The Boat House (16 page)

It is too much to expect, I think, that I shall see anything of the regatta. The Matlowe family will not be taking part as she fears the water and considers the event ‘dangerous’. Maybe she’s right. I cannot imagine Emmie or Edie sitting still for long in a small boat even if we hired one – they are definitely fidgety and would soon get bored . . .

She wondered if Richard Preston would take the opportunity to enjoy one of England’s popular society events. If so he would hardly go alone. It was, after all, a social occasion and there was nothing sociable about being alone. Was there the slightest chance that he would ask her to accompany him, she wondered?

Mrs Matlowe’s sister, Ida, is still here and took her to see a doctor about a recent incident when she collapsed with a pain in her heart. We have heard nothing about the doctor’s diagnosis. When she returned, she went straight up to her son’s room and stayed there for the best part of an hour.

While she was at the doctor’s I spent some time with Donald Watson and his cousin Judith who works with him as a partner-cum-secretary. I think she approves of me because she deliberately left me alone with her cousin while she went out to post a letter. Donald Watson said he would miss me if I went to America with the twins
–
not that Richard has asked me to, and anyway he might be taking their family nanny home with him so she would probably look after them. She might even resent my presence.

I confess I was very flattered that anyone might miss me but Donald Watson may be married so I must not read too much into his comment.

Judith also suggested I might take her place when she leaves the agency (to have her first baby), which is food for thought – except that my secretarial skills are sadly lacking, but just in case I now spend an hour each evening working on typing and shorthand . . .

She brought the letter to a close with the thought that no matter how strange her world was becoming, at least she was never likely to be bored!

The next morning found Georgina on her knees before the altar in Neil’s room.

‘It’s Ida,’ she told him, rolling her eyes in exasperation. ‘I won’t allow her in here, naturally, but she is very curious. Nosy is probably the word I’m looking for. Even as a child she could never bear for me to have a secret . . . But enough about Ida. We went to see a specialist and he has made an appointment for me to see a man in Barts Hospital – but you mustn’t worry, dear. I’m sure it’s nothing . . .’

She wondered whether to confide in him about Richard Preston’s visit to the old nanny. Delaying the decision momentarily, she said, ‘Poor Ivan has died as predicted and I am taking the girls to his funeral. It’s about time they learned about death and seeing him serene in his coffin will reassure them that there is nothing to fear.’ She thought about it. Her own feelings – her earlier fear of dying – had changed with her son’s death. Wherever he was, she would be with him and that was reassurance enough.

Gathering her courage she said, ‘The brother has discovered the nanny’s whereabouts. I was hoping she had died by now but it seems not to be the case.’ She sighed. ‘Lord knows what she told him. She was a meddlesome woman, as you know, dear, and even now I’m sure she has told Preston a pack of lies. Oh, I know Leonora thought the world of her but, to my mind, she had too much influence in that family . . .’

Closing her eyes she breathed deeply in an attempt to calm her thoughts, which as ever swirled chaotically within her mind, trying to separate the confusion of ideas and suspicions. Clutching at one of them, she said, ‘Ivy Busby!’ That was her name. Yes, Ivy Busby had tried to cause trouble between her and her son.

‘My dearest boy!’ she cried. ‘You can have no idea how tormented I am by these wretched people! The good Lord knows I am guilty of mistakes – for which I am deeply sorry and would make reparation if I could – but . . .’

The Lord understands
, she assured herself.
You must trust Him, Georgina
.
And stay calm. That’s very important for your heart. Trust Him and stay calm
.

Detective Sergeant Ackrow could hardly contain his excitement. His colour rose as he stared at his two visitors. ‘They dug up the rockery? God Almighty! Why didn’t we find this out years ago?’

Donald Watson shrugged. ‘Probably because no one thought to interview the nanny.’

Richard said, ‘Or couldn’t find her. Poor Nan had been kicked out, remember. Literally thrown out on to the street. Really, it beggars belief!’

