Down the Garden Path (17 page)

The book I had lifted from a table, piquantly titled
One Thousand and One Practical Jokes,
lay unopened on my lap as I sat in my priceless velvet chair a few yards away from the table. Herr Wortter kept muttering “Ach, mein Gott.” And Godfrey was making further disparaging remarks about the green eyeshade. “Vastly vulgar, Primmy dear.”

Primrose bristled. “I see nothing vulgar or ludicrous about it. Do you never watch American cinema? Those documentaries on Old West culture classify these as the emblem of the dedicated card player.”

Mr. Whitby-Brown looked pointedly at his watch, but the fray continued. “Honestly, Prim,” fumed Hyacinth, “I wish you hadn’t mentioned that. Now I’m remembering Dr. Holiday and the dead man’s hand. Should I get aces and deuces tonight I won’t sleep a wink when I get home.”

“If ve may begin,” snarled Herr Wortter. At last! A basic seven-card stud was decided upon. (Meaning poker, I supposed.) Primrose beckoned me to come closer to the table, but I shook my head. Really, it was a bit much my being stuck with no better means of entertaining myself than listening to “four over, two down, dealer picks, first ace bets,” or reading this silly book. Better means of entertaining myself! Of course there was—and work to be done! Maude Krumpet was in the house.

Like a thieving parlour maid I stole across the room, but at the door I risked a glance back and noticed a thoughtful look on Angus’s St. Bernard face as he fanned out his cards. Beside him Hyacinth clicked away at her needles making another snide remark to Primrose sitting opposite.

The staircase at Cheynwind, unlike Cloisters, was carpeted. I padded up it soundlessly. I would have to come up with some reason for speaking to Maude away from the presence of Mrs. Grundy. But first I had to find her. I had just reached the last stair and was wondering how much time I could take before the butler was despatched to find me, when a voice called out, “looking for the loo?” And there was Maude Krumpet coming along with a blanket over her arm.

I couldn’t waste time on blatant lies. Shaking my head, I slipped on a wistful smile and said confidingly, “They’re playing cards downstairs and I got restless. Is Mrs. Grundy asleep already?”

“Not a bit. She had something she wanted to do, and didn’t want me hovering. How are you feeling, dear?”

“Better. I remember things in—patches. But the patches are getting bigger.”

Could what I had said be medically unlikely? Maude’s broad face certainly held what appeared to be a look of disbelief.

“I’m sorry.” She took a few steps forward, hoisting up the blanket, which had slipped a little. “I must have been staring. Funny tricks light plays sometimes. Caught as you were in the shadow of the bannister rail, for a moment you reminded me of someone. Not often I show signs of Bertie’s fertile imagination.”

Here was an excellent wedge into her good graces, and I would weave the conversation back to the someone Maude remembered when she looked at me. “Did Bertie tell you we met again? That he was my rescuer from another close call?”

“He and the invincible Fred? I expect the Misses Tramwell have told you about him.” Maude still had an odd expression on her face. She must be listening for Mrs. Grundy, so I had better get a move on.

“They may have mentioned Fred,” I moved my two index fingers forward and twirled escaping curls around them. “Such wonderfully kind people, the Tramwells, taking me in as they have. Fascinating and unusual, too. All the sisters being named after flowers.” Here I gave a surprised little gasp. “How strange your saying what you did about my looking like ... because earlier Mrs. Grundy said, in passing, that I reminded her of Violet—the one who went to America.”

“Perhaps that is it,” Maude said, and I thought to myself what a comfy sort of face she had when she smiled, “although it would have to be some mannerism in common—the determined set of the mouth maybe, because you are nothing like her in build or features. She writes to me occasionally, you know, we were—rather good friends. Violet was never the sort to be bothered by such things as social position. She did her own thing, as they say nowadays.”

Excitement surged through me. Friends! Friends helped one another in times of trouble. Admittedly I wished Violet could have been a more glamourous figure, living in England and without quite so many children, but Lily was dead. As out of reach as Mum. And Hyacinth and Primrose ... no, I still could not visualize either of them taking the steps necessary to become a mother.

“I can’t help wondering”—the quiver in my voice was perfect—”if my being in that avenue ... could mean that I was actually on my way to visit the Tramwells. It does seem odd that in two hours two people have linked me with Violet.”

“You mean that, unbeknown to the Tramwells, you may be related to the family?”

