The Penningtons (7 page)

She said, ‘Well, I shall be in touch with my sister-in-law by telephone later today and I imagine there will be no problem there. She does defer to me on most matters.’

Montague snorted with laughter. ‘Don’t let her hear you say that, Hettie!’

Hettie had the decency to blush. ‘I’m sure she would have no objection,’ she replied.

She gave him a warning look but her brother-in-law, who had said very little so far, now decided he had questions of his own.

‘I hope you’re a dab hand with sausages and mash,’ he told Miss Locke. ‘I like a few lumps left in the mash. It makes them so much more interesting. Daisy is very good with potatoes. And I like my sausages very dark brown, almost burnt. It makes the skin so crisp.’

Miss Locke’s expression was a little frosty, thought Hettie, but who could blame her?

‘I’m afraid my mashed potatoes will be smooth and lump free, Mr Pennington,’ she said, ‘but I dare say I can burn a few sausages if that’s how you like them – although they are bad for your digestion.’ She turned to Hettie. ‘Rest assured I shall see that your brother-in-law is properly fed.’

In an attempt to forestall any further questions from Montague, Hettie stood up and Miss Locke did likewise.

Montague eased himself out of the chair. ‘I shall give your application serious consideration,’ he told Miss Locke. ‘No doubt you will also wish to consider working for me. I can be a funny old cuss – or so I’m told on occasion!’

Hettie broke in quickly with an offer to show Miss Locke round the house but as they left the room she turned back to give her brother-in-law a look that spoke volumes. In a loud voice she said, ‘You won’t manage the stairs, Montague, so do please leave this part of the interview to me.’

Later, as soon as the front door finally closed behind Miss Locke, Hettie went in search of Montague and demanded to know what he meant by interfering when she was doing her best to help him.

‘You have offended Miss Locke by your stupidity and made yourself look foolish and petty-minded!’ she snapped.

He adopted an air of innocence as he replied. ‘But if you and Dilys are both entitled to a say in who becomes my housekeeper, surely I deserve the same consideration. After all, I am going to have to live with her. You are not. Don’t you want to know what
I
think about her?’

‘But what do you know about . . . about housekeeping?’ Hettie stammered, flustered by the unexpected attack.

‘Not very much, but I do know the sort of person I want in my home, and Miss Locke may not be the one. I don’t think I care for her manner. Rather like living with a sergeant major.’ He stood to attention and saluted.

Hettie glared at him furiously. ‘She came with two very good references. She specializes in invalid food. She has a certificate in household management. She even agreed the terms and she did not demand a separate bathroom. She—’

‘You’re right, my dear Hettie. Miss Locke was perfect – but not for me. I didn’t take to her.’

‘Dilys will be livid!’

He shrugged. ‘Should you keep the taxi waiting any longer?’

‘Oh Montague! You are quite impossible! Your mother always said you were stubborn. You’ll be stamping your foot in a minute!’

Snatching up her purse Hettie stormed out of the room and let herself out. She sat in the taxi for a full minute, fuming with impotent rage, saying nothing. A whole day wasted. She could hardly wait to reach home and telephone Dilys. And Albert would be none too pleased to hear that Montague had outwitted them.

At last she said, ‘Take me back to Macauley Buildings, driver.’

Slumped dejectedly against the back seat, she told herself that they should fight Montague for his own good. Surely she and Dilys could outmanoeuvre Montague, she thought desperately. As they pulled up outside her home she sat up a little straighter, forced down her shoulders, and lifted her chin.

‘Whatever happens,’ she promised herself, ‘we’ll have a damned good try!’

Hettie found Albert pacing up and down on the front lawn with a large whisky in his hand. When he saw her paying off the taxi, he hurried towards her, his expression anxious.

He cried, ‘I’m glad you’re back, dear. I’ve had the strangest encounter. This odd-looking man . . .’

She held up her hand. ‘Please, Albert, at least allow me to enter the house first and sit down with a pot of tea! I have had a very disturbing time myself with your wretched brother.’

He waited unhappily until they sat on either side of the fire in the sitting room, and then launched into his account.

‘I was in the garden, minding my own business and watching the goldfish when a man appeared. He gave me quite a fright as a matter of fact.’ He took another mouthful of his whisky. ‘He was not exactly ragged but . . . very unkempt.’

‘A tramp? Is that what you mean?’

