The Penningtons (12 page)

Slightly taken aback she quickly rallied. ‘The folder in front of you – is that ours?’

‘Yes.’ He patted it. ‘This is for Mr and Mrs Albert Pennington.’

‘Ah! Just what I feared. We actually need my brother’s file and not ours. The matter is somewhat delicate but I am here to speak about my brother.’

Steven hid his dismay. All his prior reading had been a waste of time. ‘Your brother – that is Mr Montague Pennington.’

‘Exactly. That is what I have come to consult you about.’

‘But we have a confidentiality clause, Mrs Pennington. I could only produce that file if you have a letter from him giving you permission. You must understand that our clients are naturally very sensitive to matters of privacy.’

Hettie sighed, making her frustration obvious. ‘Mr Anders, you must understand that such a letter is not possible in these circumstances.’

‘And these circumstances are . . .?’ He waited. The woman was definitely nervous, he thought curiously.

‘I have my brother-in-law’s best interests at heart – that is we do, my husband and I – and, you see, this is very difficult . . . painful in fact, for me.’ She sighed. ‘The money in our family has always been passed down to the eldest son which in this case is Montague and so far this has never been a problem. However, he is showing signs of increasing senility lately and my husband and widowed sister-in-law . . .’

She paused for air and Steven saw a faint blush rising in her neck. Now he was beginning to suspect her purpose.

‘Oh dear!’ Mrs Pennington smiled thinly. ‘This is so very difficult for me.’

She laid a hand on her heart and took a deep breath and Steven could not tell if she was acting or not. He said, ‘Take your time, Mrs Pennington. My time is yours.’ He felt rather pleased with the last sentence and hoped his client was impressed.

With her head bent, she put a hand across her eyes.

He said, ‘Perhaps it would be better for you if your husband dealt with the problem.’

Her head snapped up at once. ‘Oh no! My husband is very upset by this – this
development
and cannot bring himself to accept the deterioration which
I
recognize in Montague. Albert has always looked up to his older brother in a way – not that they like each other very much. Sibling rivalry, I suppose.’ She fiddled with the blue beads, staring into the past. ‘Each one trying to take whatever the other had. Jealousy, plain and simple, Mr Anders, and within a family it can be very corrosive.’ She hesitated then continued. ‘Monica Tatchet was supposed to wed Montague but Albert coveted her. Albert
stole
her from his brother. You can imagine!’

Steven said, ‘How . . . how unfortunate!’

She rolled her eyes expressively. ‘Unfortunate is definitely an understatement, Mr Anders! It was nothing less than disastrous. They had a son but then Monica died and meanwhile Albert met Cressida.’ She smiled mirthlessly. ‘You can guess what happened.’

Steven blinked. ‘You don’t mean . . . that Montague stole her from Albert?’

‘Exactly! Can you credit it? They say revenge is sweet! You might say the family was torn apart. No doubt the whole of Bath was discussing the Penningtons. The family is very well known in the area.’ Shaking her head, she was obviously reliving the experience. Her shoulders had slumped and her lips were pressed together tightly as if to prevent further disclosures.

Steven waited, trying to hide his interest. How much of this story could he pass on to Daisy, he wondered. Trying to maintain an impassive expression he gently rearranged his pen and pencil on either side of the blotter and allowed his client time with her thoughts.

Eventually she straightened her shoulders and looked at him sharply. ‘But that was all before I joined the family by marrying Albert. I like to think we have resolved the friction and are reasonably united these days. Water under the bridge.’ She gave him a stern look. ‘I don’t expect you to repeat a word of what I have told you, Mr Anders. If you do I shall ensure your instant dismissal.’

‘Not a word, Mrs Pennington!’ he assured her with a rush of anxiety and guilt – because he did not doubt that this formidable woman would carry out her threat.

‘What was I saying?’ she demanded.

‘Er . . . about your husband not wanting to—’

‘Oh yes. Albert finds this very distressing. Poor Montague is becoming somewhat disorientated in the way older people do, and shows no interest in finance and I am afraid he will allow matters to slide – if that’s the right way to put it. I am hoping that one of us – preferably my husband – will come round to facing the truth before it is too late. The truth that Montague needs our help. There is such a thing as . . .’ She hesitated.

