The Dead Woman Who Lived

by Endellion Palmer

  Fancy’s face contorted, but she kept her temper enough to realise that she had been outmanoeuvred, and had best make a pretence of acceptance. She nibbled furiously at a piece of bread and butter, and Juliana congratulated herself that no blood had been shed. She cut herself a slice of cherry cake, feeling relieved, but had barely tasted it when Fancy spoke again, in a honeyed tone.

  “You have become so thoughtful, Juliana. So quick to think of everyone else’s comfort. Amazing what a spell of adversity will do for the character.”

  She paused, raising her brows casually. “Let’s be frank, the thought wouldn’t have occurred to you three years ago, would it?”

  Juliana was silent, aware that Fancy might have been correct. Would she have thought of the circumstances of employment of a housemaid when she had first been brought here? Possibly not. She remembered Andrew Fenton’s look on Sunday, when she had told him about her worries over Richard Stevens. No, she had undoubtedly not been so thoughtful before. But she understood now, and opened her mouth to say so, when she realised that Fancy hadn’t finished.

  “It really is quite odd. Who would have thought such a tragedy could be so beneficial?”

  “Beneficial?” Juliana was bemused. What on earth could have been beneficial about the whole thing?

  Fancy sipped at her tea and crossed her legs, gently swinging her foot as she gazed out of the window, a picture of insouciance.

  “Well, you apparently learned some lessons during your time in London,” said Fancy. “Lessons that you yourself have acknowledged have been advantageous.”

  She paused again, and Juliana saw the venom rise in her eyes.

  “And of course, Adrien got the body he needed,” said Fancy.

  Juliana went cold. She had thought the subject over and done with, but suspected that she was about to be proved wrong.

  “Which body?” she managed to ask, unable to eat any more.

  She put her plate on the table, clumsily. Fancy laughed, a light musical sound that Juliana knew spelled trouble.

  “The body that washed up, of course. The body that Adrien identified as you.”

  “How could that be beneficial?”

  Juliana could barely form the words, but she had to know what Fancy was getting at. In return, Fancy gave her a look that chided her stupidity.

  “Without a body, the legalities would have gone on for years,” she said with a smile, taking a scone and buttering it lavishly. “He needed you dead and proven to be so, otherwise he didn’t get the money.”

  “The money? What do you mean?”

  “You should have seen this place when you came here at first,” Fancy said. “The war years took a toll. The whole place was running to seed. You were the one with money, my dear, not your husband. Dear me, I thought you knew it all by now.”

  Her mouth curled at the edges. “I suppose it gave him something to do, to help mend his heart,” she continued. “Bringing his remaining love back to life. After he got back from his holiday, anyway.”

  Juliana felt her throat close, and clasped her hands together to stop them shaking. Fancy was watching her casually, her eyes bright with malice beneath their thick lashes.

  “Did he not mention it? He left Sancreed for months, travelling here and there. Good Lord, there’s no end to what he has omitted to mention. I suppose he hasn’t told you about Belinda Mayfield either? They were practically engaged before he went to Paris and met you. Such a nice woman. Not one to bear a grudge. And it’s good to see that she and Adrien still get along so well. When I saw them at lunch together today, I thought how pleasant it was that we could all be so civilised.”

  Belinda Mayfield. Juliana had heard that name before. Someone had mentioned it at the weekend. They had talked about her, a family friend of some kind. But there had been no mention of luncheon with her this morning when she and Adrien had eaten breakfast together. And Fancy had known it. For a moment Juliana felt a stab of pity for the other woman. What must it be like to live in such a state of bitterness that one’s only joy was in causing other people pain? How lonely that must be. And then she saw the nasty twist to Fancy’s pretty mouth, and she felt pity no longer. Juliana stumbled to her feet and left the room. She knew that she should not allow Fancy’s barbs to affect her, but she couldn’t bear to spend another minute in the other woman’s company.

