Somebody Stop Ivy Pocket (17 page)

The Dumblebys’ house was splendid.

Estelle greeted me at the door as if we were old friends, then ushered me upstairs to meet her great-uncle. The old man rarely left his private chambers and was terribly frail.

‘I am so pleased you were able to come,’ said Estelle, as we climbed the majestic staircase with its cast iron banister. ‘I was worried you would not be able to get away.’

‘There is a viewing today,’ I explained helpfully. ‘Then Mother Snagsby is to meet with a grieving widow who wants her husband stuffed and mounted on the wall. So I am quite free.’

‘That is excellent news,’ said Estelle with a warm smile. ‘I am sorry our friendship has to be such a secret, but if there was any other way …’

‘Think nothing of it, dear. I’m gifted at skullduggery.’

Baron Dumbleby was a marvellous creature. Short arms. Legs like mushroom stalks. Face like a pickled artichoke. His tongue darted in and out with tremendous frequency. Which was a treat. And he was rather bent over. As I was well used to conversing with aristocrats, I greeted him warmly, then remarked that he looked rather like a footrest.

His butler glared at me as if I had said something improper.

But the Baron chuckled softly. ‘I have never been what you might call towering and these days my back has a mind of its own.’

‘I do hope you like cake, Ivy,’ said Estelle, as the tea trolley was wheeled in by a maid they called Bertha. ‘We have strawberry cream and vanilla sponge.’

‘I will have a slice of both and don’t be shy on the portions – I’m utterly famished.’

While Estelle busied herself at the trolley, I helped Baron Dumbleby take a seat by the fire, putting a pillow at his back in a devastating display of good will. The poor creature grimaced as he sat down.

‘Does your back hurt terribly?’ I asked.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said the Baron softly.

‘I have an excellent remedy. All I require is a cup of lard, a length of string, two wooden spoons and a trapdoor.’

The Baron laughed playfully. Can’t imagine what about.

I noticed the minute portrait of a rather handsome young man on the side table. He had brown hair, intelligent eyes and a shy smile. And he bore a striking resemblance to Estelle.

With the tea was laid out, and the maid and butler departed, we engaged in pleasant small talk until the Baron asked Estelle to fetch his glasses from the dressing room.

‘Of course, Uncle,’ said the pretty girl.

When she was gone, the Baron turned to me and said, ‘I am so very glad Estelle has made a new friend. She doesn’t spend enough time with girls around her own age. My great-niece carries such sadness around that it breaks an old man’s heart. Her mother’s passing was a great shock and, of course, Sebastian …’

‘Oh yes, I know just how she feels. I recently lost a dear friend, though I am trying my very hardest to bring her back again. But as for Sebastian, I wouldn’t worry about him.’

‘Do you know something of my nephew?’

‘Only that he was a rather sickly fellow, who fell head over heels for his nurse.’ I took a large bite of strawberry cream cake.

‘I suppose Estelle told you the sorry tale,’ said Baron Dumbleby, picking up the miniature portrait. ‘Was he not a fine-looking fellow?’

‘Monstrously fetching.’

‘Sebastian was a shy young man, kept mostly to himself – but this girl seemed to bring him alive. They formed rather a close bond.’

‘That would never have lasted.’ Estelle had returned with her uncle’s spectacles. She dropped them in the old man’s lap rather abruptly. ‘Before
she
came along, my brother was devoted to us. He was to take over the Dumbleby coalmines and see that we prospered as we had when my father was alive. But he lost all interest in such things when he met that girl.’

While I was absolutely certain that the mystery girl who had captured Sebastian’s heart was Gretel Snagsby, I decided to do a little digging before I revealed my shocking discovery.

‘What did she look like?’ I asked casually.

‘Dark hair and common features,’ said Estelle, sitting down
on the plump couch next to me and hugging a silk cushion. ‘Her eyes were large and blue and I’m certain she used them to mesmerise my brother, though I cannot imagine what he saw in her.’

Gretel had dark hair and her eyes were blue – though I cannot say they looked especially large or mesmerising in Mother Snagsby’s many portraits. But it must be her!

‘Hold on to your bloomers, dears,’ I declared, shovelling the last bite of cake into my gullet, ‘for I am about to solve the mystery of Sebastian and his one true love.’

Estelle gasped. Practically lunged at me. ‘You know what happened to my brother?’

‘Not at all,’ I said brightly. ‘But I
can
reveal the identity of the young lady who won his heart.’

Baron Dumbleby looked rather startled.

‘You can?’ said Estelle.

‘Why do you look so uneasy, dear?’ I asked. ‘Does the news not please you?’

‘I am just disappointed, as we already know about Anastasia Radcliff.’

I was frowning. ‘Who is Anastasia Radcliff?’

‘The very girl we have just been talking about,’ came Estelle’s impatient reply.

Which was most unexpected!

‘My mother had advertised for a nurse and Anastasia was the first to apply, spinning a tale about how she was new to London and had no family connections. My mother was a kind-hearted soul and she took pity on the girl.’

‘Anastasia had such a sweet nature, it was impossible not to be charmed by her,’ added Baron Dumbleby.

This made Estelle stare daggers at her old uncle.

‘Her references were good and Mother had no reason to suspect her.’ Then Estelle turned her narrowed eyes upon me. ‘She came
highly
recommended by a close friend of our former housekeeper – a most trustworthy woman who was working as a cook for your parents.’

‘Oh?’ I said.

‘Mrs Gloria Dickens,’ said Estelle. ‘You know her, I suppose?’

‘Never heard of her, dear. The current cook is a short man from the Congo with eleven fingers and an enormous spice rack.’

‘Really?’ Estelle’s smile wasn’t especially pleasant. ‘I have it on good authority that Mrs Dickens still works for the Snagsbys.’

