The Boat House (2 page)

It was a large semi-basement room with large deep windows and whitewashed walls. The latter were home to various kitchen utensils – copper pans of different sizes hung from hooks, pottery ware resided on wooden shelves, a large stove kept the kettle on the boil and crockery and cutlery lived in a vast dresser. A small ice house was visible through the rear window and a variety of aprons and outdoor coats hung behind the door. But the feature that most amused Marianne was the row of bells relating to each room in the house, which were used to summon Lorna, the maid.

Cook was sitting at the large scrubbed table, preparing a shopping list, and Lorna was up to her elbows in soapy water, washing up the breakfast things. They glanced up as Marianne entered after a polite knock at the kitchen door.

Marianne smiled. ‘So sorry to interrupt you but I thought the twins would like to enjoy the garden for half an hour.’ She moved towards the door that led into the garden but not before she caught a quick glance that passed between cook and maid.

‘That’ll be nice,’ Lorna said dubiously.

The cook looked up from her list. ‘Does Madam know you’re taking them outside?’

Marianne regarded her innocently. ‘Does she need to know?’

Before there was time for an answer Emmie said eagerly, ‘We’re going to find some leaves and stick them in a book . . .’

‘And write down the names – like oak leaf or rose bush.’

‘It’s called nature study,’ Emmie continued. ‘We’re going to learn about the life around us, birds and butterflies and flowers and things.’

Lorna said, ‘You’d best keep away from the boat house then, because that’s haunted. Leastways that’s what Madam would have us believe and we—’

‘Hold your tongue, you silly girl!’ Cook told her. ‘It’s none of our business what they do.’

‘Sorry I’m sure!’ Lorna tossed her head. ‘I was only saying . . .’

‘Then don’t! Get on with your work.’ Turning to the twins, Cook smiled. ‘You go on out with Marianne and look for your leaves. The sun’ll do you good.’

Emmie said, ‘If we see the ghost, Miss Lefevre will take good care of us. She’s going to shoo him away!’

The two girls giggled at this idea.

Cook said, ‘I’m sure she will, Emmie.’

Edie said, ‘We saw him and he looked very sad, didn’t he, Emmie?’

Turning from the sink, Lorna said, ‘That’s because ghosts can’t find any rest and they . . .’

‘Lorna! What did I tell you!’

Cook glared at her and Marianne decided it was time to go. She hurried the girls through the doorway and watched them scamper off in the direction of the lawn. ‘I had no idea I should ask permission,’ she said.

Cook looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s nothing really, just something that happened in the past. When the girls were babies. We’re not supposed to discuss it. Not that we know much, because we weren’t here then.’

‘Then I won’t ask you about it.’ With a smile Marianne followed the twins out on to the lawn and together they headed for the shrubbery and then to the ancient oak tree in search of leaves.

While the girls selected the best specimens Marianne took stock of the larger garden – lawn surrounded by shrubs, a small rose garden, a few fruit trees and a vegetable garden. At the far end of the garden the boat house stood neglected and apparently unloved. It resembled a large summer house and was built entirely of wood with carved decorations over the door and windows. One of the glass windows was cracked and, even from a distance, it had obviously suffered from the weather, for the wood was warped in places and the steps up to the door looked rotten.

Marianne imagined the boat inside the little house. Presumably that, too, was no longer in use. Beyond it, hidden by hedges, the river flowed past.

Henley Regatta! That must take place not far from here, she thought, her interest quickening. Former inhabitants of the house must surely have joined the hundreds of boats that were punted or rowed up and down the river during the annual regatta. How could anyone live so near to one of England’s most glorious summer events and not take part? Not that she could imagine her employer enjoying herself. So far Mrs Matlowe had proved dour and tight-laced – rather forbidding in fact – but in her younger days she might well have shared in the excitement.

Marianne wandered through the garden, keeping a close eye on her two young charges, but her thoughts remained with her employer. Georgina Matlowe might have been an attractive woman, she reflected, although her looks were spoiled now by her severe expression. Her face, though lacking any artificial colour, was healthy looking and she had no need for spectacles. So how old was she? Marianne wondered. Old enough to have grandchildren, obviously. Maybe forty-five.

‘Excuse me! Miss Lefevre!’

