by Caron Allan
Dottie nodded and grinned at her, but had no time to speak, as June now took her arm and led her on, saying, ‘You won’t be surprised to learn that we’ve got quite a few of the smaller, less invasive menthas here, too. They’re not confined just to their special herbarium. But we’ll show you that in a minute.’
Imogen sniggered and Dottie shot her a look. It seemed she and her half-sister had more in common that she had at first realised.
Dottie and Imogen managed to wander off in front, bored with an extended consultation over the health of one particular specimen that to Dottie’s mind was identical to all the others. Imogen, giving up all pretence of showing interest, said a hasty, ‘That’s it. I’m going in,’ and fled.
But it was pleasant out here in the sun, Dottie thought, and who knew how many more days of good weather they were likely to have before the real winter weather came in? She walked on to the far end of the grounds where the gardens gave on to open fields, then she turned back. At first she didn’t meet anyone, but then spying what she thought was a figure on the other side of a weeping willow, she turned and went over.
Guy and June were there, in each other’s arms. It was obvious they had been kissing.
Guy drew back in haste, and in doing so, bumped his shoulder on the overhanging branch. He laughed, but to Dottie’s ears, it sounded false.
‘Gosh, Dottie, you shouldn’t creep up on a chap! Oh my heart, I’m sure I’m having some sort of seizure.’
Dottie said nothing but glanced at June who was blushing furiously. Dottie waited, and sure enough, June said, ‘Guy was just very kindly helping me with my pricking out.’
A ridiculous lie to tell, Dottie thought, given that there were no trays of seedlings at this time of year, and in any case they were nowhere near the greenhouse. ‘That is kind of him.’
‘Isn’t it? It’s such a long, tedious job, and of course, Leo has little interest in gardening. He much prefers shooting and fishing.’
Dottie wrinkled her nose. She didn’t care for those type of sports. ‘Don’t you like killing helpless creatures, Guy?’ she asked with a smirk. Clearly he was far too busy with other things.
‘I might be forced to shed blood if cornered, but only ever in self-defence. I’m a peaceable fellow otherwise.’
Leo and his parents wandered over; clearly they had got bored indoors. Dottie thought it was a good thing they hadn’t arrived a minute or two earlier. Without any kind of preamble or affectionate greeting for his wife, Leo said, ‘I’m starving. What time is it?’
‘Then let’s go in for tea,’ June suggested.
Back at St Martins later that evening, half an hour before dinner, a sudden sound caused everyone to turn in the direction of the door. Imogen stood there, a jewellery box in her hand. Dottie glanced at Cecilia to see if she knew what was happening. Cecilia was on her feet.
‘Imogen, child, for goodness’ sake, what on earth have you done now?’
Dottie winced inwardly at Cecilia’s tone.
‘My pearl necklace! It’s gone! It was right here this morning. I saw it when I took out my brooch.’ Imogen looked on the verge of tears. Dottie wondered if this was a daily occurrence at St Martins. The men exchanged looks and laughs again.
Guy said, ‘Poor Imogen. She really does just lurch from one disaster to another, doesn’t she?’
‘It’s probably on the floor,’ Lewis said and returned to his newspaper.
At this, Imogen let out a howl of mingled rage and grief, turned and fled.
Cecilia tutted and returned to her embroidery, shaking her head as if to say, ‘girls today’. Lewis rustled his newspaper, commenting almost immediately to Leo that he liked Purple Emperor for the three o’clock at Newmarket the next day. Leo snorted derisively. June shook her head sadly and continued flicking through the pages of her magazine.
Guy got up and crossed the room, not to the hall door as Dottie expected but to the window. After a few seconds of gazing out into the darkness, he said, ‘I might go for a quick walk before dinner. It’s quite mild out considering the time of year.’
Astonished at them all, Dottie set aside the book she’d been pretending to read and went in search of Imogen.
She was lying on her bed weeping.
Dottie tapped on the open door, and, not waiting for an answer, went in. If Imogen heard her coming, she gave no indication. Dottie sat on the bed and rather shyly reached out a hand to pat her shoulder.
