Authors: Pamela Oldfield
‘And bible study. I set great store by a familiarity with the normal bible stories. They go to Sunday School, as you know, with Hattie. And then there are the prayers they must learn. I expect them to thrive in an atmosphere devoted to the church and its teachings.’
‘I understand.’ Marianne glanced down at the large desk behind which her employer was sitting. There was a large leatherbound diary, a bible and a hymn book, an illustrated book of prayers as well as a framed picture of Jesus on the cross.
Seeing her glance, Mrs Matlowe said, ‘I like to think of this house as a place of reverence and to that end I have been meaning to ask – to insist, in fact – that you should wear less colourful clothes. As you may have observed, I am always in black, and I would prefer you to wear black, brown or dark grey.’
‘Oh!’ Marianne tried to hide her surprise.
Her employer stiffened. ‘This is a God-fearing household. The twins have endured a very sad and tumultuous start to their lives but thankfully that is all in the past. It is my duty to ensure that from now on they lead sober, respectful lives.’ She gave Marianne a thin smile.
‘I have very few dark clothes, Mrs Matlowe, but a suit in mid blue . . .’
‘Mid blue? Well, that will do for now. I shall give you a small grant to buy something suitable.’ She gathered up a few papers. ‘That is all.’
Marianne made her escape with mixed feelings. She had secured a permanent post, which was a relief, but it promised to be something of a mixed blessing. The accent on religion dismayed her and she had never felt at her best in sombre clothes, but, since her employer felt so strongly on the subject and would give her some money towards a new outfit, she decided she must make the best of it.
Feeling somewhat subdued by the interview, Marianne made her way to the kitchen, where she had been told by the cook that she was always welcome to a cup of tea. She found the cook at the back door, arguing with the butcher’s boy over the recent delivery, while Lorna refilled the cruets with salt and pepper.
The latter looked up enquiringly. ‘So are you staying on? The last one was sent on her way without a reference! Madam took against her. Lord knows why!’
While she talked she fetched cup and saucer and poured a cup of tea for Marianne. ‘We’ve only got digestives left in the tin,’ she apologized, pushing it across the table. ‘Mr Blunt has eaten the rest. He reckons gardening gives him an appetite.’
Marianne nibbled obediently while she explained the main details of her interview. ‘So I’m to have some darker clothes!’
‘And did she go on about being God-fearing and all that? I feel for the twins. As if they haven’t had enough bad luck with their mother running off like that . . .’
In the background Cook was saying firmly, ‘So, Billy Brice, you can ride back and tell Mr Bray I want the sausages I ordered and I want them now. How am I supposed to make toad-in-the-hole without sausages? Now get along!’ She turned back and sat down heavily at the table.
Lorna said, ‘I could go out and catch you a few toads!’
Marianne smiled but the cook groaned. ‘Is that your only joke, Lorna?’
‘No! I know one about Rosemary Lane but it’s a bit rude.’ She winked at Marianne and poured a third cup of tea.
Marianne finished her biscuit. ‘What exactly did happen to the twins’ parents?’
Cook leaned forward and so did Lorna. ‘That’s the thing – nobody really knows. It was soon after they were born and we weren’t here then but Mrs Brannigan next door says they were told by someone who
was
around at the time that the twins’ father – that’s Mrs Matlowe’s son – came home from America with a beautiful bride – Leonora her name was – who was already in the family way and Mrs Matlowe was furious!’
Lorna nodded eagerly as the cook paused for breath. ‘And they all quarrelled all the time and then the twins were born and soon after the wife ran away. Just disappeared!’
Cook, robbed of the most exciting part of the story said, ‘You’d better get upstairs, Lorna, and air the beds. You’re not paid to chatter!’
It was Lorna’s turn to groan but she obeyed reluctantly, departing with a heavy sigh and rolling eyes.
‘And didn’t the wife come back?’
‘No. Never set foot in the place again. They reckoned she’d gone back to America. Everyone expected her to sue for divorce – or for him to sue for divorce – or something. But then the son and Mrs Matlowe went on quarrelling and suddenly . . .’ She glanced towards the door to the passage and lowered her voice. ‘The police started to suspect foul play and came round to question the son and when he also went off . . .’ She rolled her eyes. ‘No one knew what to make of it.’
‘And did they catch him – the son, I mean?’
