The Secret Woman (11 page)

She asked me how I was getting on and if I enjoyed my work. It must be tremendously interesting, but she feared I must find it trying at times. Another, I thought, who doesn't like my naughty patient.

I said I was used to coping with patients and didn't anticipate that my present one would be any more trying than others I had experienced.

“She should never have come here,” Valerie Stretton said vehemently. “She should have stayed where she belonged.”

“The climate is not good for her, I admit,” I said. “But as this is her husband's home perhaps she prefers to be here, and happiness is one of the best of all healers.”

She made the tea. “I blend it myself,” she said. “A little Indian mingled with the Earl Grey, and of course the secret is to warm the pot and keep it
dry
; and the water must have just come to the boil.”

I listened politely to my lesson in tea-making and I wondered how much information I should get from her. Not much I decided. She was not a gossip. I daresay there had been too many secrets in her own life for her to want to chatter lightly about other people's. She must have been extraordinarily pretty when she was young. Her coloring would have been fair; her hair was still abundant though white; her eyes were very blue. Quite a beauty! No wonder Sir Edward had succumbed.

I sipped my tea. “You must know every part of the Castle,” I said. “I find its geography so difficult to learn.”

“We shouldn't complain of that as it's due to it that I owe the pleasure of this visit.”

I wondered what lay behind her words. I came to the conclusion that there was a depth in her which was not apparent. What a strange life hers must have been, living here under the same roof as Lady Crediton.

“Do you get many visitors?”

She shook her head. “It's a lonely life, but I prefer it so.”

I thought, she sits and watches the world go by like a nineteenth-century Lady of Shalott.

“Rex visits me often,” she said.

“Rex. You mean…”

She nodded. “There's only one Rex.” Her voice softened slightly. “He was always a good boy. I was nurse to them…both.”

An even more strange situation. So she was nurse to the two boys—her own and her rival's. What a strange household; they seemed to create unnatural situations. Was that Sir Edward? I decided it was. There was a trace of mischief in the old fellow.

I pictured it. She would favor her own son. Anna's Captain was a spoiled boy; that was why he was careless of other people's feelings, that was why he thought he could amuse himself with Anna and never allow her to suspect that he was already married to a dusky beauty across the seas.

“I daresay you are longing to see Captain Stretton again. When will he return?”

“I've no idea. There was this…affair…” I waited expectantly but she did not continue. “He's always been away for long periods since he first went to sea. He wanted to go to sea right from a baby almost. He must always be sailing his little boats in the pond.”

“I suppose they were both interested in the sea.”

“Rex was different. Rex was the clever one. Quieter too. He was the businessman.”

The man, I thought, who will multiply his father's millions.

“They are both good boys,” she said, suddenly taking on the character of the old nurse. “And now that Redvers is away Rex comes and sees me and makes sure I know that he doesn't forget me.”

How complex people are! I had talked to this woman for half an hour and I knew scarcely any more of her than when she was a face at the window. There was a furtiveness about her one moment and a frankness at the next when she seemed simply the nurse who had loved her charges; I imagined she would have wanted to have been fair, and knowing that naturally she would favor her own son she had tried to be equally as fond of Rex. And according to her Rex was a paragon of virtue. That was not entirely true, I was sure. I should not have been as interested in him if he were because he would have been so dull. He was far from that.

“The boys were very different in temperament,” she told me. “Red was the adventurous one. He was always talking about the sea and reading romances about it. He imagined himself another Drake. Rex was the quiet one. He had a business head on his shoulders. He was shrewd, quick to seize an advantage right from the start and when they bartered their toys and things Rex always came out best. They were so lovable, both of them in their different ways.”

How I should have liked to pursue that topic but she was becoming wary. I sensed I should never get anything from her by pressing. My only chance was to lure her to betray herself.

One must never rush confidences. They are so much more revealing if they come out gradually. But she interested me as much as anyone in the house—except perhaps Rex. I was determined that we should become friends.

I found Chantel's journal enthralling. Mine was not nearly so interesting. To read what she had written was like talking to her. She was so frank about herself that I felt my writing was stilted in comparison. The references to me and the man she called “my captain” startled me at first, but then I remembered that she had said we must be absolutely frank in our journals, otherwise they were useless.

I recalled my own.

“
April
30th
. A man called to look at the Swedish Haupt cabinet. I don't think he was serious. I was caught in the downpour on the way back from the shop and this afternoon, to my horror, discovered woodworm in the Newport grandfather clock. I got to work on it at once with Mrs. Buckle.

May
1st
. I think we've saved the clock. There was a letter from the bank manager who suggests I call. I feel very apprehensive about what he will say.”

How very different from Chantel's account of her life! I sounded so gloomy; she was so lively. I began to ask myself whether it was the different way in which we looked at life.

However the situation
was
melancholy. Every day I discovered that the business was more deeply in debt. After dark when I was alone in the house I would imagine Aunt Charlotte was there laughing at me, implying as she had in life: “You couldn't do without me and I always told you so.”

