The Poisoned House (14 page)

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Chapter 30

I didn’t have the energy to go back to the Ouija cloth that night. The spell had been broken. I rolled it up and placed it beneath my pillow, then lay in my bed and listened for Lizzy coming up the stairs. She never did. Instead, some half an hour after I’d left her, it was Mrs Cotton’s steps I heard. I braced myself, thinking that she was going to burst through my door. But she went into Lizzy’s room for less than a minute and then came out again without disturbing me.

Next morning I checked Lizzy’s room, but saw that the bed sheets were undisturbed. It was with a sense of rising panic that I took the stairs down to the scullery. Rowena rubbed against my legs, so I tickled her beneath the chin. She looked perkier today, as if she’d almost forgotten about her little ones. If only we could all move on so easily, I thought to myself.

Cook was seated on a stool near the hearth, gently crying. My first thought was that she’d been at the bottle already.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

She turned her face towards me. ‘Oh, Abi,’ she said. ‘She’s gone!’

‘Who? Lizzy?’

Cook nodded and blew her nose into a handkerchief.

‘Sent away,’ she said. ‘Mrs Cotton said she wasn’t having her under her roof no longer.’

It was worse than I’d expected. Far worse.

‘But where’s she gone?’ I said. ‘She has nowhere but her sister’s.’

Cook said she didn’t know, but that Lizzy had been dismissed by the back door the night before without any ceremony. She’d been given her belongings in a sack and thrust out into the cold.

‘Like a pauper from the workhouse,’ Cook snivelled. ‘Just like little Anne.’

I went to put my arm around her. What could I possibly do? As she shook with sobbing, my own tears remained inside. Anger burned. Mrs Cotton doesn’t have the right, I told myself. Lizzy made a stupid mistake trusting Henry, and she’d have to pay for that her whole life, but to throw her out was just too awful. It was the behaviour of a heartless monster.

I made up my mind then and there what I would do. First I’d talk to Mrs Cotton directly – try to reason with her. And if that didn’t work – well, I’d go to Samuel. Mrs Cotton might not like it – it might offend her sense of what was right – but I’d have given her a chance. Sammy would understand. He’d see what was fair and overrule his aunt, as it was his right to do. He’d send Rob over to Lizzy’s sister’s lodgings, or maybe he’d even go himself. By nightfall, Lizzy would be back in Greave Hall.

‘There are fires to be lit,’ said Mrs Cotton.

She stood in the doorway opposite, having come down the main stairs. She was dressed in a tight-fitting black dress with black lace collar, and her hair was pulled back in an even tighter bun than normal. Her hands were clasped in front of her.

‘May I speak to you?’ I said as firmly as I could.

Her eyebrows twitched. ‘You may, Miss Tamper. Come over here and say your piece.’

She walked into the servants’ hallway and I followed. She stood at the bottom of the stairs with her back half-turned to me. It was disconcerting not being able to see her face, but I pressed my case.

‘Elizabeth should be given a second chance,’ I said. ‘She was duped by that charlatan. She never would have –’

‘What is the eighth Commandment?’ Mrs Cotton interrupted.

I thought for a moment. I didn’t really care for Bible learning, but I wasn’t a simpleton. ‘Thou shalt not steal,’ I said.

‘And she stole from me,’ said the housekeeper. She began to walk up the stairs as though the conversation was over, so I went after her. She turned on me in disgust.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she said. ‘Get off these stairs at once!’

I held my ground. ‘Lizzy doesn’t deserve it.’

Mrs Cotton spoke again, her voice more threatening. ‘I decide what the staff of this house deserve,’ she said. ‘Elizabeth let us all down, and that is why she can’t ever come back.’

‘But she has nothing else,’ I said. Surely that simple fact would touch Mrs Cotton somewhere. ‘She’ll be lost!’

‘She was lost long before now,’ said Mrs Cotton with a smile. ‘Don’t think I’m stupid, Miss Tamper. I know exactly what goes on under this roof.’

