Mistletoe Mystery (21 page)

“No!” De Lacey waved the gun about. “I need the money. I’m
an old man now and not able to do what I used to do. It damn near killed me
climbing over your roof. I cannot earn a living.”

“Yes you can,” said Philly. “You could do something honest.
Work in a bank, pack groceries, work in a burger bar. No one has to be a
criminal.”

De Lacey laughed. “You foolish, self-satisfied girl. Perhaps
you will not be quite so self-righteous when you realise what paid for your
education and your place in drama school. Your godmother never worked a day in
her life either. She was not born to it.”

“She could have been,” said Scattergood. “She just never
tried. Don’t think too harshly on her, Philomela. It was drummed into her from
a very early age that she had to keep this house, no matter what. She met
Armand here in France and he taught her how she could do that. When she came
here to the school, their usual forger had just died. She saw the work I’d done
for the church nativity and approached me. I was only fourteen, so you can
imagine how excited I was when this beautiful, sophisticated woman involved me
in her exciting plot. It was a real adventure for me.” Mr. Scattergood smiled.
It was the first time Philly had seen him do so. “Put the gun down, Armand,” he
said. “You’re not going to shoot the girl. We’re not about that. We never were.
Our rule was always that no one got hurt. Only the rich suffered, and they
could afford it. Remember.”

“I remember your ideals, Robespierre, but they were never
mine. You always wanted to strike back at the upper classes. Not that it
stopped you taking your cut when the money was shared out. I do not have your
ideals. I do not care if this girl is hurt.”

“You always were the odd one out, De Lacey,” said
Scattergood. “I do care if the girl is hurt, and so does everyone standing
outside this attic door.” Scattergood stepped aside a little, to show the group
of guests. The Reverend and Mrs. Cunningham were at the head of them, clinging
together, their kind faces full of concern. “When I saw you follow the girl up,
I told them to come with me and see a real denouement.”

“Then I have nothing to lose,” said De Lacey. “Because I am
not spending the rest of my life in prison. I want what is due to me.”

What happened next was something of a blur. Philly became
aware of one of the trunks opening, and a figure emerging from it. He clonked
Monsieur De Lacey on the head and knocked the gun from his hand.

“I don’t know about what’s due to you,” said Matt, “But
you’ll certainly get what’s coming to you.”

People rushed into the attic, to surround De Lacey and
ensure he could not get away.

“Matt?”

“Hi, darling.”

“Puck and Meg said you’d gone.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I asked them to lie. I’ve been here
all along. I had a feeling something was going to happen in here today.”

“You did?”

“Well it’s the last day the house is open to guests, so I
figured our prowler would be getting desperate.”

After that, everything became chaotic, as the police
arrived. As Mr. Scattergood was led away in handcuffs, Philly went up to him.
“I want to thank you, Mr. … I don’t even know what to call you.”

“Harry, Harry Johnson,” he said. His sister came to stand by
his side.

“I thought I’d lost him forever,” she said, sniffing loudly.
“But now I’ve got a brother again.”

“Probably not when they take me to jail, sweetheart,” said
Harry.

“Oh well at least I’ll know where you are for a change,”
said Mrs. Bennett.

“Thank you, Harry,” said Philly, reaching up to kiss his
cheek. “I’ll tell the police about how you tried to save me. With any luck it
will go towards your defence.”

“I appreciate that, lass, thank you. I knew it would catch
up with me eventually, though. A man can’t run away from his past forever. I’m
glad it’s over now.”

“You’d better come with us too, Miss,” said one of the
policemen. “We’ve a lot of questions we want to ask you and your two friends.”

“But we didn’t know anything about it,” said Philly. Her
pleas and those of everyone present were ignored as Philly, Meg and Puck were
taken to the police station.

As Philly was led away, she heard Mr. Graham’s new love
interest say, “The police are very convincing, aren’t they?”

Another lady said, “Best murder mystery weekend ever!”

***

“I can hardly believe it,” said Mrs. Cunningham, pouring
Philly a cup of tea in the cluttered living room of the Cunningham’s bungalow.
“All this time, I’ve had nightmares about Dominique coming to serious harm, and
all along she was your godmother in disguise.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Philly.