  Adrien returned to the house just in time for dinner. He was surprised at the lack of service in the dining room, and at Juliana’s having to heat the soup up before they could begin. Fancy sat in silence and merely looked over at Juliana, who explained her thinking very wearily, through the fog of a bad headache. Adrien accepted the explanation and enjoyed his food, as he normally did, but he was aware of the atmosphere between the two women, and when Fancy had moved to the drawing room to await coffee, he drew Juliana aside.

  “What is wrong, Jules?” he asked, anxious. “You and Fancy haven’t addressed one another at all since I got home. What happened?”

  “We had a disagreement about the maids and their time off,” she replied wearily. “She did not like that I stepped in. Or that I have decided to take over the housekeeping myself.”

  Adrien looked at her, uncomprehending. “Well, I’ve never interfered with running the house. If you want to take it over, Jules, please do. I’m sure Fancy will realise soon enough that it frees her up considerably.”

  Despite the pain in her temples, Juliana determined to talk it out. How could he be so blind?

  “I doubt it,” she said. “She was very angry. She feels that I am pushing her out.”

  “She had been here since before you disappeared,” he said. “She took over, because I was in such a state. I would have been lost without her help, Juliana.”

  It was the first time he had admitted that he had been unable to cope.

  “I understand that. She was here when you needed her, and I am grateful that you had family to help you. But that was three years ago, and she is still here. Is there a chance that she will move back to Hendra soon?” Juliana asked firmly.

  Adrien started, looking horrified.

  “I don’t want to push her out. She was such a brick, Jules.”

  She raised her eyebrows. Did the man truly not see how poisonous Fancy could be when she put her mind to it? He must be the only one for miles who did not.

  “I don’t to push her out either,” she said, irritated. “But the situation here is delicate. Can’t you see that?”

  He looked most uncomfortable, but she realised that without prodding, he was not going to rock the boat. Her temper rose and she changed tack.

  “Did you enjoy your lunch?” she asked.

  Adrien’s face took on a chary look. “It was satisfactory, thank you,” he said slowly.

  “Would Belinda Mayfield be happy to hear that she was only satisfactory?”

  She had not intended to say the words, but the knowledge that he was once again not talking fully to her spurred her on. She saw the flash in his eyes that told that the dart had hit home. His jaw tightened and he looked angry.

  “I met her by accident, outside the hotel,” he said. “I hadn’t seen her in a long while. She was pleased to hear about you.”

  She felt a wariness about his reaction. Her words had struck a chord somewhere.

  “How in hell did you know I had lunch with Belinda, anyway?” he said in anger. “Good God, Juliana, you’ve been back about a week and this is starting again?”

  “What do you mean? Starting again?” she retorted.

  There was a cough in the doorway. Fancy stood there, smiling brightly.

  “Are you making coffee, Juliana? I could do with a cup. Adrien? Coffee?”

  Juliana watched as Adrien stalked out of the dining room, and listened as the side door banged shut a minute or so later. Avoiding Fancy’s eye, she went to the kitchen and made a tray up, with a single cup on it, and took it into the library.

  “Enjoy your coffee, Fancy,” she said coldly, then walked out hers
elf and took herself back to the kitchen.

  She was in despair, but she wasn’t going to show any more weakness. Fancy could sit on her own and drink her coffee on her own and smile as much as she wanted. She hoped that the woman choked on the damned stuff. The way she felt, she could strangle Fancy Evans quite happily and not feel a germ of remorse. In a flash of anger, Juliana washed up, dried the dishes and put everything away, and then started scrubbing the table, in an effort not to think for as long as possible.

