Her Own Rules/Dangerous to Know (23 page)

Meredith sighed. “I don't suppose she could still be working at Jaeger. What do you think, Mrs. Cohen?”

“Oh, I know she's not, Mrs. Stratton. She didn't stay at Jaeger for longer than a couple of years, then she moved on. The last time I heard about her from my mother, Kate was running Place Vendôme in Harrogate, a really fine boutique selling couture clothes.” Gilda Cohen leaned back in her chair. “If only my mother were still alive, she would be able to tell you so much more about Kate.”

Meredith gave Mrs. Cohen a sympathetic look. “I'm sorry you lost your mother.”

“Yes, it was sad for us all. However, she had a really grand life and lived to be ninety. Never had a day's ill health as long as she lived.”

There was a small silence and then Patsy said, “Is Kate Sanderson working at Place Vendôme now?”

“I don't believe she is, Mrs. Canton. The last I heard she had left there. She'd moved away from Harrogate, actually.”

“Another dead end,” Meredith said in a miserable voice.

Gilda Cohen said, “I can ring Annette Alexander, the owner of the boutique. She just might have an address for Kate.”

“Oh, would you? Are you sure you don't mind?” Meredith asked. “Otherwise, we can just drive over to Harrogate.” She glanced at her watch. “It's only four-thirty.”

“Yes,” Patsy said. “We can pop in to see her on our way to Ripon. We have to pass through Harrogate.”

“No, no, that's all right, I'll call her for you right away. I don't mind at all.” So saying, Gilda Cohen picked up the phone and dialed the boutique.

“Hello, this is Gilda Cohen, is Mrs. Alexander there?”

There was a small silence as Mrs. Cohen listened. Then she covered the mouthpiece and explained: “They've gone to get her, she's just saying good-bye to a client. Hello, oh, there you are, Annette, how are you?”

Gilda listened once more, and then said, “I have two ladies here who are looking for Kate Sanderson. I know she left you a few years ago, but you wouldn't happen to have an address or a telephone number for her, would you?” The next short silence was followed by an exclamation. “Oh really!” Gilda cried. “Just a minute, let me ask.”

Again covering the mouthpiece with her hand, Mrs. Cohen said, “According to Mrs. Alexander, your mother left to marry someone. But she can't remember his name. She wants to know where she can contact you if she does remember?”

“Skell Garth House in Ripon, Mrs. Cohen,” Patsy said. “The number is Ripon 42900.”

Gilda Cohen repeated this to Annette Alexander. After thanking her and saying good-bye, she hung up. Looking directly at Meredith, she said, “If my mother were alive, she'd be very pleased to know Kate got married finally. Mother always thought Kate was so sad, and she used to tell me Kate had had a tragic life.”

“You've been very helpful, Mrs. Cohen,” Meredith murmured softly, standing up. “Thank you so much.”

“Yes, thank you,” Patsy added, also standing.

“It's been my pleasure, I just wish I could have done more to reunite you with your mother, Mrs. Stratton. Annette is very dependable, and I can guarantee she'll ring you if she remembers who it was your mother married.”

“I hope so.”

Gilda Cohen escorted them to the door, shook their hands. As they stepped out into Commercial Street, she said, “I'd love to know if you do find Kate, Mrs. Stratton, she was such a favorite of my mother's.”

“I'll be in touch,” Meredith promised.

“Why didn't we think of that,” Patsy muttered as they walked along Commercial Street. “It's the most obvious thing. She was a young woman, and pretty, you said.”

“
Very
pretty. Beautiful really.” Meredith linked her arm in Patsy's and continued. “We'll never find her. This is yet another dead end, you know.”

“No, it isn't!” Patsy cried. “Quite the contrary. I'll call Valerie at the office first thing in the morning and she can go to St. Catherine's House. They keep marriage certificates there. I'm quite sure they do. We'll find out who your mother married.”

Meredith instantly brightened. “What a great idea! Let's call her now.”

“She's not in the office today. Don't you remember, she went to Milan for the weekend. She won't be back until late tonight.”

“Are you certain they keep marriage records?” Meredith asked in a quiet voice as they walked down into City Square.

