Authors: Pamela Oldfield
‘But he set the thing in motion,’ the detective replied. ‘He’ll have to take the consequences.’
‘Do you think there’s a chance Leonora is still alive?’
‘I fear not! I’d like to be proved wrong though.’
The two men employed to dig now began to bring up soil from below ground level and this was carefully tipped on to the tarpaulins.
The detective growled, ‘If they so much as drop a spoonful on the grass I’ll have their guts for garters! I don’t mind telling you this hasn’t gone too far up the chain of command. It’s a bit hush-hush and I stand to take the blame if anything goes wrong. If we find something I’ll get the credit!’ He shrugged.
‘And if there is a body . . .?’
‘We’ll wrap it up and call in the unmarked van which we have waiting round the corner. Hopefully we’ll get it away within minutes.’
‘To the mortuary?’
He nodded. At that moment the church clock struck the hour. ‘Nearly an hour so far,’ he said and took out his handkerchief to mop his brow. Then he glanced up at the Barnes’ window. ‘I hope that photographer isn’t taking pictures of this.’
‘I warned him not to. He’s pretty reliable, I think, though, mind you, if she is down there, a few photographs might come in very useful later. Evidence.’
Ackrow said nothing.
The mound of earth grew and another hour passed until one of the diggers straightened his back and turned to beckon them over.
Donald said, ‘Oh God! They’ve found her!’
‘Not necessarily. You stay here, if you don’t mind. If it is her we can’t have too many people cluttering the scene.’
He strode purposefully towards the waiting diggers and Donald watched in frustration as they all stared down into the excavation, heads close together in conversation. Saying what? Donald wondered, with a sick feeling in his stomach.
The detective glanced back at him and waved for him to join them and within seconds he was standing beside the detective, staring down into what was quite obviously a deep but very empty hole.
DS Ackrow shook his head, his expression one of deep disappointment. ‘Not a sign of anything untoward,’ he reported. ‘They would never have gone deeper than this.’ He sighed and his shoulders sagged. He instructed the diggers to take a ten-minute break and then to refill the hole as quickly as possible. ‘And replant the roses, in a straight row, exactly as we found them. Thanks, lads.’
Donald remained, torn between rushing back to the office to tell Judith the results of the excavation and seeing it through to the finish. When the rose bushes were once more in place and the tarpaulins removed, he was astonished to see that the lawn showed no sign of the recent clandestine activity. It was as though nothing had happened, he marvelled. Very impressive.
As he parted from Ackrow outside the front steps of The Poplars, he could see that the day’s efforts, with nothing to show for them, was a bitter setback for the detective.
The DS rubbed his eyes wearily and sighed. ‘Back to square one,’ he remarked. ‘But that’s the job! What’s that saying? “Ten per cent inspiration, ninety per cent desperation!” That’s about it. Hardly glamorous.’
Donald said, ‘But I bet you wouldn’t want to do anything else!’
A faint smile lit the detective’s face. ‘You’re right – I wouldn’t. That’s the dilemma for the likes of us coppers. We’re a funny lot!’
Donald grinned. ‘It was worth a try, though, wasn’t it? There may be other leads. Let’s not give up hope just yet.’
‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Likewise!’
As they went their separate ways Donald felt a secret relief that he had no gruesome news for Richard Preston when he eventually returned from his trip to Margate with Marianne and the twins. He was aware of a pang of envy when he imagined Marianne and Richard sharing the heady delights of the famous seaside town. Would Richard Preston take the twins back to America, he wondered? It would be a great experience for Marianne if she went with them. But would Georgina Matlowe ever agree to such a thing? It seemed unlikely. She was apparently using the sinking of the
Titanic
to prove how dangerous the sea crossing would be. It gave her a wonderful excuse to refuse.
But if Marianne
did
go she might never come back. She might even marry Richard, who was part of a wealthy, prestigious family. It seemed distinctly unlikely that she would ever become his secretary and business partner. Judith would be very disappointed – and so would he. He frowned as he ran up the stairs to his office, sorry that Judith had ever put the idea into his head.
The next morning, Bert Blunt arrived for work at The Poplars and made his way towards the potting shed. He was going to prune back the buddleia, which was threatening to engulf the hibiscus, then he would mow the grass and . . .
