Authors: Marian Babson
The Cat Next Door (9 page)
There was movement again in the shadowy garden below. Margot leaned forward, resting her forehead against the window pane, trying to see more clearly. She had to remind herself that the Centurion had never existed, that he was the mischievous invention of two
bored children. On a night like this, it was very easy to believe in him.
bored children. On a night like this, it was very easy to believe in him.
Who was down there? She resisted the temptation to go down and find out. She had not the energy to get dressed again and she was not going to go prowling around in nightgown and slippers. Apart from which, there was no guarantee that the intruder would still be there by the time she had gone downstairs and out into the garden.
Could it be Lynette? Everyone had assured her that there was nothing wrong with Lynette's legs. Her invalidism was entirely self-imposed, a neurotic retreat from reality that would have to be dealt with after the trial was safely over. In the meantime, did she secretly slip out of the house in the small hours to take a bit of exercise?
That was one question that could be answered without going outside. Margot walked silently down the hallway and pushed open the door that stood permanently ajar. In the faint glow of the nightlight, she could see the silhouette of a figure in the bed. Of course, a rolled-up blanket placed under the coverlet was one of the oldest tricks in the boarding school lexicon.
Margot advanced into the room, then halted as the dark shape on the bed sighed and turned over, flinging one arm up over its head.
Margot retreated hastily on tiptoes. So much for that idea. Lynette was not out prowling about the garden in the darkness. The thought now seemed highly unlikely. If Lynette would not leave her room, why on earth would she want to go there, of all places? She would want to avoid the garden: where her mother had died, at her hand or not.
And that wild idea now seemed unlikely, too. Just one of the waking nightmares that come in the small hours, to be dispelled by the light of day, or the reawakening of common sense.
Weariness dragged at Margot as she regained her own
room and slumped on her bed with barely enough energy to kick off her slippers. Whatever was going on, it was beyond her. She could not think about it, she could not face it. She could not face anything except sleep â and even then she was afraid that she might dream.
room and slumped on her bed with barely enough energy to kick off her slippers. Whatever was going on, it was beyond her. She could not think about it, she could not face it. She could not face anything except sleep â and even then she was afraid that she might dream.
She had forgotten to close the curtains, so the growing brightness of the morning wakened her gently. There were sounds of life stirring through the house, unlike yesterday. This morning, it seemed, everyone was at home and ready to start the day. She might as well join them.
She sat up and groped with her feet for her slippers. Her toes encountered something cold and faintly slimy and recoiled. She looked down to find the clingfilm that had covered her sandwiches was now draped across her slippers. She pulled it aside and slid her feet into the slippers, looking around.
The four triangles of crustless bread, in varying stages of destruction, were scattered across the carpet. Not a shred of chicken was to be seen and the triangles that had fallen butter side up had been thoroughly licked. It appeared that Tikki had enjoyed a very successful foray sometime in the early hours of the morning.
Margot gathered up the bread and crumbs as best she could and decided that flushing them down the loo would be the most tactful way to dispose of them. To toss them in the waste basket might be to betray that Tikki had been on the prowl or, worse, might make Nan think that her efforts had been unappreciated.
To reveal that Tikki had been in the house again and in her room, despite the fact that he had been uninvited, would be to reignite the smouldering feud Uncle
Wilfred seemed to have with the cat. Kingsley had been right: anything for a quiet life.
Wilfred seemed to have with the cat. Kingsley had been right: anything for a quiet life.
Sunday was ordinarily more than quiet enough, deadly dull and boring, actually. This Sunday, however, was different. There was a sense of urgency in the air as she descended the stairs.
âYou'll have to hurry,' Nan said, as she bustled about adjusting her hat, âif you're coming to church.'
âI don't think I am,' Margot said. âNot today.'
âSuit yourself but, if you don't come today, it may be some time before you do. The siege will start any minute now and we won't be free to move about.'
âI'm too jet-lagged to do any rushing,' Margot said, âand I was thinking of having breakfast.'
âYou know where to find it.' Nan shrugged and turned as Milly appeared. âComing to church, Milly?'
âChurch?' Milly said the word as though it were in a foreign language. âChurch â¦?' She drifted past, shaking her head in vague bewilderment at such an extraordinary concept.
From upstairs, Lynette's bell pealed out sharply.
âOh, I can't!' Nan glanced at her watch and hurried towards the door. âTell her I've gone.'
Milly continued on her way, giving no indication that she had heard a thing, and disappeared into the morning room. The house suddenly seemed empty again â or as though everyone were lying low.
The handbell rang again, urgently, insistently. It was not going to stop. It was going to disturb the peace of the house until someone answered.
It was obviously up to her â unless she wanted to try to eat her breakfast with that endless clanging as an accompaniment. She turned and went back up the stairs slowly, clinging more tightly to the banister at each ascending step. Pausing to catch her breath at the top, she looked back and felt a cold chill.
