The Penningtons (18 page)

‘Doesn’t she still come?’

He shook his head. ‘No. It was years ago. Died in an accident . . . Had a fall – summat of the sort.’ He could see he had distracted her and felt rather pleased with himself.

Martha said, ‘Asked after Daisy? You never told me.’

‘Nothing to tell, really.’

Martha sighed then frowned. ‘Come to think of it there’s another Pennington on the far side of Bath – a vicar. Or maybe not.’ She sighed, pushing her unfinished food away. ‘Anyway, if Dais mentions this Steven you’ll know who he is. Be nice about him, Tom.’ She smiled. ‘I know you. Don’t ask too many questions. Let her tell you in her own way.’

‘Anything you say, Martha.’ He leaned over and kissed her. ‘And don’t worry about anything. Things’ll work out. They always do.’

She managed a smile. ‘Let’s hope you’re right.’

Hettie took a deep breath and looked her husband squarely in the eyes. ‘Why am I packing? Because I’m going to stay with Dilys for a few days, Albert. She’s moving back to her own house.’

He glared from the doorway. ‘And when were you going to tell me? Or was I supposed to guess?’

‘I started to tell you earlier but you said you were reading and asked if whatever it was could wait! Snapped my head off, if you remember!’ She picked out a pair of black leather shoes and slipped them into a shoe bag. ‘And before you ask me not to go I’ll tell you I’m determined. I can’t let Dilys down now. She’s expecting me.’ Had she packed enough, she wondered. A nightdress, underwear, a dressing gown and slippers. She turned to the dressing table for her hair brush and mirror. Maybe a warm cardigan?

‘And when are you coming back?’ He advanced into the bedroom and stood with his arms folded.

‘When they catch Stanley and not a moment sooner. I did suggest that we went away for a few days . . . to a hotel or somewhere. That way when he comes for us we would be absent but oh no! You wouldn’t even consider it.’ She straightened up and pushed back a lock of hair. ‘You may not mind being a sitting duck but I’m weaker than you, Albert. The idea of staying here, just waiting for a stone through the window or worse . . . I can’t do it. So I’m going to stay with Dilys until the police have him behind bars.’

Albert frowned unhappily. He did not care for the idea of a son in prison even though it might be better than a son who was roaming the streets, intent on mischief. Why, he wondered, were women always wanting children? He could not subscribe to the theory that children kept a family together. It certainly didn’t apply in his own case. They were disruptive, expensive – at least Stanley was. The least said about Stanley the better! George was not so bad but Albert could not put his hand on his heart and say he had enjoyed him as a child either although Hettie had been close to the boy. He shook his head ruefully. Stanley had caused a rift between him and Monica . . . With a start he returned to the present.

‘You and Dilys will be at each other’s throat in no time,’ he warned. ‘You have never really liked her.’

‘Only because she didn’t like me. Cressida was much nicer to me than Dilys was.’

‘Cressida was nice to everyone!’

‘She was certainly nice to you! And you lapped it up. We all noticed it. Dilys certainly did. She said on one occasion that you were practically
ogling
her!’

Albert’s heart gave a small lurch at the memories. ‘If I did she didn’t seem to object!’ he snapped. ‘And Montague was such a dull old stick! Why she ever married him is a mystery to me.’ He walked past her and stared down into the street, trying to hide his discomfort because he
had
thought no one had noticed his philandering ways. He had had a way with women in those days and had always enjoyed the thrill of the chase. ‘Anyway, that was years ago,’ he said. ‘Water under the bridge.’

She gave him a poisonous look. ‘If you say so, Albert.’ Riffling through the wardrobe she selected a warm tweed skirt and jacket. ‘Your son is here in Bath to make trouble, Albert, so be on your guard. Lord knows what he means to do but he is here to get some sort of revenge. I had nothing to do with sending him away so I don’t see why I should stay here and be terrified. He might kill you! Have you thought of that. If I stay he might kill us both!’

Turning, he faced her, leaning back against the window. ‘He’s hardly going to kill anyone, Hettie. He’s not a murderer – just very disturbed. Always has been. Really, Hettie, you do love to exaggerate. Always have.’ He crossed to the door, trying to appear nonchalant. ‘Well, you must do as you wish. I’m not going to try and stop you even if you hope I will.’

