She tapped the door lightly. There was no response, so she pushed it open. The room smelt stalely of alcohol. Her father lay fully clothed on the bed, his arm twisted backwards beneath him; nothing else was amiss.
Persephone touched his shoulder, and shook him gently. “Daddy. Daddy. The police are here.”
His heavy lids unglued themselves, revealing narrow, bloodshot eyes. Persephone heard him swallow.
“The police?” he croaked.
“Come into the garden with me. They’re here because someone stole something from Uncle Conrad. They need to search your room.”
Dazed, he allowed himself to be led downstairs and out the front door.
“They’ve already asked where you were last night,” Persephone whispered.
“I don’t remember anything about last night,” he said.
“You can’t tell them that. Just say you left the party with me. Everybody saw that anyway. You were with me at home until you went to bed. Do you understand?”
He nodded. They waited in silence for an hour while the search was completed. To Persephone’s relief, the police found nothing.
*
That afternoon, Briar returned to bed. Persephone took a few rough wooden shapes from her desk drawer: a head, a torso, two arms, and two legs. She placed the pieces in a paper bag with a three-inch carving knife. Whittling always helped quell her anxiety. Her preferred spot was on the riverbank, where the ditch met the Cherwell, because the sound of the water was soothing. Perhaps that was why Hester once chose to carve there, too. Persephone donned a woollen coat and yellow scarf. She felt lighter as soon as she left the house.
She almost turned back when she arrived at the river, because Hedwig was there, sitting on a fallen tree trunk, smoking a cigarette. But Hedwig had seen her, so they would have to speak.
Persephone approached Hedwig, her hands deep in her pockets. From the bank she could see the river was still thick with autumn leaves, but they had turned from russet to black. They gave the air a scent of decay.
“Sephy. You’re the very person.” Hedwig’s flatness undercut the greeting. “I expect you’ve heard the news by now? The robbery?”
Persephone nodded.
“I saw the thief,” Hedwig continued. “But I couldn’t stop him. Just before it happened, I noticed the side door to the house was unlocked. I’d like to ask you – does Briar still have a key?”
“No,” Persephone said defensively. The question alarmed her – partly because of Hedwig’s implicit accusation Briar was to blame for the theft; and partly because Briar struggled with keys. He was always leaving his house key in places where he’d been drinking. Or sometimes he had the key all right, but he tried to use it in the wrong door, mistaking one of the other terraced cottages for theirs in the dark. On many an occasion, Persephone had lain in bed listening to his shouts to be let in, before she would finally venture out in her nightgown to guide him to the right house.
“Dash it all.” Hedwig flicked some ash into the weeds. “The police said an experienced thief can pick a mortice lock. Did you know that? I thought mortice locks were very secure.”
“The police said the thief was experienced?”
Hedwig shrugged. “Or, they were an amateur who prepared awfully well. He might have learnt to pick a lock especially. A guest could have planned to steal the doll months ago, knowing that the party would give them an opportunity.”
“Our house was searched this morning. The police didn’t find a thing.”
“You’re in the clear then, aren’t you?” Hedwig smiled.
Persephone nodded. She watched the younger woman drag on her cigarette, and thought: Hedwig doesn’t normally smoke. Some people whittle for anxiety. Some people imbibe substances.
“The theft sounds frightening,” Persephone said abruptly.
“Everyone must be thinking that,” Hedwig said. “It won’t do. A housekeeper must be prepared for any situation to arise; even armed robbers. If she is frightened, how can she avert catastrophe? Last night needed less fear and more level-headedness.”
“You’re not a guard dog.”
“The distinction may be lost on Conrad.”
Was she scared of being fired? It was easy to fire women on the eyot. They rarely knew enough sorcery to be a threat.
Hedwig stood up, with a shiver. “Is that the time? Conrad will be waiting.”
She walked away without saying goodbye. Persephone took her place on the log, and removed the wooden head from her pocket. She took her knife to the grained surface, carving subtler contours into its features. The precise work occupied her mind until the light dimmed, and a full moon rose through the pale dusk sky.
