The Edge of the Fall (31 page)

TWENTY-ONE

London, May 1920

Louisa

‘I think we should call the police.' Mrs Merling drew herself up to her full height.

Lucy, Mrs Merling and Louisa were in Mrs Merling's blue-papered parlour. Louisa had cried so much that there were no more tears. She slept and had woken to Mrs Merling shaking her and demanding to know who was sending her cruel things. That morning a letter had been delivered for Louisa and Mrs Merling had opened it. It was a drawing of a fish, spiky, jagged pen lines. She'd asked Jamieson who had delivered it – just a messenger boy – and then he had confessed the truth about the fish, the spots of blood on the carpet. ‘I have no idea who sent it to me!' Louisa had tried to sit up. Petra, annoyed by the noise, jumped off the bed, complaining. ‘Jamieson just brought it in.'

Mrs Merling had gazed at her. ‘But who could have sent it? I shall write to Mr Merling immediately. And we must speak to Mr Witt. We will discuss this in the parlour.'

Louisa had crouched down, held Petra to her heart. She heard doors banging. Mary came in to dress her. She shuffled out to the parlour, holding Petra, her heart heavy.

Arthur was already there, his hair even more slicked-back than normal. Mrs Merling talked on about the police and how criminals were brazen these days. ‘I cannot have this happening under my roof!'

Arthur sighed. ‘It's little more than malicious prank-playing, I expect.'

‘We should call the police!'

‘I shouldn't think that necessary. One fish sent through the post and a single drawing on a letter? I doubt there is anything much they can do with that. I imagine they'll say it is a prank. Which I expect it is. Might have been sent to anyone in London.'

Mrs Merling turned to Louisa. ‘Do you know who is doing this?'

She shook her head. ‘Someone who hates me.'
What about Jennifer Redesdale?
she wanted to say. Frederick would know.

‘Oh, come now,' said Arthur. ‘Just pranks. I imagine it will fade away. Now, Mrs Merling, we are very grateful for your concern. But my cousin's welfare is my responsibility and she is quite safe here. If you feel she is not, then perhaps I should reconsider her position.'

Mrs Merling swallowed, shook her head. ‘I see, Mr Witt. Of course, Miss Deerhurst is quite safe here. I agree, there is nothing to worry about.'

Arthur rose. ‘Quite so. Now, I would like to converse with my cousin alone. I can see she's been shaken by this.'

‘Oh, of course.' Mrs Merling bustled out of the room, Lucy behind her. Louisa gazed at the door. She turned, looked at Arthur as he stood and walked to the window.

‘I don't understand this,' he said. ‘I really don't.' He swung around. ‘Do you know? Do you know, Louisa, what has been happening here?' Petra jumped off her lap, alarmed by the noise.

She shook her head. ‘No. I have no idea.' She held out her hands to the cat. ‘Come back,' she said.

‘Really, Louisa?' In a moment, he was sitting opposite her by Mrs Merling's low table, clasping her hands. ‘You must tell me. Who is doing this? Has there been anything unusual apart from the fish?'

She wanted to cry. ‘I don't know who did it. There was the fish and the note. That was all. Mrs Merling thought the note was from a friend at first, she said it looked like a proper letter. Nice paper, properly addressed, that kind of thing.' Petra was still
padding about at the side of the room. Louisa held out her hand to her. She didn't come.

‘Louisa! Look at me, not the cat. Why didn't you tell me about these things? I think you're not safe. I think someone wants to hurt you.'

She dropped her hand. ‘But – you said to Mrs Merling it was just pranks.'

‘That's because the police won't help. This sort of person is dangerous. They'd be even angrier if they thought we'd contacted the police.'

‘You said I was safe.'

‘Well, you're not.'

She stood up, her heart on fire, blood racing, flying, scrabbling through her hands and face. ‘What shall we do? What can we do?'

He shook his head. ‘I don't know. Go away. Go far away.'

She grasped his hands. ‘We can't leave!'

Arthur shrugged. ‘We shall have to see what they'll do, then. Hope that they leave you alive.'

‘Alive? What are you talking about?'

‘My dear, they send a dead fish, a strange note. This isn't children playing. You're in danger.'

She couldn't speak. The words fell back into her throat. She tried again. ‘But why?'

‘Who knows? You're the sort of girl who inspires jealousy: beautiful, rich.'

Petra was cowering at the side of the room. Louisa couldn't reach her. ‘I'm not rich!'

‘Well, you will be one day. But this is a close society. Then you burst in – and, well, people get envious.'

She fell back in the chair. ‘So you're saying that they want to harm me because they're jealous of me? That's impossible.'

‘They want you out of the way, let's put it like that. You're taking what's theirs.'

‘Frederick said I'd made an enemy of Jennifer Redesdale. Do you think it might be her?'

Arthur shook his head. ‘Not her style. No, this is someone who
is really serious. Someone dangerous. I think there are more people jealous of you than just her. Think of that exhibition you made of yourself at the sea party.'

She shook her head at him. ‘I can't believe this.'

He leant against the back of the chair, ‘Why couldn't you just stay away from him? I don't know how to protect you.'

That night, in bed with Petra, she made promises, vows. She'd forget Edward. She'd not go to parties at all, she'd get a job, be independent. She could find a way of getting at her money, even though she wasn't twenty-one, then she could live alone in Mayfair, find a kind man who would look after her, be free of all this.

