Ann Granger (2 page)

Aunt Parry paused to give a sigh. I thought it was in sympathy with Her Majesty in her widowhood. But I should have known Aunt Parry better.

‘I often said to your godfather, “Mr Parry, you should buy a country retreat!” but he never did. “My dear,” he would always reply, “here in Marylebone I am as near the countryside as I wish to be.” He never liked to be far from his counting house.

‘However, I was speaking of Shore House in the New Forest where the Roche ladies live. Although in an utterly delightful spot, it
is
quiet; there is no young company; the ladies are elderly and reclusive. As I said, Mrs Craven’s spirits are very low. Charles Roche thinks having a female companion would cheer up his niece. It would also relieve his sisters of some of the burden of caring for her. He doesn’t want someone
too
young, of course, and flibbertigibbet. He’s seeking a person entering her more mature years but still considerably younger than his sisters. I thought of you at once.’

‘I shan’t be thirty until the end of the year,’ I protested.

Aunt Parry made a brushing gesture to dismiss this trifling objection.

‘You’re a doctor’s daughter, Elizabeth, and it seems to me that you’re the very person to act as companion to Mrs Craven for a short period; until she improves. The situation would only be for a few months. After that you could return to London and this house – or perhaps to another place.’

It was clear which of these two options Aunt Parry preferred.

‘I could look out for another situation for you while you’re away,’ she added, confirming it. ‘Not, of course, that I have any desire to see you go, dear Elizabeth.’

Thus convention requires us to tell lies. I couldn’t get out of this house fast enough and my employer was anxious to wave me goodbye. I told her I quite understood and let her make of that whatever she wanted.

I then fell silent thinking about it and Aunt Parry set about the rest of the gooseberry fool. She looked relieved at having got the matter off her chest.

I had to admit that, although there seemed to be a certain mystery about the whereabouts of Mr Craven, the suggestion had a lot to recommend it. My late father had treated many women in low spirits after a birth. I knew, without being a mother myself, that this wasn’t uncommon, even with a squalling healthy infant. Poor young Lucy Craven had buried her baby. In supporting her, I would be doing something of worth and the short stay in Hampshire would give me time to review my future.

All that was very well – except in one respect: Ben Ross’s likely reaction. But it wouldn’t do to admit this to Aunt Parry. I also told myself that it would be silly to mention all this to Ben before I spoke to Mr Roche. After all, nothing might come of it.

‘Perhaps I could meet Mr Charles Roche and discuss it,’ I said.

‘Of course, my dear. I anticipated you’d say that. Mr Roche would be pleased to see you at his house in Chelsea at eleven thirty on Monday morning.’ She patted her chin with her napkin, picked up the little brass bell on the table and rang it. ‘I think I could manage a little cheese. How about you, Elizabeth?’

*   *   *

I was very favourably impressed by Charles Roche. The Chelsea house, in an elegant terrace, was expensively furnished. The butler who opened the door gave the appearance of being in his sixties and I put his employer at about the same age. Charles Roche was a tall, large-framed man, a little stooped now. When younger, he must have topped six feet. He proved a gentleman ‘of the old school’: very polite and anxious that I should not be inconvenienced in any way. I would receive the same salary as I presently received from Aunt Parry. Living in the country, I wouldn’t have the same expenses as in London. The Roche ladies didn’t entertain, not only because of the current situation but because they preferred a quiet life. This meant I would be quite considerably better off. Mr Roche would provide a first-class railway ticket to Southampton. (Luxury indeed!) Miss Christina Roche, the elder of the sisters, would write to me before I left with instructions for my onward journey from there.

Mr Roche’s concern for his young niece seemed so genuine, his worry as to how his sisters were coping with the difficult situation so frankly expressed, that before I knew it I’d agreed.

Aunt Parry was delighted. It only remained to break the news to Ben Ross.

*   *   *

‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Lizzie? Who on earth is this Miss Roche at Shore House?’

Ben fired this salvo after I had, quite reasonably and gently, informed him of my intention.

‘I don’t think I have, Ben. I’ve given the matter considerable thought.’

