Murder on the Cliffs (25 page)

“She died thinking it was your mother who had poisoned her. Not you.”

“That’s why I won’t allow my mother to suffer for the crime. If I were truly callous, I’d leave her to her fate. Better she returns, though, and better I hang since I cannot escape my destiny.”

“What destiny is that?”

“Madness. Just like my father. Go now, Daphne. Go now before I hurt you. Break the news to my mother . . . if you would.”

“I will,” I promised, and hastened out of the house.

“The house of death,” Ewe chorused, long silent after the dramatic turn of events.

“I hear Lady Hartley has reinstalled herself supreme back at Padthaway,” Miss Perony said. “I heard she fired Soames
and
Mrs. Trehearn.”

“Wants a fresh start. Changes servants like linen,” Ewe muttered.

“She will mourn the loss of her son,” Miss Perony whispered. “I still can’t believe Lord David could do that. Every time I saw him, he always appeared so charming and circumspect. Will he really hang for murder, Major?”

“It depends on the jury.”

“I heard you delivered the news to Mrs. Bastion,” Miss Perony went on.

I thought of the beads, the beads I’d dropped into Mrs. Bastion’s lap. She thanked me when the major and I left, the major elaborate in his praise of my help during the case.

I did not return to the abbey. Upon hearing the news of Lord David’s arrest, I had been summoned home, and coming home with this tale contented me more than discovering ancient scrolls.

The mood at Padthaway was of a house in mourning.

Lady Hartley, Jenny, Betsy, Annie, and Lianne commiserated in the courtyard. I imagined they had all stood outside to watch Lord David being taken away, never to return.

Lady Hartley was furious with me. She blamed me for the loss of her son.

“
You
. You did it all. When we did nothing but
befriend
you, you turned out to be a viper in the bosom.”

In her grief, Lady Hartley had turned on everyone, hence Soames and Mrs. Trehearn’s prompt dismissal.

I walked past Mrs. Trehearn’s study on my way out, eager to catch a glimpse of the room where the strange woman had spent most of her days. To my disappointment, the room shone new and clean, but for the house keeping journal left on the table. I knew I shouldn’t have taken it, but curiosity overcame me.

“What have ye there?” Ewe spotted me when I returned to the cottage, book under my arm. “Get a lashin’ from her ladyship?”

“Yes,” I smiled, “and I’ve borrowed Mrs. Trehearn’s housekeeping journal. I’m going to my room to read it.”

Mrs. Trehearn’s house keeping journal I discovered to be a meticulous notation of house hold affairs, extending back twenty years, amazingly detailed. Records on everything from the price of eggs to new linen.

Flicking through the early dates, I stumbled upon one circled entry:

October 21 £300 Dr. Castlemaine, Penzance

This was a peculiar entry, for that was a great deal of money back then for a doctor’s visit. Was the appointment for Mrs. Trehearn or for some other staff member? It must be for some house hold affair or it wouldn’t have been featured in this book.

The circle emphasized its importance. Other amounts weren’t circled, only this one.

Penzance and Dr. Castlemaine . . . another country drive in order, Major Browning?

He thought I was mad.

“I might be,” I sighed, “but I have two days left and what else am I to do? I can’t rest now that I’ve got a taste for mystery.”

He lifted an a mused brow at the delivery of my logic. “I’ve learned to trust your instincts. I’ll take you then. Are you ready now?”

Seeing me enter the car with the book on my lap, the major gave me a surreptitious glance. “So, what have you pinched there, Sherlock?”

“It’s Mrs. Trehearn’s house keeping journal.” Opening the book in my lap, I perused the entries. “Two pounds for sugar . . . six for meat . . .”

“Fascinating reading.”

“It’s this one—‘October 21 £300 Dr. Castlemaine, Penzance.’ Twenty- odd years ago.”

“I fail to see the significance.”

So intent in my further examination of the journal, I failed to hear him.

“Where do you think to find this Dr. Castlemaine?”

“I don’t know.” Listening to the putting engine, a sound I found oddly soothing, I prepared for the long journey. Pity I hadn’t thought to bring coffee and biscuits. Alerted to hunger, my stomach rumbled in protest and mortified, I twisted my head away.

“Ah, hunger breeds irritability, and we can’t have Sherlock’s mind working bald. I suggest we make a stop at a charming seaside village.”

A break sounded wonderful.

“If that suits you and your schedule, Sherlock.”

