The Penningtons (22 page)

The taxi arrived promptly and Daisy soon found herself at Macauley Buildings on Widcome Hill. She told the taxi driver to wait for her then rang the bell. Waiting on the step, she peered through the window on either side of the steps but saw no sign of life. Thinking that maybe he was a little deaf, she used the knocker – three loud knocks. Still no reply. She crouched down to look through the letterbox. All was quiet.

‘So either he isn’t there,’ she reasoned aloud, ‘or he is unable to come to the door.’ At once she felt a flutter of apprehension. Putting her mouth close to the letterbox she shouted, ‘Mr Pennington! It’s me, Daisy, from your brother’s house!’

The uneasy silence continued. Was he ill in bed? Or worse, had he been attacked by his son? Stepping back she stared up at what she assumed was a bedroom window.

The taxi driver called, ‘Out of luck, ducks?’

‘I’m not sure.’ On a whim, she began to search for a key and found one almost immediately, hidden under a flower pot containing a dead shrub. She held it up to the taxi driver and said, ‘I’ll just check. I won’t be long.’

Letting herself into the house was an uncomfortable feeling and as she closed the front door behind her, she was aware of a growing alarm, not only for Albert Pennington but also for herself. Stanley might be around, hiding somewhere.

‘Mr Pennington! Are you there?’ her voice echoed as she looked around the passage with its red tiled floor and an ornate mahogany coat stand which also catered for umbrellas. Receiving no answer she began to inspect the rooms, fearing to discover the worst.

Five minutes later, having satisfied herself that there was no intruder hiding on the ground floor, she was halfway up the stairs, still shouting for Mr Pennington and announcing her own presence, when a door creaked at the far end of the landing.

‘Who’s there?’

Above her, on the landing, Albert had suddenly appeared wearing a dressing gown over his nightshirt. He looked dishevelled and anxious, darting nervous glances around him.

‘It’s me. Daisy. Your brother sent me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He stared at her as if at a ghost. Worried, she asked gently, ‘Are you ill?’

‘No . . . that is, yes. I mean I have felt unwell and thought it best to rest.’

‘Should I call the doctor?’

‘No, no! I’m quite recovered. I’ll come down and we’ll have a cup of tea together – or maybe a glass of sherry!’ He forced a timid smile.

Daisy found her way around his kitchen which was in something of a muddle. Soon they were sitting at the kitchen table nursing cups of tea and Daisy was explaining her mission when there was a knock at the front door.

Albert jumped in alarm. ‘I’m not here!’ he cried loudly. ‘Whoever it is I’m . . . I’m away for a few days.’

Daisy stared at him. ‘If you’re not here you can’t be shouting at him.’

‘Oh! No. I see that.’ He sank back on to his chair. ‘Don’t answer it.’

‘But there’s a taxi outside the door. The driver knows I’m in here.’

Albert’s face grew pale and his lips quivered. ‘What shall we do? It’s him! It’s Stanley!’

‘It might be the taxi driver.’

He was too frightened to understand her. ‘What’s that you say?’

‘I said, ‘It might be the taxi driver. I’ll go and see.’

‘Be careful, Daisy!’

She hurried down the passage and stood hesitating by the door her hand on the catch. ‘Who is it? Is it the taxi driver?’

‘Yes.’

With a sigh of relief she opened the door but her greeting died on her lips as the door was immediately pushed back, knocking her over as a man shouldered his way in. Before Daisy could get back on her feet he had closed the door behind him and Daisy knew instinctively that this was Stanley. He was unshaven, shabbily dressed and smelled appalling. Worse still, he was carrying a pistol.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he growled. ‘Where’s the old man?’

Reaching out he grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet.

Daisy said nothing. The shock of his arrival had affected her mind and all she could do was stammer incoherently. Fortunately Albert appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, in a pathetic attempt to go to Daisy’s aid.

‘Leave the girl alone!’ he said shakily. ‘She’s nobody. Nothing to do with me. My brother’s housemaid.’

Affronted, Daisy found her voice. ‘I’m a trainee housekeeper!’

Pushing Daisy in front of him, Stanley made his way into the kitchen where he pushed her on to a chair and stood over them both, the pistol at the ready.

He said, ‘Don’t either of you try anything!’

His father looked on the point of collapse and shook his head.