Glancing up, she saw that their next-door neighbour was waving from the other side of the hedge, and that the twins were rushing towards her with cries of delight.

Emmie turned to Marianne. ‘It’s Mrs Brannigan. She makes lovely fudge and she gives us a box every Christmas.’

Mrs Brannigan was surprisingly thin for a woman who made fudge but she was smiling at Marianne. ‘It’s our little secret,’ she said. ‘Now and then I give the girls a piece of fudge.’

Both girls cast anxious looks in Marianne’s direction and then studied the house with narrowed eyes.

Having checked the windows, Emmie said, ‘No one’s watching!’

‘May I?’ Mrs Brannigan held out a plate with three generous cubes of fudge. ‘Orange with walnuts!’ she whispered.

‘Of course. How kind of you.’

Marianne took one and the girls helped themselves and thanked Mrs Brannigan.

‘You’re welcome, my dears.’ She turned to Marianne. ‘Such polite children. Beautiful manners.’

The twins hurried away to sit together on one of the garden seats.

The neighbour smiled. ‘They always do that. They sit there nibbling away like two little mice, to make it last.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Their grandmother doesn’t like them to eat too many sweets and I do understand but one piece each now and then won’t harm them.’

‘Your secret is safe with me. It’s delicious.’

They both laughed.

‘To be honest,’ Mrs Brannigan confessed, ‘I thought it a good excuse to get to know you. My husband thought it rather forward of me but there . . .’

‘Not at all.’

‘The twins are charming and I’m sure you will enjoy working with them. And we do miss the children who used to come into our sweet shop before we retired, clutching their pennies in hot little hands, wide-eyed with excitement.’ She gave a slight shrug. ‘We never did have any children of our own. It wasn’t God’s will, apparently.’

‘A sweet shop!’ Marianne smiled. ‘Isn’t that every child’s dream? I remember wanting to own a sweet shop. My brother wanted to be an engine-driver, of course. Not that he did. He worked for the railway as an inspector – visiting various towns and making checks on the administration. Hardly exciting work but some years ago he was sent out to India as some kind of supervisor.’

It seemed that her words were falling on deaf ears, however, as her neighbour, a wistful look on her face, continued. ‘We bought in some of the sweets – the barley sugar and the pear drops, the gobstoppers, sugar mice and liquorice strips, but we made toffee apples and coconut ice and . . .’ She tucked back a lock of grey hair and sighed. ‘Now it’s no more than a hobby.’

Suddenly Marianne saw a chance and took it. ‘The twins insist there is a ghost in the garden – a male ghost that lives in the boat house. I expect they’ve told you about it.’

Surprised by the change of direction, the older woman frowned. ‘Yes, they do mention it from time to time . . . It’s odd, though, you know, because once I thought I glimpsed someone down there but I wasn’t sure. My husband says I must be psychic! I hope I’m not, I told him. I’d rather think it was a prowler.’

‘A prowler? Oh dear!’

‘Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, my dear. People climb up the bank from the river, you see. We do occasionally have a small robbery but not recently. We’ve all got very secure locks on all the doors, as you can imagine. A prowler – that’s what they saw, I expect. A would-be burglar! Flesh and blood. Nothing eerie.’

‘Do they ever use the boat house – the Matlowes, I mean? Do they have a boat? I’m thinking that, being Henley and so near the site of the Royal Regatta . . .’

‘I’m told by your gardener that in the old days, when Mrs Matlowe’s husband was alive, they had a punt and he used to take part, but they never have since we moved in. And their neighbours on the other side, the Barneses, who’ve been here much longer than we have . . .’

‘I haven’t met them.’

‘He’s a photographer. Anyway, his wife said that Mrs Matlowe is scared of water so she was never involved. And her son’s no longer around, of course. Such a tragedy. And we don’t really know Mrs Matlowe.’ She leaned forward confidingly. ‘I think she thinks of us as “trade” because of the shop we owned.’ Her tone had changed slightly. ‘Our house here was left to my husband by his parents six years ago and we do rather rattle around in it. Still, you can’t look a gift horse in the mouth, can you?’

‘Certainly not.’ Marianne hesitated, wondering whether she dare ask further questions or whether she had gone far enough already. There would no doubt be other occasions when they would talk, and there were the kitchen staff. Marianne had not questioned them yet.