I no longer bothered to roll my eyes at the Sherlock quips. He seemed determined to use it, it amused him, and one must amuse one’s driver. I did, however, send him a sweet smile. “It suits me perfectly,
Thomas
.”

To my chagrin, he grinned. “I like the way ‘Thomas’ sounds on your lips . . . want to take the wheel later?”

He did enjoy vexing me, didn’t he?

“Unless, of course, you
can’t
drive.”

“I can so!”

“Excellent. I knew I was correct in that assumption.”

I endured thirty more minutes of his assumptions regarding my character. By the time we reached the village, I was ravenous. Promising the best Cornish pasties and strong coffee, the major guided me inside the humble wayside inn, conveniently isolated, I noticed on arrival.

“Don’t worry,” he smirked. “If I planned a rakish abduction, I’d have chosen a better location to conduct the affair. I do have singular knowledge in that department, you know.”

“I’m sure you do.” While we waited for breakfast, served by a gracious, plump farmer’s wife, I upbraided him for sending me into Padthaway alone. “I am lucky. Lord David could have killed me, too.”

“That’s unlikely.” He refused to look even slightly remorseful. “Besides, you’re a resourceful girl. You would have found a way to escape.”

“You are no gentleman,” I retorted.

The rain started two minutes after we climbed back into the car and arrived at the next crossroad.

“Cornwall,” the major chuckled, “and its changeable weather.”

Cornwall and its changeable weather. Padthaway, the house of a thousand mysteries, its changeable seasons.

“Dreaming up another story?”

“Just a headache. Are we nearly there yet?”

“Almost .”

As we entered the thriving city, a bustling town once alive with pirates, thieves, and smugglers, the rain began to subside. The air outside the car was cool and I shivered.

Taking off the sweater under his jacket, the major wrapped it firmly around my shoulders and drew me into the nearest pub, where an open fire called my querulous, shaky limbs.

“You sit down. I’ll make the inquiries,” the major directed.

I smiled my thanks, attuned to the plethora of noise surrounding me.

“Aw, ye’re in luck today, Mister. Mister Brown, was it? Casper, I am, and used to live right above that fancy doctor. He had rooms— all private ones. I had to use the back steps.”

“Do you remember the street name, Casper?”

“Aw, call me Casp. Me friends do and I’ll take ye there if ye like. It’s only a few blocks away.”

Walking down seemingly endless lanes of slimy, treacherous cobbles, we arrived at the site of a building.

A demolished building.

Casper cursed. “I don’t believe me eyes! It’s gone . . .”

Detecting a black- caped man strolling across the street, the major left us to gape at the dirt mound.

“No joy there,” he called back, betraying a little glumness. “Any ideas, Daphne? Casper?”

Wracking his half head of hair, Casper’s foul breath exploded. “I know! Mrs. Tremayne! If ever a snoop. She knows everybody’s business. Been here for centuries.”

It was only a mild exaggeration. Mrs. Martine Tremayne lived across the street, at number fifty- nine. Sprightly for a seventy- two-year- old, and sharper than a thistle, the wizened eyes made a quick summary of our likely trio. Gripping her broom like a weapon, she listened to the reason for our call.

“Castlemaine, eh? Ye’d best come in . . . No, not you, Casper Polwarren. Get ye back to the pub.”

Casper Polwarren, suddenly the proud owner of a five- pound note slipped to him by the major, was more than happy to comply.

Mrs. Tremayne’s ground floor, mercifully, failed to exhibit that old smell. The other usual relics existed, several tiny tables, dusted lace curtains, photo frames, last decade’s cushions, worn but well tended furniture.

Invited to sit down, she sped off to fetch a newspaper clipping of some sort. The major and I shared a look of amusement. Ewe Sinclaire had a soul mate.

“Here, read this.”

Huddled together on Mrs. Tremayne’s couch, we examined the black-and-white face of a European man, bald and slim, and the title below it.

DOCTOR EXPOSED

Since the burning down of his building,

further details have emerged regarding

the doctor’s
secret
clients . . .

“He’d take them in,” Mrs. Tremayne huffed. “Fancy types wan-tin’ to get rid of their babes. They paid well, ye see. We plain folk with our sniveling noses don’t even tinkle to the likes of him . . . snooty pig he were.”

“Look here”—I showed the major—“they’ve printed his entire appointment book, listing all the names.”

“That’s why I kept the clippin’,” a proud Mrs. Tremayne declared. “Ye don’t throw away things like that. A copper found it on the street, half burn out it were, but still readable. He got greedy. Sold it to the papers and lost his job, but I’m sure he got a goodly sum for it.”

