Aunt Dimity Down Under (21 page)

“I know the feeling,” I told her, with complete sincerity, “but Ruth and Louise aren’t ghosts. They may not be in the best of health, but they’re still alive. At least they were alive when I spoke with my husband last night. The situation may have changed since then, though I hope it hasn’t.” I opened the tin and held it out to Bree. “Help yourself. Something tells me that we’ll be here for a while.”

Bree munched on Anzac biscuits and listened almost without blinking while I repeated everything Fortescue Makepeace and Aunt Dimity had told me about Aubrey Jeremiah Pym, Sr., and his identical twin sisters. By the time I finished, the sky had turned from blue to steely gray and a brisk wind had begun to whip the treetops. Bree had donned her hooded sweatshirt midway through my monologue and I’d slipped into my rain jacket.

“Ruth and Louise didn’t know your branch of the family existed until they found the letter in their mother’s trunk,” I concluded.

“They asked me to come to New Zealand because they wanted to reach out to their nephew—your grandfather—before it was too late.”

“But Granddad was dead,” Bree said, “and my father was dead. So you came to find me.”

“You’re Ruth’s and Louise’s only surviving relative,” I said, reaching into my day pack for the letter Bill had e-mailed to Donna Mackenzie. “Look, Bree, I realize that the situation may seem improbable, but—”

“It doesn’t seem improbable to me,” she broke in. “Ruth and Louise aren’t the only members of my family who’ve been kept in the dark. I didn’t know a thing about my great-grandfather until I read Granddad’s obituary. He wrote it himself.” Her brow furrowed as she rummaged through her book bag. “He must have written it during the day, while I was at school.”

I left the letter in the day pack and watched her intently, wondering what she wanted to show me. Her search produced a folded newspaper clipping. When she unfolded the clipping, I saw that it was the same size as the blank spot I’d noticed on the corkboard in her bedroom and that it had a telltale pinhole in each corner. A. J. had apparently written a lengthy account of his life because the typeface was miniscule.

I expected Bree to pass the clipping to me, but she kept hold of it.

“Tell me about my great-grandaunts,” she said, without preamble. “What did they do for a living before they retired?”

“I don’t think they did anything for a living,” I replied readily. It seemed only natural that Bree should be curious about her newly discovered relatives. “They’re magnificent gardeners and accomplished seamstresses and they’re on the flower-arranging rota at the local church, but as far as I know, neither one of them has ever held a paying job.”

“Have they ever had any trouble making ends meet?” Bree asked.

“No,” I said. “And believe me, if they had, I would have heard about it. News like that gets around faster than fleas in Finch.” I smiled. “You don’t have to be concerned about them, Bree. Ruth and Louise live quite comfortably.”

“My great-grandaunts have never worked a day in their lives, yet they live quite comfortably.” Bree raised her pierced eyebrow. “Haven’t you ever wondered how they pay for their comforts?”

I shrugged. “I assumed that their father—”

“Their father was a village parson,” Bree interrupted impatiently. “Even if he’d scrimped and saved, he couldn’t have left them enough money to enable them to live in comfort for the rest of their lives.”

“I suppose not,” I acknowledged equably. “I’m sorry, but I can’t answer your question, Bree. I don’t know anything about your great-grandaunts’ financial affairs.”

“Granddad did.” She glanced down at the newspaper clipping, then stowed it and Ruru in her bag. “Granddad wrote about the English aunts in his obituary.”

“What did he write?” I asked.

Once Bree started speaking the words came tumbling out, as if she’d longed to confide in someone but had known full well that no one would believe or understand her. The intensity of her loneliness came home to me as I realized that there were only two people in her entire country to whom her story would make sense. One was the American woman who sat in front of her, and the other was sitting on a park bench, waiting for me.

“My great-grandfather, Aubrey Jeremiah Pym, Senior, was for a short time one of the wealthiest men in New Zealand,” she began. “He got rich by marrying an heiress named Stella McConchie.”

In my mind’s eye I saw the silver-framed wedding portrait Cameron and I had discovered on the mantelshelf in A. J.’s filthy flat. Cameron had said at the time that it looked as though Aubrey had married money, and Bree had confirmed his guess. Aubrey, it seemed, had used his charm and his dashing good looks to jump to the top of the social ladder in his adopted country.

