Withering Heights (8 page)

“Or could the prankster be Mrs. Cake, the devoted cook?” I was compelled to suggest. “I know you’re fond of her, Ariel, but she’d need to appear likable and trustworthy in order for her scheme to work, wouldn’t she?”

“I suppose. This is why I need you, Ellie—and I suppose Mrs. Malloy as well, seeing that her sister lives in Milton Moor—to come home with me and help me solve the mystery.”

“Well, now, that does seem a solution.” Far from sounding vexed at Ariel’s begrudging inclusion of her, Mrs. Malloy beamed like a little girl on discovering she has sprouted a head of curls as a reward for eating her vegetables.

“There’s a problem,” I said. “Your dad and Betty have made it clear by not letting the family know where they live that they wish, at least for the time being, to be left alone. So I can’t imagine they will welcome a visit, particularly when they don’t know me, let alone Mrs. Malloy.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell them I was coming here. But if you take me back they’ll have to ask you to stay for lunch, at least. Dad might even want to, if Ben came too. I know it wouldn’t have been easy if the children were at home, but with them being at their grandparents’ it’s not a problem.”

“Ariel, Ben has his restaurant, and he wants to put in a lot of hours this week on the cookery book he’s starting.”

“Then we’ll just have to come up with a way to get Betty to decide she wants you to stay for a few days. It’s a pity you can’t sprain your ankle, but I suppose with Mrs. Cake already having done that it would seem too much of a bad thing and you’d be shoved hobbling out the door.” Ariel wrinkled her brow. “If only I could think of something really great to do for Betty to put her in a good mood.”

My spirits would improve, I thought, if Ben were to walk into the room before Tom or Betty rang, wanting to know why I hadn’t called back to let them know the reason for Ariel’s mad escapade. These were his relatives, not mine. The first thing I would do would be to whisk him away and ask if there had ever been the least suspicion that the car accident that killed Tom’s wife might not have been an accident. During the course of
Ariel’s account, the nasty suspicion had crept into my mind that he of all people might be the one most likely to play games with Betty’s mind in the hope that she would react in the approved gothic fashion, by casting herself off the battlements. I didn’t want to think this. Tom was a cousin, and so far as I knew murder did not run in Ben’s family. What I would not contemplate was that Ariel might be a child of devious intent, equal to the evil little stepdaughter in
The Hidden Forest
.

Some hopes are answered. Footsteps in the hall. I excused myself to Mrs. Malloy and Ariel, along with Tobias, whom I dislodged from my lap, and hurried from the room. Ben was in the hall, taking off his raincoat. It was one of those moments that crop up sometimes, even after all our years together, when time turns back to front and I seem to be seeing him for the first time, awed by his dramatic good looks and the energy he generates with an economy of movement. And this time there was the wonderful comfort of his arms, held open to gather me close.

“I left Freddy at the Dark Horse for someone else to bring home,” he murmured against my hair. “I should never have gone out on our first evening without the children. Forgive me, sweetheart. It was that damned review!”

“I know.” I returned his kiss. “Darling, you have no idea how lucky I feel. It’s like winning the lottery to realize how blessed I am to have you and how our normal life is. You see, while you were gone we had a surprise visitor.”

“Who?”

“You’ll never believe it.”

Through the open doorway I heard Mrs. Malloy telling Ariel about Madam LaGrange’s expertise in the arena of the supernatural.

I
’m glad you’re coming,” I told Ben the following morning, “but I doubt it will be more than a turn-around trip. I can’t see the Hopkinses inviting us to stay for a few days. Especially after your saying Tom sounded as though he couldn’t wait to get you off the phone last night.”

“He was understandably embarrassed.”

“It’s Ariel’s finger-crossed hope they’ll feel under an obligation, especially as we are taking her back.”

