The Secret by the Lake

by Louise Douglas

  ‘He’s terribly discouraging,’ she said. ‘Nobody wants to buy older houses any more. Apparently they all want the new ones, with central heating and fitted kitchens and picture windows. His exact words were: “Imagine the opposite of your cottage, and that’s what people are looking for these days.”’

  ‘Oh dear.’ I bit my lip and made a sympathetic face.

  ‘They’re building some new houses just along the valley at Bishop Sutton and those are selling like hot cakes.’

  ‘But those won’t have the character of this place.’

  ‘People don’t want character, Amy. They want convenience.’ Julia sighed. ‘He’s going to come and take photographs. We have to finish decorating that bloody room.’

  ‘OK, I’ll go back to it.’

  ‘Only be a darling and light the fire first. My hands are so cold I can’t even turn the pages of the notebook.’

  I was laying the fire when I found the advert in the Mendip Times newspaper. It was a small ad lost amongst myriad larger advertisements in the Services Offered pages. Most of them offered log-cutting, drain-clearing or mole-catching services. This one was from a psychic medium.

  Her name was Violet-Anne Dando, and beneath the name and a telephone number was the simple message: For more than 20 years I have been offering considerate friendship and advice to those wishing to contact departed loved ones. Visits can be arranged in the comfort of your own home, for your convenience. Quieting the restless a speciality.

  It was comforting to know that so many people, even in this sparsely populated part of the country, had restless spirits that required professional quieting. We weren’t the only ones to be affected in this way.

  I rolled up the sheet of newspaper into a paper stick, then I unrolled it. I tore off the corner with the advert and tucked the scrap of paper behind the clock on the mantelpiece. I felt cross with myself even as I did this, and slightly embarrassed, but it was a comfort to know the telephone number was there if the situation ever became so desperate that we didn’t know who else to turn to.

  I laid wood and then coal on top of the paper. Something was niggling away in my mind. I had the power to help Julia and Viviane. The potential solution to all their problems lay in a matchbox in a satchel under my bed. I’d thought about selling the pendant a million times and couldn’t decide if it was the right thing to do, or not. There would be no harm or compromise of morality in having it valued, I thought. It might be worth less than I imagined, in which case there would be no point in selling it, but my instinct was that it was worth a small fortune, certainly enough to enable Julia and Vivi to move into pleasant, rented accommodation for a few months while they waited for the cottage to sell. If the piece was valuable, and I were to sell it, I’d have to take it far away from Blackwater, away from anyone who might recognize it or know of its provenance. First, I needed to find out what it was worth. Then I’d make the decision.

  Thinking of the pendant always made me uneasy, and it was worse now that I knew for certain that it had belonged to Mrs Aldridge’s mother who had, presumably, given it to her daughter Jean. Perhaps I should talk to Daniel. Perhaps I should just be honest with him. I could explain how it had come into my possession – it was he who had found the satchel, after all – and then tell him the truth about how desperately cash-strapped we were. But there were two problems with this. Firstly, I didn’t want Daniel to think – ever – that I was after his money. And secondly, although Daniel would be sympathetic, of that I was certain, his father was a different kettle of fish. There was a very real danger that if he knew the pendant had been in the Cummingses’ possession for all these years, he would make as much trouble for the family as he could. Was it possible to bring a posthumous conviction? Could a fine or punishment be conferred on Caroline’s surviving relatives? I did not know and dared not risk it.

  I lit the fire for Julia, then went upstairs and began, once again, the thankless task of chipping away at the wallpaper in the empty room. It was frustrating, cold, miserable work. The glue seemed to get everywhere, as did the tiny fragments of the vile paper. The skin on my hands was dry and raw, and I felt as if I smelled of glue, as if the taste of it was in my mouth all the time. Julia and I had been working at the paper for weeks now and we were still nowhere near finished. How much easier it would be if we could simply hire a professional to come and do the job. Somebody who knew what they were doing would have the paper off and the room repainted within a day or two. And if that were to happen, then the estate agent could come and take his pictures and the advert could go in the newspaper and people would come and look at the cottage and everything would be fine. How much would it cost to hire a man in to do the work? Three or four pounds maybe? That wasn’t really a lot.