“When he took control of Stella’s money,” Bree was saying, “the first thing he did was to set up a trust fund for the sisters he’d left behind in England. He tied it up in miles of red tape because he didn’t want his father to touch a penny of it. He’d never gotten on well with his father.”

I leaned forward, intrigued. It had never occurred to me that the family’s black sheep, an unrepentant scoundrel who’d committed every sin short of cold-blooded murder, would behave so magnanimously.

“Aubrey didn’t get on well with the McConchie family, either,” Bree went on. “They didn’t approve of him, so when Stella died in childbirth and Aubrey reverted to his bad old habits, they turned their backs on him and his newborn son. Aubrey drank and gambled his way through the rest of his fortune in less than a year. His sisters’ money was safe, though. Aubrey had tied it up so tightly that not even he could touch it. When he died in the Great War, therefore, his penniless son was put into an orphanage.”

I thought of the mustachioed man holding the lace-bedecked baby in the arched entryway of ChristChurch Cathedral, and bowed my head. Aubrey had gone from rags to riches in five short years, but while he’d enjoyed the riches, his son had been left nothing but rags.

“Granddad beat the odds,” said Bree, with a wan smile. “He had a rough start at the orphanage, but he made a success of his life. Then he and Gran had Ed. I don’t know what they did to deserve a son like Ed, but it must have been terrible because Ed grew up to be a worthless piece of . . . tripe.”

She huddled more deeply into her sweatshirt, but the chill she felt seemed to come from within, not from the swirling breezes. When I suggested that we move indoors she didn’t seem to hear me.

“Ed broke his parents’ hearts,” she went on. “He drank, he stole, he lied, and he manipulated everyone who tried to help him. His mum and dad ordered him to leave home on his eighteenth birthday because they couldn’t stand the chaos anymore. When Amanda showed up years later with their granddaughter in tow, they felt as if they’d been given a second chance at parenthood. They took the child in and showered her with the love Ed had squandered. Granddad set aside money for her education and Gran told her that she had a bright future ahead of her.”

Bree stared at the ground with unfocused eyes, lost in memories. Then her lips tightened.

“But Ed came back,” she said. “My grandparents believed him when he promised to clean up his act. The prodigal son had returned and they rejoiced. But his saintly phase didn’t last.”

“He reverted to his bad old habits,” I murmured.

“He drove Gran to an early grave,” said Bree. “And Granddad and I became his prisoners. I was too young to throw him out and Granddad was too old, so he took over. He sold Gran’s jewelry to pay off his gambling debts. He forced Granddad to cash in his investments and to sell the furniture, the house, the cars.” Bree lifted her chin. “But Granddad refused to touch the money he’d set aside for me. Ed threatened to kill him for it, but Granddad said he’d rather die than to see my future thrown away at the track.”

“Why didn’t your grandfather report Ed to the police?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t let him,” she replied, as if she were stating the obvious. “My grandparents had never adopted me formally, and I was still underage. If the police had gotten involved, I might have been put into care and there would have been no one to look after Granddad.”

The wind had let up, but the temperature had taken a nosedive. I was certain that Bree was as cold and stiff as I was, but she didn’t show it. She sat with her back to the granite column and her arms wrapped around her knees, occasionally meeting my eyes, but staring mostly at the ground.

“Eventually,” she said, “we had nothing to live on but Granddad’s pension, my education fund, and the money Ed brought in when he felt like working. We should have found a cheaper flat in another part of the city, but Granddad wanted me to go to a good school, so we stayed in Takapuna. I left the day after I buried him.”

“And went looking for your mother,” I said.

“I thought she might . . .” Bree’s face crumpled, but she quickly mastered her emotions. “But it was no good. Every time Amanda looked at me, she thought of Ed. I could see it in her eyes.”

“She called you her
taonga,
” I murmured. “Her treasure.”

“Some treasures are cursed,” Bree said harshly. “So I moved on.”

“Your mother told me that Ed cursed the English aunts,” I said.

“He did,” said Bree. “He blamed them for ruining his life. If the English aunts hadn’t robbed us blind, he would have been wealthy, famous, influential. He kept the silver picture frames as proof of our family’s lost riches. I didn’t know what he was talking about until I read Granddad’s obituary.”

