The Dead Woman Who Lived

by Endellion Palmer

  “Tell the boy to come down!” Daphne commanded as she marched off to the gate. “It would be nice to see him more than occasionally.”

  “I’m sure the thought of new socks will be enough to make him hide out until June,” muttered Jamie, sotto voce, as Daphne bellowed for her sons to join her in a voice that echoed round the churchyard. From various corners appeared boys of varying ages, all with the same wavy fair hair, converging upon their mother. They waved to Jamie and Juliana as they crowded through the lychgate.

  He continued: “Aunt Daphne’s a love, but her knitting is appalling.”

  “Are those all her children?” Juliana asked, taken aback. Daphne had looked like she was being borne out of the churchyard on a sea of boys.

  “All six of them are hers,” replied Damaris, who had joined them. “I asked her once if she never thought about trying again for a girl and she just laughed at me. And of course she got Simon too.”

  “But he doesn’t live with them?”

  “Frankly, when you’ve been to Visick House and seen what it’s like there when the boys are home, you’ll understand why not!” Damaris laughed gently. “You’ll see, when you meet him.”

  Juliana was surprised at how quickly the morning had passed. And she was touched by the way their friends had treated her. They had all acted as if they were simply pleased to see her, with no mention of the last three years. Any doubts about her were kept firmly to themselves. Waiting in the drawing room, with a glass of sherry in her hand and Beethoven on the gramophone, she was surprised to find herself beginning to feel at home. The feeling only intensified with the arrival of their guests; their voices and laughter, the feeling of the house being full and happy, struck a chord in her. This had happened before, even if she did not remember it, and she had enjoyed it then as she enjoyed it now.

  They stood around the drawing room, everyone seemingly in conversation with each other at the same time, and all keen to include her. She sat next to Andrew Fenton at lunch, with Bob Cundy on her other side, and they were solicitous in their attentions to her. Lunch over, coffee was served in the drawing room. When she had had time to drink a cup, Andrew Fenton took her aside with a word of apology to the others, and they went to Adrien’s study for a talk.

  “You seem to be settling in nicely, my dear,” said Andrew, sitting back and scrutinising her with a gratified smile.

  “I was just thinking, before lunch, how at home I felt all of a sudden,” she replied. “Strange to do so, when I don’t seem to know anything of this place, or of the people. I think part of me must remember, though, so none of it feels too strange.”

  She did not mention the conviction she had that people were not convinced by her explanations of what had happened, or where she had been. Nor the odd pas de deux that she and Adrien were performing around each other. Andrew was Adrien’s lawyer and friend; whatever doubts she felt about coming home had to be kept to herself.

  “Good, good,” he said. “You are looking well, too. A touch more colour, perhaps?”

  “I’ve been out walking quite a bit. Adrien took me out on Friday, and Jamie yesterday. And I had tea with Geoffrey Clevedon yesterday, too. I enjoyed that.”

  Andrew beamed at her. She realised that he felt some responsibility for her, having been the one to find her in London and instigate her return to life at Trevennen.

  “Thank you again for all you did for me,” she said. “It must have been awfully difficult for you. You and Mr Banks were so kind. I’ve written to him to thank him myself, and to tell him that everything is working out.”

  “He will be delighted to hear it.”

  “Do you think I could ask him a favour?” she asked.

  “What do you need?”

  “I should like him to check up on Mr Stevens, the crippled man who sits near Piccadilly Circus each day. I should have asked before I left, but…”

  “You were extremely busy, Juliana,” said Andrew. “However, I can set your mind to rest about Mr Stevens. Seymour has found him a position at his offices. He was a clerk before the War, and that is what he will be doing now. Seymour and he got along splendidly, and he will be starting work this very week. So you need not worry about his future.”

  Juliana was delighted.

  “I shall write again, to thank him,” she said.

  Andrew smiled at her.

  “Seymour will be pleased to hear from you. He really was quite captivated by your story.”

  Juliana looked down at her hands.

  “It does seem like a story, sometimes. Not real,” she said.

  Perhaps that was what was wrong with her. Perhaps it was simply that she didn’t believe in what had happened herself. If she could be more positive, maybe everyone else would follow suit.

  “Well, I think that will fade with time. You’ve been through a peculiar time, Juliana. Give yourself some time to adjust. In next to no time you will feel right at home. Now, I must get to the point, I’m afraid, as we do not have much time. I must not be late home tonight.”

  “What did you want to speak to me about?” she asked.

  She was wary.

  “We should discuss your finances,” replied Andrew. “Briefly now, if you would like, and then in more depth later on, when you have had a chance to think of any further questions. Now, I have asked the bank in Penzance to reopen your account with them, and they will provide you with a new chequebook. The monies from your investments will go back in there as before. You should go in sometime to make final arrangements with them.”

  She goggled at him. “I don’t understand. What investments?”

  “Juliana, you are a wealthy woman. You brought your own money into this marriage. There is a varied portfolio of investments that have continued unchanged since your disappearance. I spoke to Adrien, before he brought you back down here, and he asked that all these be transferred back to you. There is no need to go into details at the moment, but I will leave these papers here for you, and I am always available if you wish to discuss anything at all.”