‘Nothing to say to me then, after all these years?’ Stanley thrust his face closer to his father. He looked around. ‘Where’s the new Mrs Pennington? I gather there is one.’

Albert said, ‘She’s away, staying with friends. You have no quarrel with my wife.’

‘What’s the taxi for?’

Daisy said, ‘It’s to take me back.’ She was thinking rapidly, now that the shock had faded. ‘I’ve brought a message from Mr Montague Pennington.’ It crossed her mind that all the time she was here she was a witness, and hopefully Stanley was unlikely to shoot his father. She was willing to remain . . . but for how long?

Albert was trying to rally himself. He said,’ What are you doing here, Stanley?’

‘I live here, don’t I? I mean, this is my parents’ home. It was my home once – before I was banished to the other side of the world. I thought I might be welcome here. The simple truth is, I don’t
feel
very welcome.’

Daisy said indignantly, ‘How can you think you would be welcome if you bring a gun with you?’

He turned towards her. ‘Ah! But is it a real gun? Or is it a toy. Or a copy? Or a real gun that no longer works? Would I be stupid enough to arrive home flourishing a loaded gun that works? It’s probably illegal to carry a loaded pistol.’

There was a short silence while both Daisy and Albert weighed up the possibilities.

Daisy said, ‘Suppose we ask you to leave. Will you go?’ She was annoyed to notice a tell-tale tremor in her voice. ‘Your father has been unwell and you are upsetting him. He has . . . he has a weak heart. Do you mean to frighten him to death?’

Albert said ‘He doesn’t frighten me!’ but he sounded very frightened indeed.

They were interrupted by the front door bell which was followed by the clatter of the letter box.

‘Are you alright in there, Miss?’

‘It’s the taxi driver,’ said Daisy. She looked at Albert. ‘I could ask him to fetch the police.’

Stanley pointed the pistol in the direction of the front door. ‘Be a shame to get the taxi driver shot,’ he remarked.

Albert said, ‘You said it was not a real gun.’

‘Maybe I lied.’

Before either of them could guess what he would do next, Stanley turned and backed away towards the back door. He opened it, fired a shot into the kitchen ceiling and stepped outside into the garden, pulling the door to behind him. They heard his heavy footsteps as he ran down the path towards the back fence.

Albert cried, ‘Let him go, Daisy!’ and sat back exhausted by the ordeal.

Daisy ran to the front door, opened it and told the taxi driver that an armed intruder had threatened them.

Startled, he said, ‘You’d best call the police!’

Daisy shook her head. ‘Sadly, he’s . . . he’s known to us. I don’t think he’ll come back today, if ever. But I’ll settle Mr Pennington and then you can take me home.’

He frowned. ‘What, leave the old man on his own?’

‘He’s very stubborn. I’ll ask him to come back with me but I doubt if he will.’

Ten minutes later Daisy climbed back into the taxi alone. In spite of his fright, Albert had insisted that he could not run away from the confrontation indefinitely and would stay at home and await events.

‘There has to be a reckoning,’ he told Daisy, his tone resigned. ‘I think I’ve known for many years that this might happen. It’s just a matter of time.’

If his son intended to kill him there would be no escape.

Just after eleven the following morning, Hettie hung up the telephone and marched back into the kitchen where Dilys waited to hear the results of the conversation which Hettie had been having with Montague. Unable to await the expected answer to her letter she had decided to telephone instead.

Now Hettie’s face was bright with annoyance and her lips were pressed together – never a good sign. ‘Ungrateful wretch!’ she snapped. ‘I should have known better than to try and help him. That’s the thanks I get for my letter! A flat “no”! Not even a “thank you” for all the time and effort I’ve put in on his behalf!’ She stood gazing out across the back garden, her back stiff with indignation.

Dilys hesitated. She was still suspicious of Hettie’s motives in the ‘power of attorney’ business but was determined not to say so or to hint at her suspicions. ‘Then maybe we can stop worrying about him,’ she suggested, her tone carefully neutral.

Hettie swung round and glared at her. ‘Stop worrying about him? What, waste all my time? Is that the best you can say? Wait until he is so incompetent that the family affairs become unsustainable and we are all thrown into penury? Really, Dilys, I thought you had understood the significance of what I have been trying to achieve.’

‘I’m sorry, Hettie. I didn’t realize you had spent so much time . . .’