‘Not exactly. He didn’t ask for money. Tall, possibly about thirty. Grim expression . . . and he just stood there, watching me without speaking.’

‘Dumb, do you think – or did he speak?’

‘He did eventually but at first he just stared at me.’

He took another drink and Hettie said, ‘Go steady on that, Albert. You know it doesn’t suit you.’

‘It suits me today! It suits me very well today!’

He emptied the glass and Hettie sighed. Whisky made him truculent but, curious to know more about the unwanted visitor, she let the matter drop and said, ‘Please get on with it, Albert. I have problems of my own and I have to telephone Dilys.’

It appeared that the man had walked slowly towards Albert with a ‘menacing look’ on his face.

‘To be honest, Hettie, he scared me. I thought he might mean me some harm. I thought he might attack me . . . or push me into the fish pond. It was very disconcerting.’

‘And who was this man?’

‘Lord knows! I don’t. I asked him what he wanted and he said it was complicated.’

‘Complicated? In what way?’ Despite her irritation, Hettie was becoming rather alarmed. ‘He must have given you some clue.’

‘That’s just it. He did not volunteer any information. I said he was trespassing and asked him to leave but he just laughed.’

‘Do you think . . . Is it possible he was deranged? Should we report this to the police, Albert?’ Forgetting her irritation she leaned closer to him. ‘He may have escaped from somewhere!’

‘The police will call it a simple case of trespass. What can they do? The fellow didn’t actually
threaten
me and he didn’t lay a finger on me – thank God.’

They sat in silence for a moment and then Hettie said, ‘Could you give them a description because he may have done the same thing elsewhere and they might already be looking for him?’

‘Thirtyish, a scrappy beard, poorly dressed, dirty, odd . . . and tall. Not much to go on, is it?’

An idea came to her. ‘He may have called on other people in this street. You could ask the neighbours.’

‘You could ask them, Hettie. You’re better at—’

‘Don’t be such a weasel, Albert!’ she cried, exasperated. ‘It happened to you, not me. You have all the details. Anyway I have to talk to Dilys. After all my efforts to find Montague another housekeeper – and she was entirely suitable – I’m almost certain he is going to turn her down. Didn’t take to her because she was “too forceful”! Really, Albert! Your brother can be very aggravating and that’s putting it mildly. And he was up and fully dressed – and throwing his weight about!’

‘Up and
dressed
?’ He stared at his wife in disbelief.

‘Yes. That was
my
strange encounter. My brother-in-law up and dressed and behaving in a very high-handed way.’

Hettie gave him a brief resume of the interview and its aftermath, taking some pleasure at her husband’s astonishment.

Another silence fell while they both stared disconsolately into the fire. When Albert got up to add a few knobs of coal, Hettie said, ‘Actually, Albert, this tea is doing nothing for me. I think I’d like a small sherry.’

FOUR

T
he offices of Desmond & Marsh, Solicitors, were situated on The Corridor. The premises consisted of a large office which doubled as a reception, two smaller interview rooms, (made even smaller by the large cupboards along each wall), a smaller ‘kitchen’ and a cloakroom of sorts. The staff consisted of Mr Marsh, a stolid middle-aged man; elderly Mr Desmond whose health was failing and who was often absent; young Steven Anders who was studying for his first-year examinations, and a secretary who worked for the other three.

Steven Anders had only been with the firm for four months and was very junior indeed although he liked to refer to himself as a trainee solicitor. At twenty-four he was a pleasant young man, slim, with sandy hair and cheerful manner – the sort of man that made the unmarried secretary wish she were not ten years older than him.

Today Steven was being prepared to see a Miss Daisy Letts on behalf of a Montague Pennington. Mr Marsh gave Steven a little background to the client.

‘Wealthy old man, Montague Pennington. Wife also had private money. She is now deceased but her file is still operational . . . Haven’t set eyes on the old man for years now – bit of an invalid, apparently.’ He scratched his thinning hair absent-mindedly and sighed. ‘Lives somewhere overlooking Alexandra Park. Nice area. Had to visit him once or twice. Forget why, actually.’

‘Mm! Very classy area!’ Steven raised his eyebrows.

Mr Marsh was searching one of the cupboards for the correct file, found it and opened it. ‘Let’s see . . . Oh! Wrong “Pennington”. This is the wife’s file.’ He replaced it and took out another one.’