Immediately the older woman turned and collapsed on Dottie, weeping. Dottie couldn’t think of anything to do other than to smooth Imogen’s ruffled hair and murmur ‘there, there’ a good deal. After what felt like a very long five minutes—Dottie was staring at the clock on the mantelpiece above the roaring fire—Imogen finally took one last shuddering breath and sat up, fumbling for a handkerchief.
‘What must you think of me?’
Dottie could only say, ‘You’re obviously very upset.’
Imogen went to her dressing table and started pulling the pins out of her hair. She combed her hair thoroughly then gradually put the pins back in again until the hair was smooth and controlled, rather like her mother’s. She powdered her nose and added a thick stripe of rouge to her rather blotchy cheeks.
‘Perhaps a little eyeshadow,’ Dottie suggested. ‘To conceal the redness from crying.’
Imogen looked alarmed. ‘Oh, I never wear eyeshadow, Mummy doesn’t permit it.’
Dottie didn’t like to point out that Imogen was almost thirty and could surely make her own decisions. Instead she simply said, ‘I’m sure she won’t mind if you wear a little, under the circumstances. You can use some of mine if you like.’ Without waiting for a reply, she ran to her room to fetch her make-up then hurried back to Imogen’s room.
Imogen was looking excited. ‘Is this what it’s like for you and Flora?’ she asked. ‘Daring each other to do things and painting each other’s faces, doing each other’s hair? It must be wonderful to have such a close relationship with your sister. Oh I do wish you’d always lived with us, Dottie.’
Dottie gave her a direct look. ‘You know, don’t you?’
Imogen beamed at her. ‘But of course! We’ve all known for ages. Leo suspected it first when you and your family visited us years ago. He spotted the likeness. For some reason he just...guessed, I suppose, and he asked Mummy, and she told him you were our half-sister. Not that she discussed it beyond that. She said it was private, and not to be talked about. It’s been a kind of dreadful secret we all know but no one mentions. Leo told Guy and me immediately, of course. So we’ve always known. It’s so exciting to have a sister, I can’t tell you. Whenever we have a letter from Aunt Lavinia, I read it over and over for any news of what you’ve been doing. I’ve often pretended you came home to live with us. I know it’s silly of me, but...’ She turned to the mirror, closed her eyes and waiting expectantly. With gentle strokes of the tiny brush, Dottie began to apply the peacock blue eyeshadow to Imogen’s fluttering eyelids. She smudged the colour into the corners of the lids and up to the hollow part of the eye socket, blending it with a little powder across the under-brow area to produce a soft, open look to the eyes. All this time she was thinking about what Imogen had said, and how Imogen behaved. Dottie didn’t know how to respond to her gushing words.
But Imogen was speaking: ‘I can’t tell you how often I’ve asked Mummy to take me to London to meet you. I mean, to meet you properly, as sisters. That’s why I invited you here. I was just so desperate to see you.’
She turned, almost knocking the eyeshadow out of Dottie’s hand, and flung herself on Dottie in a suffocating embrace. Again, Dottie didn’t know how to act, or what to say. She just patted Imogen’s shoulder again and managed a little laugh that sounded light but not forced. Imogen sat back and allowed Dottie to finish the eyeshadow. She was thrilled with the effect and pleaded for lipstick.
‘Not yet, I haven’t finished your eyes,’ Dottie said. ‘What was it that upset you so much just now?’
Imogen reached for the jewellery box. The lid had clearly been forced open, there were scratches all around the lock, Dottie was shocked to see. The lid no longer closed properly as it had been forced open with something and that had left a large dent in the edge of the lower part of the box.
‘My grandmother’s pearl necklace is gone. It’s been stolen. It was from Daddy’s mother, not Mummy’s,’ she hastened to clarify.
That it was a favourite of Imogen’s was obvious.
‘Was anything else taken?’
Imogen shook her head. ‘There wasn’t much else in there to be honest. I was wearing my brooch, and there were only one or two other things, just trinkets, nothing valuable, and they’re still there. In any case, it’s not the monetary worth so much as the sentimental value.’
