‘Oh, I know a great deal about James’s life.’ Tessa waited, a knot forming in her stomach as she wondered whether there were yet more things still to discover about her husband.
‘He and I, well, we were close.’
‘Close?’ Tessa was all too aware of the woman’s meaning, but she was damned if she’d make it easy for her.
‘He said he loved me. He talked about the future.’ Catherine couldn’t meet Tessa’s eyes.
‘The future? That was rash.’
‘He said his marriage to you was all but over, that he didn’t love you, that you didn’t understand him.’ The words tumbled out, and then Catherine stopped, looking up at Tessa with a stricken face.
‘Oh, I understood him very well. Too well, really.’ Tessa put down her cup and saucer. ‘Let me guess. James seduced you. He said that he loved you and when he was free of me he would marry you. He also probably strung you along for a while making excuses as to why he still wasn’t free of me. Did he tell you I wouldn’t agree to a divorce? Or that I was ill again and he needed to wait until I was stronger before he told me that he wanted us to part?’
The other woman nodded, and Tessa saw that Catherine’s already tarnished image of James as an honourable, if weak, man was falling apart. She felt a little sorry for her but mostly she felt weary that even now, James’s philandering was being thrown in her face. And for what? Because this woman wanted Tessa to know that James had loved her? What was the point?
‘Let me explain, Catherine.’ Tessa tried not to sound angry, aiming for a more conversational tone. ‘James was a philanderer of some magnitude. After his murder the police asked me to make a list of all the women I knew that he’d had an affair with, the women that I suspected he might have bedded and those women that I knew he flirted with. It wasn’t until I started to list those names that I realised quite how much of a fool I had been to ignore his behaviour. Although I was, obviously, desperately saddened by what happened to him, I was also pleased that I had told him I was leaving him. You weren’t special to him – you were just one of many women all too ready to leap into bed with him when he crooked his finger. You should simply forget about him and get on with your life.’
Tessa stood up, signifying that the conversation, indeed Catherine’s visit for that matter, was over, but the other woman didn’t move. Instead, she raised her head and looked Tessa in the eye.
‘It’s not that easy, I’m afraid. I’m having his baby.’
‘So what did she want you to do? Provide financial support? Adopt it?’ Aunt Ishbel took a black Sobranie from a gold case, slotted it into a holder and lit it, inhaling the smoke with a satisfied smile. ‘And how can she prove that the child is his?’
‘I really don’t know what she wants.’ Tessa perched on the arm of a chair in her aunt’s drawing room. She could barely remember the rest of the conversation with Catherine, and as soon as she’d shepherded the woman out of the house she’d put on her outdoor coat and started walking. Bill would have undoubtedly had heard the conversation from the library but she hadn’t wanted to talk about it until she had let the shards from this bombshell settle.
An hour or so later, it was getting dark and she realised that she was near Ishbel’s flat in the West End so went there, sure of sympathy and practical advice. True to form, Ishbel had furnished her with a gin and tonic, asked her maid to rustle up some sandwiches and waited for Tessa to tell all. Which she did, tired and unemotional and glad of the gin.
‘She must want something. Else why parade her foolishness?’ Ishbel was sharp.
‘I suppose it is money she wants, really. She made much of the fact that this baby would be James’s only child, Hector’s only grandchild. Perhaps she wants it to be brought up in the manner she thinks is befitting.’
‘How convenient. She gets pregnant by some chap who may or may not be James, manages to pin it on your husband who isn’t here to deny it, and you and Hector end up supporting this child.’ Ishbel was a romantic, but no fool.
‘On the other hand, this may well be James’s child. She had her diary with her and some of the dates she claims to have been with James certainly fit with house parties I cried off from or visits James made to London. Let’s face it, he was hardly discreet. Frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if other women come out of the woodwork claiming that he fathered their children.’ Tessa didn’t know what to do. She’d told Catherine that she needed to think and she would write. If the child was James’s then she would have to tell Hector about it. It would cause him more pain and she would dearly like to save him from that.