“It does sound far-fetched,” I sighed, “but if it’s true, and if I could find out how, I would be closer to discovering my own identity.” Fergy had said once when I was little that I never told the truth when a lie would do. But now the truth served very well.

“There’s the heir, a cousin of sorts.” Maude took the blanket off her arm and folded it. “He didn’t visit for years; something to do with his father having married a divorcee or a widow. Old Mr. Tramwell had some very odd ideas, considering he wasn’t in much of a position to throw stones. But I understand contact has been resumed, so the Tramwells would know if there were any girls around your age in that branch of the family, wouldn’t they, dear?”

“I’ll have to ask them....” The person I wanted to ask Maude about was Lily, but I felt a hesitancy, almost a fear, whenever the face of that enchanting little girl came into my mind. What had she looked like when she grew up? If she grew up. Strange that there were no portraits of any of the Tramwell sisters as adults in the gallery.

I had hesitated too long. Maude was saying that she really must get this extra blanket on Mrs. Grundy’s bed. “Have to do something to earn my pay. Most of the time she’s no trouble at all, and I sit sewing or writing letters. You know, I think I will drop Violet a note, tonight. Goodnight, dear. And take care of yourself.”

The way she said those last words gave me a funny feeling. Why? Why take care? I felt sort of lost, almost abandoned as she disappeared down the corridor. Stupid! My situation was tricky, especially now with the complication of Angus—but not dangerous. Peering over the bannisters I saw no sign of life and decided while up here I might as well make a trip to the loo. If I could find an old lipstick lying around I could write a note to Angus and try to sneak it to him. Several doors opened into ruffled and quilted splendour, and I was enticed into entering some of the rooms. Tomorrow I must attempt a similar tour of Cloisters. Could the portrait missing from the gallery be one of an older Lily? Or Violet? Banished out of ... guilt or grief? My hand turned another knob.

If this wasn’t a loo, I was going back downstairs. I stepped into a laboratory, not a lavatory. Test tubes, fizzing and frothing like mini-geysers all over the place. Something vaguely resembling a red-hot TV aerial sat on a table near a sink shooting off lightning sparks. A figure in a grubby white coat appeared from a side door. Thick safety glasses hid the eyes, but I would have recognized that beautiful crop of white hair anywhere. Mrs. Grundy!

“Hello,” I said feebly, leaning up against the door, the popping and hissing throbbing in my ears. What kind of experiments were conducted here? A poor thing he might be, but I could understand Godfrey’s concern if this was the form his mother’s turns took. Cripes! Was there anything in the Bible to suggest that the end of the world would come through the intervention of a stout old lady who took out her teeth at the table? Some detective I was not to have recognized the sinister aspect of such behaviour.

“Tessa, how dear of you to come up and see me!” She picked up the rod thing and was coming towards me like Florence Nightingale with the lamp. As I backed up, the doorknob stabbed me in the back, and I almost pitched forward. A savage gust of wind blasted the windows and something gurgled nastily inside the room.

“You will be careful not to touch anything, won’t you, child?” It was amazing; we might have been in a china shop. “Godfrey worries so about accidents, but really I take every precaution. My late husband taught me everything he knew. Such wonderful times we had puttering about up here before he went and poisoned himself.”

“Poisoned
himself?”

“On cigarettes.” Mrs. Grundy set down her “lamp.” “Such a dreadful, costly way to go. The price per packet! Did everything I could, but Hector’s one fault was extravagance. As I always say to Goddy, look after the pence and the pounds will look after themselves. And I can tell you, Tessa, I do look after the dear boy’s money.” Several of the tubes burped coarsely, letting off ghastly fumes. “Don’t be intimidated by the explosive aura, dear. Nurse Krumpet has complete faith in me. I only let her come here because it pleases Godfrey. Provides her with a little extra money—which I don’t begrudge.”

“This is all wonderfully well equipped,” I said inanely. Was it right of Maude to leave her unattended like this? I felt a pang of guilt at having kept the nurse talking.

“How kind of you to say so.” Hands deep in her pockets, spectacles glinting, Mrs. Grundy looked every inch the dedicated scientist. “Still playing those silly card games downstairs, are they? Oh, it is naughty of Goddy, neglecting you like this. He could be showing you the gardens.”