It was hot in the police station and Donald was beginning to sweat around his shirt collar but the window remained shut and no one else seemed troubled by the heat so he suffered in silence. Richard Preston had agreed, after some persuasion, that they take the news to the police and it was immediately obvious that DS Ackrow placed a lot of importance on the information. Donald had to admit to a certain excitement himself. But how was it to be done, he wondered anxiously, without Georgina Matlowe becoming aware of their suspicions? If the police decided to dig up the rockery in the hope of finding a body, Georgina would probably throw a fit and send at once for her solicitor.

‘We’ll need a warrant,’ the detective was saying, scribbling frantically in his notebook. ‘However, that means we alert her to what we are doing.’ He glanced up. ‘The thing is that if we find a body it’s possibly a murder investigation so we have to step carefully. If we don’t follow the regulations, meaning the correct procedures, we could end up with egg on our faces.’

Donald and Richard exchanged glances.

The latter said, ‘We might be wrong. Would Mrs Matlowe be able to sue us if we did it without her permission and she later found out what we’d done?’

After a long silence Donald said slowly, ‘How long would it take to dig up the rose bed and, if there’s no body, put it back again as it was?’

DS Ackrow brightened. ‘I’m with you! You mean, if we got Mrs Matlowe out of the way and did it . . . would she notice? Does she ever go into the garden?’ He looked at Preston.

He was taking the suggestion seriously, Donald thought, and was immediately nervous.

Richard said, ‘Probably she would notice.’

DS Ackrow squinted thoughtfully at his notes then turned to Preston. ‘Could you get her out for a day?’

He shook his head. ‘She’d never go anywhere with me. I’m the devil incarnate in her eyes. And anyway, what about Marianne and the twins – and the staff? Cook and maid. There’s also a gardener by the name of Blunt, although he only comes about once a week if I remember correctly . . . Ah! I have an idea.’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I believe she has to go to the hospital in London one day – or it maybe a specialist of some kind – and her sister is going with her. I could take Marianne and the twins somewhere but that would leave the kitchen staff. We’d have to get rid of them . . . And what about the neighbours?’

The detective frowned. ‘They would certainly notice police gathering round the rose bed, but if there was only one man digging . . .’ He sighed. ‘Hmm! It’s difficult.’

Donald said, ‘I suppose working at night is out of the question.’

‘Risky. We might be spotted. Come on, Watson. You’re an investigator. Think of something!’ He was only half in jest.

Donald nodded. ‘All I can think of is to take the neighbours into our confidence as to the real reason for the excavation . . . maybe get the cook and the maid over to the police station on the pretext of answering more questions – or give them the day off – all to go ahead on the day . . .’ He faltered to a stop.

‘When Mrs Matlowe is at the hospital in London!’ DS Ackrow finished the sentence for him and had the good grace to add, ‘Well done!’

Richard said, ‘I think it’s too complicated, isn’t it? I mean, too many things could go wrong.’

The detective shrugged. ‘It’s all we’ve got, though. It just might be workable. It’s risky but . . . If the gardener notices anything afterwards he’ll think it was the others who dug over the plot and the others will think it was Mr Blunt!’

Richard said, ‘I’m sure Marianne will help us with dates and so on. She’ll be in the know.’

Donald looked at him. ‘I don’t think you should be there when it happens – for your own sake. If there is a body, and if it’s Leonora . . .’

Richard agreed quickly. ‘I shall be taking the children somewhere nice and Marianne will come with us. That way I shan’t be there if . . .’ He shook his head, unable to put his feelings into words.

DS Ackrow said, ‘Well, I think that’s all for you, Mr Preston. Watson and I will carry on, settling the details.’

Preston was about to protest but then he realized that the detective was trying to spare him any more unpleasantness. He stood up, thanked them and made his exit.

The two remaining men got down to business, planning the excavation.

There was a routine plan for such operations, Donald learned. Tarpaulins would be laid around the bed; the rose bushes would be lifted and set aside in a box while two men took turns to dig out the soil.

‘And if we find her?’ Donald asked.

‘We’ll have a blacked-out vehicle parked nearby and the body will be carefully wrapped, carried out and driven to the mortuary. Immediately the soil will be replaced, the roses replanted and the surface flattened. Say two to three hours at the most.’

Donald didn’t know whether to be pleased or not. It was his plan but, like most plans, it could go wrong.