  Finally the kitchen was back to its pristine condition and she had to admit there was nothing else she could do. Sitting on her own, drinking cooling coffee from a kitchen cup at the table, she thought back to the last words Adrien had said. What had he meant? Starting again? What had happened before her disappearance? Damaris had talked of them quarrelling the day that she disappeared. Had it not been a one-off? And Jamie had been on the point of saying something, in the boathouse, and had shut up about it very quickly? Jean, too. Was this what they had been thinking of? Had their marriage already been in trouble? From Adrien’s own words, it sounded like things between them had been unsettled. His words spun around her head until she was dizzy, and she was conscious of a deep ache in her heart that she felt she recognised from long ago. It was with difficulty that she kept herself from weeping.

  The car returned just after eight. Juliana roused herself from a fog of despair to go and greet them.

  “Thank you so much, Mrs Creed,” said Florence. “It’s been a smashing birthday.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time,” Juliana managed, with a genuine smile at the girl’s happy face.

  “Give me that box of chocolates, Florence,” said Mrs Fennell. “I’ll pop it in the kitchen for you. You’ve had more than enough for one day. And then off to bed with the two of you.”

  She turned to Juliana and looked hopeful. “I hope everything worked out, Mrs Creed?”

  “Everything here went smoothly,” Juliana replied, fingers crossed as she thought of Fancy’s rage, and the subsequent agony it had induced in her.

  The cook shooed the two girls in front of her through to the scullery door, and Margaret turned to her friend.

  “I met them at the cinema,” said Margaret. “The film was wonderful.”

  She paused, taking in Juliana’s pallor.

  “Thank you for thinking of Florence. It really meant something to her.”

  Juliana gave her a shrewd look, sensing an unspoken reminder of what Fancy had said earlier.

  “Meaning that I might not have, before my accident?” she asked.

  Margaret blushed.

  “I didn’t actually mean that. But perhaps not. You have changed, Juliana. In a good way. You were always fun to be with. I think you’re just a little more thoughtful now. That’s all I meant.”

  Juliana nodded and gave her a grin.

  “Time off becomes very precious when it is limited,” she said. “I had to learn that the hard way.” She broke off and yawned.

  “Are you feeling all right? You look a little… pale. Even for you,” asked Margaret.

  “Just a headache. See you soon.”

  Margaret left with a smile. Juliana watched her go, her temples throbbing, and only just managed not to flee from the house herself. Instead of running, she closed and locked the front door and forced herself to walk upstairs to her room. As she washed her face, splashing in the wide sink, she looked at herself in the mirror. Mags was right. She looked pale as death. As she lay down in the big, silent bed, she wondered where Adrien was. There had been no sound from his room, and as she lay there, she realised that she had become used to hearing him move about. Knowing he was there, even with the door locked, had been soothing.

  She stared up at the ceiling. What had she returned to? What state had her marriage been in, three years ago, that left people unable to talk about it, and her husband so defensive? She thought about the mysterious Belinda. She wondered if Adrien had been in love with her then, and if he was in love with her now? It would not be out of the question for him to have made other plans, thinking her dead. Three years was more than enough time to grieve a dead wife and come out of the shadow at the other end, ready to live again. Perhaps she should leave, not in secret this time, and let him get on with his life, if that was what he wanted?

  Chapter 9

  Juliana slept poorly that night. Fancy’s barbs had found their mark, and Juliana realised that she had fallen squarely into the trap set for her. She had been goaded into bringing up a painful and apparently hoary subject with her husband, not understanding just what was at stake. She truly wanted to believe in Adrien, but his strange behaviour was making it difficult. Affectionate one moment, withdrawn the next. Deliberately keeping secrets from her. She tossed and turned, finally falling asleep in the small hours after taking a cachet for her headache. She had no idea whether Adrien had come home again and didn’t dare to check his bed to find out for certain.

  After a short, restless night, she woke later than normal, eyes gritty with fatigue. Finding the bathroom free, she forced herself into a cold bath to try to clear the fog from her head, rubbing herself dry afterwards with such force that her skin was red when she finally went to dress.

  Adrien was not in the dining room when she descended, and she could do nothing but sit alone at the long table, forcing down a cup of coffee, and toying with a piece of toast and marmalade. Afterwards, feeling slightly sick, she went to the morning room, hoping that the maids were finished and she could curl up in a chair and lose herself in a book or magazine, anything to stop the mad whirl in her head.