‘But what can I do, Petra?' she said, weeping into the sleeping cat's fur. She couldn't have her money, not really, not yet. ‘You're my only friend. Tell me what to do.' The cat slept on.

TWENTY-TWO

London, May 1920

Louisa

Louisa woke to sun streaming through her windows. She sat up. They must have let her sleep; it was surely later than eight. She swung out her legs. ‘Petra?' The cat must have hidden under the bed. Louisa crouched down, saw nothing. ‘Petra? Where are you?'

She didn't hear anything, not even a purr. It was strange. Normally, Petra was awake before Louisa, licking her face.

She must be hungry, Louisa thought. Petra must have gone down to the kitchens to try and beg some food. She pulled on her wrapper and slippers and padded out. No one else seemed to be up, only the maids.

‘Petra?' she called. ‘Are you downstairs?'

She wandered into the corridor. All the doors around her were closed, it must have been earlier than she had thought. She couldn't see how Petra could have crept into one of the other bedrooms. Why would she, anyway? She loved Louisa, not Mrs Merling or Lucy. She peered into the bathroom, no sign. The poor thing must have gone downstairs, she thought, looking for scraps. She could hear the sound of the maids flurrying around in the parlour.

‘Have you seen Petra?' she said, poking her head around the door of the parlour. The two girls, Mary and Millie turned round from dusting.

‘The cat?'

‘She's wandered somewhere and I can't find her.'

They shook their heads, promised to look out for her. Louisa
closed the door and opened the dining room. No sign there, either. She tried the study (where no one ever went) and then the other bathroom. Slow tendrils of fear were gripping her heart. Had she got outside somehow? Had the maids let her out by mistake? They knew not to open the door to her. But perhaps, this morning, when they'd arrived, they hadn't been thinking, had let her run. Louisa shook the thought away and headed for the kitchens, down another flight of stairs. She could smell frying food, bacon she supposed. She stopped at the door. She hadn't been into a working kitchen since she was a little girl, a small child trying to cadge bits of biscuit or icing for the cake. Mama had told her off for trying to creep in, once dragging her out by the arm, telling her no young lady belonged in the kitchen!

She leant up close to the door, heard voices, the clank of pots. She knocked, twice. There was no answer. She tried again. Then she pushed open the door.

The cook, Mrs Taylor, turned from the stove, two kitchen maids looked up from kneading dough on the wooden table. ‘What are you doing here, miss?'

It was a shabby sort of kitchen, now she saw it, the cupboards worn and the saucepans dirty. The dark-haired maid picked up her dough, threw it in between her hands as she stood, staring.

‘I have lost my cat. I wondered if you'd seen her.'

‘The little tortoiseshell one? No, miss.' The cook looked at the maids, who shook their heads.

‘She's not here? I thought she might be here, looking for food.'

The cook shook her head. ‘Haven't seen her, miss. Sorry, miss.'

‘You're sure she's not here?'

The cook turned to shake the pan. ‘I think we would have noticed, miss.'

‘I could look? Please.'

The cook turned back to the pan. The dark-haired maid tossed her dough from hand to hand. ‘I'll look for you, miss. If you tell me where.'

‘See,' said the cook. ‘Amy will look. But I can't see what she'd find.'

Louisa stepped forward. ‘Thank you, Amy. You'd have to look really hard, because she might be far back. She can hide in the dark.'

‘I'll look. Where shall I start?' The girl bent down as the other two returned to their work.

‘Over there.' Louisa gestured to the farthest cupboard. ‘Can you look under it?' The gap was very small, she had to admit. She couldn't imagine that Petra could crawl into it. But still, she asked the girl to look under the cupboard, across, behind, under the next one, then the next. Still nothing. The cook tutted as she fried, the other girl took over pounding the dough.

The maid fumbled in a cupboard, then underneath four more.

‘I don't think the cat's here,' said the cook, shaking the pan.

The smoke was getting into Louisa's eyes, scratching at the back of them. ‘She has to be! There's nowhere else she
could
be.'

‘Why don't you go upstairs and try again there?' said Mrs Taylor. ‘There's nowhere she could be here. Unless she slipped out of the front door. Perhaps when Mr Morris arrives he can take you out to look.'

Louisa rushed upstairs, tried all the doors, looked again. Then she scanned her own room once more. This time, she knocked on Lucy's door, hurried inside. ‘I'm hunting for Petra,' she said, as Lucy struggled to sit up. ‘Have you seen her?' She tried under Lucy's bed, opened the wardrobes, pulled open the drawers, tugged out the clothes, threw them on to the floor. Lucy was trying to get out of the bed. ‘Stop! She's not here! I haven't seen her since you took her into your room last night.'

Louisa stood there, clothes at her feet. ‘She has to be somewhere.'

‘Have you tried the kitchen?'

‘She wasn't there. I've been everywhere except your mother's room.'

‘Well, she won't be there. Mama always locks the door and she went to bed before you last night.'

Louisa leant against the wall. ‘She must have gone out. Do you think she went out? That's what Mrs Taylor in the kitchens said.
She said she must have slipped out. That I should wait for Mr Morris to take me to look for her.'

Lucy was picking up the shawls from the floor, gathering up dresses and stockings. ‘He should be here soon. He's always here for breakfast.'

‘That's what they said. But I don't want to wait! She might be out there, afraid.'

Lucy pushed a pile of clothes into a drawer. ‘I'll come with you and Mr Morris, if you like.'