Nan was still standing just inside the front door,
watching her shrewdly. Nan had been standing there watching her all along.
watching her shrewdly. Nan had been standing there watching her all along.
Nan gave a cheery wave of encouragement and, this time, left the house, closing the door softly behind her.
âI've been ringing and ringing,' Lynette complained. She was propped up against the pillows, fractious and flushed with the exertion of her bell-ringing. Or was it temper? âWhere's Nan?'
âGone to church,' Margot said coolly, regarding her in the new light of the suspicions that had surfaced during the night and could not be completely discarded. âWhat is it you want?'
âI want Nan! When will she be back?' Lynette pushed the bell aside and looked at Margot uneasily, as though sensing something less than whole-hearted approval.
âI don't know. What is it you want? I can get it.'
âMy tray is in the way.' Lynette pouted at the bedside table where the tray occupied most of the space.
âI'll take it down.' Margot picked up the tray and hesitated. âYou know, you could just put it outside the door and then anyone going downstairs could take it down with them.'
âI'm not well!' Lynette recoiled as though she had been struck. âI can't get up.'
âYou get up to go to the loo, don't you?'
âYes ⦠but I don't have to carry anything.' She was being bullied unmercifully, Lynette's body-language conveyed. She sank deeper into the pillows, her eyelids fluttered down, her voice grew weaker. âI'm not well.'
âYou might feel better if you tried to move around more.'
âAre you a doctor?' Lynette's eyes opened and flashed hostility.
âNo, I'm just trying to help.' Margot realised she must go no further. Perhaps a seed had been planted. Perhaps. âIs there anything else you want?'
âYes. I want Tikki. Where is he?'
âI haven't seen him,' Margot replied truthfully.
âHe's been here. I can always tell when I wake up. He likes to play with the jigsaw pieces. Yes â that's what else you can do. Pick them up off the floor ⦠please.'
Margot set the tray down on a nearby chair and stooped to gather up the scattered pieces. Sudden dizziness overcame her and she sat down heavily on the floor.
âWhat's the matter?' Lynette cried in sudden panic. âAre you all right?' She reached for the handbell.
âNo, no, it's nothing,' Margot said quickly. âIt's just â I haven't had breakfast yet. My blood sugar is a little low. That's all.'
âYou're sure?' Lynette was not convinced. âYou're not ⦠sick?' Dying, she meant. Her world had caved in so completely beneath her feet that she no longer trusted the firmest surface, the strongest person. Anything â anyone - could betray her at any moment.
âNo, no.' Margot forced herself to her feet and dropped the jigsaw pieces on the table. Cautiously she reclaimed the tray. âI'm going to get some breakfast now.'
âIs my father downstairs?' Lynette asked abruptly. âI want to see him. Send him up to me.'
âIf he's there,' Margot promised.
âI know he's there,' Lynette insisted. âI'm sure I heard his voice a little while ago.' She paused. âBut don't let Verity come up. I don't want Verity.'
â
Who does?'
Margot stopped herself from actually saying it, but the thought seemed to hang in the air and Lynette was not stupid.
Who does?'
Margot stopped herself from actually saying it, but the thought seemed to hang in the air and Lynette was not stupid.
âYou don't like her, either.' Lynette exuded satisfaction; she had discovered an ally. âI think she's terrible. I don't want her to be my new â ' She stopped abruptly, not able to bring herself to say the word.
Had Kingsley suggested such an idea to her? Or had it been Verity, trying to lay the groundwork as she
pushed herself forward for the coveted position? Would Kingsley actually marry her? Or, after a suitable interval for grief â and allowing the publicity to die down â would Kingsley look for a bride with better social and financial connections?
pushed herself forward for the coveted position? Would Kingsley actually marry her? Or, after a suitable interval for grief â and allowing the publicity to die down â would Kingsley look for a bride with better social and financial connections?
No prizes for guessing the answer to that one. Her own cynicism startled her. Once, she would never have dreamed of criticising Kingsley, not even mentally. It was, perhaps, a measure of how far she had travelled, how much she had changed.
âIf your father is downstairs, I'll tell him you want him.' Aware of Lynette's anxious eyes, she balanced the tray carefully as she carried it from the room. She was pretty anxious herself. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated, wondering whether it would be wiser not to attempt the stairs with it. One or both of them might go crashing down if she tried.
âLeave it there.' Emmeline spoke from the foot of the stairs. âNan can collect it when she comes back. You're not used to carrying heavy trays, especially not on stairs.'
âI was a bit nervous about it,' Margot admitted, setting the tray down on the floor and freeing her hand to rest lightly on the banister as she descended. âEspecially as I haven't had breakfast yet and I'm feeling a bit weak.'
âI hadn't realised you weren't up yet,' Emmeline said. âI'm afraid I've cleared the dining-room. Come into the kitchen and I'll make fresh tea. Or would you prefer coffee?'
âTea is fine.' Margot followed her into the kitchen, vaguely uneasy, and watched Emmeline bustling about, setting a place for her at the table. What was wrong with this picture?