‘Power of attorney? I believe that means going through the courts.’

‘Yes. Unless Montague agrees to sign such a form before he becomes too . . . too confused to understand the meaning of it, we may well find ourselves in difficulties. I am looking for advice, Mr Anders, as I am rather in the dark, so to speak. If this particular problem is not part of your brief then I shall make another appointment and speak to Mr Desmond. He has always dealt with the Pennington affairs.’

Although Steven felt completely out of his depth, he was not prepared to admit it. ‘I find it quite straightforward,’ he replied with what he hoped was a confident smile. ‘I assume you have spoken to other members of the family as well as your husband. Are they in agreement with your assessment of Montague Pennington’s state of mind?’

Mrs Pennington explained that she had spoken to Dilys Maynard who agreed with her, and to Albert who was reluctant to discuss the problem. ‘The responsibility seems to rest on my slim shoulders,’ she told him.

Steven nodded. ‘How does your brother manage on his own? Does he have staff who could also corroborate your diagnosis? A housekeeper or . . . a housemaid?’ He wanted to hear mention of young Miss Letts.

‘A housekeeper? Strange you should ask that. Until recently my brother-in-law had a housekeeper, a Miss Dutton, who seemed to be a little too friendly, if you take my meaning, Mr Anders. He relied on her too much, in my opinion, and she tended to discourage us from visiting him. I never did quite trust her.’

‘Hmm. A difficult situation.’

‘It has been known for an elderly man to become . . .
ensnared
by his housekeeper.’ She clutched her beads. ‘To
marry
them, even. They become so dependent on them they imagine . . .’ She threw up her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

‘These things do happen, of course.’ Did they? He was surprised.

‘Fortunately Miss Dutton left abruptly and now we have to find a replacement but in the meantime there’s a young housemaid by the name of Daisy. She will recently have found him confused, I know. That is,’ she corrected herself hastily, ‘I don’t
know,
but I’m sure she will have noticed his general deterioration. By all means ask her, Mr Anders. I spoke to my brother recently on the telephone and he passed on the most amazingly garbled message to the housemaid. Almost every detail was wrong! Goodness knows what she thought.’

‘Could that be just his memory? Elderly people can get forgetful without being senile.’

‘Who can tell?’

Steven decided that he now had an excuse to get in contact with Daisy Letts. Mrs Pennington had given her permission,
in so many words
. If she ever queried it, he would explain that he obviously misunderstood her. Maybe he and Daisy could meet in a nearby tea shop during his midday break. His excitement grew as he considered the possibilities. He could tell her he needed confirmation of Mrs Pennington’s suspicions. But the nagging question was – did she already have a young man? That would be a fly in the ointment and no mistake.

To give himself a chance to think, he pretended to write in the folder although in fact he had placed a separate sheet in the folder for rough notes and would write a better report later.

‘Are you listening to me, Mr Anders?’

He glanced up guiltily and nodded.

‘I am telling you about the advice I was given by his doctor,’ she insisted. ‘He seemed very perturbed when I explained the situation. Without professional advice I really do not know how to proceed. Should I insist that the doctor attends, maybe with a colleague? Where does one start in a case like this?’

‘Hmm. It’s difficult, I agree.’

‘I simply want to do what is best for him. I’m not asking that he be committed or anything drastic, but nor do I want him to mismanage large sums of family money. I have no wish to look back in a year’s time and see that I could have helped prevent a financial catastrophe. You can surely understand my very natural concerns.’

Steven wrote again then laid down the pen. ‘I suggest that I present my notes to Mr Desmond and he in turn will take the matter further. Be assured we will be in touch again.’ He paused and then smiled giving his client a chance to recognize that, in his opinion, the meeting was at an end. Mrs Pennington rose to her feet with some reluctance.

At the door she hesitated. ‘And these notes you have made will remain confidential, Mr Anders.’

‘Certainly they will – except for Mr Desmond who obviously will see them on his return.’

The secretary saw her out and Steven was left with a broad smile on his face. It did rather feel as though a kind fate was acting on his behalf. ‘Everything comes to those who wait!’ he whispered as he returned to the desk to study his notes.