“Who knows?” Ben handed me a pair of his pajamas to put in the suitcase. We were in our bedroom, a roomy apartment with warmly aged dark oak furniture and rose-patterned chintz fabrics. Bright sunshine poured in through the windows, as if eager to atone for the storm. “Betty may enjoy demonstrating her detective skills to you and Mrs. Malloy by
flaunting a spyglass when looking under rocks for the body of the missing husband.”

“Who, according to Ariel”—I zipped up the case—“is in reality off on a safari or climbing Mount Everest. It seems the more probable scenario. Had his absence aroused suspicion, there would surely have been a hue and cry from the police.”

Ben eyed me thoughtfully. “Has it occurred to you Ariel is hoping you’ll blow the Mr. Gallagher’s Ghost theory out of the water as a means of publicly humiliating Betty? That kid is a tough little customer if ever I saw one.”

“That could be a front.” I crossed to the dressing-table mirror and assessed my reflection critically. “She’s vulnerable. That’s something I can understand because so was I at her age. Where she’s thin and pasty, I was podgy and pie-faced. Under those circumstances, one learns either to stand up for oneself or let the bullies reduce you to a cowering huddle.”

“You were never pie-faced.” Coming up behind me, Ben placed his hands on my shoulders. “Must I punish you for such statements?” His lips brushed my neck.

“That’s how I saw myself. It didn’t help that I sat next to the prettiest girl in our class. Her name was Bridie O’Donnell. She had beautiful black curly hair, perfect skin, and the bluest eyes. I used to go to bed at night and pretend I was her. For good measure I gave myself a wonderful singing voice, a flair for languages, and the ability to perform cartwheels.”

“I bet you could give her a run for her money now.”

“Nice of you to say, Mr. H.” I smiled at him in the mirror and decided that I did look better than might have been hoped when I was twelve or thirteen. My hair had decided to comply that morning and stay put in its chignon, and a flick of mascara had brought out the green in my eyes, matching rather nicely
the dress I was wearing. “Perfume,” I said, reaching for the bottle, but Ben turned me to face him.

“I like your scent. Eau de Ellie, sunshine with a subtle bouquet of furniture polish.” He kissed me deeply and there were no shadows at Merlin’s Court.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I admitted. “My mind was too busy, so I got up early and had a whip round with the spray can of lavender wax. There’s nothing like a little light housework for clearing away the mental cobwebs. Mrs. Malloy headed for the bus stop after breakfast. She should be back by now with her suitcase. If her sister doesn’t offer to put her up, she’ll be looking for a place in Milton Moor to spend the night. Which will be the same for us, if Tom and Betty send us smartly on our way.”

Ben kissed me again. I inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave and the other essence that was essentially him. There are aromatic moments that put romance back into marriage, without thought of a ticking clock or a moody thirteen-year-old girl to be returned home.

I stroked his crisply curling black hair. “What about Abigail’s?”

“Freddy will handle things. We got it all sorted out over the phone while you were getting breakfast.”

“I know the situation has altered since last evening, but you so much wanted to get a quick start on the new book; also, you said you’d feel like a third wheel traveling with Mrs. Malloy.”

“It was the reverse. I didn’t want her feeling like piggy-in-the-middle when she was already under strain with this reunion with her sister looming.”

“Oh!” Talk about feeling small!

“I thought you’d guess where I was coming from.”

Perhaps I would have if I hadn’t said all the wrong things
about the review in
Cuisine Anglaise
and leaped to the conclusion that he was eager for some time alone. I had been petty and petulant, a prey to foolish insecurities. But I wouldn’t let it happen again. From this moment on, I would trust unwaveringly in his love for me. Not a quiver of doubt would intrude.

“You’re wonderful.” I was bathed in sunlight, inside and out.

“Let’s hope the Hopkinses do boot us out and I can prove myself tonight in a hotel bedroom,” Ben murmured in my ear.

“I hope Betty doesn’t know Mrs. Malloy and I have done some sleuthing in the past. If she’s set on making it her mission to prove Lady Fiona murdered her husband, she’s unlikely to want either help or competition.”