Halfway across the lawn he stopped, stared at the little rose bed, hesitated, walked on then turned and went back. He stood staring at it, and scratched his head.
‘I’ll be damned!’ he muttered. ‘Damned and double damned! I could ’ave sworn . . .’ The two red roses had been at either end of the bed and the two pink ones had been between them . . . hadn’t they? Or maybe not. He blinked his eyes and stepped nearer to the rose bed, peering more closely. No doubt about it. Today the pink ones were on the ends and the red ones were in the middle . . . but where were they before?
‘They couldn’t ’ave moved their selfs.’ He shook his head. ‘Course they couldn’t!’ After a long pause he shrugged and turned back towards the shed. ‘It’s you, ’Erbert Blunt! Silly old fool! You’re losing your ruddy marbles!’ Rolling his eyes, he pushed the vexing matter to the back of his mind, opened the shed, removed his jacket and hung it on the hook then reached for the secateurs.
TEN
I
t was eight thirty the same morning. Georgina sat up in bed wearing a hospital gown and a fierce expression. Ida sat on a chair beside her and they both sipped from cups of tea.
Ida said, ‘There’s no point in upsetting yourself, dear. They are doing the best they can for you. If you do have a heart problem you should let them advise you. If I were in your shoes . . .’
‘Well, you’re not. Easy for you to talk. If you were sitting here, worn out after all those tests, you’d feel differently. I don’t see why we can’t just get up and leave.’
‘But what’s the hurry? You’ve had a nice sleep and they will soon be bringing round the breakfast. Then you’ll see Mr Prendergast again and we’ll be off with our lovely day to look forward to.’
‘Ida, I’ve told you . . .’
‘Lunch at the Savoy – I’ve booked a table so you can’t refuse – then a matinee. Or a little shopping. You know how you love Harrods and you did say you needed a new handbag . . .’
‘I said no such thing!’
‘It’s looking a little past it, the brown leather . . .’
‘No worse than yours – and I have two other handbags so . . .’
Her voice rose and a passing nurse said, ‘Anything wrong, ladies?’
‘Nothing at all,’ Ida assured her, smiling broadly.
As the nurse moved on Georgina muttered, ‘They’re all so smug!’
‘They’re professionals, Georgie, and this is their world! You should be grateful that . . .’
‘If you call me Georgie again I shall smother you with my pillow!’ She set the cup and saucer on the bedside table and glared at the woman in the next bed.
Alice Beddowes, being short-sighted, assumed she might be smiling and smiled back. Thus encouraged, she leaned forward confidingly and said, ‘It’s either porridge or stewed prunes but the porridge is a bit lumpy. I’d have the prunes, dear, if I were you.’
Georgina gave her a withering look, which was entirely wasted, and turned back to Ida.
Ida said, ‘You could probably have a little of each if you wanted . . .’
‘God in Heaven!’ Georgina closed her eyes but at that moment the doors swung open at the end of the ward and a trolley appeared, laden with crockery and food.
Georgina panicked. ‘Where are my clothes, Ida? Find them for me. I shall get dressed and then see Mr Prendergast.’
‘But your breakfast, dear. You have to eat.’
‘No I do not!’ She swung her legs out of the bed and a nurse veered quickly towards them.
‘Now, Mrs Matlowe, you must be sensible . . .’
‘I want my clothes, Nurse. If no one will fetch them I shall walk out of the hospital in bare feet and this ridiculous gown!’
Ida said, ‘Georgina! What has got into you this morning?’ She threw the nurse an apologetic glance.
The nurse said, ‘You really cannot leave the hospital without speaking to Mr Prendergast. That would be quite against the rules – and contrary to good sense. I’m sure Mr Prendergast will explain everything to you and he will have planned a course of necessary treatments or medicines . . .’
They eyed each other for a moment and then, to Ida’s relief, Georgina relented. ‘If you allow me to dress I shall wait to see Mr Prendergast.’
The nurse rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll speak to Sister and see if we can arrange something for you.’
When she had left them Ida said, ‘Really, Georgie! That was very high-handed of you. And very unwise. You have a heart problem and this sort of behaviour will make it worse!’
‘I don’t care, Ida. I want to get out of here, spend a little time with you and then get back to The Poplars. Lord knows what they will have been up to in my absence.’