From her sly look, I guessed she must mean Lizzy’s condition.

‘Then it’s two lives you’re destroying,’ I said quietly.

In times past that would have merited a thrashing and a half, but now she simply turned away and continued up the stairs.

I went about my work, if not with zeal, then with a determination I hadn’t felt for a long time. By nine, Samuel still hadn’t stirred. I was hardly surprised after the events of the night before. As soon as he was up, I planned to speak to him. It was laundry day, so I went from room to room gathering the sheets and other washing. Lord Greave, seemingly oblivious to what had happened the night before, took a few turns round the garden in his robe and slippers. I watched him from the back door. His hands were moving as though he was giving a speech and he was muttering to himself. Perhaps Sammy was right – perhaps something would need to be done about him too.

Samuel must have gone out while I was washing pillowcases in soapy water, because the wheelchair that had been parked in the hallway was gone. I guessed that Rob was taking him for some fresh air. I wondered if either of them knew yet about Lizzy’s disappearance. Rob was the type who might not even mention it if he did.

At about eleven o’clock the front doorbell rang. Normally Lizzy herself would have gone for it, or else Mr Lock, but the butler had taken His Lordship upstairs to dress. I quickly dried my hands and rushed upstairs.

I reached the door at the same time as Mrs Cotton. As she opened it, we both got a nasty surprise. Standing there on the step was Dr Reinhardt.

My knees almost gave away. Had Mrs Cotton summoned him again? Would he betray me in front of her? We’d hardly parted on good terms, so there was no reason why he should keep our meeting a secret.

‘Doctor?’ said Mrs Cotton. The bemusement in her tone told me that she wasn’t expecting this visit. I started to back away, fear making me feel sick. If I could hide somewhere, perhaps he wouldn’t see me.

‘And Constable Evans,’ said Mrs Cotton. ‘How strange to see you again so soon.’

I was confused. Did this have something to do with Henry and the foiled burglary? How was Dr Reinhardt involved in all that?

‘Mrs Cotton,’ said the constable. ‘Sorry to bother you on what I’m sure is a busy day. We need to speak to a member of your staff, if that’s possible.’

My heart sank. I still wasn’t sure what was going on, but the uneasy feeling was spreading into my legs, making my knees weak.

‘Oh, yes?’ said the housekeeper. ‘And who might that be?’

‘The serving girl,’ said Dr Reinhardt. ‘Miss Tamper.’

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Chapter 31

Mrs Cotton eyed me warily as we assembled in the sitting room. She looked as confused as I was. Dr Reinhardt and Mrs Cotton sat on opposite sofas, while the constable remained standing. I perched on a high-backed chair. As we were settling Mr Lock came in as well, shutting the door behind him.

‘Is there some sort of problem?’ he asked.

‘Possibly,’ said the constable. ‘We’re making some enquiries into a burglary carried out some years ago. Dr Reinhardt has been very helpful, but we still have a loose end your girl here might be able to tie up.’ The constable fished in his pocket for a moment, then brought out a silver object – my father’s watch. The hands were still motionless, I noticed. ‘Do you recognise this?’ he said to me.

I couldn’t find my words. Whatever I said now, I was trapped good and proper. There seemed little chance that I could leave this room without Mrs Cotton learning of my night-time excursion. I thought the best thing was to tell the truth, but not to give away information if not specifically asked.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘It’s her watch,’ said Mr Lock helpfully.

‘My father’s watch,’ I clarified.

‘Your father’s, you say?’ said the constable. ‘And that’ll be Jim Tamper, I presume?’

I frowned. How did this policeman know of my father? ‘James Tamper, sir.’

Mrs Cotton was wearing a look of absolute concentration. I could almost hear the cogs in her mind turning, trying to make sense of what was going on in front of her eyes.

‘And he gave it to you?’ said the constable.

‘He gave it to my mother, sir,’ I said. ‘And she gave it to me. She’s passed on too.’

‘You believe your father is dead?’ said the constable.