‘Oh dear,’ Dottie said, unable to think of something more useful to say. It was out of the question to suggest reporting it to the police. Especially if the rest of the family weren’t at all concerned.
‘But who’d want to do such a thing, Dottie? I know the pearl necklace wasn’t the most valuable in the world, but it was quite a nice one, certainly better than anything else I’ve got. I wore it all the time for dinner or if we go out anywhere. I mean, it’s been in my bedroom, in this drawer. I haven’t left it lying around anywhere. It’s been right here as always. That means someone must have come into my room and just—jemmied it open and took the necklace. But who?’
Who indeed? It was perhaps a small thing taken on its own, but combined with the other recent petty thefts that had been mentioned, in Dottie’s mind it assumed a greater significance.
No sneak thief or crook would break into a house and carry out such things. No. These were personal, malicious, mean acts. And such things could only come from within the household. Not that it had been jemmied as Imogen said. A jemmy was a much larger tool and only used for bigger objects such as safes and windows or doors. A screwdriver or even a narrow-bladed strong knife or an awl would have been used to prise the lid open when it was found the lock didn’t give way to that kind of tool.
It was incredible to think of the men of the family carrying out these kinds of deeds although Dottie could almost imagine Guy taking the necklace purely to annoy his sister. Not for the first time, Dottie reflected that Guy and Leo’s behaviour to their sister was still very much that of the nursery or schoolroom.
But surely these incidents, small in themselves but cumulatively larger, were too malicious for a mere overgrown schoolboy prank? It didn’t leave many alternatives.
Dottie said, ‘What has your mother said about them?’ Because, she thought, clearly Cecilia was the one who made all the decisions in this place.
‘About the thefts? Not much. She just tells me to look again, that I’ve probably just misplaced something. Or she mentions it to Drysdale. You saw how seriously she views the matter just now.’
‘Hmm.’ Dottie didn’t want to say what she thought about that. ‘Have you had anyone staying in the house recently, perhaps with children?’
Imogen shook her head.
‘Or had any staff dismissed recently, or is anyone working out their notice, someone who might have a grudge?’
‘Not really. If we’re getting rid of anyone, they just get their week’s money and go that day. They don’t work their notice.’
That didn’t really help.
‘Have you got rid of anyone lately?’
‘A few. The maids don’t stay long. And to be honest, we can’t really afford them all the time. I have to help out as much as I can. Sometimes it’s weeks or even a couple of months before we get a new one. Annie Vale is new, she’s only been here about three weeks. She is a kind of between maid, I suppose. She does a bit of everything.’
‘Who do you think did it?’ Dottie asked.
Imogen didn’t need to think about it. She immediately said, ‘Annie. Without a doubt. She’s a nasty little piece, gives herself airs. I caught her last week, in front of my mirror, trying on one of my hats.’
Dottie was shocked. ‘And she’s still here?’
Imogen’s face fell. ‘Well, yes. You see, St Martins is a bit of a tricky place to get to, staff aren’t all that keen to come here. But she got a warning. And was docked two shillings from her wages.’
There didn’t seem to be much else to say. After a moment, as she reached into her cosmetics purse, Dottie said, ‘Your colour’s settled down a bit now. Let’s try a bit of mascara. By the time we go down, the redness should have completely gone. Hold still and don’t blink.’
She opened the little box and took out the toothbrush-like applicator and began to apply the black substance to Imogen’s lashes.
When the eyes were finished, and the drastic rouge softened with a few swipes of a silk handkerchief, Imogen gazed at herself in the mirror, turning this way and that. Dottie fished five lipsticks out of her case, and studied them, trying to decide which colour would be best. Imogen immediately selected the pillar-box red, which didn’t surprise Dottie in the least, but in the end Imogen was coaxed into playing safer with a soft, pinky-plum shade.
Finally she persuaded Imogen to allow her to try her hair in a new style, bringing soft ringlets down her cheeks, so that they softened her rather severe bun. Dottie rearranged the firm bun to sit softly and loosely at the nape instead of being tightly scrawled and skewered to the top of the head.