“I'm positive. It's a general register office of births, deaths, and marriages.” Patsy paused before adding: “I've been thinking . . . perhaps we ought to go to Dr. Barnardo's Home, make inquiries there. They may be able to throw some light on what happened to you. And to your mother.”

Meredith looked at her askance. “No way. I know those places. They never tell you anything, they're cloaked in secrecy. I'd go to see them only as a last resort.” Her mouth settled in a grim line.

Glancing at her, Patsy decided to say no more for the moment. On the drive back to Ripon she talked about a variety of other things, wanting to take Meredith's mind off her mother. And orphanages.

Laughing suddenly, all at once she said, “You know, Meredith, we're really quite awful.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once we'd discovered who Eunice Morgan was, we put her through an interrogation and then fled, raced off to find your mother. The poor woman must think we're crazy. We didn't even finish our interview with her.”

“I realized that myself a short while ago. Anyway, how do you feel about hiring Eunice?”

“I'm all for it. I think she's the best of the lot. I found Lloyd Bricker a bit of a snob and too arrogant by far, and Mrs. Jones didn't really impress me that much.”

“In my opinion she's a goldbricker,” Meredith said. “I agree with you about Lloyd. So let's hire Eunice, shall we? She's certainly a good chef. We've sampled her fare.” Meredith gave Patsy a small smile. “And obviously she no longer burns the food as she did when I was a child.”

Patsy laughed, glad to see a flash of Meredith's old humor.

 

The telephone call came the next morning.

Meredith and Patsy were sitting in the dining room, having breakfast and going over their notes about the inn, when Claudia Miller came hurrying over to their table.

“Excuse me. You have a phone call, Meredith. It's a Mrs. Alexander.”

Meredith and Patsy exchanged startled glances, and Meredith immediately got up. “Thanks, Claudia. I'll take it over there on the phone by the door.”

“All right. I'll just go and put it through.”

A few seconds later Meredith was saying, “Hello, this is Mrs. Stratton.”

“Mrs. Stratton, good morning. Annette Alexander here, I hope I haven't called too early.”

“No, not at all, Mrs. Alexander.”

“I thought I'd better ring you immediately. I just received a bit of information that might help you. Do you know, I racked my brains last night, trying to remember the name of the man Kate married, but to no avail. And then it occurred to me that my sister might know who he was. She used to work for me at Place Vendôme at the same time as Kate Sanderson. In any case, I rang her up last night, but she was out. She just got my message and phoned me ten minutes ago. Apparently Kate married a man called Nigel. My sister thinks his last name was Grange or Grainger, and that he was a veterinarian. In Middleham. I know it's a trifle sketchy, but I do hope it helps.”

“It does, thank you very much, Mrs. Alexander. While I have you on the phone, perhaps you can tell me something else. Do you recall when Kate Sanderson left Place Vendôme?”

“She left my employ in the early seventies.”

“I see. Well, thanks again, Mrs. Alexander.”

“I was happy to be of help, and give Kate my best, if you find her.”

“I will. Good-bye, Mrs. Alexander.” Meredith hung up and returned to the table.

Patsy looked at her questioningly, raising a brow. “Well?”

Meredith took a deep breath, exhaled, then said, “According to Annette Alexander, my mother married a man called Nigel, and his last name was either Grange or Grainger. He is, or was, a vet. And in the early seventies, when my mother left her employment, he was living in Middleham. Or, rather,
they
were.”

“Middleham! Good heavens, Meredith, that's right next door practically. It's a small village on the moors, about half an hour from Ripon. You see, I told you I had a sense that your mother was close by.”

“We don't know that she is. We don't know what happened really. And they could have divorced or moved away.”

“I'll soon find out if he's still around,” Patsy cried assertively, and jumped to her feet. “I'm going to look him up in the local telephone directory. He's bound to be listed if he's the vet in Middleham.”

Meredith sat back in her chair and watched Patsy walking across the floor with great determination. Whatever it took, her friend was hell-bent on finding Kate Sanderson. And what a
good
friend Patsy had turned out to be. Meredith knew that she would have been lost without her in the last few days.

Patsy was suddenly back at the table, looking pleased with herself. She sat down, glanced at the paper she was holding, and said, “His name's Grainger, not Grange, and he lives in Middleham. At Tan Beck House. And there's the phone number.”

