Down the Garden Path (8 page)

This was tricky. If I made my case too hopeless, the Tramwells might deem me beyond the powers of a Maude Krumpet. On the other hand, to underplay my part would defeat my object. Clasping my hand to my brow, I whispered regretfully, “Strange—as your dog came across the hall, a memory—frightening ... someone trying to hurt me, but it is gone. Everything is a complete ...”

“Fog,” supplied Miss Tramwell with a bright little nod. Setting her string bag and shawl on top of the hot water bottles, she was about to lead the way across the hall when that door in the panelling opened again and the other Miss Tramwell materialized. Today she was wearing a knitted orange suit which sagged at the shoulders and dipped at the hemline. The violent colour emphasized her sallow skin and made her black hair not only suspicious but blatantly dishonest. Had I noticed in the cafe how dark and hooded were her eyes?

“Primrose, my dear, tea is growing cold. You know how I dislike ...” She broke off when she saw me. “Good afternoon.” The heavy lids descended even lower. “I believe you are the young person who called the other day, collecting for the Uninsured Motorist Fund. Surely our butler told you then that we do not give at the door. Primrose, really, you must not be so soft-hearted.”

“Hyacinth, you are mistaken.” Primrose gently ushered me forward. “Something frightful has occurred,” she whispered. “I came upon this poor girl being attacked by some ruffian in Abbots Walk. The most contemptible fellow in a purple silk jacket with a cravat at the throat. And yes! I am positive he limped. So fortunate that my memory has not yet failed me. Oh dear, how frightfully insensitive. The terrible truth is, Hyacinth, that this abused girl has completely lost her memory. Knows not who she is, where she comes from, or who that villain was.”

“So she hasn’t come collecting?” Hyacinth sounded more relieved than anything. “Such an annoyance, strangers rapping on the door, particularly when”—a meeting of their eyes from which I was somehow excluded—”when You-Know-Who’s little problem prevents our keeping petty cash around.”

Both Minnie and I pricked up our ears, hoping to hear more of You-Know-Who and his problem. But we were out of luck. The sitting room into which Hyacinth led us was another room of ample proportions. Pictures hung thick upon its walls. A time-muted carpet covered the centre of the oak floor, flanked by two sagging rose-and-green chintz sofas. In front of the massive stone fireplace lay a lumpy patchwork blanket where Minerva immediately disported herself, giving us full benefit of her unique profile. On a walnut coffee table between the sofas, tea awaited. Graceful curves of a silver teapot spout and handle protruded from a bumble-bee-striped cosy. A Wedgwood biscuit stand, stacked with an assortment of broken digestives and custard creams, stood next to the blue-and-white-striped milk jug and sugar bowl and the mismatched assortment of plates, cups, and saucers for three.

Hyacinth gestured for me to sit down on the sofa facing the French windows overlooking the lovely back garden but I hesitated, eyes on the china. “Excuse me, I must be very much in the way—I see you are expecting company.”

Primrose understood at once. She gave her pretty tinkling laugh. “Dear child, you will think us very silly, but Minnie always joins us for afternoon tea. Hers is the Queen Victoria coronation cup. Makes our big girl feel important. But I am sure she will be a kind, unselfish person and let you have it, seeing that you are feeling poorly.”

“Please, no!” I cried. No faking the faintness in my tone this time. “Minerva is quite put out by the idea!”

“I fear so.” Primrose wagged a reproving finger at the inert lump. “The trouble with you, Miss Minerva, is that being an only dog you have never learned to share. I will ring for Butler and have him bring us another cup.” She did so, but repeated jangling of the bell rope failed to bring the sound of hurrying footsteps. A shame, because a butler named Butler was something I very much wanted to see. Primrose went to fetch another cup.

Picking up a Royal Doulton cup and setting it in a Woolworth’s saucer, Hyacinth poured a tepid trickle from the silver spout. “You must take some refreshment,” she insisted, “and then we can talk about your situation. Do you take milk and sugar?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. Hyacinth’s lips, orange to match her dress, lifted into a half-smile. “Forgive me. How about milk no sugar?”

I would rather drink poison than sugar in my tea. “Thank you,” I sighed as Primrose came back through the door.