  I went downstairs, made sandwiches, put two on a plate and took the plate into Julia. She was sitting at the dining-room table reading back through the notes she had made.

  ‘Ham and mustard,’ I said, putting the plate down beside her.

  ‘Ham? Can we afford ham?’

  The butcher had given me a couple of slices for free but I didn’t want Julia to know that we were, by that point, surviving on little more than the kind-heartedness of the shopkeepers. ‘They were selling it off cheap,’ I said.

  Julia took off her glasses and rubbed the place between her eyes. ‘I do so miss French bread,’ she said. Then she smiled and reached out her hand to me. ‘The bread you bake is wonderful, dear, I didn’t mean that it wasn’t, but sometimes I long for bread I can break between my hands, bread with a brown crust and the dough inside light as air and still warm. I could kill for a fresh baguette, some creamy yellow butter and a good slice of Brie to go with it – and some of those juicy grapes straight from the vine that grew at the back of Les Aubépines …’ Her voice drifted off.

  My mouth watered at the thought of those sweet black grapes. I went back into the kitchen, considered my options while I tidied up, then put on my coat.

  ‘I’m going out for an hour,’ I called to Julia.

  She did not answer.

  The rain was coming down in sheets. The grass was sodden, silver-puddled; it was slippery beneath the soles of my boots. The day was drawing away, light tucking itself behind the clouds shadowing the sky. I walked down the garden, past the pile of rotting timber, past the locked-up shed that had been Julia’s father’s pride and joy. I went through the rickety old gate at the bottom of the garden and into the field behind, and I stood beside the old sofa by the fence where there was a little shelter from the rain. I pulled the hood of my coat as far forward as it would go and I made myself small and I gazed out into the greyness. The lake was disappearing behind the rain. There were no boats on the water that evening, no patient, sou’westered fishermen drenched on the banks with their keep nets and bait boxes; there were no birds, no walkers, no deer, nothing but greyness as far as the eye could see and, on the other side of the lake, the distant sprawl of the Sunnyvale Nursing Home.

  I took a deep breath and headed down towards it.

  I found Dr Croucher in his wheelchair in Sunnyvale’s day room reading the newspaper. He dominated the room. The other residents were smaller than him, more silvery, not nearly so well-groomed and somehow less substantial. He gave no indication of having noticed me come into the room but I was certain he knew I was there. I went to stand beside him and he continued to read. I said: ‘Excuse me, Doctor,’ and only then did he look up.

  He folded the newspaper methodically and laid it down on the table beside him. He took off his glasses and put them on top of the paper.

  ‘Amy,’ he said. ‘How nice to see you again. Sit down. Would you like a drink? The girl will get us one,’ and he looked towards Susan Pettigrew who was spoonfeeding soup into the mouth of a trembling old lady.

  ‘No, I don’t want anything, thank you,’ I said.

  The doctor stroked his beard. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’ve walked all the way down here and you’re soaked to the skin. It must be some
thing important. What can I do for you?’

  I spoke quietly. ‘I was wondering if you could lend me ten pounds.’

  ‘Ahh,’ said the doctor. He said nothing else until the silence between us had become uncomfortable. ‘Ten pounds? Why do you need that kind of money?’

  ‘To have one of the rooms in Reservoir Cottage redecorated. It’s not for my benefit, you understand, but so that Julia can sell the cottage as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Does she know you’ve come to see me?’

  ‘No. She would be mortified. And there’s no reason for her to know. I’ll make up some excuse for having come by the money and pay to get the work done myself. As soon as the cottage is sold, Julia will pay me what she owes me and I’ll give the money straight back to you.’

  The doctor was silent for a moment but I knew, in my bones, that he was pleased that I had come to him. He enjoyed the power it gave him, the fact that he now knew we needed help, that we were desperate.

