Flowers Stained With Moonlight (12 page)

‘He’s – he’s a big boy now,’ stammered Ellen uncomfortably, ‘ever so beautiful. I don’t know what I’d do without him. Miss Dora knows him well, indeed she does, miss; she’s helped me sometimes when he’s been ill, and brought him things and sent the doctor to us. It wasn’t easy for me at first, in Langley Vale, but she helped me from the
beginning. I take in washing now, I wouldn’t do any other work, not that would take me out of the house and away from my baby. Yes, Miss Dora is an angel.’

My heart was pleased within me upon hearing these words. I would gladly have continued on the subject of little William, but I felt that Ellen was not happy with it, and wished to move to other topics. Indeed, she seemed very worried and nervous altogether, toying with the food Mrs Firmin had provided her with generously, and perking up every time the slightest noise was heard without.

‘It’s no use your hoping that’s the carriage already,’ said Mrs Firmin, ‘they won’t be back till well after midnight, that’s certain, and Mrs B will be tired and maybe won’t be willing to see you then. You’d best settle in for the night and get some rest. Do you have some night things, deary? No, I didn’t think so. I’ll lend you a chemise, though you’ll be lost in the size of it, and it’ll just take us a moment to make up your old bed with fresh sheets. It brings back old memories to see you, it does! We did miss you when you left. Do you know, we’ve never known what happened and why you went! Mrs B said there’d been a disagreement between you and her, but you know how she is, tight-lipped. We never heard a word more, nor where you’d gone, nor anything. What was it about, then?’

I saw Ellen’s face grow darker and darker as Mrs Firmin went on talking cheerfully. But she, moving around as she spoke, washing up the few dishes and poking the fire, noticed nothing, and when upon these last words she turned to Ellen, she was so startled at the closed, desperate
expression on her face that she dropped the poker with a clang.

‘I don’t – I can’t talk about it,’ said Ellen through clenched teeth.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ responded Mrs Firmin, torn between indignation at so cavalier a response to her kindness, frustrated curiosity, and a natural feeling of protectiveness for someone obviously in great difficulties. She overcame her resentment with an effort, and taking Ellen by the arm, accompanied her to the kitchen door, herding me out by the same gesture.

‘You’d better get back upstairs, miss,’ she said, ‘Mrs B won’t be back for a while yet, but she’d be right annoyed to find you’d been frequenting here. Sit in bed with a nice book if you’re afraid of the thunder, that’s right.’

I noticed as she spoke that the storm had begun in earnest, and the distant rumblings were getting progressively louder. They are crashing about the house now, and lightning rents the landscape as I write to you by the light of a candle. As soon as I finish this long letter, I shall seal it up and hop into bed, but not before telling you that I expect a
great deal
of information from you, Dora dear, on the subject of the mysterious Ellen. Why did she leave here seven years ago? Why has she suddenly returned? If anyone can find out and tell me, it is surely you! And it is not simple curiosity, for it cannot be a mere coincidence Ellen’s coming here today – it ought to have some bearing on the mystery – don’t you think so?

Good night, ‘angel’ sister!

Vanessa

My dearest Dora,

I arose this morning early, and dressing hastily, I slipped downstairs and hid myself in what I considered to be the best possible place: just inside the library door. I thought there was a chance that Mrs Bryce-Fortescue might, upon being told about Ellen’s presence, receive her in the library. I thought she might conceivably also refuse to receive her, but dismissed that possibility to be dealt with if it should occur. If she received her in her bedroom, I could not think of anything to do except beg you, Dora, to find out what you could about all these strange goings-on, for I have no vantage point to eavesdrop on Mrs Bryce-Fortescue’s bedroom as I have on Sylvia’s. But I still hoped and believed that she would receive her in the library, for Mrs Bryce-Fortescue is a person who prefers to surround and protect herself with an aura of formality.