Meredith took the paper and glanced at it, then raised her eyes to meet Patsy's. “Thank you,” she said, and looked down at the paper again. “Now that I know she could be only a few miles away, I feel rather strange.”

“Do you mean about seeing her?” Patsy asked, her brow furrowing.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you're afraid.”

“Do you know, I think I am.”

“I'll go with you to Tan Beck House.”

“Thank you, but perhaps I should go alone, Patsy.”

“Shouldn't you phone her first?”

“I'm not sure. In a way I prefer to see her face-to-face before she knows anything about me. If I phone first, I'll have to start explaining myself.”

“You're right. So do it your way.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR

I
t was with some trepidation that Meredith walked up the path to the front door of Tan Beck House.

For the past thirty minutes she had been sitting in Patsy's Aston-Martin, trying to gather her courage to go there in search of Kate Sanderson.

Since her apprehension had seemed only to increase the longer she sat, she had, in the end, turned on the ignition and driven back down the road.

As she had alighted from her car a moment earlier she had seen that the lovely old stone house was substantial but not overly large, the kind of house a vet or a doctor or lawyer would live in. It was well kept, with a freshly painted white door, sparkling windows, and pretty lace curtains; an array of spring flowers brought color and life to the beds in the garden on either side of the flagged path.

Now she stood at the front door, her hand on the brass knocker. Her nerves almost failed her. Taking a deep breath, she banged it hard several times and then stood back to wait.

The door was opened almost instantly by a youngish woman with dark hair who was dressed in a gray sweater and matching slacks under a green-striped pinafore.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked.

“I'm looking for Mrs. Grainger. Mrs. Nigel Grainger. Is she at home?”

The young woman nodded. “Is she expecting you?”

“No, she's not.”

“Whom shall I say is calling?”

“I'm Mrs. Stratton. Meredith Stratton. She doesn't know me. I'm a friend of a friend. I was hoping she could help me with something.”

“Just a minute,” the young woman said, and leaving the door ajar, she hurried across the highly polished floor of the small entrance foyer.

She returned within seconds, opened the door wider, and said, “Mrs. Grainger would like you to come in. She won't be a minute, she's on the phone. She told me to take you to the sitting room.”

“Thank you,” Meredith said, stepping into the foyer and following the young woman, at the same time glancing around quickly, wanting to see everything.

She noticed a handsome grandfather clock standing in a corner and a collection of blue and white porcelain effectively arranged on an oak console table.

Showing her into the sitting room, the young woman said, “Make yourself at home,” and disappeared.

Meredith stood in the middle of the room, thinking how welcoming it was, struck by its warmth and charm. It was of medium size, tastefully decorated, the walls painted red, with bookshelves running floor to ceiling on two of them. The woodwork was a dark cream, hand-painted to resemble faux marble, and there was a dark red and blue Oriental rug in front of the stone fireplace. Between two tall windows an antique desk faced out toward the back garden and a small lawn. Beyond were rolling moors and an endless expanse of blue sky filled with scudding white clouds.

Meredith turned away from the window at the sound of footsteps. She held her breath as she waited for Mrs. Nigel Grainger to open the door.

At the first sight of her Meredith's heart dropped. This was not the beautiful young mother of the red-gold curls and bright blue eyes whom she had worshipped in her childhood dreams.

Mrs. Grainger was a woman in her early sixties, Meredith guessed. She wore beige corduroy pants and a white shirt with a navy-blue blazer, and she looked like a typical country matron.

The woman hesitated in the doorway, looking at Meredith questioningly. “Mrs. Stratton?”

“Yes. And hello, Mrs. Grainger . . . hello. I hope you'll forgive this intrusion, but I came to see you because I'm hoping you can help me.”

“I'm not sure how, but I'll try,” Mrs. Grainger said, still poised in the doorway. “You're American, aren't you?”

Meredith nodded. “Mrs. Grainger, I'll come straight to the point. I'm looking for a woman called Kate Sanderson. Annette Alexander of Place Vendôme in Harrogate gave me reason to believe that you and she are the same person. Is that so?”

“Why, yes, it is. I'm Katharine Sanderson Grainger, and I used to work at Place Vendôme, years ago, before I was married.” Kate frowned, the quizzical expression reflected in her eyes again. “But why are you looking for me?”