“Oh no, don’t be. It isn’t your fault, and I’m glad the police
finally accepted that. It was ridiculous to think otherwise.” Mrs. Cunningham
smiled. “I think I guessed, you know, when you sang No Regrets. Your phrasing
in the French parts were so much like Dominique’s.”

“My godmother coached me in a French accent when I was at
drama school,” said Philly. “I suppose I must have picked up her bad habits.”

“Yes, you did rather. Fancy Mr. Scattergood turning out to
be Robespierre and Harry Johnson. I think that’s far too many aliases for one
person, don’t you?”

Philly smiled. “Yes, and I still don’t know what to call
him. It’s sad really. I keep thinking that if my godmother hadn’t corrupted
him, he might have become a really great artist.”

“He was very young and impressionable, that’s for certain.”

“I’m still struggling with it all,” said Philly. “The idea
that my whole life is a lie, paid for by organised crime.”

“That’s hardly your fault, dear, and it doesn’t change the
honest person that you are. I think we have to give your godmother some credit
for that. She could easily have corrupted you too, but for some reason she
chose not to.”

“She still lived on the earnings from stolen paintings.”

“Yes, that is a problem, but it’s not your problem. 
The truth is out there now, as they say on the X-Files. Oh I do like Agent
Mulder.”

“You are incorrigible,” said Philly, with a smile. “Thank
you for still allowing me into your house.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You must stop taking the guilt of
everything on your own shoulders, dear girl. You have done nothing wrong.”

“I feel as if everyone is judging me, wondering whether it’s
possible that I was involved. I even ask myself how I could have spent time
with my godmother without ever guessing.”

“Because as with when she pretended to be Dominique, she
made sure no one guessed, Philly. She was a clever woman. It’s only now, with
hindsight and a lot of information I did not have at the time that I can see
she wasn’t quite right as Dominique. Even when I had misgivings, I took her as
I found her. You had even less reason to suspect her. Presumably she was a
woman who was kind to you soon after you lost your parents. Children are just
grateful to be loved and cared for. It doesn’t matter what else their parent or
guardian does.” Mrs. Cunningham took a sip of tea. “When I was a teacher I met
parents who seemed absolutely awful. Certainly not people I would trust with a
child. Yet when I saw them with their children, it was clear they wanted the
best for them. They may not have always gone the right way about it, but the
love was genuine.”

“I don’t know that my godmother did love me,” said Philly.
“She was stuck with me, that’s all.”

“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself for the sake of
it,” said Mrs. Cunningham with uncustomary brusqueness. Philly knew that she
meant well. “Why don’t you invite that nice young Matt over? I’m sure he can
put you straight.”

“I haven’t seen him much since the day we were arrested,”
said Philly, glumly. “He went back to America to tell his dad what happened. He
hasn’t called or anything.”

“I see.” Mrs. Cunningham smiled secretively.

“So I guess he did just want to find out the truth.”

“Well, you know how the saying about fat ladies and singing
goes. I wouldn’t rule him out yet. What are you doing for lunch today?”

“Meg and Puck have been invited to his mum’s for the day. I
could go too, she says so. But I don’t know if I’m very good company at the
moment.”

“It’ll be much better than you sitting up at that house all
alone and miserable.  If you change your mind, Andrew and I would be
delighted to welcome you here. It will be ready around two.”

“Thank you.” Philly stood up and leaned over to give Mrs.
Cunningham a kiss. “I am so glad I met you and your husband. You’ve both been
wonderful to me.”

“Well, I care what happens to Dominique’s girl, even if
Dominique wasn’t really Dominique. All the time I was in the house over that
weekend, I felt that she was sending me signals, asking me to take care of you.
I shan’t let you disappear, Philly, you can count on it.”

Philly choked back a sob. “I shan’t go anywhere, I promise.”
She went to the door and opened it, turning back. “Aunt Robyn didn’t tell me
much about her life, for obvious reasons. But she did occasionally talk about a
wonderful teacher that she once knew. I think I know now who she was talking
about.”