Steven said, ‘So the wife has her own file!’

‘Yes. There are outstanding matters that . . . well, no need to bother you with that. Here’s the husband’s file.’ He riffled through it. ‘Ah yes. The housekeeper is authorized to collect the money each week – household bills and so on – on behalf of her employer. A Miss Dutton.’

‘I thought I was seeing a Miss Letts.’

‘Ye–es. Wonder why that is? Still, you’ll find out. Any problems, give me a shout.’

He tossed the folder and Steven caught it and sat down to await his client. This, in his opinion, was the best part of the job. Face to face with the clients. The rest consisted of studying for his next exam, occasionally answering the telephone and writing reports on the interviews he had been allowed to conduct. Very occasionally he was asked to ‘run errands’ which reminded him how junior he was to the two partners.

His phone rang. ‘There’s a Miss Letts here for you, Mr Anders.’

He straightened his shoulders. ‘Send her in, please.’

Miss Letts seemed eager to begin, settling herself on the chair before being invited to do so, and leaning forward confidentially. ‘I suppose you’ve heard. Miss Dutton left in a hurry and I’m standing in for her until we find another housekeeper.’ She grinned. ‘I’m the housemaid but at the moment I’m doing everything. Cooking, cleaning, looking after poor old – I mean, Mr Pennington. Not that he’s a problem but he is old and I don’t let him sit in a draught and I can cook . . . a bit.’

‘I see,’ said Steven, somewhat taken aback by her directness but pleased by her humble position which meant, he hoped, that she would be impressed by a young, up-and-coming ‘solicitor’.

She sat up a little straighter. ‘I’ve brought a letter from Mr Pennington about you letting me collect the money each week. That is to say, I’m trustworthy and everything. Which I am.’

‘Right. Yes, of course. May I see this letter, please.’ He wondered if housemaids were supposed to be so confident. He tried to imagine her in a cap and apron and thought she would look the part. And such lovely red hair . . .

He read the letter twice to delay her departure. ‘Hmm. That seems to be in order,’ he told her. Then, for something else to say, he added, ‘I’m sorry to hear about Mrs Pennington’s death.’

‘Mrs Pennington? Oh . . . yes. But I never knew her. She was already dead when I took the job . . . but she is mentioned sometimes. I think she was very nice. And beautiful. There’s a photograph of her with Mr Pennington on their wedding day. Did you ever meet her?’

‘Afraid not. I’ve only recently taken this position.’

‘But you are a solicitor?’

He hesitated. ‘I will be. There are examinations to pass.’ He waved his hand airily as if they were of no significance.

‘Really? Examinations. I don’t envy you – but if you ever want a reference, come to me.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll say you’re very thorough.’

He laughed. ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Miss Letts. But now . . . back to business. I’ll keep this letter in Mr Pennington’s file and I’ll cancel Miss Dutton’s permission to accept the money. What happened to her to make her leave? She wasn’t sacked, I hope.’

Daisy explained about Miss Dutton’s mother and he nodded. ‘We all hate the idea of hospitals,’ he said. He unlocked the top drawer of his desk and drew out a cash box. Then he referred again to his client’s letter of authorization. ‘I see he has changed the amount,’ he said. ‘It’s less than before.’

She frowned. ‘That may be because he only has to pay me as well as the housekeeping, instead of me and a housekeeper
and
the housekeeping. Does that make sense to you? I’m only getting an extra ninepence a day and that’s for staying overnight. He’s very afraid of being alone in the house when it’s dark.’

‘And you aren’t afraid?’

‘No. I like the dark. It’s peaceful. And I’m sleeping in what used to be Miss Dutton’s room so that if Monty needs anything in the night he just rings his bell and I rush along.’

Now Steven began to envy the old man. ‘You seem very young for all the responsibility, Miss Letts – if you don’t mind me saying so.’

‘I don’t mind. It’s not for long and I’m not nearly as good as Miss Dutton. I admit the meals aren’t so good although I’m learning, and the place is getting a bit dusty and, you know, untidy round the edges but I can’t do everything. And he is very grateful, Mr Pennington that is. We get along. To tell you the truth, I’d rather the two of us just muddled along than have a horrible bossy housekeeper that neither of us likes.’

‘I can understand that. But forgive me if I’m a little curious. How did you get the job?’