After a short time, I saw Sarah come out and mount the stairs with our early morning tea on a tray. I supposed she would set mine down in my room, thinking merely that I had gone on a ramble in the pink flush of dawn. As I wished I could, indeed, for although it had been most disagreeably difficult for me to compel myself to rise so early, now that I was well awake, I found the lovely tints of the rain-washed sky and the fields far more attractive than the dusty gallery where presently I should probably have to squeeze myself. But I kept myself in hand, and listened to Sarah enter Mrs Bryce-Fortescue’s room and exchange
some words with her. They spoke too low for me to be able to make out what they said from downstairs, but after a moment I heard Sarah emerge and carry in the tea to Sylvia and Camilla, and then to my room. Then she came down the stairs with the empty tray and disappeared through the baize door back into the kitchen regions.

I waited more breathlessly now, for I was worried that Ellen might enter the hall and mount the stairs, and I should have been most disappointed. But a good quarter of an hour passed, and then suddenly, I heard a door open upstairs. I jumped to attention – Mrs Bryce-Fortescue was descending. My heart in my mouth, I scampered to the staircase leading up to the gallery and swarmed silently up it. I had just time to flatten myself against the wall – no time to arrange a hiding place with books in front of me as I had for the police inspectors – and in came Mrs Bryce-Fortescue, followed, almost simultaneously, by Ellen, wearing a humble and drooping air, but with a desperate flash in her eyes as she glanced upwards. The two women did not sit, but stood facing each other, not like adversaries, but very warily.

‘It has been many years, Ellen,’ said Mrs Bryce-Fortescue. ‘I have had no news of you. I hope that you have managed well.’

‘I’ve just barely managed. Just barely. And now – he’s dead and I don’t know where to turn. I’m here to ask you for help, madam. I don’t know anybody else who could help me now, nor even anybody who would help me if they could, except for Miss Dora.’

‘Who is dead? What kind of help are you talking about?
What do you want of me?’ said Mrs Bryce-Fortescue, and she sounded genuinely confused, but her tone also held the slight tension of someone who fears something – fears, perhaps, being asked for money, or so I thought at first.

‘Who is dead? Why, Mr Granger is dead, madam – Mr Granger! How can you ask?’

‘Mr Granger! What had you to do with him? What is his death to you?’ Now Mrs Bryce-Fortescue’s tones held faint overtones of a kind of horror. Perhaps I was witnessing something very subtle, but I thought that any suspicion of scandal might cause her to speak in that tone.

‘Don’t you know? I thought if anyone would know, it was you. No? You don’t know? Really don’t? Oh, he was a close one. He was very close. So he never, never told. No, I guess he wouldn’t, after all, would he? Then perhaps I must, but before I do, I’d like to ask you a question, if I may.’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s about Mr Granger’s will. Have you – do you know what was in it?’

‘A will! Why, Mr Granger had not made a will. I am sure that he had no intention of dying and saw no immediate necessity for one.’

‘No will, no will!’ cried Ellen with an accent of great anguish. ‘Oh, it can’t be, it can’t be! Madam, are you sure? Is it possible?’

‘I am perfectly sure, and really cannot discuss the question any further without knowing what business it is of yours!’

‘But – but you would know, wouldn’t you,’ said Ellen
desperately, ‘if there had been a will and I had been mentioned in it, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t lie to me, I know it.’

‘My dear Ellen, this is going too far! There is no will, I repeat, and if there had been, I can hardly see why you of all people should be mentioned in it! The very idea is shocking, when I remember why you were obliged to leave my employ. I cannot think what you are after, Ellen.’

‘You are sure? Sure there is no way he could have left anything for me, even without a will?’ Ellen’s voice was dull now.

‘I can assure you that if you had inherited anything whatsoever from Mr Granger, you would have been informed of the fact before now by his executors.’

‘Oh. But what if—’ She paused and reflected for a moment, then brightened a little and said, ‘Who inherits when somebody dies without leaving any will?’

‘Mrs Granger inherits the whole of her husband’s property, naturally.’

‘And what about – what about if Mr Granger had a child?’

‘Child! Mr Granger had no child!’

‘But would he inherit anything if he did? Perhaps the lawyers couldn’t find the child and that’s why he had nothing …’

‘Ellen, I must request you to stop this unseemly discussion at once. I cannot continue discussing these private matters in this way.’