  Adrien was there, looking as tired as she felt. His eyes were shadowed underneath and he had cut himself shaving; there were spots of dried blood on his face. Jumping up immediately as she appeared in the doorway, he winced as he saw her stop abruptly at the sight of him. Without thinking, she made to turn and leave, and he held out a hand to her, stepping towards her and grabbing at her sleeve.

  “Don’t go, Jules. Please. I’m sorry about last night.”

  He sounded contrite, his eyes begging her for clemency. Tired of prevarication and the creeping sense of unease that had overtaken her since the weekend, sick from her lack of sleep, she determined to have it out with him for good. She stood in front of him, looking up into a face that she realised she must once have loved very much. She had intended to fight for her corner without mercy, but recognised that there was true misery in his eyes and tempered her reaction.

  “It wasn’t just you,” she said. “I don’t know why I said what I did. I was upset and I was trying to get a reaction.”

  She shook her head.

  “Why have you been avoiding me, Adrien? What don’t you want to tell me? Truthfully, I don’t know if I can go on living here like this.”

  Emboldened by her softer tones this morning, Adrien took her hands and held them close to him for a moment. It was the most physical contact they had had in days. She could feel his heart thumping under his shirt front.

  “I’ve been trying to get up the courage to have a frank discussion with you, and I’ve been shirking it. I’ve been a coward and I’m sorry. I took the easy way out when I brought you back here last week. You clearly didn’t remember how badly things were going for us before you disappeared, and I took advantage of that.”

  “So you believe me, that I lost my memory. You have no doubts?”

  “I did wonder,” he admitted. “When Andrew called. Until I met you in London, at the lawyer’s office. When you started talking to me, any doubts were erased. I knew you so well, Jules, I could see that you were telling the truth.”

  He flushed.

  “I’ve been so stupid,” he said. “I put off talking to you, because it felt so good to be back here with you again. I told myself it was a chance for us to start again.”

  He plucked at his necktie, as if it was too tight, lifting his chin as if to get purchase on more air. His fingernails scratched again and again at the knot until it loose
ned. Juliana watched him as he turned and walked to the fireplace, where he picked a fire iron from the basket and started to poke at the fire. It didn’t require help; she could see it was burning perfectly well. It was always lit before breakfast, to warm to the room for morning occupation.

  “Start again? What do you mean?” she asked, confused but confident now that he was going to explain things fully.

  With a final useless prod at the flames, Adrien dropped the poker and swung round. Juliana noticed with a start that his hands were shaking. He ran his fingers clumsily through his hair, then jammed them into his pockets. He took a step towards her, then faltered.

  “Afresh, a new chance for us. Back to how we were before the poison set in,” he blurted out, his voice harsh.

  Seeing the shock on her face, he tried to soften his tone. He sat down on the sofa and beckoned her to join him. After a moment’s hesitation, she sat down next to him, and he turned to her, their knees touching. He took her left hand, gently touching the rings that he had placed there so shortly before. She could feel him shaking, and was unsure whether this was reassuring or not.

  “Everything was wonderful when we came back here at first, after the wedding. I was so in love with you, all I wanted was to show you off to everyone, see you back here as mistress of Trevennen,” he began. “I wanted to share it with you—everything, my whole life.”

  He looked straight at her. No evasion, no attempt to look away.

  “I didn’t think about how it would appear to everyone here. For all that you are so European looking, bringing a foreign bride back to Cornwall was more of a shock than I had thought it would be. And this was all so very different for you. You had spent your entire life halfway around the globe, in one of the oldest civilisations in the world. I brought you back to a tiny town that thinks itself modern because we have a motor taxi. It all happened so quickly, and I hadn’t thought through the implications to turning up with you with so little preparation.”

  He gazed at her, pleading for understanding.