Taking a final look at the doll’s head she saw that she’d worked well. The face was finely detailed: a dainty upturned nose, a rosebud mouth, and closed eyes. And Persephone realised she had unwittingly carved an imitation of the Paid Mourner.
Her hand shook. It was as though she’d played a trick on herself. If anyone were to see what she had made, they might speculate what she’d used as a model – particularly as Hedwig had already insinuated Briar was under suspicion.
She closed her fist over the head. Without further thought she threw it in the river. Persephone watched it bob on the water for a few seconds before the leaves submerged it, and carried it away; then she walked home, to see if Briar had roused himself to prepare dinner.
12
Somebody pelted Conrad’s door with eggs on the morning after the police searches. The job of cleaning them away fell to Hedwig. It was miserable work – she began at eight, below grey skies, her hands immersed in cold water because a higher temperature would cook the eggs instead of wipe them off. To be subject to vandalism so soon after being robbed made Hedwig feel targeted, though she’d never admit it aloud.
A resident approached by the path – Jay Binding, who belonged to the Botham clan by marriage. He was a Geordie with receding auburn hair and a careworn smile, although he wasn’t smiling now.
“Is Conrad up yet?”
“Same as normal, Jay. He’s free to talk from eleven.”
“That’s no good to me. I have to hit the road before then.”
Jay worked in Didcot at a call centre, having several times declined a post at Kendricks. Conrad disapproved of residents working outside Paxton’s Eyot, but gave permission for Jay’s alternative employment, as the call centre wasn’t in the doll trade and accordingly presented no conflict of interest. Hedwig guessed that Jay preferred to keep his work and home life separate. His wife, Rumour Thornett, had worked since her teens on the Interior Design floor of the workshop – at least until recently; she was recovering from a mastectomy.
Hedwig dropped the sponge back in the bucket, and wriggled her shoulders, to rid them of stiffness. “Conrad won’t make any exceptions. If you need to talk to someone straight away, perhaps I’ll do?”
They sat on the wrought iron bench in the garden.
“I’ve come to let Conrad know my feelings on the police search,” Jay said. “We weren’t even at the masquerade, Hedwig. The first we heard of the theft was the police banging on our door. Was it really necessary to drag Rumour from her sick bed to turn our house upside down?”
“Oh Jay – I’m so sorry that happened. How miserable for the pair of you! I’m sure you’ll understand that it wasn’t Conrad’s decision. The police prioritised the line of enquiry.”
“They must have heard from him that the residents had a motive for stealing the doll.”
“Not at all,” Hedwig said, in her most soothing tones. “It was simply that the police thought the culprit was known to us. He was dressed in costume, you see.”
“Conrad could have spoken to us. He might have called. We’re not stupid – we know sometimes the police have to rule people out when they’re looking into a crime – but couldn’t Conrad at least have said he’s sorry for the disruption? To us, and to everyone else who put up with it? It was humiliating, Hedwig. He goes o
n and on about loyalty and allegiances. That should cut both ways.” Jay paused, then pointed at the door. “Don’t you think that might have been avoided? If Conrad had shown some fellow feeling, do you think his neighbours would egg his house? Come eleven o’clock, there’s going to be a queue of people to have a go at him, you know.”
This was eminently believable. Hedwig’s thoughts turned to damage limitation.
“Thank you for bringing this to me, Jay. You’re right, you are. I will make sure Conrad hears everything you’ve said.”
Jay stood up, and patted her on the shoulder. “You mean well. Just watch yourself, yeah?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re good at cleaning up Conrad’s messes, but be careful you don’t catch the flack. People might get angry with you if he won’t speak to them directly.”
“I’ll make sure he does. And I’m sure he’ll make some consolatory gesture,” Hedwig improvised. “A bonus in people’s pay packets, perhaps.”
Jay straightened his tie as he walked away. “Money doesn’t make everything better, Hedwig.”