‘This Catherine woman must feel rather disappointed if James told her he wanted to marry her and so forth. She will have expected to become the new viscountess, once he’d disposed of you, then the countess in due course. She will have expected this child, if male, to be the next heir to the earldom. Instead, she’s just another fallen woman and her illegitimate child will inherit nothing.’
‘Don’t. That sounds so cruel. It’s not her fault. James led her on because it suited him to do so. Catherine didn’t realise what he was like. At worst she was gullible. If the child is James’s then I’ll have to organise some financial provision for it.’ Tessa sighed. ‘I did think that I was going to be free of him soon, but who knows what’s going to come out of the woodwork next?’
‘Hopefully nothing of this magnitude. Don’t worry, we’ll work out a plan.’ Ishbel took Tessa’s glass over to the drinks’ table and poured another gin.
‘Tell me, did you enjoy the Inveries’ party? You looked marvellous.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And the delightful Major Henderson, did he enjoy it too?’
‘Yes, I think he did. And I’m glad you find him delightful.’
‘Your mother does too. I think she expects him to make an honest woman of you in due course.’
‘Really?’ Tessa considered this. ‘I’m not at all sure that marriage suits me. Mama is destined to be disappointed, I fear.’
Footsore and weary, Tessa took a cab back to Royal Circus, still thinking about Catherine’s visit. She would have to talk to Hector and they would need to come up with a solution. Part of her would like to send the woman packing, never to be seen again but she knew that would be cruel. Catherine’s morality when it came to going to bed with a married man was suspect, but who knew how James had painted his marriage and how persuasive he had been? And who knew how this might have played out? If James hadn’t been murdered then perhaps he would indeed have married Catherine in due course? Perhaps he had really loved her and this child would have taken its place as the next heir to the earldom? Perhaps James had truly loved her? Given that it was not Catherine whom Tessa had found him with in the library that last evening, she rather doubted this. She sighed. It was all such a mess; however, she must find a way to make things better. The child shouldn’t suffer for the fecklessness of its parents.
Standing on the pavement outside her house, Tessa felt utterly drained. Tomorrow, she, Bill, and Rasmussen were to visit John Bartlett, hoping that despite his poor health they would be able to glean some useful information. But for now, she couldn’t think beyond Catherine and the baby.
Slowly, she climbed the half dozen steps, fumbled her key into the lock and let the heavy door swing shut behind her. Leaving her coat and hat on a chair in the hall, she started up the stairs, one leaden foot after another.
Halfway up she paused, cocking an ear at an unexpected sound. Someone was playing the piano in the drawing room. Debussy, she thought. Smiling, she ascended the rest of the stairs as quietly as possible. In the doorway, she stopped: Bill was at the baby grand, shirtsleeves rolled up, tieless and with his collar undone, a little of his brown hair flopping over his forehead as he concentrated, oblivious to her arrival. The room was almost dark, lit only by a lamp at his side and the moonlight. Tessa felt soothed, both by the music and by Bill’s very presence. He frowned as he played a wrong note, smiled to himself as the next few
bars rippled into the darkness and Tessa just watched and listened.
‘Hello there.’ He looked up, still playing, and she wondered when he’d noticed her there in the shadows. She’d lost track of how long she’d been watching him.
‘Hello.’ Tessa stepped out from the dark doorway. ‘Don’t stop, that’s beautiful.’
‘I’m rather rusty, I haven’t played regularly for years. Just when I visited my parents or on a battered upright in the officer’s mess. And my audience there didn’t really want Rachmaninov and Debussy.’ His fingers continued to pick out the notes.
‘I suppose not.’
‘You dashed off this afternoon. I was worried about you. I telephoned Ishbel, and her maid said that you were there.’
‘I just walked for a bit and somehow ended up there. I needed to think. What Catherine told me was quite a shock.’ Tessa leaned on the piano and Bill continued to play softly.