‘I’m sure everything is going smoothly, dear. Why shouldn’t they be able to manage a few hours without your supervision? They will be fine.’
‘Will they? You think you understand the situation better than I do?’
‘Yes I do. Marianne is very . . .’
‘It’s not Marianne I worry about. It’s that wretched uncle of theirs! And Margate! The sooner he . . . Ah! Here come my clothes. Perhaps you’d step outside while I dress, Ida – and close the curtains as you go.’
The day’s outing to Margate had been an outstanding success full of excitements, even surpassing the visit to the zoo. The following day, in Georgina’s absence, Emmie and Edie were still full of reminiscences but their usual routine bored them and they were definitely fractious. Marianne decided they should spend a quiet day in the schoolroom with a simple programme of work. She would read to them, teach them a poem or a song, they would draw and paint. Some time in the evening their grandmother would return home and she wanted the twins to be calmer by then.
Mrs Matlowe, however, arrived home earlier than Marianne expected and almost at once she was called into the study to discuss the previous day’s activities.
‘Sit down, Marianne, and tell me everything. I took one look at the children and I could tell at once that they were totally exhausted. I knew it! I knew that man would wear them out. He has no idea about how to bring up children. In his eyes he has only to give them gifts and work them up into a frenzy of excitement. Children’s minds are delicate and should never be overloaded.’
Marianne jumped at once to Richard’s defence. ‘On the contrary, Mrs Matlowe, I must beg to differ. I believe that from time to time an exciting day is beneficial to young minds.’
‘In what way, pray?’
‘In a stimulating way. It creates new emotions . . .’ She searched her mind for further benefits. ‘And opens them up to different situations. I do believe it encourages imagination and . . .’
‘Hmm. Hardly convincing. Were there any tears or tantrums? I want an honest answer.’
‘None that I recall.’ She smiled. ‘May I ask if you enjoyed the theatre?’
‘We did a little shopping instead. I don’t care for the theatre and my sister knows it full well.’
‘I hope the news from your stay in the hospital . . .’
‘For heaven’s sake! We are talking about the twins. I would like a few specifics. I certainly hope you kept them away from anything hectic. When I tried to talk to Emmie she was almost incoherent with excitement and could hardly string a sentence together.’
‘Specifics? Let me see . . .’ Marianne tried to recall some quieter moments. ‘We played for some time on the beach with buckets and spades and built a rather splendid sandcastle. The girls tucked up their skirts and paddled . . .’
‘Paddled! Tut! Seawater, Marianne, is not as beneficial as the so-called experts would have us believe! I hope they wore sun hats. We don’t want to ruin their complexions.’
‘They were not in the water too long and yes, they wore sun hats.’ She had decided not to tell her that a beach photographer had ‘snapped’ the four of them walking on the promenade. The result had been a charming photograph, which Marianne would treasure. They had bought four copies – one each for the girls to discover at a later date, one for Marianne, and one for Richard to send back to his family.
She went on, ‘They watched a Punch and Judy show . . .’
‘Oh dear! I should have warned you. I detest Punch and Judy. They are nasty, violent stories that frighten most children.’
‘They found it hilarious, Mrs Matlowe, as did the other children. Please don’t worry yourself on that score.’
‘I shan’t worry myself! It is
you
who is worrying me, with all these unsuitable details! But I blame myself. I should never have agreed to the plan. It was simply that I was distracted by concerns for my health.’
Marianne fumed inwardly at her employer’s stream of criticism but the truth was she
had
wondered once or twice if the day was becoming too eventful (she had omitted several events that might be construed as ‘hectic’), but Richard’s enthusiasm and the girls’ joy had persuaded her not to intervene. If their uncle went back to America without them, the twins might never see him again and she wanted the day to be a wonderful memory for them in years to come.
She said, ‘We had a quiet lunch in a rather elegant restaurant where the girls behaved impeccably and later Mr Preston rowed us on a small boating lake. Very calming. Very good for their digestion.’ She smiled. ‘There is no reason to worry about the girls. I’m sure it did them good to see the outside world and have a little fun.’
Upstairs in the schoolroom Emmie was struggling to remember the dodgems they had driven. ‘Did the dodgems have wheels?’ she asked, frowning.