“I don’t think you need worry about that angle. There was only one article in the local paper when the two of you took over that private investigator’s case and solved it—much to his chagrin.”

“Poor Milk Jugg. I hope he’s forgiven us.”

“Time to get going.” Ben picked up the suitcase and ushered me out of the bedroom.

“What’s Tom like?” I asked, as we headed downstairs.

“Quiet. Low-key.”

“Any hint of hidden depths beneath still waters?”

“We were never pals, even when working together at Uncle Sol’s restaurant. The only times I saw any real emotion in him was when he talked about his girlfriend and then on the couple of occasions I saw them together. The one before Ariel’s mother.”

“Who was his parents’ pick.”

“Right Angela. Same religious background. Safe choice.”

“For him, perhaps, but not for her. She died in a car he was driving.” I paused but found myself unable to ask Ben if he thought there was the remotest possibility it hadn’t been an accident.
“Poor Angela! I wonder if he was ever madly in love with her. It’s obvious Ariel believes, or wants to, that it was the perfect union and Betty is a poor substitute turned pain-in-the-neck.”

“Then he’s got double trouble: his wife
and
his daughter.”

“Tom didn’t insist on coming to collect Ariel?”

“A halfhearted offer. He said there was some sort of household panic going on that made it difficult for him or Betty to take off.”

“Maybe they have Lady Fiona tied up in the kitchen waiting for the police to arrive.” We stepped down into the hall to see the front door standing open and Tobias seated on the top outdoor step sunning his coat and lazily stirring his tail. Further investigation showed Mrs. Malloy heaving an enormous suitcase into the back of the Land Rover and Ariel standing off to the side with her skinny arms folded and a disapproving expression on her face.

“What’s in there,” she snipped, “the washing machine? So you don’t have to wash out your knickers in the sink at Crag-stone?”

Mrs. M was puffing too hard to reply.

“Let me help you with that.” Ben hurried over to her, and while he was stowing our luggage along with hers, which included the addition of a couple of hatboxes and a makeup case, Freddy ambled up the drive. Though looking the worse for his evening at the Dark Horse, he smiled amiably in our general direction. Scooping up Tobias, he nuzzled him into his beard, making it difficult to say where either of them left off.

“Never fear, Ellie.” He yawned a grin at me. “All will be well at Merlin’s Court under my command. Don’t bother to get in touch unless somebody dies.”

Hardly the best send-off. But Freddy has his own brand of humor. He claims the bodies start piling up wherever Mrs. Malloy and I put in an appearance. Completely unfounded . . .
or, shall we say, exaggerated. Ben and I, having returned his wave, watched him head into the house and close the door. Paradise lay within: our entire refrigerator to himself.

We took our seats in the front of the vehicle while Mrs. M and Ariel got into the back. For a while we drove in silence, presumably each busy with our own thoughts. I for one was glad of the lengthy drive ahead. It would take us a couple of hours to get into Yorkshire. Mrs. Malloy had to be wondering what reception she would get from her sister, Melody. Ariel was surely somewhat nervous about being returned to the bosom of her family. Ben was probably the only one of us capable of enjoying the scenery as it slid past the windows. Or was I projecting my unease onto the two in the backseat? Maybe they only had happy thoughts in their heads. Ariel sounded chipper enough when she finally spoke.

“I hope nobody minds that I used the phone this morning.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “Did you ring your—”

“I’d rather not say for the moment who I spoke to.”

“That’s up to you,” Ben told her.

“Are we stopping soon for something to eat?” she inquired, with that imperious note in her voice that I’d compassionately ascribed to a desperate need to be loved. “I’m starving.”

“What, already?” Mrs. Malloy retorted before either Ben or I could flex our lips. “After that enormous breakfast you ate? I don’t know where you put it. Nice and slim as you are,” she added hastily, before letting out a piercing squeal.

Had Ariel pinched her? Before I could twist my head around, Mrs. M explained.

“It’s the underwire of me bra poking into me. They always do it after I’ve had them for a while.”