  He decided to milk it.

  He steepled his fingers, rested his chin on the tips and gazed at me. ‘Why did you come to me?’ he asked. If he wanted to be flattered, I would oblige. I gave him a shy smile.

  ‘Because I know you’re a good man and that you care about Julia,’ I said. ‘And also because I knew you’d appreciate why the particular room I’m talking about needs attention. You helped Mr Cummings attend to it in the past. Julia and I had started stripping the paper and we realized too late why it had been glued so firmly in place.’

  Now the doctor’s eyes widened and the colour drained from his cheeks. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie.

  ‘You’re talking about Caroline’s bedroom?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The doctor nodded and fidgeted for a moment, brushing dust from his knee, polishing the handle of his wheelchair with the palm of his hand.

  ‘What, exactly, have you exposed?’ he asked.

  ‘We’ve only cleared the wall to the left of the fireplace. There’s a drawing, do you remember?’ I leaned closer. ‘A hanging man,’ I whispered. ‘We scrubbed it away but now the wall is a mess. We can’t paint over it as it is, we can’t do anything until the rest of the wallpaper is removed, and oh, Doctor, it’s taking so long to do it ourselves.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I see. And of course I’ll help. Let me think for a moment. Obviously this needs attending to quickly. Why not leave it with me? I’ll find somebody to replaster and paint the room, somebody you can trust not to say anything about what is hidden beneath the paper, and I’ll be responsible for paying them. I’ll need a day or two. When that is done, I’ll call you.’

  ‘No, you can’t telephone. Julia will almost certainly answer and then she’ll know we’re in cahoots. Couldn’t Mrs Croucher bring a message to me?’

  He paused. ‘Mrs Croucher doesn’t know about Caroline’s graffiti. It’s best she’s not involved.’

  ‘Then how will I know what’s happening?’

  ‘Come back the day after tomorrow. I should have everything in place by then.’

  ‘All right.’ I nodded. ‘It’s terribly kind of you, Doctor.’

  ‘No, it’s the least I can do. I’m glad to help Julia in any way I can. Dear God.’ He rubbed the space above his nose with the back of his thumb. ‘You shouldn’t have to be worrying about such things and neither should Julia. Beinon and I should have done the job properly the first time around.’ He looked genuinely upset.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I really didn’t mean to distress you.’

  The doctor waved away my concern. ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ he said, ‘you just take care of Julia. Lock up that room. Don’t let her or the child inside.’

  ‘Are there more drawings?’ I asked.

  ‘There are. Wicked drawings. You will do as I say, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll make sure nobody goes into the room. Thank you so much for your help.’

  ‘No need to thank me.’ He shifted in his chair and took something out of his jacket pocket – a wallet. He extracted a five-pound note and held it out. ‘It’s for you,’ he said.

  I shook my head. ‘I can’t take that.’

  ‘Take it,’ the doctor said. ‘Buy yourself something nice. Treat the little girl if you wish.’

  ‘Really, I can’t accept this.’

  ‘Take it,’ the doctor said, and his voice had an authority that forbade any further protestation. ‘Go on. Spend it on food if you must, whatever you like. Only make sure,’ he said, ‘that the poor dear child is kept away from that terrible room.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  I FOLDED THE five-pound note and put it in my bag. Already I was planning what I would do with it. Fish and chips, I thought. I would buy us all a fish and chip supper, with mushy peas, gravy, salt, vinegar – as much as we could eat. And cake. I’d pay off my bills at the shops and then I’d buy the ingredients for a cake, and I’d make a great big cherry cake with vanilla butter icing on top and a whole pot of blackcurrant jam in the middle. I would buy a tin of Nescafé coffee – we hadn’t had any at Reservoir Cottage since before Christmas – and a bottle of lemonade. I would buy chocolate and fresh bread, a pound of butter and a joint of meat. I’d make a roast dinner tomorrow, we’d have carrots and parsnips and cauliflower cheese, gravy and stuffing, a whole tray of Yorkshire puddings.

