My True Companion (4 page)

“Are you all right?” Haxby asked, showing more gallantry
than he had shown her employer.

“I may not have the vote yet, but I can get up and down a
hill,” she said.

“I’m sure you can, Millicent,” he said. “Or do your friends
call you Millie?”

“Most people, except Mrs Oakengate, call me Millie.”

“Come on, Millie, Haxby,” said Alex Markham, overtaking
them, with Barbara Conrad not far behind. “Race you to the tea rooms!”

“Where is Hortense?” asked Mr Parker-Trent when they were
all seated and tea had been served. The table was laden with fruit scones,
Victoria sponge and homemade biscuits. Despite the hearty breakfast served at
Fazeby Hall only a couple of hours earlier, everyone tucked in, the climb
having given them all a good appetite. 

A young girl served them, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden
influx of customers out of season.

“I don’t suppose she’ll be bringing that hot water anytime
soon,” said Parker-Trent, shaking the empty teapot.

“Give the girl a chance,” Haxby said, “she’s only just run
in with the extra scones you ordered.”

“I was saying to Millicent yesterday that you can’t get good
servants nowadays,” Mrs Oakengate said.

“I know,” said Haxby. “It’s disgusting, people thinking they
don’t want to clean up all the mess left by the idle rich.”

“You’re being provocative again, Jim,” said Cynthia Fazeby.
She addressed him in motherly tones, despite her only being about five years
older than him.

“Really?” Haxby’s eyes gleamed and there was a noticeable
change in his tone when he talked to Cynthia, which suggested to Millie that he
liked their hostess. “I thought I was just being facetious. Provocative is much
more interesting.”

“You are a provocative man,” Mrs Oakengate said, smiling
coquettishly. “I don’t believe you mean half of what you say.”

“I promise you, Mrs Oakengate that I always mean everything
I say.”

“Where in damnation is Hortense?” said Mr Parker-Trent,
looking at his watch. Millie looked around and for the first time realised
Parker-Trent’s young wife was missing.

“I thought she came down Masson Hill with you,” said Barbara
Conrad.

“She decided to stay up there a while longer,” said
Parker-Trent. “Damn her to hell, she’s never where she should be.”

“I could go and find her,” said Millie.

“No, I’ll go,” said Parker-Trent. “I want to speak to her alone.”

“He’s an odious man,” said Haxby when Parker-Trent had left
the tea room. He had taken the seat next to her in the café, she guessed, or
perhaps she hoped, because it was as far away from Mrs Oakengate as possible.
“Treats that little wife of his very badly, no doubt.”

“It isn’t for us to delve into the private affairs of a
married couple,” said Alex Markham, stiffly.

“Quite,” said Haxby, “meanwhile women are mistreated and
have nowhere to go when they need help.”

“I thought you believed we could climb our own hills,” said
Millie. Really she wanted to ask Uncle Alex whether he truly believed it was
all right to ignore abuse, even in a marriage. His remark seemed at odds with
the man she knew. She wondered if he were a little jealous because of Haxby sitting
with her. That might account for his reserve.

“Whilst men have more physical power than women there are
some hills that can never be climbed,” said Haxby, grimly. “Not until society
treats those men with the disdain they deserve. It says something bad about
this country that a man can be hanged for stealing to feed his family, yet we
allow those who mistreat their wives and children to go free under the cloak of
marital privilege.”

“What a reactionary you are, Jim,” said Mrs Oakengate, her
eyes shining with excitement. She clearly found him very attractive, despite
the fact that he treated her with disdain. “It’s a wonder they don’t hang you
for some of the things you say.”

“No, they only hang innocent men in this country,” said Haxby.
Millie gasped, and bit her lip, desperate to stop herself from crying. Unable
quell her emotions, she stood up and went outside.

“That was very cruel of me, Millie. Please accept my
apology,” said Haxby, who had followed her out.

“What? To call my father innocent?” said Millie. “On the
contrary, it was a very kind thing to say.”

“I’m not a kind man, though. You know that, don’t you,
Millie?”

“Yes, I think I know that.”

“But I normally reserve my unkind comments for those I
believe deserve them. Like the ghastly Oakengate, and Parker-Trent.”

“And Chlomsky?”

“Chlomsky? I don’t know what he deserves. Yet.”