Excusing herself from the conversation, she went across to the girls who had finished their fudge and were now awaiting instructions.

‘Choose three leaves each,’ Marianne told them, ‘and we’ll take them inside and look them up in a book and then we’ll know the names of the trees.’

They nodded dutifully but Emmie said, ‘May we go down to the end of the garden? There are some lovely big trees down there – right next to the boat house.’

Edie added, ‘But only if you come with us in case we see the ghost man.’

‘Yes, of course I’ll come with you.’

Edie promptly took hold of her hand but Emmie strolled ahead, trying to appear nonchalant. The sun shone, a blackbird foraged among last year’s leaves in search of food, and to Marianne’s discerning eyes there was not the slightest hint of danger.

While Emmie and Edie searched out their leaves Marianne went carefully up the decaying steps of the boat house and tried to look inside through a panel of glass in the door. The years, however, had greened the glass and she could see very little of the interior. It was just possible to make out the dim outline of what she assumed was an old punt, which rested upon the water, tilted slightly to one side. Or was it shadows and a trick of the light? Perhaps her imagination was working overtime. Beyond it Marianne saw the outer gates. Presumably the gates would have opened to allow the punt access to the river itself.

‘Please, Marianne, I’ve found three leaves.’

‘So have I!’

‘That was quick!’ Marianne stepped back feeling rather guilty. ‘I was looking into the boat house,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘But it’s dark and empty. Your grandmother is right – there’s nothing to see so it’s best that you stay away.’

‘Empty?’ Emmie challenged. ‘But there must be a boat because it’s a boat house.’

‘Too dark to see anything,’ Marianne lied, feeling even more guilty. ‘And there was no ghost! Now let me see the time . . .’ She consulted the small pendant watch which she wore round her neck. ‘We have half an hour before Hattie comes, so let’s hurry back to the schoolroom.’

Hattie, a fifteen-year-old girl who lived nearby, came in three afternoons each week to take the twins for a long walk – somewhere between an hour and an hour and a half, depending on which route she chose. Mrs Matlowe had explained that, since Marianne was not a nanny but a governess, she was entitled to an afternoon break. ‘And a whole day is too long for the twins to be studying. It also gives you time to yourself.’

Marianne was grateful for her employer’s consideration and, as they returned to the house, she put aside any doubts she might have and whispered, ‘Be thankful for small mercies, Marianne!’

During the afternoon, while the twins were out with Hattie, Marianne was summoned to the study to be told that her probationary period of six weeks had now ended. She stood dutifully silent before the large desk as Mrs Matlowe reminded her of her duties, her revised salary, and her set hours of work.

‘I should also be pleased if you could introduce a few French words into the twins’ vocabulary,’ she told Marianne. ‘Nothing too complicated but enough to familiarize them to the idea of other languages.’

‘That will be no problem, Mrs Matlowe.’

‘Good. So, Marianne, do you understand everything? If not please say so now.’

Marianne hesitated but then decided that this was her chance to improve the children’s lot. ‘I am a very keen naturalist,’ she said, ‘and I would like to include a nature walk once a week as well as occasional forays into the garden. I do hope that is acceptable.’

Mrs Matlowe frowned. ‘A nature walk to where, may I ask?’

‘To the park, perhaps, or along the river bank.’

‘The river bank? I don’t know . . .’ She looked alarmed, Marianne thought. ‘I don’t like the girls to get too close to water, Miss Lefevre. I associate it with danger. I always have. Drowning . . .’ She shuddered. ‘And especially so now, after what happened last month to the
Titanic.
Fifteen hundred souls lost! Too horrible for words.’

‘It was terrible, I agree, but the riverside walk is quite safe. I will always keep my eye on them. And I swim.’

‘You do?’ Mrs Matlowe made no attempt to hide her surprise.

‘My father was a great swimmer. He insisted that I learn and taught me how to save someone who might be in difficulty. The twins would be quite safe with me, Mrs Matlowe.’ She crossed her fingers.

‘We–ell . . . I daresay it would be possible. As long as these are short walks so the children are not tired. The main thrust of their education must be arithmetic and clear handwriting . . . and reading, naturally, and learning poetry by heart. The latter is good for their memories. I still recall a great many poems from my childhood.’

‘I understand.’