  I was headed back to the reception desk at Sunnyvale, my stomach growling with anticipation as I planned the meals we would eat, when I felt a gentle tapping on my shoulder. I turned to see Susan Pettigrew. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t register who it was for a moment and perhaps when I said, ‘Hello,’ I sounded a little off-hand.

  Whether or not I put her off, Susan didn’t say anything. She merely stood close to me, looking terrified.

  ‘Did you want to talk to me, dear?’ I asked.

  Susan’s eyes flickered around nervously. She nodded.

  ‘What did you want to talk about?’

  Susan came up very close to me, and whispered: ‘Caroline.’

  ‘All right.’ I smiled. ‘I’d be happy to hear what you have to say.’

  Susan looked around her again. The receptionist, at the front desk, was only a few feet away but she was speaking on the telephone, not looking at us. Susan held one hand up to her mouth, to mask her lips, and she muttered: ‘She wasn’t evil.’ She shook her head to emphasize this. ‘She wasn’t even bad.’ Her eyes at once reddened and so did her cheeks. ‘She was my friend.’

  ‘Oh Susan, I know she was.’

  Susan blinked and tears caught on her lashes. ‘She was my only friend,’ she said. Her shoulders were hunched and her head held low as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible. Tears were running down her downy cheeks.

  ‘Come and sit with me by the fire for a while, dear, and we can talk,’ I said gently.

  ‘It’s not allowed.’

  ‘Surely we can have a few minutes.’

  ‘No. I’m not allowed. I’m not presentable.’ She fidgeted up her sleeve for a handkerchief. I passed her mine. She took it and dabbed at her eyes, mumbling, ‘They said Caroline did it on purpose, but she never; it was an accident.’

  ‘What was an accident, dear?’

  ‘Mrs Aldridge going under the water.’

  ‘Oh!’

  The receptionist heard my gasp and looked up. She saw Susan’s distress. I put one arm around Susan and turned her, so our backs were towards the reception desk.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I whispered. ‘I know Mrs Aldridge drowned in the lake, but what does that have to do with Caroline?’

  Susan’s voice was urgent now. She twisted the handkerchief furiously between her hands. ‘She never meant to hurt her! It was an accident!’

  The receptionist put down the telephone receiver, stood up and began to walk towards us.

  ‘Susan! Come on, dear, leave our visitor alone,’ she called. ‘What will Matron say if she finds out you’ve been a nuisan
ce?’

  ‘It was an accident!’ Susan repeated fiercely. ‘She wasn’t supposed to go in the lake!’

  The receptionist had reached us. She took hold of Susan’s arm. ‘Sorry,’ she said to me. ‘She gets herself into a bit of a tizz sometimes, don’t you, dear?’

  ‘I was telling her about Caroline!’ Susan said.

  The woman rolled her eyes. ‘Caroline, Caroline! It’s always Caroline! Now’s not the time or place, is it, dear? We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? Come on now. Don’t make me get cross.’

  She hurried Susan away, back along the corridor, ignoring my protestations. I was afraid of making things worse for Susan but that was no excuse really; I should have done more to help her. I watched her go, then I buttoned my coat and left the building, the money safe in my bag.

  I walked up the hill feeling as if I were carrying a weight on my shoulders. Susan’s words went round and round in my mind. I told myself I should be feeling better about everything; the doctor had agreed to sort out the redecorating of the empty bedroom and we would all eat well that evening. I didn’t feel better though; I felt more unsettled than ever.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I TOLD JULIA that I had found the five-pound note in the lining of my suitcase. We all celebrated this serendipitous find by dancing, hand in hand, around the kitchen table. After that I went to the Lake Inn and bought three fish suppers to take away and two bottles of beer and one of lemonade, and Julia, Vivi and I ate like queens, queens who enjoyed sucking every last morsel of salty grease from their fingers. We fed the fish skins to the dog. And after that, happily sated, I arranged to meet Daniel for a drink. I was full of food and sleepy but he didn’t seem to mind that I was quiet.