Sadie glanced at her daughter in astonishment. ‘What could they want?’ she hissed to her. ‘Has Gracie gone totally mad? And Simon as well? Oh no, look at me!’ She was in her dressing-gown with a few curlers in the front of her hair to give her short haircut some shape.

  ‘Sadie? It’s important!’

  Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, Sadie descended the stairs to the door. ‘This had better be good,’ she said to herself.