Millie was prevented from asking what ‘yet’ meant by sudden
shouting and yelling. People were running down Masson Hill, followed by a
stricken looking Parker-Trent.

“Get a rescue team!” a man shouted, running to them. “And a
doctor.”

“What is it?” asked Haxby. “What’s happened?”

“It’s this gentleman’s wife.” He pointed to Parker-Trent.

“Is she hurt?” asked Millie, feeling her legs weaken as a
sense of doom overtook her. She struggled to remain composed. She did not want
to be one of those women who fainted at the first sign of any problems.

“She’s fallen off the cliff,” Parker-Trent said, his cheeks
pink with exertion. “Landed on a ledge. We think her back is broken.”

Chapter Four

Millie watched as the men walked up Masson Hill, ready to
meet the rescue team.

“Let the men do what they need to do,” Mrs Oakengate told
Millie sternly, as the women waited for the car outside the cafe. “When this
weekend is over, Millicent, I think you and I need to talk. I am not best
pleased with the way you are pushing yourself forward with Mr Haxby. I do not
mean to be unkind…”

“Then don’t be, Victoria,” said Cynthia Fazeby, quietly but
firmly. “There is enough distress today, with poor Hortense in such danger. Let
us not add to it with trivial concerns.”

“I … very well, Cynthia, as we are your guests, I shall hold
my tongue.” Mrs Oakengate glowered at Millie.

“We need tea,” Cynthia said to the butler when they arrived
back the hall. “Lots of it.”

Henry Fazeby came out from his study. “Is it true, what I’ve
heard? Mrs Parker-Trent is injured?”

Cynthia nodded. “Then I think this calls for something more
than tea,” said Henry. “Brandy all around I think.” He turned to the butler,
who nodded. “You girls look stricken.”

They retired to the drawing room, where Mrs Oakengate
knocked her brandy back and immediately asked for another. Millie sipped hers,
not quite liking the taste, but too polite to refuse Henry’s ministrations. He
was very attentive to them all, in the old-fashioned way of treating women like
birds with broken wings. Despite that, Millie liked him and his wife very much,
and felt sorry that she had caused them so much embarrassment by being at
Fazeby Hall. Not that any of that mattered with Hortense Parker-Trent in such
danger.

It mystified Millie how someone so used to the Heights could
end up in difficulties. Surely Hortense would know not to walk too near the
edge. Or perhaps … Millie dismissed the thought. Hortense might have seemed
unhappy, but that would be no reason to take her own life.

The men returned two hours later. Alex Markham entered the
drawing room, and stood with his back to the fire, as if ready to make a speech
he would rather leave to someone else.

“Mrs Parker-Trent?” said Cynthia, frowning.

He shook his head. “We did all we could. Young Haxby climbed
down to her, but she was already close to death. They took her to the hospital,
but we’re told she was dead on arrival.”

“No!” the chorus rang around the room. Millie felt a chill
run down her spine.

“That poor girl,” Cynthia said. “She was only what?
Twenty-three, twenty four years old.”

“Yes, it’s dreadful,” said Mrs Oakengate. “And casts such a
shadow over an otherwise lovely weekend.”

“I’m sure Mrs Parker-Trent will be sorry that she put you
out,” said Henry Fazeby.

“Oh, of course it’s not her fault.” Mrs Oakengate had the
grace to look embarrassed. “But one does wonder how she could be so careless.”

“And Mr Parker-Trent?” said Barbara Conrad, casting an
irritated glance at Mrs Oakengate.

“He is in great distress, as you can imagine, and doesn’t
wish to see anyone at the moment. Chlomsky has helped him to his room.”

“I think then that the best thing we can all do is go home,”
Barbara said.

“That won’t be possible,” said James Haxby, entering the
room. “Can I have some of that brandy, Henry? Thank you.” He drank it down in
one go. His face was pale, but there was something else that Millie noticed. He
looked furious.

“What do you mean, not possible?” said Mrs Oakengate. “If I
want to leave, I shall leave.”

“The police are on their way,” Haxby said, pouring another
brandy. He looked as though he was about to drink that down too, but seemed to
change his mind and sipped from it instead.

“Why?” Alex Markham turned to him. It was clearly news to
him.

“Because just before she died, Mrs Parker-Trent told me that
she’d been pushed.” Haxby looked around the room, as if searching every face
for a reaction.