While the kettle boiled, Emmeline rinsed the dishes piled on the draining board and stacked them in the dishwasher. âI'll wait until you've finished and put
yours in before I switch it on,' she said. Emmeline was not usually so domestic â or domestic at all.
yours in before I switch it on,' she said. Emmeline was not usually so domestic â or domestic at all.
âWhere's Nellie?' That was what was wrong. The weekend help, who augmented the au pair, should be here doing all these domestic chores.
âNellie â¦?' Emmeline closed the dishwasher door and straightened up. âNellie doesn't work here any more.'
âBut I thought Nellie was part of the fixtures and furnishings! Did she retire?'
âIn a way. We haven't seen her since ⦠about a year ago. We had to let her go.'
âLet her go? But â '
âNellie was unable to resist the lure of chequebook journalism. She sold “her story”. Only it wasn't hers, it was ours. How we were coping, how Lynette had taken to her bed, almost as catatonic as Chloe. Oh, she told them everything she knew. And what she didn't know, they invented. They printed it in a double-page spread, with Nellie, the “faithful retainer”, grinning all over her face at the top of one page. We couldn't allow her to stay on after that.'
âNo, I suppose not.'
âWe've got by with temporary help from an agency since then but, with the trial about to start, we've cancelled our account. We'll just have to manage on our own until it's over. We can't risk having a spy in the house. It's
sub judice
right now but â¦' Her voice faltered. âBut, once the verdict has been announced, they can say what they like. Especially if Chloe is found ⦠if the verdict goes against Chloe.'
sub judice
right now but â¦' Her voice faltered. âBut, once the verdict has been announced, they can say what they like. Especially if Chloe is found ⦠if the verdict goes against Chloe.'
Emmeline obviously could not bring herself to utter the word
guilty
, perhaps she couldn't even think it.
guilty
, perhaps she couldn't even think it.
âThen they'll write their books about the case,' Emmeline said, adding bitterly, âThey probably have them written already â all but the final chapter.'
They probably had. From the beginning the case had captured the public imagination and the media had
leaped gleefully on the delicious irony of a beautiful young political wife and mother being murdered in her family's garden, after having moved unscathed through some of the most dangerous trouble spots of the world.
leaped gleefully on the delicious irony of a beautiful young political wife and mother being murdered in her family's garden, after having moved unscathed through some of the most dangerous trouble spots of the world.
âWhat can you expect?
' Henry had written, enclosing a selection of clippings.
âIf it had happened on one of those foreign jaunts, no one would have paid much attention after the first few days. This way, her story will never end. It will become one of those classic crimes they rehash repeatedly and feature in every collection of famous crimes. Still, I suppose this is the way she would have wanted it.'
' Henry had written, enclosing a selection of clippings.
âIf it had happened on one of those foreign jaunts, no one would have paid much attention after the first few days. This way, her story will never end. It will become one of those classic crimes they rehash repeatedly and feature in every collection of famous crimes. Still, I suppose this is the way she would have wanted it.'
Henry was right. Claudia had always thrived on attention â and excitement, her taste sharpened by that first memorable fact-finding tour when the rising young politician and his glamorous wife had been held hostage for forty-eight hours by local insurgents, while the diplomatic community worked tirelessly to free them and a breathless public, whipped up to hysterical frenzy by the media, gulped down every detail.
It had raised Kingsley's profile no end. And Claudia hadn't done badly out of it, either, garnering radio and television appearances and lecture tours about her experience.
After that, their travels had often taken them to the risky regions of the world; at times, it seemed that the Foreign Office's list of no-go areas was being used as their travel itinerary. Even low-risk countries seemed to seethe and boil over if they were visiting, although never again with such spectacular results.
How very ironic that the most dangerous place in the world for Claudia had turned out to be her family's garden; the most deadly adversary, her own twin.
âIt will go on and on,' Emmeline prophesied grimly. âWe'll have the repercussions to deal with for the rest of our lives. As though it wasn't bad enough, to have lost Claudia â¦'
They had lost more than Claudia, they had lost a large
part of their own lives. Emmeline had felt unable to continue as headmistress of her exclusive girls' school with an open scandal in her family. Yet she was a strong energetic woman who ordinarily would not have thought of taking retirement until she had reached sixty-five and would probably have gone on into her seventies in a job she loved and could do easily. Now, from a whole schoolful of girls to supervise and shepherd, her life had dwindled down to looking after just one: Lynette. Although it was only too possible that Lynette needed more looking after than that entire school.
part of their own lives. Emmeline had felt unable to continue as headmistress of her exclusive girls' school with an open scandal in her family. Yet she was a strong energetic woman who ordinarily would not have thought of taking retirement until she had reached sixty-five and would probably have gone on into her seventies in a job she loved and could do easily. Now, from a whole schoolful of girls to supervise and shepherd, her life had dwindled down to looking after just one: Lynette. Although it was only too possible that Lynette needed more looking after than that entire school.
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