‘I can imagine. Do you believe her?’
‘That she’s pregnant?’
‘That James is the father.’
‘Yes. Well, I suppose so. It’s quite likely isn’t it? But then, pinning it on James now would be an easy solution to a tricky problem. We can’t prove otherwise and James isn’t here to deny it, so what else can we do?’
‘You’re going to help her, then?’ Bill didn’t meet her eye, just concentrated on the piano keys. ‘What would James have done?’
‘I think he would have denied everything and quietly paid Catherine to go away and not bother him again, maybe even pressured her into giving up the child for adoption. He would certainly have seen the child as her problem and not his.’
‘Of course he would.’ Bill stopped playing, his hands becoming still on the keys. ‘I think you should do what your instinct tells you. You’re a shrewd woman. If you believe her then do what you think is right. It’s messy and if it ever gets out, some people will be horrified by the appearance of James’s illegitimate child, but they’ll get used to it.’
‘I’ll have to discuss it with Hector. He’ll be so upset. After losing all three of his sons, I know he’d love to have an heir, but there’s no way this child can inherit even if it turns out to be a boy.’
The situation was sad in so many ways, not least the way that it rubbed salt in her own wounds. Tessa had never thought herself to be particularly maternal. She wasn’t given to cooing over babies, but lately she’d felt saddened by the absence of children and she was sure that if she had at least been able to give him children then she and James might have been happy and he might not have strayed so blatantly and so callously, if at all. Now Catherine, who almost certainly wasn’t looking forward to the stigma of being a single mother, would have that which would have solved so many of the problems between James and Tessa. But this unfortunate child wouldn’t have the wealth and privilege to which it should have been entitled if James had lived long enough to marry Catherine.
‘You’ve had a long day. Try to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be tiring.’ Bill resumed playing, softer now. Tessa wished that she could read his mind. If she knew how he felt about her, it might help her to untangle her own emotions.
Bone-tired, Tessa obeyed. She trudged up the last flight of stairs, left her clothes on the floor where they fell and climbed into her big, empty bed. Ishbel had remarked that she was looking a little peaky and suggested they take a holiday soon. France maybe, or some lovely Swiss spa. Certainly this evening, Tessa felt weary enough that the prospect of rest and being cosseted was very appealing. Concentrating hard, she tried to banish the thoughts of James and Catherine, murder and threats, and Bill, that whirled around her mind. They could all wait until tomorrow when sleep and a little time would make them easier to deal with.
Chapter Thirty-One
North Berwick was a small, genteel town on the coast. Stone fishermen’s cottages gradually gave way to large Victorian houses, built when the middle classes of Edinburgh had, thanks to the railway, embraced the seaside air. Golf had replaced witch trials as the recreation of choice, variety shows graced the Esplanade, and the gala in the outdoor saltwater swimming pool was surprisingly popular despite the frigid nature of the North Sea. Fishing boats still bobbed on their moorings here, and now kept company with more elegant yachts. It was a deeply respectable, pretty town where nothing of note happened and Tessa rather liked that.
She and Rasmussen drove there in his motorcar, Rasmussen having flatly refused to allow Tessa to drive. It had been decided that to announce themselves as a policeman and the widow of one of the dead men might alarm Bartlett in his reportedly fragile state, and so Tessa had come up with the idea of pretending to be do-gooders despatched by an injured soldiers’ charity and she should do the talking. Tessa had emphasised her softer, gentler manner and Rasmussen agreed, although she saw a flicker of doubt cross his face.
Tessa wanted to be sympathetic, to be considerate of Bartlett’s injuries and state of mind, but the fact that his evidence had sent Norrie Douglas to his death was always at the back of her mind. It would be essential to extract as much information as possible from Bartlett, who was the nearest thing they had to a clue at the moment. That he might not be able to help them was a possibility that she refused to entertain.