By the time they had finished, Imogen was transformed from a slightly gawky woman who looked every bit her twenty-nine years, perhaps a little more, to a woman who could not possibly be taken for more than twenty-three or four. The change in her appearance gave Imogen a glow of confidence, or was that just the effect of having someone’s attention for a little while?
They were actually on the point of going down when the door was flung open by Leo, without pausing to knock, and he said very crossly, ‘Do come on, girls, we’re fed up with waiting for you. Dinner has been ready for fifteen minutes.’
He whistled when he saw Imogen, then shook his head, his grin spiteful. ‘You’ll cop it when Mother sees you!’
‘I’m almost thirty, I can wear make-up if I want to!’ Imogen said, but her uncertain glance at Dottie showed her briefly gained confidence was ebbing away fast.
Her lips thinned a little on seeing her daughter, but Cecilia said nothing about Imogen’s appearance, other than to remark that they had better go in to dinner. June and Guy gave Imogen a glance but again, said nothing. Lewis nodded to Imogen, practically a compliment, Dottie thought, and gave his daughter his arm. Imogen held her head high, her face relaxing into a smile. For once, dinner was a pleasant event, with gentle conversation buzzing throughout the meal. Dottie could almost relax and enjoy herself.
After dinner, Guy went over to sit on the arm of the sofa next to June. He reached into his pocket for something, saying, ‘Saw this and thought you might like it, June-O.’
Dottie had a nasty suspicion in her mind as she watched him hand the small flat package to her.
Leo frowned and said, ‘I don’t know why you’re always giving her presents. No wonder you’ve never got any money.’ He frowned at his wife too. He looked as though he’d like to snatch the gift off her and throw it out of the window.
Lewis and Cecilia said nothing. Dottie supposed there wasn’t much they could decently say in front of everyone. But Cecilia looked very put out. Her mouth was a thin compressed line, her cheeks bore slight rosy patches, and not due to a healthy glow or the uncertain application of make-up. No, it was temper. Unless Dottie was greatly mistaken, Cecilia would speak to her husband about this later, and their son too, once Leo and June had gone home.
All Imogen had to say, rather petulantly, was, ‘You never buy me any presents.’
Guy seemed unperturbed by the undercurrents his generosity had caused. He went to sit in an armchair opposite June. Dottie couldn’t believe he was as indifferent to the tension as he appeared: you could have cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife, she t
hought. Nevertheless he leaned back lazily in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. He gazed through half-closed eyes, and said, so very nonchalantly, ‘Nonsense, Imogen, I bought you a box of fudge a week ago.’ But he didn’t move his eyes from June.
Leo muttered something about going out for a smoke and banged out of the room. Lewis looked like he wanted to go too, but Cecilia’s hand on his arm kept him in his seat.
June had flushed a delicate pink as she took the gift. It became her. It made her seem young again. She looks my age, Dottie thought, and wondered how old she was really. She wondered at June choosing to marry Leo when Guy was still unmarried. She rather wondered at anyone wanting to marry Leo. Although perhaps it was as Leo had said, that Guy never had any money, had no sense of responsibility. Or because Guy was not in line to inherit an estate. From June’s conversation it had become clear that aspect of Leo’s fortunes was very important to her.
The package was wrapped so prettily, it had to have been done like that in a department store. Dottie couldn’t imagine impatient, lazy Guy doing half as good a job. June was already smiling as her fingers slipped the ribbon off then peeled back the flowered paper to reveal a book.
‘Oh thank you, Guy, dear!’
Suddenly the tension in the room seemed to disperse. Guy got up, and said, ‘You’re welcome, sister dear,’ then fishing in his pocket for his cigar case, he added, ‘I’m just going out for a smoke.’
June hopped up, planted a kiss on his cheek, her hands resting briefly on his shoulder as she did so. It was a good thing she shielded him from his mother’s view, Dottie thought. For Dottie, on the opposite side of the little seating area, had seen what none of the others had: his eyes close for a single second, and the merest movement as he tilted his face towards her lips. Then he dropped his gaze, stepped apart from her as she turned to show everyone the book he’d given her. Dottie glanced back, to see him momentarily standing as if frozen. Then he turned away and went out for the cigarette that he presumably now needed.