‘You couldn’t stop me, Albert! Ten minutes and I’ll be gone. I’ve ordered a taxi.’ She surveyed the contents of her case and, satisfied, closed the lid. ‘You could carry this down to the front door for me if you wish.’

‘I don’t wish to. Carry it yourself!’

He made his exit and Hettie listened to his muffled footsteps on the carpet as he made his way along the passage. She had a sudden moment of doubt as she pulled on her coat but she forced it back and reached for the case which was heavier than expected. She dragged it to the top of the stairs and dropped it down, one step at a time, and was at the front step and waiting when the taxi arrived.

NINE

T
he taxi picked up Hettie and then made a detour to Alexander Park to collect Dilys, and the two women drove away together looking vaguely triumphant. Daisy watched them go from the front step and then returned to the kitchen where Monty was busy at the big table, applying polish to his best shoes. The polish, brushes and cloths were neatly arranged on a sheet of
The Times
and the rest of his shoes waited in a basket at his feet for their turn for attention. Daisy had discovered that keeping Monty happily occupied prevented him from becoming bored and tetchy.

He glanced up and, referring to Hettie and Dilys, said ‘Good luck to them! I’ll give those two three days and then they’ll be squabbling like school children. They’ve always maintained what I saw as a well-mannered truce but they’ve never lived in the same house before.’

‘Why should they squabble?’

He shrugged. ‘Women are funny creatures!’

‘Not half as funny as men!’ Daisy picked up a finished shoe and nodded. ‘Quite a nice shine!’

‘Thank you, ma’am!’ He grinned. ‘Maybe I could get a job as a shoeshine boy!’

‘A job? You don’t need a job!’

‘How do you know what I need, Daisy? Just because I live in a biggish house it doesn’t mean I’m rich. As a matter of fact I shall have to send for Mr Desmond soon and have a chat with him about the family money. It might just see me out but the house needs some maintenance which I can’t put off forever.’

‘You could send for Steven Anders!’

‘I’m afraid he’s too young and probably inexperienced. You said he’s only been with the firm for a few months. No, it will have to be Mr Desmond or his partner.’ He tutted as he reached into the box at his feet and found a sturdy pair of muddy boots. ‘It’s a mistake, Daisy, to live too long.’

‘I’ll try and remember that!’ She watched him reach for the brown polish. ‘You can’t put polish over mud!’ she scolded. ‘You’ll have to wipe off the mud and then let them dry before you polish them.’ Seeing his look of dismay she said, ‘Give them to me. I’ll do it.’

He surrendered them willingly. ‘I can tell that Hettie is becoming impatient. She passed comment several times when she last telephoned, hinting about finances and hinting at Cressida’s money but I told her – Cressida’s money is not family money. Cressida brought money into the family and she managed it herself. I didn’t need it and later she insisted that she had plans for it.’

‘What sort of plans?’ Daisy asked, intrigued.

‘She wouldn’t tell me but she left a will that was to be read at the end of 1902. It’s always been a bit of a mystery.’

Daisy stared at him. ‘But that’s quite soon! It’s 1902 and almost November.’

‘Is it? Are you sure?’

‘I tell you it is!’ She darted to the calendar which hung from a hook on the dresser. ‘There! This is the last week of October – the twenty-fifth, in fact. Only a few more days and it will be November and then December.’ Her face fell. ‘Will I still be here then? Suppose the new housekeeper doesn’t like me or . . . or says she can manage without me?’

‘I’ll tell whoever it is that you go with the job!’

‘Thank you!’

‘So don’t think about marrying that young man – at least not yet!’

‘
Marrying
him? Good heavens! It never entered my head. I hardly know him.’ In case her expression betrayed her, Daisy fussed over the boots and then handed them back to their owner. ‘You see? Now you must let them dry.’

She turned away, reached for a wiping-up cloth and started to wipe the clean washing up which was stacked on the draining board.

Monty looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Cressida used to say that women were harder to understand than men and prone to making rash decisions. The heart ruling the head. That sort of thing. She was a deep thinker. Took life very seriously.’ He sighed.

‘What happened to her?’

Monty settled the boots in his lap. ‘It was an accident – some time after she came back from Switzerland. She’d been staying with an aunt over there, an aunt who had no one and was in rather desperate straits. Very depressed. A clinical depression – that’s what Cressida called it. She was there for ages – four or five months . . . I missed her terribly.’