  She was silent, not sure what to say.

  “Adrien didn’t say anything about this,” she said finally.

  “He was worried about overloading you with too much information so soon after you were reunited,” replied Andrew. “He asked me to talk to you today. He thought that giving you a few days to settle in would be wise.”

  Juliana was not sure about this. It appeared to be just one more thing they had not talked about. What else was going to appear?

  Andrew cleared his throat.

  “There is the question of what happened regarding your will. You left various amounts of money and personal items to various people. If you would like any of those items back, then I am sure we can—”

  “No, I don’t want anything back! Leave it be. I clearly don’t need whatever it was. I’ve lived perfectly well without it for three years!”

  She was so upset that she jumped to her feet and began to pace the carpet, knotting her hands behind her to prevent them from shaking. This was a side to her disappearance that she had not previously contemplated, and there had been so much to think about since she had arrived back in Cornwall that the subject of money had not even entered her head. She had brought her savings with her, and as far as she had known, that was it. Andrew leapt up and went to her, taking her shoulders gently.

  “Don’t worry yourself, Juliana. I had to mention it. But there is no rush. You have all the time in the world. Now, as I said, I shall leave this folder of papers for you. Read it through at your leisure. Talk to Adrien. I understand that you are confused, so take your time to work through everything. I shall be available to talk to you whenever you should wish it. Most of all, don’t worry unduly about it.”

  He stood back and looked at her gravely.

  “You have had to work hard for everything for the last three years. In my honest opinion, in the long run it will have done you no harm at all. You fought for yourself, and you did well. Now you must work
again, to find your place here. Money can be a force for good or for evil. Do not be afraid of it.”

  ***

  By the time Andrew and Juliana had finished their conversation, the rest of the visitors had all left for their respective homes. The house’s occupants had vanished too and the house seemed suddenly deserted. Judging by the faint, muffled snores coming from various doors, everyone was asleep. Juliana picked a book in the library and tried to read by the fire, but the story could not hold her attention.

  She thought of the tower and wandered up to the Long Gallery, inspecting again the various portraits hung along the walls. Creeds both young and old hung there, watching her as she wandered slowly along the room. Finally she paused in front of a massive portrait of a venomous-looking old woman who was leaning heavily on a carved ebony stick and glaring out as though nothing would please her more than to box someone’s ears. Juliana looked at it for a while, conscious of the wicked pleasure that lurked in the old woman’s eyes, dark-sherry-coloured like Adrien’s, with thick lashes and an almond slant that made them unexpectedly beautiful in a face that was decidedly not. She fumbled behind the portrait for the key, but only found an empty hook. Trying the door, she found it unlocked, the key already there, and walked quietly upstairs, round the helter-skelter stone staircase that led after one circumference to a hefty door with ironmongery on it that would have withstood a siege.

  She peeked in briefly to find that the room was furnished, but everything was covered with dust sheets, and one long wall was lined with tea chests and trunks. Upstairs again, she tried the door on the top landing. It swung inwards with a squeal. The room was full, with a variety of items that suggested that nothing from the house had ever been thrown away. There was everything from a coromandel screen with a cracked panel to ancient china footbaths, a pile of brass bedsteads and an ancient rocking horse, missing most of its mane and one hoof. She pushed the door further open and it squealed again. She jumped as a voice appeared from nowhere.

  “I must oil that,” murmured Jamie, who was lying on an ancient sofa. He was almost hidden under a rug, his dark hair disappearing in the shadows, and she had to look twice to locate the source of the voice.

  He opened an eye and took her in briefly, before rolling away onto his side.

  “Hello, Julie,” he said sleepily.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said Juliana quietly. “I was exploring.”

  “Not a problem,” he said into his pillow, a moth-eaten cushion with a ragged trim. “Explore away.”

  She knelt down on the window seat and looked out through the small round window. From here it was a straight line through a small valley caused by a fold in the cliffs, the sea clearly visible in the distance. She looked out in silence for a while, until Jamie started moving around behind her.

  “Haven’t you been up here before?” he asked sleepily.

  “I didn’t know where the key was at first. Then Adrien told me it was behind the portrait of that awful old woman, but I hadn’t had time to come up here since.”

  Jamie yawned and stretched. Swinging his long legs down to the floor, he began folding the rug that had covered him.

  “That was unexpected. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just came up here for some peace. I like it up here.”

  Juliana looked at him critically; he looked paler than normal, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced. His dimples had vanished too, and she felt sorry for him.

  “You do look a little tired,” she said. “Did you not sleep last night?”

  He had come in late after his afternoon on the moor, just in time for dinner, and had seemed in good spirits after his afternoon outside. But he would not catch her eye now, just looked away and shrugged.

  “I have insomnia. Started in France. It comes and goes. The last week or so has been difficult at work. Sometimes that can set it off.”

  She was sympathetic.

  “Can Dr Cundy not give you something?” she asked. “He seems like an understanding sort of man.”

  Jamie scratched his head, ruffling his already ruffled hair.

