Verity Sparks, Lost and Found (19 page)

“Not at all.”

I yawned over my breakfast. Last night I’d had that dream again – the search, the mist, that awful feeling of falling – and then I hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Night-birds hooted and called, and then there was the thumping, hissing and screaming that Miriam assured me was only possums fighting on the roof. City sounds, I thought, were so much more reassuring.

“And Verity?”

“Yes, Miss Deane?”

“Mrs Honeydew also wondered if you could take Poppy over to play with Toby. It seems he can’t get enough of his new friend.”

We knocked at the door. Pocket barked and barked on the other side, and we wondered where on earth the servants were. All out, I guessed, for eventually Mrs O’Day answered the door herself.

“Thank you, thank you, Verity,” she said, taking both my hands in hers. “I didn’t know what I was going to do with him. It’s so hot, and he is so lively today …”

Toby was sitting waiting for Poppy with an angelic smile on his face.

Paper, paints and brushes had been laid out on a small table. Not many mothers would let their children paint in the drawing room. But perhaps she just couldn’t bear to let him out of her sight. Poppy ran over to join him.

“You can sit with me, if you like,” said Mrs O’Day after we settled them to their painting. I thankfully accepted, but I soon found that making conversation with Mrs O’Day was hard work. She seemed more vague than ever this morning. I tried the weather, dogs, books. Even the latest fashions in hats failed to rouse her.

At last, she made an effort. “You … you’re friends with Andrew Ross, are you not?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “My father is a business acquaintance of his.”

“And he invited you up to the cottage?”

“Yes,” I said, and tried to change the subject. But she kept coming back to it.

“I don’t think I ever heard Andrew speak of him. Mr Pierre Savinov is your father, is that right?”

“That’s right. I had a letter from him earlier in the week,” I said. “He is coming back from Queensland at last. He plans to sail on the coastal steamer
Battenberg
… why, no.” I realised that he would already have left Townsville. “He should be home in Melbourne in a week or so.”

“Then I suppose you will go back to Melbourne too.”

“Yes,” I said, and suddenly realised how much I’d missed Papa. I longed for SP to take over the case. Both cases. I wanted to go home.

An outburst of giggling and a shout from Poppy brought me back to the children, and I saw that Toby had put a big stroke of red paint on Poppy’s face. I got up and walked over, getting out my handkerchief to wipe it off.

“When I suggested you paint each other, I didn’t mean this,” I said sternly.

“Yes you did,” cried Toby, jumping up and down in his chair. “And now I’m going to paint
you
.” And he tried to dab a splodge of red on my nose.

“Don’t do that, Toby,” I said, fending him off. “You’re being very silly this morning.”

“I’m not, I’m not. You’re silly. You’re
stupid
.”

Before I could say anything, Poppy turned on him. “That wasn’t nice,” she said. “
Say sorry
.”

By now he was flushed and overexcited. “No.” He snatched my handkerchief and threw it across the room.

“Pick that up and say sorry to Verity.”

I looked behind me, waiting for Mrs O’Day to say something, but she just sat there hugging the little dog to her chest.

“No,” said Toby, and darting behind me, he pulled my hair ribbon off and mussed my hair.

Poppy walked over to him, put her face very close to his and said, menacingly, “Say sorry.”

“No.”

Poppy didn’t say another word, but gave him a look that would have poisoned a snake.

“Sorry …” His lip was trembling. He was very close to tears.

“Good boy.” No longer scary, she took his hand. “Now, you come wif me. You need a wash, you do.”

Poppy and cleanliness? I nearly laughed out loud.

Mrs O’Day just watched all of this. Really, I thought, Toby’s set to become a monster if no one takes him in hand.

As if she read my mind, Mrs O’Day said, “He’s not really a naughty boy; he’s just lively. I’ve been unwell, you see, and it’s been so hard for me to manage him. My goodness, look at your hair. Go upstairs to my bedroom. You can use my hairbrush and mirror.”

If you’re a confidential inquiry agent – or just a snoop – bedrooms can provide you with a lot of information.