‘But that’s just it. I have. It’s a complex matter! I spent at least an hour in the library last week, trying to unravel the different types of power of attorney and exactly what is entailed. It’s not an easy subject to master, believe me.’

‘I thought it was just a matter of—’

‘You never do think things through, Dilys. I’m afraid the law is not an exact science. For instance, there’s an ordinary power of attorney suitable for some situations or events and another – a something-or-other . . . Ah! yes, an
enduring
one – which lasts longer but—’

‘Enduring?’

‘Do let me finish what I’m saying!’ Hettie rolled her eyes. ‘One might cover a specific event such as the transfer of a property. Another might cover the durations of an illness and the aftermath. There are forms to be filled in and signed and no end of decisions to be made on behalf of the donor.’

‘Are you the donor? I mean, would you be the . . .?’

Impatiently, Hettie held up a hand. ‘Don’t ask, dear! You wouldn’t understand. It has not been easy for me and I suspect my mind is a little sharper than yours. A form has to be filled out and signed – before a notary, no less.’

‘A notary?’ Dilys felt baffled. Was Hettie deliberately making it sound more difficult than it really was?

‘I don’t expect you to understand.’ Hettie gave a disparaging toss of her head. ‘You have no idea how much is involved. If I were to be granted Montague’s “power of attorney” I would have to—’

‘Surely Albert would be the best person to—’

‘Albert has enough to think about right now, Dilys! If we believe all we hear, his wretched son is threatening to kill him! Of course, he will do no such thing but Albert will hardly be in a fit state to worry about his older brother who is becoming senile and needing help.’ She drew in a long breath. ‘I’m prepared to take it on but I don’t pretend that it will be easy. Far from it. There are the tax details to consider, I shall be paying his bills, making decisions about this and that –’ she waved a vague hand – ‘even selling his property.’

Dilys frowned. ‘But Montague doesn’t have any property – except his house. He’s not going to sell his own house, Hettie. Where would he live?’

‘I said
if
he were to sell it, ‘Hettie said hastily. ‘Who knows what might happen to him in the next few years?’ Hettie shrugged her shoulders. ‘He might have to move in with you if he could no longer manage alone.’

‘With me?’

‘Why not? You have plenty of room and you’re his sister.’

‘But he has a housekeeper – or will have, when we find someone. Daisy cannot stay there forever – she really is not suitable for such a responsibility.’

Seeing that this scenario had worried her sister-in-law, Hettie changed direction. ‘Montague might become seriously ill and I would have to make a decision about his medical care. I might have to engage a full-time nurse . . . Or he might end up in hospital and never come out again and I would have to oversee the sale of his house. We might need the money to pay for the nurse.’

For a long moment neither spoke.

Dilys was struggling with Hettie’s gloomy view of her brother’s future prospects. She said slowly, ‘So you are suggesting that either you, or Albert, would be a sort of executor.’

‘No, Dilys.’ Hettie raised her eyebrows in mock despair. ‘An executor is the person named in a will. Your brother isn’t dead. We’re talking about someone being granted power of attorney.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think you’ll ever grasp this, Dilys.’

Dilys sighed heavily. I don’t think I will, she agreed silently. And frankly, I don’t think I want to.

On Friday Mr Desmond arrived back in the office looking very pale and drawn. He asked for a tray of tea and sent for Steven.

‘So how did you manage, Mr Anders?’ he asked. ‘Any problems?’

‘No sir.’ Steven smiled with quiet satisfaction. ‘I dealt with a few minor things and wrote them up for you, and rescheduled your more serious appointments. How are you, Mr Desmond? You’ve had a rather nasty few weeks.’

‘I’m afraid I have to agree with you. My wife didn’t want me to come back today but the status of the Pennington child’s adoption is coming to term shortly and I don’t want any problems. It has to be handled very delicately.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I would always prefer to see what is in the sealed envelope in advance so I can be prepared but, naturally, that is out of the question. The contents are always a surprise – anathema to a solicitor as you will no doubt discover to your cost at some time in the future!’ He gave a wry smile, sipped his tea and wished his headache would pass. His wife had been right, he reflected. He did not feel well enough to be back at work. ‘Remind me what, if anything, you know about the case, Mr Anders.’

‘Er . . .’ The young man ran his fingers through his hair and frowned. ‘I did take a look at it, Mr Desmond, because I thought you might not be back in the office and I—’