Meredith was extremely nervous. She had no idea how to tell Kate who she was and, momentarily, she was at a loss for the right words. Finally she said in a tremulous voice, “It's about . . . about . . . it's about Mari.”

Kate Grainger looked as if she had been slapped in the face, and slapped hard. She recoiled, gaped at Meredith, and took hold of the door to steady herself.

Then quickly recovering her equilibrium to some extent, she asked in a tense voice, “What about Mari? What is it you want with me? What do you want to tell me about Mari?”

“I . . . I knew her, Mrs. Grainger.”

“You knew my Mari?” Kate cried eagerly, sounding breathless. She took a step forward.

Meredith could see her better now. She noted the vividness of the blue eyes, suddenly filled with tears, the reddish-gold hair, paler than it once was and shot through with silver, recognized that well-loved, familiar face, touched by time but still quite lovely. And she knew with absolute certainty that this
was
her mother. Her heart tightened imperceptibly, and she was seized by an internal shaking. She wanted to go to Kate, put her arms around her, but she did not dare. She was afraid . . . of rejection . . . of not being wanted.

“You knew my Mari,” Kate said again. “Tell me about her, oh, please tell me . . .”

Choked up, unable to speak, Meredith simply inclined her head.

“Where? Where did you know my little Mari? Oh please, please tell me, Mrs. Stratton.
Please,”
Kate pleaded.

“In Australia,” Meredith answered at last in a strangled voice.

“Australia.”
Kate sounded outraged, and she drew back, her eyes wide.

“Sydney.” Meredith's eyes were riveted on Kate, who was shocked and also puzzled.

“She loved you so much,” Meredith said, her voice a whisper.

Kate reached out, grabbed the back of a wing chair. She gripped it tightly to support herself. “You speak of her as if she's . . . you speak of her in the past tense. She's no . . .
dead,
is she?”

“No, she's not.”

“Oh, thank God for that,” Kate exclaimed, sounding relieved. She went on. “I've prayed for her every day for years and years. Prayed that she was all right, that she was safe. Please, Mrs. Stratton, tell me something. Did she send you to me? Send you to find me?”

“Yes.”

“Where is my Mari? Oh, do please tell me.” Kate's emotions were very near the surface, her feelings visible on her strained face. Who was this woman bringing news of Mari? News of her beloved child, lost to her for so many years? She began to tremble.

Meredith took a step forward, drew closer to Kate. Kate's heartache was written on her face, and Meredith realized how distraught she was. And also how sincere.

Groping around in her mind, she sought appropriate words to explain to Kate who she was.

Stepping closer to Kate, she looked into her face, and before she could stop herself, she said, “Mam . . . it's me . . . Mari. . .”

Kate could not speak for a moment, and then she exclaimed, “Oh my God! Oh my God, Mari, is it really you?” Kate took hold of Meredith's hand and drew her to the window. “Let me look at you. Is it you, Mari, after all these years?” Reaching out, she touched Meredith's face tenderly with one hand. “Is it really you, love?”

Tears were spilling out of Kate's eyes, trickling down her face. “Oh Mari, Mari, you've come back to me at last. My prayers have been answered.”

Meredith was also crying. And the two women, separated for almost forty years, automatically moved into each other's arms, held on to each other tightly.

Kate was sobbing as if her heart would break. “I've waited for this day for over thirty-eight years, prayed for it, begged God for it. I'd given up hope of ever seeing you again.”

Mother and daughter stood holding each other for a long time, drawing comfort from each other as they shed their tears of sorrow and joy . . . sorrow for the past, for all those years they had missed together . . . joy that they had been reunited at last, before it was too late.

 

They sat together on the small sofa in the library, a tray of tea and sandwiches on the coffee table in front of them. But neither of them had touched the sandwiches which the young housekeeper, Nellie, had prepared.

They held hands, kept staring at each other, searching for similarities. And there was a kind of wonderment on their faces. It was the special wonder a mother feels when she sees her newly born child. And in a way, Mari was newly born for Kate that day.

“I never came to terms with my loss,” Kate said, her voice soft, echoing with sadness as she remembered all those grim years she had endured without her only child by her side. “I thought of you every day, Mari, wondered about you, yearned for you, longed to hold you in my arms.”