People had changed toward me; I was aware of that. They looked at me furtively in the street when they thought I didn't notice them, and I knew they were wondering: Did she have a hand in killing her aunt? She inherited the business, didn't she, and the house?

If only they knew what anxieties I had inherited.

I tried to remember my father during that time and that he had always told me to look my troubles right in the face and stand up to them, to remember I was a soldier's daughter.

He was right. Nothing was to be gained by pitying oneself, as I knew too well. I would see the bank manager and know the worst, and I would decide whether it was possible for me to carry on. If not? Well, I should have to make some plan, that was all. There must be something a woman of my capabilities could do. I had a fair knowledge of antique furniture, pottery, and porcelain; I was well educated. Surely there was some niche somewhere waiting for me. I shouldn't find it by being sorry for myself. I had to go out and look for it.

At the moment I was in an unhappy period of my life. I was no longer young. Twenty-seven years old—already at the stage when one earns the title of “Old Maid.” I had never been sought in marriage. John Carmel might have asked me in due course but he had certainly been quickly frightened off by Aunt Charlotte; and as for Redvers Stretton I had behaved with the utmost naïveté and had myself imagined what did not exist. I had no one but myself to blame. I must make that clear to Chantel when I next saw her. I must try to write as interestingly, as revealingly about my life as she did about hers. It was a measure of our trust in each other, and there was no doubt that writing down one's feelings did give one a certain solace.

I must stop my brief entries about Swedish cabinets and tall clocks. It was my feelings that she was interested in—myself—just as I was interested in her. It was a wonderful thing to have such a friend; I hoped the relationship between us would always be as it was now. I became afraid that she might leave the Castle, or perhaps I might be forced to take a post somewhere far away. I then realized to the full what knowing her had meant to me in these difficult times.

Dear Chantel! How she had stood by me during those dreadful days which had followed Aunt Charlotte's death. Sometimes I was convinced that she had contrived to divert suspicion from me. That was a very bold thing to do; it was what was called tampering with evidence. She was so lighthearted, so loyal in her friendship, it wouldn't occur to her. I must write this down. No I wouldn't because it was something too important to be written down. That was where I was not so frank as she was. When one started to write a journal one realized that there were certain things one kept back…perhaps because one didn't really admit them to oneself. But when I think of Aunt Charlotte's death, I grew cold with horror because in spite of the button, which Chantel found, and the belief (which I am sure is true) that in certain circumstances people have special powers, I could never believe that Aunt Charlotte would take her own life, however great the pain she was suffering.

And yet it must have happened. How could it have been otherwise? Still everyone in that house benefited from her death—Ellen had her legacy which was more than a legacy because it was the gateway to marriage with Mr. Orfey; and Heaven knew Ellen had been waiting at the gate for a very long time. Mrs. Morton had been waiting too for the happy release from Aunt Charlotte's service. And myself…I inherited this burden of debts and anxieties, but before Aunt Charlotte's death I had not known they existed.

No, it was as Chantel had made them believe. I might think Aunt Charlotte would never take her life, but what human being knows all about another?

I must stop thinking of Aunt Charlotte's death; I must face the future as my father would have done. I would go and see the bank manager; I would learn the worst and make my decision.

***

He sat looking at me over the tops of his glasses, pressing the tips of his fingers together, a look of mock concern on his face. I daresay he had spoken in similar strain to people before.

“It's a matter of assets and liabilities, Miss Brett. One must balance them. And you find yourself in a very precarious position.”

He went on explaining; he showed me figures to back up his conclusions. I was in a very difficult position indeed and I had no alternative but to act promptly. He talked of “voluntary liquidation,” which he believed, with care, could still be accomplished. In a few months' time, it might be too late. I must remember that expenses went on mounting and debts growing.

He was not suggesting that I should rely entirely on his advice. He was a bank manager merely. But the business had clearly been going downhill fast. Miss Charlotte Brett had bought unwisely—there was no doubt about that; she had often sold at a loss in order to raise money. That was a very dangerous procedure and could not be repeated too often. He suggested that I see my solicitor. Miss Brett's loan to the bank would have to be repaid within the next three months he feared, and he believed that I should go into these matters very, very carefully. It might be a wise plan to cut my losses and sell everything—including the house. That should settle the debts and leave me a little capital in hand. He feared it was the best I could hope for.

He gave me a melancholy handshake and advised me to go home and think about it.

“I'm sure you are very sensible, Miss Brett, and will before long have made up your mind.”

When I returned to the Queen's House, Mrs. Buckle was on the point of leaving.

“You look down in the dumps, miss,” she said. “I don't know. I was saying to Buckle it's no life for a young lady, that's not. That old house, all alone there. I don't reckon it's right. All alone with them valuable things. It gives me the shivers, not that the house itself wouldn't do that at night.”

“I'm not afraid of the house, Mrs. Buckle. It's…”

But I couldn't explain to her; besides she was a gossip and would be unable to help repeating any confidence.

“Well, it's none of my affair. But I think there's worm in that 'Epplewhite table. Not much. But it was right next to the tall clock and you know what them little devils are.”

“I'll have to look into that, Mrs. Buckle.”