I made my reply with as much dignity as I could muster. I’m the first to admit I’m inclined to be imprudent from time to time, especially in the matter of letting my tongue run ahead of my brain. But I’ve never been unable to make up my own mind.

Ben, standing before me with his hat in his hand, his face flushed and his mop of black hair rendered untidy by the hand he had just swept over it, positively glowered at me. We were in the room designated as the library in Aunt Parry’s house. It certainly had some books in it but they were of the dry variety and nobody ever touched them.

‘Josiah bought them at a house sale,’ Aunt Parry let slip to me once. ‘A job lot, as they call it.’

‘Do you know, Lizzie?’ Ben raised his hand to point at me, realised how rude it looked and hastily dropped his hand back by his side. ‘Look here,’ he went on with a poor attempt at calm, ‘I’d have said you were the most sensible female of my acquaintance. You, if anyone, I should have thought had her head screwed on the right way. But you propose to go off to Hampshire, where you’ve never been in your life, and take up a post as companion to someone you never heard of until a week ago.’

His voice and manner were becoming agitated again and the tones of his native Derbyshire more marked. ‘The whole thing sounds rum. Don’t tell me I’m a policeman and have a suspicious mind. Well, yes, if you like, I
am
a policeman and I
do
have a suspicious mind and not without foundation. There is something decidedly fishy about this business, Lizzie, mark my words, there!’

He made a theatrical sweep of his hat towards the portrait of my godfather Josiah above the fireplace.

‘Ben,’ I said loudly and firmly since there was no other way to break into his tirade, ‘if you’ll let me explain?’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Only please do let me finish and then I’ll listen to whatever you want to say.’

A snort in reply.

‘In the first place I only continue to live in this house because I’m Aunt Parry’s companion; although we’d both like to put an end to the arrangement. You and I know perfectly well why. While I remain here, she can’t forget the murder of my predecessor that you investigated. I can’t forget it, either.’

I drew a deep breath. ‘Josiah Parry was my godfather and she can’t put me out on the doorstep, bag and baggage, but she has gone to some trouble to find an alternative situation for me. I know that’s the way of it. She doesn’t care twopence for the Roche family or young Mrs Craven. But she does want me gone. I can only accept the arrangements she’s taken such pains to set up.’

‘Humph!’ was the muttered response to this.

‘The proposed situation is only for six months until Mrs Craven has fully recovered her spirits or Mr Craven returns to Britain.’

‘If he exists!’ snapped Ben.

‘The thought did occur to me,’ I admitted. ‘But now I’ve spoken with Mr Roche that doubt’s laid to rest. Mr Roche is a very respectable old gentleman. He explained to me that he hopes that young Craven will eventually run the tea side of the Roche family interests. So that’s why he was sent abroad; to see how the crop is grown and shipped. He’s in China somewhere.’

‘Certainly!’ was the cold comment. ‘Why not on the moon?’

‘That’s unworthy of you, Ben.’

His jaw had set obstinately. ‘See here, Lizzie, I know you’re upset because I haven’t had much time for us, but I do hope you aren’t taking yourself off to Hampshire in revenge for my neglect of you. I’m the first to admit it and I know—’

‘I’m not flouncing off in a huff!’ I interrupted. ‘Please don’t think that, Ben. I don’t deny I find Superintendent Dunn’s constant demand on your attention very annoying. I also know it’s not your fault and that whatever future we might have together, it would of necessity include Superintendent Dunn.’ I managed a wry smile. ‘My father was a family doctor and never knew when he might be called out. I do understand the situation.’

There was a silence. Ben came to take the wing chair next to mine. He cleared his throat and his face turned alarmingly red.

‘Lizzie,’ he began, ‘you must know that my hope—’

The seriousness of his expression and the beads of perspiration that had broken out on his brow filled me with panic.

I burst out, ‘Please, Ben! Forgive me if I’m presuming too much, but if you’re going to ask what I think, then I really can’t give any kind of answer just now. I’m very sensible of the honour,’ I went on, sounding as stilted as he had done, but knowing no other way out of it. ‘It isn’t that I’m not – that I wouldn’t like…’ At this point I faltered to a halt, my face, I was sure, even redder than Ben’s.

‘In that case—’ he began eagerly, but I interrupted him again.