In this weather? Rain bouncing off the roof made the room vibrate. A draught caused my long skirt to flutter dangerously near the rods. Snatching it back, I explained about the loo and she kindly gave me directions. We said a second goodnight.

On reaching the safety of the downstairs hall—Mrs. Grundy’s experiments were surely not sophisticated enough to blow up the whole house—I felt vaguely depressed. I had found a lipstick and written my note to Angus and somehow I would get it to him. But my talk with Maude had not provided anything concrete. Just more snippets of seemingly trivial information. Mr. Tramwell hadn’t liked widows or divorcees, and he was a man who shouldn’t have thrown stones. Why? And did it matter? Was I any closer now than three days ago to uncovering my mother’s identity? I had this prickling feeling that I was—if only I could sort out the wheat from the chaff. As I opened the drawing room door I thought, Tomorrow I will look for the missing portrait, find out when and whom Violet married. And Lily ... I would have to know what happened to Lily.

Within the drawing room something was very wrong. The atmosphere, like the lab, positively fizzed. Herr Wortter’s guttural rumblings reminded me of Minerva. Mr. Whitby-Brown was gnashing on his cigar, Angus Hunt was staring at his wallet, and Godfrey was pouting like a thwarted child. Now for the bad part. Hyacinth was stabbing viciously at her knitting while Primrose dabbed a lace handkerchief under the green eyeshade, her voice a plaintive kitten meow.

“Always the same—from when we were small children. If I ever won anything—like that wax doll at the summer fete, remember how you put her near the fire so her face went all cross?—you had to spoil things. I detest playing with you, Hyacinth. Is it my fault I got four kings?”

“What I resent,” flared Hyacinth, knocking Mr. Whitby-Brown’s cigar out of his hand with her knitting needle, “is your continually demanding ...”

“I do not demand.”

“Excuse me! Your petulant requests to have every raise repeated sixteen times because you will not wear your hearing aid.”

“Ladies, may ve please play.” Veins bulged in Herr Wortter’s neck and the distended eye behind the monocle flashed red. “Unless you vould prefer to retire after your surprising run of luck?”

“Surprising?” Primrose’s silvery curls bounced up and down. “I do hope you are not suggesting ... that a lady’s luck may not be the equal of any gentleman’s. You have been winning quite handily yourself, sir.”

“And I have been losing quite handily.” Angus Hunt tapped down a thickish wad of notes on the table. “My apologies, ma’am, but it would seem I am a wee bit short o’ the ready. Will ye no take what I have here, on account, and trust me as a man o’ honour to bring the rest round to your home in the morning?”

Canny Angus. He was forging a reason to see me.

“The lady does take cheques—even from her sister on occasion,” came Godfrey’s plaintive voice.

“Mr. Hunt must handle the transaction as he so wishes.” With a delicate blush Primrose swept up the notes into her open black bag. I stood up and shook hands with Angus when he left. His expression of impersonal benevolence did not change as I slipped my note into his capacious palm. And the feeling of guilt swamped me again.

All I wanted was for this evening to end. If we got home early enough I would try to see Harry in the Ruins. I had nothing much to tell him ... but I wanted to know if he had collected any letters for me from Dad or Fergy. I was falling asleep in my chair and might have nodded right off if Hyacinth hadn’t asked me to pour some brandy for the remaining gentlemen. My lovely ivory dress floated out around me as I drifted around the table nearly getting caught alight by Mr. Whitby-Brown’s cigar. I didn’t like the way Herr Wortter looked at me or the way he flicked his finger when his snifter was empty again.

“Do let us try something new,” Hyacinth was saying. “What was that game we used to play as children, Primrose?” Hostilities seemed to have ceased temporarily. “Ah, I’ve got it—a high-low hand, divide the pot, last raiser declares first—two down—four up, last down.”

Primrose squinted through her green eyeshade. “Must we play that one! It’s so conservative. Can’t we go with something a little more ... peppy? That’s it—a most refreshing game—Dr. Pepper!”

“Do ve drink it or deal it?” sneered Herr Wortter.

“I do adore the German sense of humour,” said Primrose.

Hyacinth laid down her knitting. “Our young nephews in America taught it to us by post. Probably made it up themselves; such ingenious children! Really rather a fun game. Twos, fours, and tens wild, the one-eyed jack and the king with the axe wild—but only in a pat hand, full house, flush, straight, and five of a kind. How does that sound?”