Truth Will Out (2 page)

‘You are nothing of the kind, Maude. But you’re right in one respect. Miss Crewe was exactly that – a companion to an elderly widow who has just died. The poor young woman was at her wits’ end with nowhere to go and Barlowe at the gallery was asking if anyone needed a governess or a companion. I thought of you.’ He held up a hand to forestall her objections. ‘The fact is I think we could take the pressure off Biddy. Miss Crewe could run up and down for you more easily than your aunt and you would have someone more your own age to talk to.’

They left the beach and started back along the road while Maude tried to think of further reasons why Alice Crewe should go elsewhere. The fact was she was becoming intrigued in spite of her initial objections.

Lionel said, ‘The old lady travelled widely and she must have talked to Miss Crewe about her earlier life. I’m sure you’ll find her interesting to talk to.’ He took a quick glance at her face and added, ‘There’s something else. She doesn’t cook!’

They both laughed and Maude relaxed and punched his arm playfully. ‘That’s not nice!’ She decided not to mention the Bakewell tart. Lionel was always complaining that the lighter puddings he preferred – stewed fruit, jelly or ice cream – rarely appeared on the table. Instead pies, steamed puddings and hearty fruit crumbles were carried in relentlessly by a beaming Aunt Biddy, who made certain that none of it was ever left.

As they came in sight of
Fairways
, their house, Maude sighed. She could see that her kind-hearted husband was hoping to offer the unfortunate Miss Crewe a new home and a job. He had convinced himself that he would be helping his delicate wife. They had four bedrooms so they could easily accommodate her. Maude could not object on that score but, still wary of the project, she felt there must be a way out of the dilemma, if only she could find it. She said no more on the subject but before they reached home Maude had made a decision. Bringing a stranger into their small household was a risk she was not prepared to take. Reluctantly she was going to disappoint her husband. Alice Crewe would not be joining them.

In fact, Alice Crewe was not at all what Maude had expected and as they sat down together in the elegantly furnished sitting room, she was forced to make an immediate reassessment. Several inches shorter than Maude, Miss Crewe was a friendly, bubbly person with surprising warmth. She reminded Maude of a cheerful gypsy in her dark-red skirt and white jacket. Her neat straw hat was decorated with dark-red ribbon. Only her sensible shoes suggested that she might previously have been someone’s paid companion.

‘Of course I miss the poor Mrs Patterson, the funny old dear,’ Miss Crewe confessed with disarming honesty, referring to the death of her former employer. ‘But four years is a long time and pushing a Bath chair to and fro along The Leas twice a day was hard work. And not very exciting, to be frank. I read to her from the Bible first thing in the morning and last thing at night.’ She leaned forward confidingly. ‘She was dear soul but, considering her wandering past, strangely terrified to step outside the routine she had devised for herself. It probably made her feel secure. Probably felt more vulnerable as she grew older.’

‘Were you the only other person in her life?’ Maude asked curiously.

‘No. There was a Mrs Hacket who came in each day and prepared meals for us. Not breakfast but a simple cooked lunch, mostly steamed fish and mashed potatoes, and the inevitable sandwiches for tea.’ Her rueful smile faded abruptly. ‘Am I talking too much?’

Maude smiled. ‘Not at all. I’m interested. So you haven’t travelled yourself?’

‘Oh no. We did go to Italy once for a holiday but she was very nervous and rather critical of the hotel and its staff. I got the impression she had once been used to better things. She did most of her travelling before she needed me. “Globetrotting” she called it. She was troubled by arthritis in her hips towards the end and was forced to give up her wanderings.’

‘May I ask how old you are, Miss Crewe?’

‘Twenty-three last time I counted!’ She looked round the room. ‘I thought there was a dog. I’m not allergic to dogs or anything.’

‘Primmy is almost certainly sulking in the kitchen with Aunt Biddy because we’ve thrown away a dead crab she found on the beach. She’s a rather wild cross terrier “of dubious extraction” – my husband’s description – but she knows that all tasty titbits come from my aunt. She spends too much time in the kitchen, I fear.’

‘I understand you’re a semi-invalid.’

‘Oh no! Certainly not!’ Maud rolled her eyes. ‘I assure you I’m not!’

‘Mr Brent used the word “delicate”. He says you have to stay in bed until eleven each morning. I thought . . .’