‘So much has happened in the last few months my world’s turned fairly topsy-turvy. Some mornings I’ve woken up wondering what on earth will happen next. I need time to put my thoughts in order. Please try and see that.’

‘Of course,’ Ben said, looking so contrite that I felt a monster. ‘I should have realised this isn’t the moment. Take all the time you want. But I’d find it easier to be patient if I felt you weren’t refusing me outright. Not,’ he added hastily, ‘that I have any right to presume you’d accept. And you certainly don’t have to run away from London. I won’t pester you for an answer.’

This was worse than being accused of taking myself off in pique. I assured him earnestly I never for one second thought he’d behave in any other way than utterly correctly. This at first seemed to cheer him up and then to cast him down.

‘I’m pleased to hear it, I’m sure,’ he said gloomily.

‘I will give you an answer, Ben, but not at this moment. I do feel a need to be away from London. It
will
only be a short while.’

Ben looked even glummer. ‘I don’t like it. I’m not being selfish, Lizzie. The whole story is like a cracked cup. It just doesn’t ring true.’

‘Oh, Ben,’ I said and took his hand. ‘You mustn’t worry about me. I am perfectly capable.’

‘Perfectly capable of getting yourself into a pickle!’ said Ben. He clasped my hand between his palms and begged, ‘I know that once you’ve taken something into your head nothing will shift it. But promise you’ll write to me every day, Lizzie, and tell me everything. All of it, agreed? I don’t want yards of description of the scenery. I want to know what is going on.’

So did I, and the only way I would find out was by going to Hampshire. I promised I would write regularly and not devote more than one paragraph per letter to the scenery.

I knew his concern for me was genuine. But the journey to Hampshire was necessary to me; of this I was sure.

‘Not more than six months,’ I repeated.

*   *   *

Fate plays curious tricks. Ben did all in his power to be free to accompany me to Waterloo Station and personally install me in a first class ladies only compartment. But as usual the criminal world had other ideas on how he should spend his time that morning. So, in the end, Simms the butler had accompanied me to the station while Ben attended to ‘police matters.’

Our cab was held up partly by the bustle of traffic and partly by Simms disputing the fare. At the station we had difficulty in finding the platform because of the higgledy-piggledy way these were numbered. The station had been built piecemeal and platforms added as required without any attempt to make sense of it all. Simms and I were not the only ones scurrying back and forth in increasing frustration. When we did locate the train, all the places in the ladies only compartment were taken. That is why I travelled in the company of the man in the veiled hat and two other people: a clerical gentleman absorbed in some book of devotions and an elderly lady whose nimble fingers produced a steadily lengthening strip of tatted lace. It was as well no one else had wanted to enter, as my crinoline-supported skirts and those of the old lady took up any remaining space.

I settled on the comfortable banquette; thrust all the arguments of the past weeks from my mind and concentrated on the possibilities of the future. As a start I opened my purse and took out the letter giving the directions for reaching my final destination, Shore House. I had unfolded it and begun reading it through when the gentleman in the veiled top hat took off his headwear and set it, still draped, on his knees. He then leaned forward and gave a discreet cough designed to engage my attention.

‘Forgive my addressing you when we’ve not been introduced,’ he said. He had a cultivated, reassuring kind of voice. Joined to a sober yet sympathetic mien it made me think at once he must be either a doctor or a solicitor. Also, to judge by his wardrobe, one with a profitable practice! ‘But do I have the honour of travelling with Miss Elizabeth Martin?’

Chapter Two

Elizabeth Martin

I MUST have looked astonished. I certainly felt it and sat with my mouth open until I rallied and said, ‘You do. But I’d very much like to learn how you know it.’

‘I should explain,’ he said quickly. He indicated the letter in my hand. ‘This may help.’ He delved into the side pocket of his frock coat and produced a letter very similar to my own and apparently written in the same hand. ‘Your letter, as mine,’ he said, ‘is from Miss Roche of Shore House. We’re both travelling to the same destination. Miss Roche told me about you. I understand you’re to take up a position as companion to Miss Roche’s niece. But I can see from your expression that she didn’t warn you about me. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lefebre, Dr Marius Lefebre.’