She nodded. “Well, I'll be getting along. We're short of beeswax. I'll get some on the way in tomorrow. See you then, miss.”

She was gone and I was alone.

I went into the garden and thought of that autumn night so long ago now and I wondered foolishly if he ever thought of it. I walked down to the river where the water crowfoot rioted among the lady's-smocks and a swarm of gnats danced above the water. I looked back at the house and thought of what the bank manager had said. Sell everything. Sell the Queen's House. I was not sure how I felt about that. The Queen's House had been my home for so long. It attracted me while it still repelled me, and sometimes when I suddenly realized that it was mine I thought of it furnished as it must have been before it became Aunt Charlotte's storehouse. It would have been a charming happy house then…before so many tragic things had happened in it. My mother's death, my father, that brief evening's happiness when I had thought I had met someone who would change my life, the disillusion and then Aunt Charlotte's mysterious death.

I didn't want to sell the house. And yet I believed I should have to.

I walked across the lawns. The apple and cherry trees were covered in pink and white blossom; and there were flowery pyramids on the horse chestnut tree near my window. I had a strong feeling for the Queen's House.

I stepped inside. I stood listening to the clocks. It was still as cluttered as in Aunt Charlotte's day. Not many people came to the house now. Perhaps they felt embarrassed to deal with someone they suspected of being concerned in sudden death.

That night I walked all round the house, through room after room. So much valuable furniture for which I could not find profitable buyers! I should have to sell up and that meant selling to dealers. Anyone knew that they would only buy cheaply.

But I was coming nearer and nearer to a climax.

I seemed to hear my father's voice: “Stand up to your troubles. Face them and then you'll find the way to overcome them.”

That was what I was doing and the malicious clocks were telling me, “Sell, sell, sell, sell.” Yes, sell and get out; and start afresh. Make a new life…entirely.

***

“There's some people,” said Ellen, “that say the Queen's House is haunted.”

“What nonsense,” I retorted.

“Well, that's what they say. It gives you the creeps.”

I looked at her sharply. She had changed since Aunt Charlotte's death. I was certain that at any moment she was going to say that she couldn't continue. After all, she had only stayed to “help me out,” as she had explained at the time. Mr. Orfey was an exacting husband. With the legacy, he had bought his own horse and cart and was in business on his own—“building up nicely,” said Ellen.

But it was not so much Mr. Orfey's growing prosperity that made Ellen chary of the Queen's House. It was the memory of Aunt Charlotte. In a way the house was haunted for Ellen as well as for me. Ellen wouldn't go up into Aunt Charlotte's room alone. As she said it gave her “the creeps.” I could see that very soon she would be giving her notice.

It was a wet day and the rain had been falling steadily through the night; the skies were overcast and the house was full of shadows even in the afternoon. Mrs. Buckle going up to the attic rooms came hurrying down to say there was a pool of water on the floor of the attic. It was coming through the roof.

The roof had always been a matter for anxiety. Aunt Charlotte had had it patched up now and then but I remembered the last occasion when we were told it needed major repairs. Aunt Charlotte had said she couldn't afford it.

I was feeling very melancholy when Chantel arrived. How pretty she looked in her dark nurse's cloak which set off her lovely hair to advantage; her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled. “I couldn't resist calling,” she told me. “Miss Beddoes drove me into the high street, and I'm joining her in an hour's time. I was terrified that you'd be out.”

“Oh Chantel, it is good to see you!” I poured out everything that had happened; my visit to the bank manager, my fears about Ellen and the leaking roof.

“My poor Anna! What shall you do? You must have that money your aunt left me. I can't imagine why she should have done such a thing. I'd only been here such a short time.”

“She quickly grew fond of you…as anyone would.”

“You must satisfy me by taking that money back.”

“You know I'd do no such thing.”

“Well, at least it's there if you want it. What are you going to do?”

“The bank tells me I should sell up.”

“Can you do that?”

“I can try. There's the house. That should fetch something.”

She nodded gravely. “I'm sure you'll do the right thing, Anna.”

“I wish I could be sure.”

“Have you written it all in your journal?”

“How could I when you had it?”

“As you have mine. You must give me mine back. Things must be written when they happen, otherwise they lose their flavor. One forgets so quickly the essential feeling of the moment.”

“It was wonderful reading it, Chantel. I thought I was there.”

“How I wish you were! What fun that would be. If only they wanted an antique adviser at the Castle!”

“Did anyone ever want such a thing?”

“It's fascinating, Anna. I'm intrigued by it. It's not only the place which is so unusual, it's
them
.”

“I know. I could sense that. Has anything else happened?”

“I've consolidated my position. I'm getting to know them all so much better. I'm no longer the stranger within their gates.”

“And this man…Rex?”

“Now why did you pick on him?”

“I fancied he had appealed to you rather specially.”

“That's because you're thinking of romance. Now do you think that the heir to all those millions is going to be interested, seriously, in his sister-in-law's nurse?”

“I am sure he must be interested.”

“The important word is seriously.” She laughed, and I said: “Well, at least
you
are not thinking of him seriously.”

“I'm so frivolous, as you know.”