Meredith stared deeply into those marvelous eyes. “I know, Mam, I know. It was the same for me always, and when I was very little, especially. I was always wondering about you, wondering why you'd sent me away from you, why you didn't want me. I never did understand that.” Meredith brushed the tears away from her eyes. “How did you . . . lose me? How did we get separated?”

“It was a terrible thing and it really started with Dr. Barnardo's Home . . . do you remember that day when you were five, when you found me passed out on the kitchen floor?”

“Oh yes, I went to fetch Constable O'Shea.”

“He'd arranged for an ambulance. I was put in Leeds Infirmary and he took you to the children's home. I never blamed him, he didn't know what else to do, since I didn't have any family. Anyway, I was in hospital for about six weeks. As soon as I was on my feet again, I went and got you, and we were together at Hawthorne Cottage, the way we'd always been. But about a year later, in the spring of 1957, I became ill once more. I took you to Dr. Barnardo's myself this time. I'd nowhere else to put you. Dr. Robertson was worried about me, he wanted me to go into the infirmary for some tests. It was there that they discovered I had tuberculosis. Seemingly it had been dormant for several years. Suddenly it had flared up, fanned no doubt by undernourishment, worry, stress, fatigue, and a rundown condition in general. Tuberculosis is very contagious, it's airborne, and I couldn't be near you, Mari, for your own sake. The doctors at Leeds Infirmary sent me to Seacroft Hospital, near Killingbeck, where I was treated. I was in quarantine for six months.” Kate paused, took hold of Meredith's hand, held it tightly, and looked into her eyes. “I sent you messages all the time, Mari. Didn't you get any of them?”

“No.” Meredith returned her mother's intense look. “Why didn't you come and get me when you were better?” she asked, a hint of resentment flaring. She pushed it down inside her.

“But I did! As soon as I was released from Seacroft Hospital. I was on the mend, no longer contagious, taking antibiotics. Streptomycin, actually. But you weren't there anymore. The people at Dr. Barnardo's told me you had been adopted. I was in shock. Distraught and angry. And heartbroken. I didn't know how to find you. I had no one to help me, no family, not much money. It was like battering my head against a brick wall. They just wouldn't tell me anything, and there was no way I could get you back.”

Kate shook her head sorrowfully, found her handkerchief, and wiped her streaming eyes. “I was utterly powerless, helpless, Mari, and so frustrated. I've never really dispelled my anger, it's still there inside. It's gnawed at me for years. What happened ruined my life. I have never recovered from the loss of you, never really been happy, or had any peace of mind. I've always been haunted, worried about you. My only hope was that one day, when you were grown-up, you might want to meet your biological mother, and that
you'd
try to find
me
.”

Meredith, who had again been moved to tears by Kate's words, exclaimed, “But no one adopted me! They lied to you at Dr. Barnardo's. They put me on a boat with a lot of other children and shipped us all to Australia. I was in an orphanage in Sydney.”

“An orphanage!” Kate was stunned. She stared at Meredith in horror as the terrible truth dawned on her. “What kind of thinking is that? It was stupidity to send you from an orphanage in England to another one at the far side of the world. And why?” She closed her eyes for a moment, then snapped them open. “They said you'd been adopted by a nice family, that you were living in another city in Britain. It was my only consolation . . . that you were growing up with people who cared about you, loved you, and were good to you. Now you're telling me you were never adopted.”

Kate was shaking.

Meredith soothed her, tried to calm her, then explained. “Well, I was adopted, but in Sydney, of course, not in England. When I was eight. But it was only for two years. The Strattons were killed in a car crash when I was ten. They weren't very nice people. Mr. Stratton's sister put me back in the orphanage.”

Stiffening on the sofa, grasping Meredith's hand tighter, Kate said in a fearful voice, “The Strattons didn't hurt you in any way, did they? Abuse you?”

“No, they didn't. But they weren't very loving or kind.” Now, staring at Kate in bafflement, Meredith went on. “If you didn't give them permission to send me to Australia, then how could Dr. Barnardo's do that? I mean, they did it without your consent.”

“Yes, they did.” Kate drew away slightly, and now it was her turn to give Meredith a piercing stare. “All of a sudden you sound as if you think I'm not telling you the truth. But I am, Mari. You must believe that.”