I’m sure he did, too, recognizing one or two of the names. Some were skillful abbreviations or alterations to conceal identities, but the shrewd Dr. Castlemaine had noted the true names in a small column to the side, directly under the monetary amount.

Balking at the exorbitant sums, the major lifted a brow. “I am obviously in the wrong industry.”

A lucrative clinic of scandalous proportions. “What ever happened to the doctor?”

“Ha! Lost his mind, he did, and there were never a more fittin’ punishment for the likes of him. Thinkin’ himself so smart. You’ll find him at Doreen’s nursin’ home up yonder, but it’s really a nut house for droolin’ nutters.”

Drooling nutters. Smiling at the colloquial phrase, I ran my finger down the names and dates until a name flashed before me, a curious name. “Hearn!”

Hearn for Trehearn? I quickly looked to the side notation.
300 pounds, Jenny Pollock, took dead child.

I must have half choked for the major thumped my back.

“Know her, do ye?” Mrs. Tremayne sniggered.

“Yes, she’s a nurse in a house hold where I’ve stayed.”

“Humph! She won’t have been the first. Caught the eye of the lord, did she? Sent off here to squash the scandal?”

The clipping fell to my lap. Jenny Pollock, the pretty nursery maid with the children . . . Jenny and Lord Hartley. Like a diamond shower, everything sprinkled into place. I suddenly remembered her defense of him:
He weren’t mad, or if he were, it was she that sent him that way.

What had Lady Hartley said of their discreet arrangement? She had her affairs and her husband had his, extending among the house hold staff, as was often the case in large house holds. She must have turned a blind eye to it until Jenny became pregnant!

A pregnant nursery maid must have been a source of irritation to the lady of the house, especially if her husband loved Jenny. Was that a possibility?

“A simple carte blanche, of sorts,” the major decreed, dismissing my theory. “The problem solved with the hasty removal of the goods.”

I sent him a look of reproach.

“Well, it’s true.” He failed to display adequate repentance. “You can’t have the illegitimate playing with the legitimate, can you?”

A good point, a point I found very disturbing. “We have to get back to Padthaway.”

The long, winding drive to Padthaway, the silent mansion, filled me with a sense of dread.

Shaken of now another secret, a secret the house wished to reveal to me, I absorbed the warnings of the gusty wind, the naked branches strewn of their leaves, their skeletal fingers encroaching upon the drive.

Then a burst of beauty. Padthaway, gracing the grassland.
My
Padthaway, standing proud, ready to receive me.

“Do you want me to drop you here?” the major asked.

“Yes, I must talk to Jenny alone. You keep Lianne occupied.”

He grinned. “A pleasant occupation . . . are you sure you can handle this?”

“Oh, please.” I exited the car with a huff and hurried up to the house.

Going around the back way, I spotted Annie in the hallway and asked for Jenny’s whereabouts.

“Oh, Miss D, she’s in her garden last time I saw her.”

“Thank you, Annie.”

Watching her go, I thought it would take the servants a long time to grow used to the place without Lord David.

None more so than Jenny.

I feared her reaction.

Putting aside her garden spade, she wiped her hands on her apron. “Different now Trehearn’s not here. Lady Muck’s interviewin’ butlers now. Got a new cook, too. Mrs. Lockley. We all like her.”

“That’s good,” I said, drawing out one of her garden chairs. Heeding the major’s warning, I acted normal on arrival, chatting, mentioning my recent drive with the major.

“Oh, where’d ye go?”

“Penzance.”

She dropped the spade. “Oh, and what were ye reason for going there?”

She was nervous.

“Jenny, don’t be afraid. I know about the baby,
your
baby. The one Dr. Castlemaine took from you.”

Turning red at the name, she drifted to the chair opposite me.

“Please talk to me,” I implored. “I’m your friend. I’m here to listen to you and
your side
of the story.”

“Does the major know about it?”

I couldn’t lie to her. “Yes, he does. I asked him if I could see you first.”

She nodded, grimly accepting she now had to divulge the story she’d kept hidden for so many years.

“I were thirteen when I came to his house,” she began, “young, full of silly dreams. I came to nurse little baby David.” A fond smile tempered her lips. “What a sweet thing he were . . . he took to me and I to him. We were two little happy peas, livin’ in our own world. Oh, I had to answer to the head nurse and all, but most of the time, me and baby David were alone. The mother didn’t want ’im. She’d only poke her head in every now and then, hear the progress report, and go back to her parties. She never wanted to hold him.”