First off: the smell. Mrs O’Day’s room was saturated with Harmony Blend. I took a deep breath. It was delightful, as Miss Deane said, but in this airless bedroom it was very strong. Almost overpowering. I guessed that Mrs O’Day had a lot of headaches. I sniffed again. The maids, I thought, need to give this room a good airing.

Then: money. It was obvious that Mrs O’Day had a lot. Her brush, comb and mirror were made of solid silver, and in a dish on the dressing table was a diamond ring that would have given Lady Throttle’s sparkler a run for its money. I lifted the lid of her jewel box. Inside was some mourning jewellery made of jet, all shiny as black beetles. There was one brooch that contained a lock of greyish hair under glass. Her last husband’s? I wondered. Ugh. I put it down quickly. There was also a string of magnificent pearls, and I remembered the photograph, the one of Mrs O’Day as a young girl. A quick peek in the wardrobe showed dresses, shawls, lace collars, fancy stockings and velvet bags. Mrs O’Day had everything money could buy.

Next: a blue glass medicine bottle. Didn’t Mrs Honeydew keep all drugs under lock and key? But when I looked at the label, I saw that this was not a doctor’s prescription; it was the kind of harmless remedy that you can buy over the counter at any druggist’s.
Dr Hartmann’s Homeopathic Herbal Helper
, I read on the label.
A Superior Tonic for the Nerves. Use it to bring back the Rosebud of Health!
I uncorked it and sniffed. It smelled sickly sweet. There was no sign of any other drug or medicine.

The last thing to examine was the photograph on Mrs O’Day’s bureau. It was the double portrait that Andrew Ross had shown us, minus the extra Alan. Mrs O’Day had surrounded it with artificial flowers and black ribbons. I picked up the photograph frame and quickly turned it over. It was easy to take the back off by twisting four little metal hinges. If there was a photographer’s label on the reverse of the print, then SP could pay him a visit and we might be one step closer to solving the case. I was in luck.
Gabriel Riva, Maindample Buildings, Carlton
was beautifully printed in maroon ink on smooth cream paper. That should be easy enough to remember, I thought.

As I edged the portrait back into the frame, I realised that there was a second photograph hidden underneath the first one. I slipped it out. This time, it was Mrs O’Day with Toby. Toby was a baby, and I had to smile at his chubby cheeks, long ringlets and lace-trimmed frock. Mrs O’Day was wearing widow’s black: a high-necked black dress, black net gloves and a black bonnet with the lace veil thrown back. Behind the mother and child loomed two ghostly figures. It was another spirit photograph.

Aha, I thought. This
is
a discovery.

The figures were vague and indistinct, but I could tell they were both male. One of them was touching Mrs O’Day’s shoulder. The hand showed quite clearly against her dark dress.

“What are you doing?”

I dropped the photograph. Mrs O’Day was right behind me. There was no way that I could lie or pretend my way out of this.

“I was prying, Mrs O’Day. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Oh, it doesn’t matter. I suppose you’d heard about Alan, and wanted to see a picture of him. How silly of me; you’re a friend of the family, aren’t you?”

“I only know Mr Andrew Ross,” I said. At least that was the truth.

“Andrew. Yes.” She sighed, and said in a dreary voice, “Poor Andrew. He misses Alan, and he blames me. As if I …” She looked me straight in the eye. “As if I pushed him into the water myself.”

What should I say? I just wanted to get away. The look on her face frightened me.

She shook her head. “I told Andrew I didn’t know what happened. I was to meet Alan there, at the boathouse. It was dusk – such a pretty time – and all the birds were flying home to their nests. I went down the path towards the creek, but I was so tired – I am always so tired! – and I sat down to rest on a garden bench. I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up it was too late. Too late …” She stroked Alan’s face with her fingertip. “And now this is all I have left.”

She bent and picked the other photograph up from the floor. “I wanted to send a photograph of Toby and myself to Father. I couldn’t send this one, of course. I had another one taken. He’s never seen his grandson – poor Father – and I thought … I wanted to go home, home to Eccle Court, and see him again. But all I got was a lawyer’s letter, saying that his client has no wish to … Well, Father didn’t want to see me.”