‘No, let me explain! Let me explain everything, then!’
Ellen seemed terrified of being dismissed without being heard. But yet she hesitated. ‘You won’t like to hear what I have to tell. Perhaps you won’t even believe me.’

Mrs Bryce-Fortescue remained silent. Some force of pride prevented her from asking questions, and also, I believe, fear and dismay at what she was about to hear. For myself, I was all ears, while she instead appeared to be bracing herself wordlessly. Seeing her attitude, Ellen continued.

‘I left seven years ago because of Mr Granger,’ she said, raising her voice and speaking quite loudly, as though steeling herself to say things which would be better whispered, or never mentioned at all. ‘He told you … that I had stolen something from him, and asked you to give me notice immediately. You gave me notice and paid me a month’s wages. I never said a word to you then, for I thought that as bad as stealing might be, you would be even angrier if you knew the truth. I thought it would make a great to-do, and spoil things that were better left alone. I thought you could make something of the man, and that you would do it.’

There was a pause. Ellen gathered courage to say more, and Mrs Bryce-Fortescue to hear it.

‘I never stole nothing from Mr Granger. I’ve never stolen a penny from a soul, and I’m sure you knew it. I never stole from you, why should I steal from him? He made it up so that you should send me away, quickly, and he made sure I would never tell you … that I was pregnant. I was expecting a baby. Yes, his baby; his son that was born just seven months later. His baby – my baby! Oh, I never thought of his father as mine, even when he came to me so
eagerly in the nights, even when he promised me – told me all manner of lies! I knew none of it was true. I thought he wanted to marry you, and that’s what I would have wanted for him. For he was a strange man with a dark side, but there were times that he was happy, here in this house.

‘Anyway, he told me to hold my tongue, or he would never give me a penny of help, so I did it. I thought it was for the best. He found a farm for me to stay at, and paid the people. I had the baby there. Then he bought me a house. He told me I should stay far away from him forever, far away from Cambridge and from here, and that’s why he bought me the house. I accepted it. He swore to me that if I left him alone, then he’d remember his son in his will, and make sure he had something so he didn’t grow up in poverty! And I believed him. We went to the house – it’s just a tiny thing, but it was big enough for my baby and me, and I got work washing, so as to stay home with him. We managed somehow, but William’s getting bigger and needing more, and times are so hard for us now. It’s getting almost impossible! Sometimes Miss Dora helps; she keeps little Will for a day or two, and I go to do some cleaning in the big houses. But it’s been so bad lately, I’ve been so worried, and so tired I hardly knew how I could go on. And then, suddenly, I heard that he was dead. And I remembered what he said. I’ve never forgotten it – I’ve lived on the thought! He swore he’d do it, he swore it, he swore it! What’ll we do if he lied to us?’

Her voice was filled with increasing despair, and her speech ended suddenly in a tearful wail. Mrs Bryce-Fortescue stepped forward towards her.

‘I didn’t know, Ellen. I wish I could help you,’ she said softly. ‘I never heard a word about this, all these long years. Mr Granger was a man who kept his own counsel.’ She paused, and then added abruptly, ‘I didn’t know about this – and I had no idea that he wished to marry Sylvia, either, until the day he asked. I understood nothing of the man, in fact.’

‘No more did I, the liar,’ said Ellen bitterly. ‘I saw he’d married Sylvia from the papers the day he died – I’d no idea! So he courted us all, did he – the mother, the daughter and the maid?’

Mrs Bryce-Fortescue flinched and seemed to withdraw, as though in the presence of something loathsome and vulgar, and indeed there was something shocking in Ellen’s remark, although it appeared to be no more than the unvarnished truth. When she spoke again, her tone was more controlled.

‘In any case, Ellen, the difficulty is that we have no money at all ourselves, and we shall have nothing until Mr Granger’s murder is solved. As long as there is some suspicion resting on Sylvia, his executors will give us nothing, although Sylvia has inherited all of her husband’s estate. I am afraid that … an illegitimate child cannot inherit unless it is specifically mentioned in a testament, but if I – if we – if Sylvia once obtains her rights, we could help you, and we would do it. Only there is nothing that we can do at this point.’