‘That’s my husband’s idea but I don’t always obey the rule!’ She rolled her eyes humorously. ‘He thinks I do and that’s what matters. I was once very ill and was near to death but I’m perfectly fit now. Mr Brent, however, worries about my health and insists that I take life slowly and carefully . . .’ She tailed off and shrugged.

‘I suppose he means well. I mean, he obviously has your best interests at heart.’

‘I’m sure he does. He’s a wonderful husband. I’m very fortunate.’ Suddenly Maude felt that Miss Crewe, being single, might think she was gloating so she searched for a new topic. ‘What is your health record, Miss Crewe?’

Miss Crewe grinned and her round face crinkled and her dark button-black eyes shone with mischief. ‘I’m as tough as old boots – or so Mrs Patterson claimed. I told her, “I have to be tough to push that Bath chair of yours!”’

Maude was trying hard to be rational about the woman. Alice Crewe seemed very open, had a sense of humour and in many ways seemed very suitable for the job Lionel wanted Maude to offer her. True, she was the sort of woman Maude would like as a friend – but did she want her as a companion? A friend would come and go. A companion would be permanent. Did she want a stranger hovering around her all the time?

‘What are your interests?’ she asked. ‘There would be plenty of time when I would want to be alone. What would you find to do here? It’s a far cry from London with all the theatres and art galleries. Apart from the sea and the ferries coming and going to France—’

‘I’ve never been to a theatre but Folkestone has a few, doesn’t it, and I read a lot of books. I’m also very keen on learning chess. The dear old soul taught me the basic moves. Do you play?’

‘Not really. I have a chess set that belonged to my father. He intended to teach me but then he was killed – and my mother died of a broken heart. That’s what the doctor said.’

‘When was that?’

‘About eighteen months ago. My father was a well-known artist – you may have heard of him. Arnold Cope. As their only child I inherited this house and I still have many of his paintings stored in the cellar where it’s cool and a few more in the attic or tucked away under the stairs.’

‘I’d love to see some of them,’ Miss Crewe said eagerly. ‘I don’t know much about art but I might learn something.’

Surprised, Maude frowned. ‘Actually, my husband thought you were quite well informed about art and music.’

‘Oh! Did he?’ She looked startled. ‘I–I suppose I may have exaggerated a bit,’ she confessed. ‘I was so keen to be considered for the job.’

Maude laughed. She found the young woman’s candour refreshing. ‘It doesn’t matter, Miss Crewe. As for the paintings – I sell them quite regularly, mostly through the Barlowe Gallery in London in which, since my father’s death, I now have a fifty per cent financial interest. Since our marriage my husband spends a great deal of his time promoting the gallery in different ways.’

‘It sounds interesting work.’

‘It is but it’s not work as such. He isn’t employed but does it for the pleasure of it – and to help me, of course. He genuinely enjoys it. He says it has opened up a new world for him. He helps Mr Barlowe mount the exhibitions, which we do regularly, and also travels widely to seek out new artists who we might ask to exhibit. He’s away from home quite a lot, actually.’

‘So you don’t only sell your father’s paintings.’

‘No, we don’t, but my father was very well respected and his work is still very much in demand, thank goodness.’ She decided to match Miss Crewe’s honesty and added, ‘They provide a useful income.’

‘Your husband told me a little about your parents. It must have been terrible to be left alone like that.’

Maude shook her head at the memories. ‘But shortly after they died I met Lionel and we were married. It was what is called a whirlwind courtship but I’ve had no regrets. We’re very happy.’

‘It all sounds very romantic. So where did you actually meet?’

‘Through the Barlowe Gallery! Lionel bought one of my father’s paintings and was so impressed he asked if he could come down here to Folkestone to see more of his work.’ She smiled at the memory.

They were silent for a few seconds and then Maude heard herself asking about Alice’s former pay and conditions – how many hours she worked a week, what accommodation she expected and what time had been allowed by her previous employer for a holiday.

‘I shall discuss these terms with my husband and my aunt,’ Maude told Alice. ‘But you must understand that nothing is actually settled. Mr Brent has surprised me with this idea and I need time to think it over. We’ll write and let you know our decision.’