As if reading his mind, the detective said, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll be my neck on the line but I’ll clear it first with those higher up. It’ll be quite a coup if it
is
her!’

‘Tough on the brother, though.’

Ackrow shrugged. ‘The family want to know the truth. They’ve initiated it. They need to know what happened to her. That’s why he’s over here.’ He stood up.

Time to go, thought Donald. He made his excuses and left. No time for doubts now, he told himself. The sooner it was over, the better.

NINE

G
eorgina had bought the twins identical black outfits despite Marianne’s protest. Black skirts, black jackets with black stockings and shoes.

‘You don’t seem to understand, Marianne, the importance of death in the minds of young children. This is life, Marianne, not a fairyland where everything ends happily. I want them to realize that life is fleeting and they must be good children if they want to go to heaven. That’s where Ivan has gone. They will accept that.’ She gave her a sharp glance. ‘I expect you to wear black also.’

Marianne nodded. She was on shaky ground, she reminded herself. She was only the governess and had no right to interfere.

When the day came the children dressed in their new outfits with excited giggles, admiring themselves in the long swing mirror in Marianne’s room.

Emmie said, ‘I look like a witch!’ and rolled her eyes. She held out her arms, wiggled her fingers and said, ‘I shall turn you into a frog!’

‘You can’t because I’m a good witch.’

‘You can’t be a good witch because good witches are white and we’re both dressed in black.’

Marianne was adjusting her own black straw hat and deciding that it suited her. ‘Don’t let your grandmother hear you being silly, girls. Wearing black to a funeral is a mark of respect. It shows you . . .’ She picked up a hand mirror to see the effect of the hat from the back. ‘It means that you liked Ivan and you’re sorry he died.’ She gave herself a final glance in the mirror and, satisfied, said, ‘Now come along. Your grandmother has ordered a hansom cab to take us to the church. Isn’t that exciting?’

Outside the front steps, the vehicle waited, the horse snuffling impatiently. Georgina was already seated in the back, clutching her large black handbag. She indicated the space beside her, and Marianne sat down while the children scrambled on to the small seats opposite. The interior of the taxi smelled of leather polish and cigar smoke. The driver flipped the reins and they drew out carefully into the traffic.

‘That’s enough from you two!’ Georgina told the twins who were fidgeting excitedly. ‘A funeral is a solemn occasion and I want you to behave yourselves. Think only good thoughts and ask God to forgive your sins.’

They nodded dutifully.

Emmie asked, ‘Does he forgive
your
sins, Grandmother?’

‘My sins?’

She seemed flustered by the question, Marianne thought.

‘I don’t have any sins, Emmie,’ Georgina replied loftily, ‘but if I did He would forgive me. He also forgives mistakes.’

‘I make mistakes,’ Edie offered eagerly. ‘I thought five times five was twenty but it’s not. It’s . . . um . . .’ She looked at her sister for help.

‘Not that kind of mistake, Edie. The sort of mistake that one makes – unintentional mistakes.’ Marianne saw that her hold on the handbag had tightened. ‘Mistakes that turn out badly but . . .’ She fell silent.

Marianne said, ‘Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. God understands that.’

Georgina nodded gratefully. ‘Exactly.’

Edie cried, ‘Oh look! Those two horses are pulling that bus!’

Georgina gave it a cursory glance. ‘I never trust those horse buses,’ she said. ‘Very unsteady – and they will insist on racing each other. It leads to accidents. I don’t care for trams either but they are steadier on the whole.’

Emmie said, ‘But if they have an accident then that’s a mistake and God would forgive them.’

Georgina rolled her eyes despairingly. ‘No more talking, girls,’ she instructed. ‘We are going to a funeral and you must think proper thoughts.’

Marianne considered herself rebuked also. Her thoughts lately, with regard to her employer, were certainly not very proper.

After the service Marianne, Ida, Georgina and the twins returned to the home of the bereaved parents with another eight mourners, for a simple meal of ham and salad followed by fruit jelly and cream. There was also a cake with Ivan’s name on it, made by Ida.

While Georgina was in conversation with Ivan’s aunt, Ida took Marianne’s arm and led her into the passage where they could talk without being overheard.