  “He gave me some pheno, but it doesn’t always work,” he said ruefully. “I do have some stuff that works, but it’s dangerous. And taking it is like I’m going back under the mud, surrounded by blackness and fear. Just oblivion. I only take it if things are really bad, and those times are coming less and less.”

  He rubbed his eyes again. Juliana was curious, but she had caught a shred of something akin to pain as he talked, and she shied away from asking anything that might cause more distress. Jamie got to his feet, anyway, and stretched himself.

  “Sometimes even the tritest sayings are true. Time does heal,” he said with a final yawn. “Well, it heals some things, anyway. And I feel better now. This house is so soothing.”

  Juliana wondered. Soothing was not the adjective she would have chosen, not with Jamie’s mother in residence.

  “I’m glad you think so,” she replied nonetheless. “You come back here often, don’t you?”

  His eyes opened wide and he sat down with a bump.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked, evidently horrified that she already felt him de trop.

  “Don’t be a fool, Jamie! You are welcome here any time you choose to come.”

  He looked relieved, then retrieved a fat paper bag from under a cushion.

  “Just for that, dear, do have a sweet,” he said, offering the bag.

  “I’ve enjoyed your company, you and Damaris both,” she continued, taking an aniseed ball. “This house needs noise. It needs life. I don’t know what it was like before, but it seems so quiet to me. You must promise to come home often.”

  “Well, we can certainly provide noise,” he said with a grin. “Thank you,” he added.

  “For what?” she asked, curious, rolling the aniseed ball around her mouth.

  “For calling it home. That means a lot.”

  He looked pensive for a moment, his normally mobile face completely solemn. She felt shy at his heartfelt tones and briskly changed the subject.

  “You said that your work had been difficult. If that is so, may I ask why you took the job? It is not one that would appeal to a great many people.”

  He gave her a grin.

  “Same reason you worked. I needed to earn my crust. Mother wanted me to go to university, become a doctor. Like I had planned before. But I couldn’t. Not after what I had seen.”

  His face puckered.

  “She was displeased. So I had to get a job. Luckily for me, my godfather knew Mr Abbott. He needed an assistant and I needed a job. We get on splendidly. And it’s not too far away. I get back here regularly, to see Didi. And Mother, of course,” he added rather awkwardly.

  Juliana thought for a moment, picking out what he had not said. So Fancy held the purse strings, and had withheld financial aid when he had refused to do what she wanted. She wondered about Damaris too. Was that why she had taken up nursing? To be financially independent?

  “I am curious,” she asked, hoping it was not too indelicate a question. “Why did you take a job as potentially unpleasant if you had been turned off medicine as a career? Surely it’s even worse, in some ways?”

  He shook his head.

  “I didn’t want to be with live people. It wasn’t the gory side of things that I wanted to duck. Just avoidable interactions. At least when Mr Abbott is working, there is no pain involved. And I don’t have to deal with relatives. That’s for the bobbies and the coroner. We do our bit in peace; I help out if need be, take notes, write it all up and get it signed. It can be interesting, too. I’ve had to learn a lot, so I’m rarely bored. There is something new every week.”

  He took another sweet, and crunched it appreciatively.

  “Minnie Sercombe does have the best acid drops, you know,” he said, then continued, “Just sometimes, though, it can be a little intense. Last week was a case in point. Two house fires, never pleasant. And Chase, who has the room next
to me, had a dreadful cold and was either coughing fit to bust or snoring like an outsize in thunderstorms, so sleeping was difficult.”

  “Where do you live, when you are not here? I know you have your own room here, Damaris too. I was poking about, I saw that you had some of your things here. And before you say anything, no, I don’t want them moved. Leave your possessions where they are!”

  Jamie grinned and settled back against his cushions, hands behind his dark head. His bony elbows were in danger of poking through his pullover.

  “I have a room close to the hospital,” he said, swinging a foot. “Run by a rum old bird called Dotty Richards. Not the most modern establishment, and the hot water is a bit iffy, but she never minds any of us coming and going at odd times. She’s always good for a plate of toast and dripping and a cup of tea, no matter when.”

  “Us? How many of you live there?”

  “There are four of us. Two are medical students, one is a journalist and then there’s me. It’s lucky, really. If I have any queries about work it will generally be about medicine or writing, so I’ve got experts to call on.”

  Juliana took a stray piece of butterscotch she found in the bag and contemplated it.

  “What about Damaris?” she asked before popping the sweet into her mouth.

  “She lives in the Nurses’ Home, right next to the hospital. Says any amount of hassle from the Home Sister is worth an extra hour in bed in the morning. Now she’s got her belt, she gets tea in bed in the morning, and the maids clean her room for her.”

  Scrambling to his feet, he gave Juliana his hand and hauled her to her feet with more enthusiasm than grace.

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s see what’s for tea.”

  “After that huge lunch? And all those sweets?”

  “Growing boy,” he said as they clattered down the stairs, locking the door behind them.

  “Tapeworm, more like,” she replied as he hung the key behind the portrait, then she shrieked and ran as he chased her the length of the Long Gallery and all the way downstairs. They tumbled into the library to find Damaris stoking the fire. She turned and laughed at them as Juliana raced over to hide behind her.