Later, when she talked to Lionel, he continued to encourage her acceptance of the plan. ‘You don’t have to employ her, dearest,’ he told her, ‘but I confess I will be seriously disappointed if you don’t. I shall feel so much happier if you have someone like Alice to keep you company. I have given this a great deal of thought and to me she seems to be ideal and would fit in well here.’

Maude smiled. ‘If it were up to Aunt Biddy she’d get the job. Before Miss Crewe left, the three of us sat a while over a cup of tea and she told us that she has a weakness for food of all kinds but especially cakes and pastries! My aunt now thinks of her as a very discerning young woman.’

‘So she did impress you, Maude? I thought she would.’

‘Except that she had rather deceived you, Lionel, about her familiarity with the arts. Or did you deceive me?’ She laughed. ‘She’s never been to the opera in her life and knows nothing about art or music!’

He held up his hands by way of a defence. ‘Oh! Poor Miss Crewe. I dare say most people lie at interviews . . . and maybe it was me that exaggerated. I thought she’d make a lively, cheerful friend for you, Maude. Please don’t upset me by saying I was wrong.’

Looking thoughtful, Maude still weighed the arguments in her mind.

Lionel went on, ‘I would want her to have her own rooms. That is, a room as well as the bedroom. It would have to be the box room next to her bedroom but we could make it cosy. A shelf for her books, maybe, a small table and a comfortable chair. That way she needn’t share our space all the time.’

‘I should hope not, Lionel,’ Maude said quickly. ‘She isn’t going to be one of the family. I mean, we’re not
adopting
her. She will want to be on her own some of the time but . . . but available at others. At least, I imagine that’s how it works.’

‘Whatever you say, Maude. She can certainly have the box room.’

Maude nodded. ‘Primmy liked her, too.’

He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Oh well, if the dog approves . . .!’

‘Stop it, Lionel! You know what I mean. Maybe we should offer her a probationary period. Say two months to see how everything works out. Then if I don’t enjoy her being here or . . . or she doesn’t fit in . . .’ She shrugged. ‘She goes.’ Suddenly her eyes widened. ‘Oh dear! I forgot to ask for a reference!’

‘She sent one. It was very complimentary. I’m sorry, dearest, I forgot to show it to you.’ He glanced round the room, patting his pockets as he did so. ‘Now where did I put it?’

When asked, Biddy hadn’t seen it and Lionel failed to discover it. ‘I’ll give it to you when it turns up,’ he told Maude. ‘But I do recall it was quite flattering but written in a shaky hand about a year after Mrs Patterson became ill.’ He got up from the chair, stretching his arms. ‘I feel stiff. I think I’ll take a stroll around the garden. D’you feel like joining me?’

Maude hesitated then shook her head. ‘I think I’ll write to Miss Crewe before I change my mind, and offer her the two months’ probation to see how things go. I hope I don’t regret it.’

He gave her a kiss as he passed. ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ he assured her. ‘And your Aunt Biddy will be in seventh heaven!’

ONE

Friday June 2nd, 1922

I
t was five to eight in the morning and Maude lay in bed waiting to hear the front door close. As soon as it did she smiled to herself as Alice’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. The door opened and Alice’s head appeared.

‘All clear! He’s gone.’

Maude threw back the bedclothes and slid her feet on to the rug. Life had changed since Alice Crewe moved in. She had rapidly become one of the family and everyone enjoyed her presence in the house. With unerring judgement she had found her place somewhere between a paid companion and a close family friend. She was the sister Maude had never had and also proved herself a willing student of cookery, learning fast from Biddy and fully appreciative of her talents.

Maude secretly admitted that she enjoyed Alice’s young company but she was careful not to exclude her aunt from their gossipy chats, which wasn’t difficult because these mostly took place during long walks on the beach when the weather permitted.

Lionel had no idea that his wife no longer had breakfast in bed except on Sundays, when Lionel was not travelling to London to the gallery or further afield. Each morning, after his departure, Maude washed and dressed and hurried downstairs to join Biddy and Alice in the kitchen, where the latter was transferring the untouched contents of Maude’s breakfast tray to the table. When Alice had first suggested the deceit, she had used the oft-quoted excuse: ‘What the eye can’t see, the heart can’t grieve over!’ No-one had argued with her.

Now the three women settled comfortably round the kitchen table and began to eat porridge with honey followed by Biddy’s cinnamon bread, generously buttered.