The Bartlett family home was a middle-class villa on the edge of the town centre. The front garden was tidy with hellebores and cheerful daffodils surrounding a small lawn. A wisteria climbed across the stonework and to the side of the house stood a newly built garage – one of the family must keep a motorcar. As John was hardly likely to be able to drive any more, Tessa presumed that his sister was the motorist and felt a flicker of interest, given that ladies who drove were a relative rarity. The garage was empty, the doors propped open. The sister must be out. That was good news: less chance of being interrupted. Rasmussen parked at the side of the road and they got out and looked at each other.
‘Let’s see if Mr Bartlett is at home.’ Rasmussen checked something in his notebook, snapped the elastic around it, slipped it into the inside pocket of his overcoat and set off up the path. Tessa followed and the two of them stood on the doorstep listening to a bell jangling inside. Her foot was tapping, Tessa impatient to come face-to-face with the man who might be able to answer their questions; as she noticed this, she concentrated on standing still and looking as calm and caring as she could manage.
The housemaid who answered the door looked curious as Tessa explained their cover story, and then doubtful when she asked whether it might be possible to see Mr Bartlett. Tessa’s manner was not that of a woman used to being refused and the girl was young and so she invited them into the hall and went to find out if their visit would be permitted. Tessa noticed the paintings around her, family portraits, she guessed, and remembered reading that Bartlett had no family, save his unmarried sister.
The maid returned and led them through the house to a conservatory facing out over the garden. Despite the cold, the double doors stood open and by them sat a man in a wheelchair, dressed in a thick jersey and fingerless gloves with a plaid blanket over his knees. A black Labrador slept at his feet. He held a plate with broken bits of bread on it and was throwing them to the birds in the garden.
As his visitors approached, his left side was towards them. He was a good-looking man with high cheekbones and brown eyes, but at their approach he swivelled his chair and the damage the war had wrought was visible.
Fire in the trenches was a constant fear. Flames could lick along the narrow passages in seconds, leaving the soldiers with nowhere to run. Bartlett had been luckier than some. The flames had only caught one side of his face, leaving the skin stretched taut, the angry scarring pulling the lid of his sightless eye down and distorting the side of his mouth. Although Tessa knew that unseen injuries could often be more life-changing and limiting than burns, disfigurement like this was always a shock on first sight, the reaction almost visceral like a punch in the gut.
Rasmussen, typically impassive, introduced
himself and Tessa and the nature of their fictitious errand. Bartlett nodded, not questioning. Tessa, composing herself after the shock of seeing his burnt face, wondered whether he would comprehend enough to give any useful information.
The housemaid suggested tea and departed, while Tessa pulled up a chair next to Bartlett. Rasmussen stood by the fireplace, slightly out of the other man’s line of sight. Bartlett seemed largely indifferent to their presence. Tessa wondered whether he was even aware that they were anything more than ghosts.
‘Hello John. You’ve been home a while now, haven’t you? It must be nice to be back with your family.’ Her voice was soft and as unthreatening as she could make it. He looked up at her.
‘Yes. I used to like to walk along the front. There’s a swimming pool there that gets filled by the tide and when we were children our nanny would take us there to bathe. I can’t do that now, but when I get better my sister says she’ll take me there.’
‘That will be nice. I’ve always liked the beaches around here.’ He was never going to be recovered enough to swim and walk on the beach, but he seemed convinced it was simply a matter of time.
‘My sister says it’s just what I need to get better. To be at home where she can keep me safe. It’s not safe at the hospital and other places.’
‘Why isn’t it safe at the hospital?’
‘People might talk to me.’
‘And that wouldn’t be safe?’
‘No, I might say things I shouldn’t. But it’s safe here.’
‘What sort of things shouldn’t you talk about?’ From the corner of her eye, Tessa saw Rasmussen’s head snap to pin-sharp attention, amazed that Bartlett might talk so soon.
Death Will Find Me (A Tessa Kilpatrick Mystery, Book 1) Page 20