“Odd,” she said. “Butler is nowhere to be found, and this is Chantal’s day off.” She turned to me. “Our maid—of gypsy blood and a wonderful worker, when she’s here. Takes two days off every week; but they do hate to be cooped up, don’t they? And Nurse Krumpet did warn us that being too strict with the girl might be a mistake; possibly even dangerous. By the way, Hyacinth, Nurse’s boy Bertie was in the walk, and I sent him to fetch her.”

“Splendid!” approved her sister. “Fortunate that boys are such a ubiquitous breed. A pity the same cannot be said of Butler; ah! I hear him.” Hyacinth’s dangling earrings bobbed against her long neck like Egyptian mummies. I was looking at the door until I noticed that she and her sister were gazing at the fireplace.

The next moment I was half rising from my seat, spilling tea in a sickening warm slither down my legs. A huge, right-hand section of the fireplace was caving in on us. Hyacinth handed me a serviette to wipe myself dry as Primrose stood up.

“Most irritating,” she said. “Hyacinth, that catch has stuck again. We should have had someone in to fix it, but working on priest holes is another lost art. Excuse me, my dear.” She moved in front of me and, reaching forward, pressed a stone in the lurching cliff. Slowly it creaked outward, displaying a murky cavity within. “All right, Butler, I have released the spring. You may come out.”

A flicker of golden light and that classic figure of upper-crust British life emerged, candle held aloft. At the moment he bore a striking resemblance to another musical comedy breed, the chimney sweep, but his aplomb was magnificent. Blowing out the candle, he set it down on a pie-crust table.

“Pardon me, mesdames, it would seem I have rather lost track of time. Tut! And you having to serve your own tea! With a guest and all! May I be permitted to make up for my shocking lapse by fetching you fresh tea and a plate of your favourite fish-paste sandwiches?”

Hyacinth winced as his grimy hands shot forward to pick up the tray. “Do not touch a thing! What can have occupied you so long in the priest hole?”

“It had come to me, madame, in the pursuit of my domestic round, that your late govenor’s—that is, your h’esteemed parent’s—bottles of brandy might benefit from a dab with the duster.”

Hyacinth sniffed, apparently unimpressed by her hireling’s zest for work. “I trust you have not been polishing them off in more ways than one.”

Butler’s expression became, if possible, more imperious and inscrutable under reprimand. So far he had not accorded me more than a cursory glance, but I got the oddest feeling that if faced with a thirty-second quiz, he could have named my shoe size, the date I had my ears pierced, where I spent my last summer holiday, and the name of my perfume.

“Will the young person be remaining for the h’evening repast, mesdames?” he enquired. “Tonight, being Monday, it should be baked beans on toast, but for something a little more festive I could top that off with a poached h’egg. Chantal did inform me she will not be back until late. She is visiting an acquaintance confined to bed.”

“Yes, yes, Butler,” flustered Primrose. “A fresh pot of tea would be very nice, please.”

Flicking out his hands like a penguin’s wings Butler picked up the tea tray with his wrists and padded around the back of my sofa. (Butler wasn’t wearing shoes.) As he passed behind me on his way out of the room he murmured, “Lovely scent, miss. Concubine h’if I don’t mistake?”

A shiver passed down my spine. He was right, of course.

As the door closed behind him Primrose murmured vaguely, “I do wish we could persuade him to wear shoes, but then we’ve been so successful in rehabilitating him in other ways. Butler was a burglar, and a very successful one—only one visit inside—before coming to us.”

“A burglar?” I put my hand over my teacup to stop it rattling on its saucer.

“Yes, indeed. His whole family was in the ‘trade’, as he calls it. Most reprehensible, but in many ways marvellous training for a servant. Unobtrusive. So light and quick on his feet, and not the least fear of heights. I don’t think the attic windows had been washed outside for thirty years before he came.” Primrose was moving over to the priest hole door, which was still hanging open. I could see now that it was not solid brick, but a false front adhered to a wooden back. “I really don’t know, Hy, what we are to do about that catch.” She pushed the door shut. “If one of us were to go down while the house was empty ...”

A terrible desire to giggle almost overcame me, and I had to take refuge in drinking my tea. My plight was rapidly taking a back seat to household difficulties.

At that very moment a loud knocking sounded in the distance, causing Minnie to lurch off her blanket and dash whining to the door. Sturdy footsteps approached and Butler impressively bowed the visiting nurse into our presence.