‘Who can say?’ I slapped the girl on the knee. ‘One cook is much the same as the next, don’t you think?’

‘Anastasia claimed she was a lodger at your house, though your parents denied ever having met her – which is why I am certain they know the
real
story.’ Estelle picked up her teacup
and sipped it delicately. ‘My mother spied the girl slipping love notes to my brother, though the proof was never found. Miss Radcliff was dismissed that very afternoon and my brother disappeared three days later. As far as we can tell, no one has seen them since.’

‘Surely she and your brother ran away together?’ I said with certainty.

Estelle shook her head, and tears began to pool in her eyes. ‘Sebastian would never do such a thing. My mother ordered him to break it off and he said that he would.’

‘Then what do you suppose happened?’

‘It’s really very simple,’ whispered Estelle. ‘Anastasia Radcliff murdered him.’

Mrs Dickens was attacking the drawing room rug with great enthusiasm when I entered the back garden.

I picked up a paddle from the chair and joined her by the almond tree. The housekeeper stopped beating the carpet for a moment and wiped her damp brow. ‘Where have you been, lass?’

‘Here and there,’ I said. ‘Let me help.’

I drew back my arm and began thrashing the carpet as if it
were a wayward son who had just lost the family estate, and quite possibly his pants, in a rather thrilling game of checkers. Between poundings, I broached the subject that was uppermost in my mind.

‘What do you know of a girl called Anastasia Radcliff?’

Mrs Dickens responded with a coughing fit. Then she said, ‘Who’s that then?’

‘You tell me, dear.’ I gave the carpet another whack or two. ‘After all, you recommended her for a job as a nurse to Sebastian Dumbleby.’

‘Did I now?’ She chuckled but I wasn’t convinced. ‘Well, as you pointed out, my mind’s not what it used to be.’

‘Stuff and nonsense. I also believe Anastasia was a lodger in this house until she and Sebastian mysteriously disappeared.’

‘What a story!’ But I could see the flicker of panic dancing in the housekeeper’s eyes. ‘Who’s been filling your head with such things?’

‘Sebastian’s sister. She’s convinced that Anastasia Radcliff was a most wicked sort of girl. A girl who killed the man she was supposed to love and then ran away, never to be seen again.’

‘That girl wouldn’t harm a fly!’ declared Mrs Dickens with great force. ‘She loved Sebastian more than her own life and he felt the same way.’

I wanted to kiss the chunky fool. How easily I had outwitted her. ‘I thought you had never heard of Anastasia Radcliff?’

Mrs Dickens looked crestfallen. ‘It was a long time ago,’ she said, wiping her brow again and taking a seat. ‘What you are asking goes awful deep and way back. Some things are beyond understanding … I don’t reckon I understand them myself.’

‘Perhaps I should speak to Mother Snagsby about it,’ I said next.

The housekeeper leapt up. ‘You
mustn’t
.’

‘Why? Why mustn’t I?’ Something urgent, a deep kind of unease, had stirred inside me. I couldn’t explain it, as this little drama had nothing to do with me, but it was there. ‘Who was Anastasia Radcliff, Mrs Dickens? And why are you so terrified to talk about her?’

‘Perhaps I can enlighten you,’ came a voice from behind us.

‘Lord have mercy,’ muttered Mrs Dickens.

Mother Snagsby was standing by the back gate, a stone’s throw from the almond tree. She had her eyes trained on me. They were cold but calm.

‘It seems you are searching for answers – I believe I can be of assistance.’ She swept past us and headed towards the house. ‘Please join me in my office.’

‘Sit.’

I did. Immediately.

Mother Snagsby was seated behind her large desk,hunched over like Quasimodo’s less attractive older sister.

‘You are quite the detective, Ivy. I am most impressed.’

She had never called me Ivy before. It was always
young lady
. Progress at last!

‘Even after I made my feelings about the Dumblebys very clear, you continued to pursue the matter,’ she said next. ‘I’m quite sure you visited their home today – at the very least, you have talked with them at length and seem wedded to their cause.’

‘Estelle just wants to know what happened to her brother. People do not vanish into thin air.’

‘Unless they wish to.’ Mother Snagsby puckered her lips as if she were going to whistle. ‘Just because Miss Dumbleby doesn’t know what happened to her brother does not mean that he has been the victim of some unpleasant crime. Do you understand?’

‘Not even a little.’

Mother Snagsby sighed and there was sadness in it. ‘You are right to suppose that the girl who went to work at the Dumblebys’ came from this house and you are also right to suppose that she and Sebastian formed the deepest of bonds.’ The old goat laid her hands flat on her desk. ‘But you are quite wrong to assume she was a lodger.’

My frown was immediate. ‘Then what was she?’

‘My daughter.’

I confess this made me slightly bug-eyed. ‘You have
two
daughters?’

‘I … I have one daughter.’ Mother Snagsby glanced fleetingly at the portrait of Gretel above the fireplace (the girl looked to be about thirteen, dark hair loose around her shoulders, a cat curled up in her lap). ‘Gretel wanted more than anything to do
good
in the world and she wasn’t satisfied with sitting around taking tea and planning parties, as other young girls might – she longed to be of use.’

‘That’s awfully noble,’ I said.

‘I suppose it is.’ Though Mother Snagsby didn’t sound convinced. ‘She had foolish ideas about working as a nursemaid – naturally, I forbade it. No daughter of mine was going to work in service, delivering babies or mopping fevered brows.’ She smiled faintly. ‘When Gretel turned eighteen and came of age,
she went behind my back and convinced Mrs Dickens to help her find a position, which is how she came to work for the Dumblebys. I knew nothing of it for quite some months.’