‘Sylvia!’ Ellen’s tone was bitter. ‘Miss Sylvia inherited everything from him, did she? Everything! But why? Why? What did she ever do for him? I bore his child, not she!’

‘That is not fair. She is so young, and was married only
two years, and knew nothing of all this; how could she?’

‘She was never a good wife to him and never would have been. Not Miss Sylvia!’ asserted Ellen emphatically.

‘What are you saying? You must not say such things!’ responded Mrs Bryce-Fortescue sharply.

‘Why did he marry her? Why did he marry her?’ Ellen continued, a note of hysteria creeping into her voice. ‘I was the one who carried his child – and you were the one who welcomed him into this house and tried to tame the beast that was inside him. Oh, I knew how it was with you – he told me. He told me a great many things. I’m easy to talk to; Miss Sylvia talked to me too. I knew that Mr Granger juggled a lot of things in his life. I knew what he wanted of you, and what he wanted of me, but I never, never thought he’d look at Miss Sylvia.’

‘You are mistaken,’ said Mrs Bryce-Fortescue stiffly, ‘there was nothing between Mr Granger and myself.’ Her tone was so stuffy that I quite thought, for a moment, that she must be aware that I was in the room and be speaking for my benefit, for what was the use of her lying to Ellen, who clearly knew whatever there was to be known? But I realised after a worried moment that the tight denial was meant to reassure nobody other than herself that nothing amiss had ever occurred in her past life – as though silence could have the power to efface the past reality. How strange people are!

‘You forget that Sylvia was just fifteen when you left,’ she added more gently. ‘She grew into a very lovely young woman, and it was perfectly natural that Mr Granger should learn to be fond of her.’

‘But not she of him – that I’ll never believe! That monster – fifty if he was a day, wanting to marry a slip of a girl. What did you think, what did you think, when he asked you for her? Your own daughter – after all the years you cared for him so! Did it hurt? Did he hurt you then like he hurt me, when he told me in plain words never to bother him again?’

‘Ellen!’ The word snapped out coldly, expressing the purest reprobation. But Ellen was not to be stopped.

‘Why did Sylvia marry him? What kind of arrangement did you make – what did he offer you? Money? Money for her, no doubt, and money for you, too. But for me, nothing! And for his son, his very own child, nothing!’

‘Sylvia’s marriage was completely agreed upon by all three of us,’ she answered, in the same stiff tone. ‘As for your child, I am sincerely sorry that you are in such difficulties at present.’

‘Then help us!’ cried Ellen. ‘I was sent away from here, where I was happy and had a good situation, for something that was none of my fault, but his! Things have been so hard for me lately that I – that I had decided to – to ask him for help. It was a hard decision for me to take, but – William is his son! I thought about it and thought about it, and I prayed … and I decided to go. And then I heard that he was dead, and I thought that God had answered my prayers! Was it all for nothing – all for nothing?’

The more emotion Ellen showed, the more expressionless Mrs Bryce-Fortescue became.

‘Again, I wish I could help you, simply in remembrance
of past services,’ she said almost drily, ‘but there is nothing I can do at present. We must see what we can do when Mr Granger’s murder has been solved, and his inheritance becomes available to Sylvia.’

‘To Sylvia!’ Ellen’s tone was furious and despairing, and she half-turned around and raised her eyes to heaven. Quite probably she really meant to address herself to heaven, but instead, alas, her eyes met mine, quite directly, as I had not had time to hide myself, and was simply pressed back against the wall. Dora, darling, I believe I benefited from your good works, for she stared at me, hesitated … and said nothing. Goodness gracious, if Mrs Bryce-Fortescue had discovered me there, she would have been horrendously angry at the idea that I had heard all that had been said! Perhaps Ellen hopes for my help, and indeed, I wish I could do something for her – anything at all. My dislike of Mr Granger grows by the minute.