I had told myself I was getting off lightly by being checked over by a nurse rather than an august M.D. Now I was less sure. Nurse was a large woman with the look of an oversized Dutch doll about her. Her greying brown hair was bound in tight plaits across her head, and her face was large, round, and rosy, making her blue eyes appear small. Those eyes were merry, but shrewd.

“Well, this is a right to-do.” With bustling warmth she came forward. Reaching out one of her large hands, she touched me gently. “Bertie has been telling me such things about a wicked man and a beautiful young lady. The boy does have a lively imagination but I see he had some of it right. What a pretty thing you are! Feeling any better, dear?”

Again I had to strike that fine balance between natural distress and creating the kind of alarm that would see me whipped off to hospital. Covering one hand with the other I crossed two fingers.

“Physically I feel better.” I languished. “So peculiar—this sensation of not being able to remember and yet... I know it is all there, behind a sort of curtain ... if I can only rest for a little while, I am sure I will be fine. My memory has to return soon. Surely this sort of thing doesn’t last long?”

“When the cause of amnesia is peremptory—sudden shock rather than long-term distress—the recovery tends to be speedy. My guess is that in a few hours or after a night’s sleep you should be yourself again.” Bending over me, Maude lifted up each eyelid and raised my wrist to take my pulse. She nodded encouragingly at the sisters. “I’m pretty sure that when Dr. Mallard sees her he will say much the same thing.”

Hyacinth compressed her orange lips. “Now, Maude, you know precisely how we feel about doctors—particularly that malingering old bird. Where have doctors ever been when we have needed them?” My ears pricked up at the bitterness of her tone. “Our family has always favoured the home-brewed medical remedy. If the young lady so desires, I suggest she stay here until the fog clears.”

“Not such a bad idea, perhaps.” Maude’s shrewd eyes were fixed thoughtfully on Hyacinth’s face. “A homey atmosphere may well bring her round faster than hospital wards. But what of her family? They’ll be jumping off the walls when she doesn’t turn up wherever and whenever she was expected.”

I held my breath on that one.

“Terrible,” piped up Primrose. “One feels their distress, but if she cannot tell us who she is, she will not be able to tell the doctors.”

Excellent. Or was it a little too glib? No—these ladies might be a little odd but they were certainly kind and hospitable.

“Then what about the police?” Maude sat down with a weighty thud on a spindle-legged chair. “What did our friend Constable Watt say on the subject of this madman in the walk?”

“We haven’t yet spoken to the police,” said Hyacinth as my heart set up a racket I was afraid could be heard across the room.

“Not ...” The chair spun under Maude as she turned to stare at her. “Miss Tramwell, you can’t mean to keep mum on this. There may be a next time, and some other poor girl may lose more than her memory. Believe me, I am not trying to frighten anyone, but people do get murdered in lonely spots like Abbots Walk.”

Primrose had fluttered across the room to the bell rope; now she came back to sit beside her sister on the sofa across from me. “Nurse dear, you must have some tea before you leave us. Butler just promised to fetch some when you arrived. So kind of you to come so quickly; but as for murder, oh, I really don’t think so! In Flaxby Meade! We have never, in recent years, been exposed to anything quite that sordid. And as for dragging Constable Watt out here when our friend is quite unable to tell him anything ... dear me, I do rather feel that would be something of an imposition.” She turned to her sister for corroboration.

“When it comes right down to it,” said Hyacinth, “what crime did the man actually commit? Please”—she turned earnestly to me, the earrings penduluming back and forth—“I am not minimizing the moral aspect of your suffering, but I can’t see the police being more than mildly interested.”

“Some very degenerate language and ungentlemanly manoeuvring for a kiss and a cuddle,” supplied Primrose. “I was never more shocked, but I think you are right, Hyacinth, the police would want bruises and her clothes torn and in disarray. Hard physical evidence I think is the term.”

Maude looked thoroughly unconvinced, but Hyacinth nodded briskly, the Egyptian mummies lurching forward. “Good. Because really I do not think Butler would at all appreciate having the house cluttered with bobbies. And I have no idea when or how we could replace him if he decided to give notice. Nurse”—a flash of the black eyes in that lady’s direction—”I know we can rely on your absolute discretion in this matter. So regrettable that our families have not always dealt well together—your father and our father—but we have always had the highest personal regard for you. Your patients so devoted, and your taking in that homeless boy. By the way, how is he doing?”