“How did Ed find out about the English aunts?” I asked.

“Granddad must have mentioned them somewhere along the line,” said Bree, “but he never mentioned them to me.” She peered puzzledly into the middle distance. “Maybe he thought I would resent them.”

“Do you?” I asked.

“No.” Bree’s mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “Money didn’t make Granddad a good man, and the lack of it didn’t turn Ed into a monster. If Ed had inherited a million dollars, he would have blown it all on booze and bets. I’m glad the money went to two women who like flowers.”

“I think they’d like you, too,” I said.

“I doubt it,” said Bree, wrapping her arms more tightly around her knees. “Ex-cons have trouble adjusting to life after prison. I disappointed my teachers by not going on to university. I haven’t been able to hold on to a job since I left Takapuna. I attacked Roger for no good reason, and I expect I’ll do the same to Holly. I don’t know how to behave around normal people.” She pressed her hands to her eyes. “I’ve given up hope of learning.”

“No you haven’t,” I said.

She lowered her hands and regarded me dubiously.

“You may not be aware of it,” I said, “but you’ve surrounded yourself with hope.” I pointed at her book bag. “Tolkien threaded strands of hope through all of his stories.” I motioned toward her neck. “The pendant you’re wearing is a koru, a symbol of new life and new beginnings.” I jutted my chin toward the Scott Memorial. “You didn’t come here to dwell on death. You’re sitting with your back to the boulder, facing trees arrayed in the rainbow colors of spring.” I fixed her with a level gaze. “I don’t deny that you’ve been through hell, Bree, but it’s not in your nature to give in to despair. Your spirit is too strong.”

“And look where my strength has gotten me,” she retorted. “No car, no home, no friends, and no future. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“If I might make a suggestion?” I said, with a tentative smile. “You may be impervious to the cold, but my bum is numb and I’m starving. Why don’t we pick up Cameron and have a hot meal, preferably in front of a roaring fire? It’s getting dark, anyway, so unless you have a flashlight, you won’t be able to read the letter.”

“What letter?” she asked.

“Didn’t I tell you about your great-grandaunts’ letter?” I hit myself in the forehead. “My brain must be frostbitten. Let’s go somewhere warm before I lose consciousness. You can read the letter there.”

Bree kept still for a moment, curled in upon herself like a frightened child. She closed her eyes and released an exhausted sigh, then unfolded like an opening fern frond, got to her feet, and walked with me through the blossoming trees to Cameron.

W
e ate at the Bathhouse Restaurant because it was close at hand, open on Sunday evening, and heated. The elegant decor, the excellent service, the creative menu, and the unmatched views of Lake Wakatipu were pleasant bonuses. Had we been in England, or even the United States, I might have hesitated to enter such a sophisticated establishment in grass-stained trousers and a wrinkled rain jacket, but New Zealand’s restaurateurs had a refreshing come-as-you-are attitude toward attire that put me at ease.

Another advantage to the Coronation Bathhouse was that it, unlike many eateries in youth-oriented Queenstown, did not feature a live band. The muted atmosphere allowed Bree to concentrate on her great-grandaunts’ letter while Cameron and I ordered a sumptuous dinner for our party of three.

When she finished reading the letter, Bree asked to borrow my cell phone and stepped away from the table to make a call. She returned a short time later, handed the phone back to me, and maintained a preoccupied silence throughout the meal. How she could refrain from cooing ecstatically over the braised pork dumplings, the kumara and feta gnocchi, and the manuka honey sorbet was beyond me, but she didn’t make a sound until the Valrhona chocolate cake arrived at our table.

“The lawyer didn’t tell them that the money came from Aubrey,” she said.

“Lawyer?” I managed, through a mouthful of chocolaty goodness. I pondered her words for a moment, then asked, “Are you referring to Fortescue Makepeace?”

She nodded. “Mr. Makepeace’s grandfather agreed never to mention Aubrey’s name again after Aubrey was disinherited, so he couldn’t tell Ruth and Louise about the trust fund Aubrey set up for them. His son and his grandson were bound by the same agreement. The Fortescues managed the fund for nearly a century without ever telling Ruth and Louise where the money came from. My great-grandaunts believed all along that their father had made canny investments for them.” She gave a shaky laugh. “How could anyone be so naive?”