“No!” said Millie, feeling as if she might lose her
equilibrium at any moment. The room seemed to swirl around her. It was even
worse than she had imagined. “That’s awful. But who?”

“Did she give a name?” asked Barbara. She was sitting next
to Millie, and had reached out her hand and placed it on Millie’s arm, to
steady her.

Everyone turned to Haxby, in expectation. Millie wondered if
she were the only one considering it might be someone sitting in that very
room.

“No,” said Haxby. “No, she didn’t mention any names.” Odd
that he said names, thought Millie, and not
a name
. “I asked her, ‘how
did you fall?’ and she said ‘Not fall. Pushed’. Then I asked her who, but she
passed out.” Something in his face told Millie he was lying. No, not lying,
exactly. Holding something back. Then he looked directly at her, and she felt
the colour rush to her face. Did he think she had done it?

“Excuse me, Sir,” the butler said, entering the room and
addressing Henry. “There is a policeman at the door. A Detective Inspector
Brady.”

“Is that Simon Brady?” asked Haxby.

“I’ve no idea, Sir. I can ask.”

“No, I’ll come along and find out for myself. I know Brady,”
said Haxby by way of explanation to the others. “If it’s Simon Brady, he used
to work in the West Indies. Good man, and good at his job. He’ll soon get to
the bottom of this.” He was just about to leave the room when he turned back.
“Millie, come with me. Inspector Brady may need to talk to you.”

Unable to refuse the request, but all too aware of
everyone’s inquisitive glare, Millie followed Haxby out of the room.

“It is you!” he said, when they reached the hallway. He
greeted Brady warmly. Brady was a good looking man, around Haxby’s age, with a
rugged complexion that spoke of a long time spent in a warm climate. The two
men were instantly at ease with each other.  “May I introduce you to Miss
Millicent Woodbridge. She’ll be helping us with this.”

“Helping us?” said Brady, grinning. “I know you’ve helped me
in the past, Jim, but this isn’t the colonies. We have to do things a bit more
by the book here.”

“Of course we’ll do it by the book. I just might interpret
the text slightly differently to you.” He said it as if he would brook no
argument. Brady looked at him levelly, before nodding.

“I’ve got nothing to do with this,” Millie said. “I walked
back down Masson Hill with you.” The words rushed out, leaving her breathless.

“It’s alright, Millie. I know you didn’t.” Haxby looked
amused by her outburst.

They were shown to the library, where they could talk in
private. The two men took a comfortable seat near the fire, whilst Millie sat
on the sofa, still unsure of her role in all this.

“So,” said Brady, after exchanging the necessary
pleasantries with Millie, “tell me about Hortense Parker-Trent. You say that
she said something to you before she died, Jim?”

“Yes.” Haxby looked at Millie and smiled slightly. “She told
me that she was pushed. But she also told me something else. She said, ‘I heard
talking. Millie’s father innocent.’”

“She didn’t say who she heard talking?” asked Brady.

“No. The poor woman could hardly breathe, and what she said
took a lot of effort.”

“She told me last night, just before I met you on the
stairs, that she had something to tell me,” said Millie. “But Mr Parker-Trent
wouldn’t let her. He wouldn’t let me talk to her today.”

“He wasn’t kind to that girl,” said Haxby.

“So I’ve heard,” said Brady. “Hortense is from around these
parts, you know, and people still follow her progress. Rumour has it that
marrying Parker-Trent wasn’t the escape the poor girl thought it was going to
be.”

“Do you think he pushed her?” asked Millie, horrified. “To
stop her talking to me? But why would he? Unless he was one the one she heard
talking. But what would he know about my father?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” said Brady.

“Can we be there when you interview people?” asked Haxby.

“Jim, I’ve told you, this isn’t the colonies. We have to do
things by the book here. And, whilst I hate to say this, you and Miss Woodridge
have to be treated as suspects.”

“No, because we’re each other’s alibi,” said Haxby. “We
walked down Masson Hill together, and never lost sight of each other until they
came and told us about Mrs Parker-Trent. Isn’t that so, Millie?”

“Yes,” said Millie. But her mind was thinking of something
else. If Mrs Parker-Trent spoke her last words to Haxby, who was to say he
didn’t silence her?

“And what about when you were on the ledge with her, Haxby?”
asked Brady. He looked at Millie and nodded, as if he had guessed her train of
thought.