‘No. Everyone round here waited for news but nothing happened. The police gave up eventually.’ She shrugged plump shoulders. ‘It’s what they call an unsolved case.’
Marianne stared at her, deep in thought, as she considered the ramifications of the story. ‘So . . . what do the children think about their parents? What have they been told?’
‘They’ve been told not to ask questions! You ask them – they don’t know anything.’
‘How dreadful for them.’
‘In a way, yes, but then just as dreadful if they knew the truth – that their mother abandoned them and so did their father.’ She glanced at the clock on the wall and tutted impatiently. ‘Just wait ’til I get my hands on that butcher! It’s not the first time he’s messed me about with the order. If it happens again I shall speak to Madam about him.’
She heaved herself to her feet and went to the back door, but at that moment the twins appeared with Hattie who cried, ‘Bye, twinnies!’ and held out her hand for her payment. The cook took the money from a jar on the nearest shelf, thanked her and sent her off.
TWO
M
arianne took the children upstairs where they hurled off coats and gloves and struggled with the buttons on their leggings, each child vying for Marianne’s help.
‘It was very windy,’ Emmie told her. ‘We were nearly blown away.’
‘Hattie says we mustn’t tell you something,’ said Edie. ‘But we could if you want us to.’
Emmie said, ‘It’s not something bad but nice. About a nice man who . . .’
The girls looked at each other, wondering if they dared.
To encourage them Marianne smiled. ‘Something nice? You can tell me if you want to.’
Emmie said, ‘He said it wasn’t a secret. Not really and . . .’
‘Hattie said we could and so she had one too.’
Then, as if it had been rehearsed, they said in chorus, ‘The nice man bought us lollipops!’
Emmie said, ‘Mine was raspberry and Edie’s was . . .’
‘I’ll tell her mine!’ Edie snapped. ‘Mine was orange and Hattie’s was lemon!’
Alarm bells rang in Marianne’s mind even as she smiled. ‘And this nice man – was he Hattie’s friend? Was he Hattie’s young man?’
The children giggled at her stupidity. ‘Of course not,’ said Edie. ‘He was
old
!’
‘He had a moustache . . .’
‘And he asked us our names and where we lived and he winked at Hattie and made her laugh.’
Marianne was becoming rather concerned but told herself it was probably harmless. ‘Perhaps he was Hattie’s father,’ she suggested.
Emmie shook her head. ‘No, because he asked her what her name was.’
Marianne was trying to decide whether she should make Mrs Matlowe aware of the encounter but that would mean getting Hattie into trouble. But if she said nothing . . . She was well aware that unsavoury men were sometimes to be found in parks and playgrounds, preying on the vulnerable and unwary.
Edie said, ‘I’m going to draw a picture of the three lollipops.’ And she rushed for her sketchbook and coloured crayons.
Emmie said, ‘He was waiting for his wife.’
‘His wife? Ah!’ Marianne felt much better. ‘So he had a wife. Was she nice?’
‘He didn’t say but I expect so. I expect she was old, too.’
‘Didn’t you see her?’
‘No. She didn’t come. He said she was always late.’ Emmie joined her sister at the table and Marianne decided she would speak to Hattie the next day and discover if there was anything to find out about the lollipop man.
The following morning Edward Barnes sat over his breakfast of eggs and bacon and toast while his wife Davina sipped a cup of Earl Grey tea and then cut up an apple into careful slices. She had recently discovered that indigestion was becoming a problem and had blamed the fried breakfast. Instead she now had fresh fruit and thin bread and butter and fancied that she felt
more comfortable on the inside
, as she chose to put it. Anything more graphic would be indelicate, she thought, having been carefully raised by a spinster aunt.
From their dining room they could see into Georgina Matlowe’s garden where Lorna was hanging out three tea towels, pegging them on to the washing line in her usual unhurried way.
Davina said, ‘I do think Mrs Matlowe should be told, Ted, about that chap the twins saw snooping around in the garden. Creeping around at night – he was obviously up to no good.’
Edward pushed the last triangle of toast around the plate to collect the last of the egg yolk. Waste not, want not – that was his excuse for his lower-class habits. He said, ‘Don’t look at me, dear. It’s second- or third-hand information. The governess tells the Brannigans and Mrs B tells you and you tell me! Anyway, the last time I tried to tell that woman anything, she made it clear she considered me an interfering old fool.’