She pointed to the shadowy figures. “That’s Everard, my first husband. And that’s poor Ambrose, my second. I should have known, shouldn’t I? Shouldn’t I?” she insisted. “I should have known that they would never let me marry Alan. You see, in a way Andrew is right. It is my fault. Everard and Ambrose will never let me go. When Alan slipped his ring on my finger, he signed his own death warrant.”

All of a sudden, the case made sense. Andrew Ross was correct. Mrs O’Day
was
guilty – but not of murdering Alan. She didn’t drug him and push him in the lake, but in her mind, she’d killed him just the same. Poor lady; I’d been right when I thought she seemed haunted. Though the drowning was just a ghastly coincidence, to her it was proof that her dead husbands would never let her go. The case was solved. I could write a report to Andrew Ross today.

But that still left me with poor Mrs O’Day, trembling here in her bedroom. What could I do for her? How I wished that I knew someone like Miss Lillingsworth here in Australia. Someone who could help Mrs O’Day to make peace with the past and carry on with her life.

“Verity, can you give me that bottle, please?”

I handed the Dr Hartmann’s Homeopathic Herbal Helper to her, and she took a swig. And another.

“I will lie down now.”

“Shall I ask your maid to help you?”

“No, no,” she said. “I don’t need a maid. I’m just tired. A sleep will do me good. That is what I need. A sleep.”

She lay back and closed her eyes; I covered her with a quilt and tiptoed out of her bedroom.

It was nearly three o’clock by the time Mrs Honeydew and Miss Deane arrived back at Greystones. They had had a most enjoyable outing. Besides visiting the chemist’s, they called at the stationer’s, the draper’s and the grocer’s. This last shop sells very fine peppermints and lemon drops. Mrs Honeydew bought some to give to Toby, Poppy and me. I don’t mind being lumped with the children when it’s sweets. Anyway, Mrs Honeydew is so kind; I really don’t mind if she thinks of me as a child. I am only fourteen, after all
.

At around four o’clock, after a cup of tea, Miss Deane, Poppy and I left for home. Mrs O’Day did not come back down. Miss Deane invited the ladies and Toby to call on us tomorrow afternoon
.

After their shopping expedition, Mrs Honeydew and Miss Deane are now as thick as thieves. It is all “Drucilla” this and “Bertha” (that is Mrs Honeydew’s first name) that. It is nice for Miss Deane to have a friend
.

Mrs Honeydew’s rosy face, forever creasing into smiles, came into my mind. And her shrewd blue eyes, so observant and kind.

Mrs Honeydew such a calm, motherly, reassuring person. Just the qualities one would like in a nurse and companion. When they come to Forest Edge tomorrow, I must remember to give Mrs Honeydew the gem
.

By “gem” I meant the earring I picked up that first day when Poppy and I took an early morning walk down to the lake. While they were chatting at the door (it took them forever to say goodbye), I noticed Mrs Honeydew’s pendant. It was blue, and very sparkly. Indeed, it was rather distracting, the way it bobbed and spun, reflecting the light with every move she made.

“Oh,” I said, remembering. “I picked up something just like that. It is an earring, I think.”

Mrs Honeydew looked startled. “Goodness me, dear. Where did you find it?”

“Near the boathouse.”

“Ah, so that’s where it was. Lavinia lost one of her earrings, dear, and didn’t want this any more. But I thought it was too pretty to throw away, so I asked her for it. As you see, I have hung it on a chain. But now you have found the other half of the pair.”

“I will give it to Mrs O’Day.”

“Why don’t you give it to me, dear, when I come to Forest Edge tomorrow? Then I can surprise her.”

She smiled, and patted my hand, and I couldn’t help looking at the blue gem on its chain, winking and glittering away. Was it a sapphire? As it caught the light, dozens of glittering rays spun off it. It was so very pretty.

I picked up my pen again.

Miss Deane and I must write to Andrew Ross, telling him that I have found an explanation for Lavinia’s guilty behaviour. I think it highly unlikely that her heart drugs feature at all
.