‘It was very kind of her, wasn’t it.’ Daisy tried to imagine herself as a selfless heroine. ‘She must have been a very caring sort of person to go all that way, and live in a cold place surrounded by all those mountains and things. Very different from Bath I should think. Mountain goats and pine trees and all that snow!’

Monty nodded. ‘When she came home I could see a change in her. She was very quiet and withdrawn. I suppose that’s the best word for her mood. Living with a depressed aunt would be awful for her. She was naturally a sunny soul.’ He smiled at the memory.

‘Had the aunt recovered, then?’

‘No but she was going into a clinic and didn’t need Cressida.’ He frowned. ‘My poor wife was badly affected by that stay. I should never have allowed her to go but she insisted. She wouldn’t talk about it when she returned. Said it preyed on her mind and she would rather not think about it. I thought she would eventually get over it but she didn’t. It changed her somehow. One day while I was out she must have tripped at the top of the stairs and banged her head on the way down. That’s what the doctor thought had happened.’

‘Was she still conscious? I mean, did she know you?’

‘No. That was the dreadful part of it. She was already dead so we had no time to say our “goodbyes” the way you can if you know the end is near. Poor Cressida.’

‘It must have been awful for you.’

He nodded, saying nothing, then began to polish one of the boots.

Daisy said earnestly, ‘But you have to tell yourself that she had a happy life and a happy marriage to you. You were everything to her, Monty. I’m sure you were and that must be comforting.’

‘I see that now but at the time there seemed no way to gain any comfort. Our whole life together ended – just like that!’

He was becoming saddened by the memories, thought Daisy and searched for a more cheerful subject without being too obvious. ‘At least you had your family to support you.’

After a moment he said, ‘They weren’t as supportive as I would have expected, to tell you the truth. Hettie had always been jealous of Cressida because she was so beautiful and had such a sweet nature. Her hair was her crowning glory – deep auburn waves. Of course she wore it up most of the time but when she was ready for bed, in a white nightdress, with her hair down over her shoulders . . . she always reminded me of an angel.’

‘An angel? Goodness!’ Daisy was impressed but she, too, was aware of a twinge of jealousy and wished that her own ginger hair was instead a deep auburn, and that the bouncy curls were gentle waves. No one could accuse her of looking angelic, Daisy reflected. She was also beginning to see that the wonderful Cressida had not entirely endeared herself to her sisters-in-law . . . but through no fault of her own.

Monty said, ‘Hettie came to the funeral dressed to kill! She had obviously spent a fortune on new clothes and had had her hair newly styled. Everyone was looking at her. She looked quite . . . Well, almost smug.’

‘Hettie did? Oh how awful!’

‘Yes, smug. That’s the word exactly. I think she felt that with Cressida lying in her coffin, Hettie could finally shine.’ His tone was bitter. ‘She seemed to flaunt herself, even Albert could see what she was doing. He was embarrassed. I’ve never forgiven her . . . You could say it was Cressida’s day but Hettie stole it.’

Daisy hid her sense of shock. ‘What a pity you had no children,’ she said desperately. ‘They would have supported you.’

‘But then when Cressida died they would have lost their mother and that would have made the tragedy even worse!’

‘I suppose so. I hadn’t thought of that.’

After a long silence he made an effort to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Well now, Daisy, I’ve finished the shoes. If you have no other little tasks for me I think I’ll finish my newspaper. I’ll be in the sitting room.’

‘And you’ll want a pot of tea.’

‘Yes please.’

She watched him go, thinking about the long-dead Cressida and the abrupt end to their marriage. There was no way she could undo the past but perhaps she could cheer him up. She took the biscuit tin from the cupboard and picked out a selection of his favourite biscuits – two garibaldis, one chocolate wafer and one with pink icing. She then weakened, popped the pink one into her own mouth and replaced it with a custard cream.

Albert awoke the next morning to the sound of rain pounding the roof of the garden shed. ‘Sunday,’ he muttered. ‘A day of rest!’ He laughed bitterly then was immediately seized with a feeling of panic. Hettie was gone to stay with Dilys and he was alone in the house. Somehow he must force himself to get out of bed and go downstairs and see if Stanley had visited him during the night. To see what if anything was missing or damaged. And if it were so, what would he do? Alert the police? At least he had not been murdered during the hours of darkness – or even attacked. He had heard no windows being smashed . . . but he was a sound sleeper and anything might have happened of which he was unaware.