“But the baby didn’t suffer,” I said softly. “You gave him plenty of love.”

Her face softened. “Aye, I did. Me whole heart.”

“I can see you both,” I smiled, “little David, perfect, and you, Jenny, pretty Jenny with the golden hair and blue eyes. I can see why Lord Hartley fell in love with you.”

Her eyes froze at the mention of his name.

“Tell me about him, Jenny. Did he treat you kindly?”

Silently walking further down that closed tunnel, she eventually responded. “He were a strange one, his lordship, but he loved visi-tin’ the nursery.
He’d
pick up the child, nurse ’im, and the babe adored him. He were unhappy . . . unhappy with
her
. Outside, he were different, but in the nursery, he were meek as a lamb.”

“He started to come more regularly,” I proceeded, “you and he . . . in the secret garden . . . a happy little family.”

A capricious smile touched her lips. “Aye, it were like that, I s’pose. A play family for him.”

“But you didn’t mind. You loved him and he was good to you.”

She nodded. “Passionate lover he were, but gentle, ever so gentle. Never once did he lay a finger on me or speak nasty.”

“But outside he behaved differently.”

Forced to nod again, she succumbed to the beauty of her memories, the love, the kindness, the happiness.

“When did Lady Hartley find out, Jenny?”

Startled out of her trance, she shivered. “We hid it from her. Terry said we must be careful of her and we were . . . for years. Mrs. T and the head nurse, they knew. Went to Mrs. T for me herbs . . .”

“But then you fell pregnant, even
on
Mrs. T’s herbs.”

“Aye. When her ladyship carried Miss Lianne, I found out I were expectin’, too, to me horror. After all these years . . .”

“How did Terry react?”

“
She
said he had to give me up. She’d not have his
bastard
in the house. But Terry didn’t want to give me up. He started to go a little crazy. He always did when he were confused. He
hurt
people.”

“But never you, Jenny. Never you.”

A tear rolled down her face. “I never got to say good- bye to him. They drove him to shoot himself. I just wish they’d let me say good- bye . . .”

“But they didn’t. Just as they didn’t let you keep your child. They packed you off to Penzance.”

The horror of the locked memory opened with force. “I did it . . . to keep me job. And if it weren’t for Lee Lee, bless her heart,
madam
would’ve sent me packin’. But she couldn’t stomach the screamin’ child. Nobody could. She were left to me . . . I calmed her. Only me.”

Which explained her deep bond with Lianne. “What happened to your baby, Jenny? The baby you took from Dr. Castle-maine’s?”

Crazed eyes greeted me again, followed by a curiously slow smile, ominous in nature, eerie, unlike the Jenny I knew. “I wanted to keep her. I tried to, but it were too late.
He
killed her and I took my little girl with me. I placed her in a safe place. . . .” Her gaze slowly turned to the herb garden.

I shuddered. “It must have been very hard. How you must have hated Mrs. T and Lady H for what they’d done to you . . . you had David and Lianne, but you couldn’t forget what they’d done, could you, Jenny?”

“No!” Flying out of her chair, Jenny’s hands seized my neck. “Just as I can’t forgive you for hurtin’ my Davie boy. He’ll die, die, die, because of you!”

Her crazed eyes obstructing my vision, I desperately tried to loosen her grip on my throat. I couldn’t breathe . . . and felt nauseous, faint . . . dizzy . . .

Then relief. The major’s strong arms enclosing me, Lianne restraining the frenzied Jenny.

“It’s all right, Jenny,” Lianne soothed. “Daphne did the right thing. You always told me to do the right thing, and it was Davie that gave himself up. You lost your baby, but you have me.
Your
Lee Lee, always.”

Jenny nodded, and as I watched Lianne hold and rock her, I came to appreciate the close bond they shared and the full reason for Lianne’s nightmares. Seeing her father shoot himself and die before her eyes, and later, to see David, the brother she adored, the brother she would do anything to protect, convicted of murder.

“Forgive me.” Jenny gazed at me, getting up, a little embarrassed over her behavior. “I don’t usually . . .”

“I know.” I pressed her hand.

She nodded and disappeared inside for a moment or two.

Upon her return, she dangled something before the major. “I s’pose I don’t need to hide these now, do I?”

Clutched in her hand were the sandy bottoms of a pair of shoes.

Victoria’s shoes.