‘Oh, Ted! She didn’t say any such thing! You do exaggerate.’
‘She may not have said it but she certainly implied as much.’ He adopted Georgina’s prim tone. ‘“Thank you, Mr Barnes, but we have everything under control.”’
Davina shrugged, acknowledging the point he made. ‘I suppose after the scandal the poor soul is desperate for privacy. The servants are forbidden to chat to anyone and she seems to have no real friends . . . and those poor twins! They must be lonely.’
‘How can they be lonely – they have each other. They’re
twins
, Davina.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘The new governess seems quite pleasant. Her six weeks must be up so we can presume she is being taken on permanently.’
Davina smiled. ‘So you have noticed her. Attractive, isn’t she? What my uncle used to call a “looker”. I expect she has been told “No Followers”! I wonder what her status is – a childless widow, perhaps. Or a spinster who has been looking after an aged parent . . .’
‘More to the point, what does she know about what happened? I can’t imagine Mrs Matlowe being very frank about the children’s history.’
Davina glanced at the rows of photographs on the piano. It was a very small sample of her husband’s favourite images – Derby Day, Ascot, Cowes Regatta, and, of course, their own Henley Royal.
She smiled. Their own wedding photographs, taken by a local man, had long since been relegated to the back row but she let it pass. She knew how large a part professional photography played in her husband’s life and she was immensely proud of him. However, one photograph in the front row, framed in ornate silver, and taken from a higher angle, was nothing to do with society events. It showed a vivacious young woman in what was obviously the Matlowes’ garden. Slim, beautiful and fashionably dressed, she was holding two very young infants, one in each arm, and glancing up at her husband with a proud smile.
‘I do wish that, wherever she is, the young Mrs Matlowe had a copy of that picture.’ Davina sighed.
Edward sighed too. ‘You never give up on that, do you?’
‘I know I don’t, but . . . wherever she is she must long for something to remember them by.’
He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t supposed to be taking photographs of them so how could I give her a copy? I couldn’t explain it without admitting I was snooping! From a bedroom window. Not at all gentlemanly. We both know I made a mistake.’
‘I know, dear, but Leonora Matlowe looked so wonderfully happy then – before it all turned sour.’
‘She ran off, Davina, and left them, so I don’t know why you persist in thinking she misses them.’
‘She probably ran off because the children’s grandmother hated her and made no secret of it. A beautiful woman and an American at that . . . Mrs Matlowe was jealous of her daughter-in-law.’
‘She should have been pleased for her son.’
‘Well, she wasn’t. It was all a dreadful shock for her. Fancy missing your own son’s wedding! A second cup of tea, dear?’
Edward shook his head, pushing his plate away. ‘I could have made a mint of money out of that photograph if you hadn’t made such a fuss. The police appealed for relevant images but there were none as good as that.’
‘But then everyone would have known that you spied on them! What would our friends have thought?’
‘It’s what press photographers do, Davina,’ he said irritably. ‘It’s what’s known as a candid shot.’ He pushed back his chair.
His wife jumped to her feet. ‘Oh do stop, Ted. We’ve been over and over it. I just pray that the young couple found each other again somehow . . . somewhere.’ She looked wistful. ‘But then they would have come back for the twins, wouldn’t they?’
‘I know exactly what you want, Davina. You want the big reconciliation with the grandmother and the young people and beaming children . . . and all the trimmings! Probably an orchestra playing in the background! I’m afraid life isn’t like that.’ He shook his head. ‘There can never be a happy ending, dear. The police suspected Neil of foul play – and him disappearing the way he did certainly makes him
look
guilty.’
‘Poor Neil. He seemed such a nice young man. I can’t imagine him doing anything bad. Certainly not killing the mother of his own children – a woman he obviously adored.’
‘Mrs Matlowe probably drove him to it! You know my theory – that she drove a wedge between husband and wife. I blame her. Miserable old . . .’
‘Ted! Watch your language, please!’
‘Don’t you start!’ He gave her a peck on the cheek to show that it was meant in jest and headed for the door. ‘I’ll be in the dark room for twenty minutes or so.’ At the door he glanced back. ‘The regatta is going to be rather special this year, Davina, because of the royal visit. Do you want to come with me? I know you have rather lost interest over the years but it should be quite an event if the weather is decent.’