It was time to make Conrad’s breakfast. Hedwig made her way to the kitchen to prepare everything on a tray, thinking how best to impart the message Jay had brought. It would need to be prudently edited, otherwise Conrad would escalate the situation in an unhelpful way.
All of this immediately left her head when she arrived, tray in hands, at Conrad’s bedroom door. He was already up, dressed, and packing luggage.
“Whatever are you doing?” she asked.
“Seeking refuge,” he sighed. “What man could bear these tribulations, these misfortunes, Hedwig?”
“But – where are you going?”
“Fiji!”
Hedwig watched Conrad fold a series of handkerchiefs, to tuck into the corner of a suitcase. The handkerchiefs were familiar to her. It was her job, usually, to launder and iron them. They all came from the same supplier in London, who – as well as meeting Conrad’s needs – held a Royal Warrant of Appointment to provide the Queen’s linen. Each handkerchief was made from thin Swiss cotton bordered on every side with Guipure lace. Silently Hedwig had always thought them impractical. She imagined one might dab genteely at a moist eye, and ignore the scratch of those looping white flowers… The lace wouldn’t survive a moderate cold. She kept a store of hardier tartan squares in the kitchen dresser.
“Why won’t you let me pack for you?” Hedwig implored.
“I know what I’ll need,” Conrad replied. “You’ve never been to Fiji.”
Hedwig strongly doubted that the South Pacific required multiple lace handkerchiefs, but Conrad’s remark stung her, because it implied she was ignorant – and that, in turn, suggested incompetence. Conrad had not said outright he was letting Hedwig go; but nor had he invited her to accompany him on this sudden trip.
“Do you want me to call Inspector Naidu?” Hedwig asked, seeking some opportunity for organisation. “I could let her know how long you’ll be away for?”
“She is already aware. I let her know yesterday afternoon.” Conrad flipped the suitcase shut. He tugged on the zip, struggling to draw it to the centre.
“Oh. When will you be back?”
“I don’t know yet. I only know, if I remain, I will brood on the loss of my dearest treasure; and if I continue to brood, despair will finally submerge me. While the search is ongoing I need not be present. The Inspector will contact me weekly to give a full briefing on their progress.” Conrad leant on the top of his suitcase, in an effort to ease the zip’s passage. “If you’re worried about getting paid, I can assure you you’ll receive a full salary for housesitting.”
To reassert herself, Hedwig approached Conrad’s suitcase and gently nudged him to the side. She neatly drew the zips to the centre, and fastened the buckles.
Conrad didn’t acknowledge her assistance. Instead he said: “I don’t believe maintaining the house in my absence will be a challenge. You may even fulfil your duties while boarding with your mother, if you prefer. It’s not as though anything of value is left in the property to require twenty-four-hour guardianship.”
This was surely a point made for effect. There were many items of value in Conrad’s house, from paintings to eighteenth-century furniture, from Fabergé eggs to rare Chinese clocks, but the underlying message was that Conrad valued them very little. What he valued, and what had gone, was the Paid Mourner.
“I’d prefer to stay in my room here,” Hedwig said.
“As you wish.” The rest of Conrad’s luggage formed a small tower at his bedside. “I have packed everything needful.”
Hedwig speculated what other essentials Conrad had included. Gold thimbles and ivory combs, she didn’t wonder. The problem with Hedwig working so capably was that her work must appear invisible to Conrad, who had forgotten how deficient his own household management was. Hedwig lifted two of the cases, one under each arm, knowing Conrad would never get them down the stairs.
“I’ll alert a boatman that your bags are ready to collect.” Hedwig walked towards the door. “He can deliver them to your driver in central Oxford.”
She felt Conrad’s hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sure you’d make my arrangements with great efficiency, my sweet. But who’s to say – if the boatman absconded with my belongings, would you stand idly by? I’ll depart by car from the Iffley Road. If I telephone Alastair he will cycle my bags to the streetside. He’s very reliable, and always ready to indulge me.” Conrad patted Hedwig and walked past her onto the landing.