“Thank you for that, child,” said Mrs. Cunningham, wiping a
teary eye. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Chapter Fifteen

What Philly told Mrs. Cunningham was not strictly true. She
had been in touch with a developer about selling the house. It seemed to be the
best thing to do. She could cut her losses, pay off her crippling business
loan, and maybe have enough to buy a nice flat in which to live. She had
promised Meg and Puck she would get one with two bedrooms so they had somewhere
to live too.

She loved Bedlington Hall, but she did not like the
associations or the recent intrusion. For days after the mystery weekend, the
newspapers and television had covered the story, bringing photographers to her
front door, and causing the phone to ring incessantly. So much so that she had
unplugged it from the wall.

Things had quietened down a little, with other news
overtaking the story of her godmother’s gang, but there was still the feeling
that her home had been sullied in some way. The bricks with which it was built were
bought with the proceeds of crime.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Robyn,” said Philly, standing looking over
the lake on a frosty Christmas morning. “I don’t believe the house should be
kept at any costs.” Nevertheless, she felt a deep ache in her heart at letting
it go. As if she had somehow failed her godmother.  But it was a terrible
burden to place upon someone. In many ways she pitied Robyn, imagining how much
that message must have been drummed into her by her parents when she was a
child. At least Philly had been saved much of that. Only her godmother’s
deathbed plea had put a burden on Philly. She wondered if Robyn had resisted
saying it until that last moment, and was suddenly overcome by her parents’
teaching as she died.

Philly could hear the church bells ringing in the distance,
and the aroma of dozens of Christmas turkeys filling the air. Perhaps she would
walk back down to the Cunninghams for lunch after all.

She walked back up to the house, noticing that the smell of
cooking grew stronger as she got nearer.

“There you are,” said Meg, when she opened the front door.
“We wondered what had happened to you, until we phoned Mrs. Cunningham and she
said you’d been there.”

“I thought you were at Puck’s mum’s.”

“They had another fall out about him not getting a proper
job.” Meg rolled her eyes heavenward. “Same old same old. Besides, there’s no
way we’d have left you on your own today.”

Philly ran to hug her friend. “Thank you!”

“We’ve invited the Cunninghams up to lunch,” said Puck,
coming from the kitchen wearing his favourite pinny. “I hope you don’t mind,
but Rachel and Joe are coming too. They were too busy to go home for Christmas.
I’ve made Joe promise to keep the camera off.”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

“Oh,” said Puck, grinning. “There’s a present for you in the
drawing room.”

“I thought we’d agreed on no presents,” said Philly, feeling
alarmed. “Because we’re all broke.”

“Yeah, well luckily we didn’t have to pay for this one. Go
on, before it gets cold.”

Meg punched Puck playfully. “Behave. Come on, back to the
kitchen with you. Dinner won’t cook itself.”

“At last,” cried Puck, “after all those years staring at the
cooker with a blank expression, she realises.”

Laughing, Philly went into the drawing room, where someone
had lit a lovely warm fire. And standing in front of the lovely warm fire was
Matt, looking utterly gorgeous in a thick Arran sweater.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Great, thanks. And you?”

“Yeah great… Philly…” He held out his arms, and she threw
herself into them.  They kissed, and for the first time, Philly was able
to let go of all the doubts and fears.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” she said,
teary eyed. “After everything…”

“You don’t get rid of me that easily. I had to go home and
explain to my folks why I wouldn’t be spending Christmas with them. So they
insisted I spent a few days with them first. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh no. I’m so glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.
I’ve been so stupid, Matt.” Philly rested her head on his chest.

“No, you haven’t. I’ve been stupid.”

“Well yes,” she said, impishly. “You were a bit more stupid
than I was.”

“And after I’d brought you a present!” said Matt, laughing.

“You’re a wonderful present. I love you.”

“Well that’s the best present I’ve ever had,” he said, kissing
her passionately. “I love you too. I have loved you since the day we met. Even
when I thought you were a sultry thief. When the police took you I was busily
planning how to break you out of prison.”