On Saturday, with some trepidation, Daisy served the midday meal, certain that Dilys would find fault with it. She had reheated some stew from the previous day and added dumplings to make it enough for three. The cabbage was a little soggy and the potatoes slightly underdone but to Daisy’s surprise and relief, Dilys ate hers without complaint. Monty gave her a wink and she felt she had survived the first hurdle.

‘There is no pudding, I’m afraid,’ she said apologetically but Dilys brushed aside the apology.

‘Tomorrow I shall cook for us,’ she announced. ‘I like cooking but it is soul destroying for one. I shall cook fish pie so I will tell you, Daisy, what to order from the fish man and you can telephone it through later. My mother used to adore fish pie. Do you remember, Montague? I always cooked it when she came to visit. The only problem is the bones and I always took the time to remove them.’ She smiled at Daisy. ‘I’ll teach you how to make it. Add it to your repertoire.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Pennington.’ Daisy was genuinely pleased. If Dilys taught her a few more recipes, she, Daisy, could soon become a reasonable cook which would help her career.

No one had so far mentioned the previous night which passed without incident. Dilys had slept with her door ajar, insisting that Daisy did the same so that in case of an intruder, they could each contact the other by shouting and ringing the bedside bells. By agreement, Daisy and Monty had agreed not to talk about the dangers that Dilys feared.

Now, however, Dilys raised the matter herself. ‘I shall go down to the police station,’ she told them,’ to see what progress they have made but first I shall speak to Hettie and satisfy myself that they have suffered no harm from this wretched man – and tell her that we have survived the night here.’

‘The police may have caught him already,’ Daisy suggested hopefully. ‘He may already be locked up.’

‘Most unlikely. I don’t think they are treating the matter seriously. To them it is just another burglary.’

‘But they were going to investigate and maybe they found a footprint. It’s amazing what they can learn from the sole of a shoe.’

‘But dozens of men would be wearing the same shoes, Daisy. Maybe hundreds. I’m afraid I’m not impressed by their claims or the suggestion that the theft was random. I know better. I understand that our family is being marked out for attention by this dreadful man, for reasons that escape me. He knew my name!’ Querulously her voice rose a little. ‘He called me Dilys! No one seems to believe me but I heard it quite clearly in the soup kitchen. Not missus, but Dilys. Certainly the wretch is not normal. I think this is the beginning of harassment but the police give the idea no credence. They insist the intrusions are random but . . . first Albert and Hettie and now me.’ She looked at her brother. ‘I hope you are not next, Montague. I don’t mean to frighten you but we must be on our guard here.’

‘Well, safety in numbers, eh?’ Monty smiled nervously.

Daisy wished that Dilys would drop the subject – but suppose she was right. Maybe the Penningtons
were
being sought out for some reason.

Dilys sighed. ‘We must all be particularly careful. Admit no one to the house – no stranger, that is. And we must ask Len to keep an eye open in the garden for any trespassers.’

Despite her determination not to be scared, Daisy rose to clear the table with growing trepidation. There was some truth in what Dilys said about the family and it might be that Monty was next on the list for aggravation from this man.

Later in the morning a police sergeant visited them to inform them of the latest developments. The small clock had been recovered from a pawnbroker in the town and they had a description of the man who had brought it in. Tall, thin and shabby. A trawl of neighbours had produced a man who, while walking his dog on three separate occasions, noticed a man who seemed to be watching the house. He also fitted the description, the sergeant told them, and they were keeping a lookout for him.

Monty, Daisy and Dilys received this news with gratitude and the mood in the house lightened considerably.

Meanwhile Constable Cresswell waited patiently in the incident room as his sergeant thought about the break-in at Dilys Maynard’s home.

‘So there were footprints, Cresswell?’

‘Yes sir, and they’ve taken a cast.’

‘But that won’t help until we have a suspect and can compare shoe soles.’

‘No sir.’

‘Still it’s better than nothing.’

The constable nodded and the sergeant skipped through the thin file for the second time.

At last the sergeant said, ‘So now we reckon this chap’s got it in for the whole family?’

Constable Cresswell shrugged. ‘So they reckon. Because of the trespasser at the brother’s place.’