Hedwig wished to protest. The thief had surprised her. He was a man, broader and stronger than she was. He had a knife. No reasonable person would expect a nineteen-year-old girl to fight off an armed thief. How unfortunate that Conrad wasn’t a reasonable person. He needed to blame someone for the crime. Until the thief was named, Hedwig knew the blame would fall on her alone.
*
An hour after Conrad’s departure, just as Jay had predicted, the eyot residents were forming an angry queue at the door. Hedwig opened the landing window to address them from on high, fearing a stampede if they were admitted.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Conrad will be indisposed for the near future. The theft has placed an immense strain on him, and he will be taking a restorative trip. Over the next few days I promise I will visit every house personally to address your needs in his absence. You’ve all been so wonderfully patient and understanding at this difficult time.”
“Screw your patience!” shouted Bobby Lush, one of the architects. “The police broke my bathtub!”
Several others joined him in jeering and complaining.
“Bobby – all of you, we’re all family; let’s show each other some kindness. I promise you’ll be financially recompensed for any damage and it breaks my heart to see everyone so upset.”
Daisy and Imogen were at the back of the crowd. Imogen’s hands were moving too fast for Hedwig to follow, but she saw the sign for pathetic clearly enough. Daisy caught Hedwig’s eye, and glared. The queue dispersed, as people shook their heads or grumbled to each other. As Hedwig closed the window, the landing phone rang. It was Mama, calling to ask for money, because she was in debt again.
“You are a terror, Mama,” Hedwig said. “However do you get in these scrapes? I’m confused; you had money from Larkin for his lodgings. Is he moving out?”
“No, he’s still here. It’s just my last heating bill was higher than I was expecting.”
“Yes, I can see how you’d think it should be a low amount – it was the summer quarter.”
“Will you help me out with the bills or not?”
“Bills plural?”
“As you say, this was for the summer, the next one’s going to be higher. And I have the electricity and everything else, too. Please, Hedy – if you could just chuck me a hundred pounds a month for a while… I’ll pay you back soon, I promise.”
“I might be able to help. Only because it�
��s you.” Hedwig knew that the money would be a gift, not a loan. Experience had taught her not to expect the money back. She wondered how bad Mama’s debt was at the moment. Conrad owned the Tavern, and the bar takings were deposited to Mama’s business account, from which a salary was drawn for her. She was permitted to sublet rooms to foreign students, or tourists for short lets. If only she were less of a gambler this life should have served her well. For as long as Hedwig could remember, Mama had been vulnerable to the buzz of a bet. Hedwig told herself that it was impossible to leave Oxford when Mama might risk bankruptcy if left too long unsupervised. This was, however, only half the truth. The fact of the matter was, it sometimes satisfied Hedwig to bail Mama out. Hedwig felt, in some way, that she was justifying her existence if she was relied upon.
“The police were round for their search yesterday,” Mama was saying, presumably eager to move on from the subject of money now Hedwig’s agreement was secured. “Stanley was with them.”
“Stanley who?”
“Really, Hedwig, you are fickle.”
“You mean my Stanley?”
“First you say Stanley Who, now you say he’s yours?”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant – Stanley Walcott.” She hadn’t seen him in over a year, maybe even two. “You caught me off guard. I don’t understand why he was there during the search.”
“He was with the police, Hedy, that’s what I’m saying. A constable.”
Hedwig wondered if he had been among the police on the night of the theft. She didn’t think so. No matter how in shock she had been, she thought she would have noticed him. They had parted on indifferent terms but surely he wouldn’t still hold that against her. A contact in the investigation might have its uses; if Inspector Naidu was updating Conrad every week, and Conrad was inclined to cut Hedwig from the loop, she would need some other way to stay informed. And she did want to be informed about the investigation. Without knowing if the doll was likely to be retrieved, she couldn’t know the likelihood of Conrad forgiving her.
The Thief on the Winged Horse Page 8