He spoke with some surprise and the words sank in. I replied hesitantly. ‘He is, sir,’ I said. ‘Died before I was even born.’

‘She said the same to me,’ said Dr Reinhardt.

Mr Lock coughed uncomfortably in the corner of the room, but held up a hand to apologise.

I was replaying the constable’s strange words in my head:
You believe your father is dead.

‘This watch is stolen property,’ said the constable. ‘It was taken in a substantial robbery at Frobisher’s Jewellers on Bond Street several years ago. The culprit was never identified and most of the pieces were lost.’

The words washed over me. I didn’t just believe my father was dead, I knew it. My mother wouldn’t have lied to me.

‘Excuse me,’ said Mrs Cotton. ‘How did this watch come to be in your possession, Constable?’

Her question shook me from my thoughts. She had to find out now.

‘This gentleman tried to pawn the watch two days ago,’ said the policeman, gesturing to Dr Reinhardt. ‘The owner of the shop notified us, and we followed the trail back here.’

Mrs Cotton’s frown deepened and her nostrils flared slightly, like a creature responding to the sudden scent of prey close by.

‘But how did this gentleman
get his hands on it?’ she asked impatiently.

Finally Dr Reinhardt spoke. ‘She had no money to pay for my services. We agreed the watch was a suitable remuneration.’

That was it, then. Any chance I had of squeezing out of this was gone.

But Mrs Cotton didn’t pursue it further. The only thing I could think was that she had something worse planned for me. Mr Lock seemed to be squirming slightly in the corner.

‘Perhaps we should conclude the matter then,’ said the butler. ‘It seems that we’ll never know how the watch came to be in Abigail’s possession, but at least it can be returned to its rightful owner.’ He held open the door, as if to suggest it was time the guests left.

I found my voice to ask the question that everyone seemed to have forgotten.

‘Wait a moment,’ I said. ‘My father
is
dead, isn’t he?’

Dr Reinhardt raised his eyebrows and Mr Lock laughed uncomfortably. Mrs Cotton remained impassive.

The constable looked from one to the other, then sat down beside me. ‘Jim Tamper was transported after the Henley Thefts in ’38.’

‘Transported?’ I said.

‘That’s right. Sent to Australia,’ said the constable. ‘We never could pin the Frobisher job on him, but it seems this is the missing piece of the puzzle.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘My father was apprenticed to a watchmaker.’

The constable smiled as if I was a stupid toddler. ‘Looks like someone’s been telling you some porky pies, my girl. Tamper was a swindler if ever I saw one. He’ll still be breaking rocks now, I expect.’

‘It’s a lie,’ I said. ‘My mother –’

‘Told you what she thought was best, I expect,’ he said. ‘Sorry you have to find out the truth from me.’

But something else was troubling me. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.

‘What were the Henley thefts?’ I asked.

Mrs Cotton seemed to growl, but she didn’t interrupt. I think she was as interested as me.

‘First regatta on the river there,’ said Constable Evans. ‘Jim Tamper sneaked up through the kitchens of the Red Lion hotel, ransacked all the rooms, and tried to make his getaway by boat. It was only a servant like yourself spotted him.’

I realised what it was that troubled me.

‘You said this was 1838, though. Are you sure?’

‘I think we’ve used enough of the constable’s time,’ said Mr Lock. ‘Gentlemen, I’ll see you out.’

‘Oh, quite sure,’ said the constable. ‘Not every day you hear of a chase by boat, is it?’

Mr Lock finally succeeded in showing Constable Evans and Dr Reinhardt out of the door and Mrs Cotton left me on my own. It couldn’t be true. There had to be some mistake. My father couldn’t have been arrested in 1838 for one very good reason: I wasn’t born until February 1840.

Either the constable’s memory was at fault, or there was only one other conclusion.

James Tamper wasn’t my father.

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Chapter 32

As soon as the thought lodged in my mind, I couldn’t dismiss it. I think I knew straight away that it was true. Why else had my mother hardly ever spoken of my father? Why hadn’t she visited his grave? And, strangely, even Dr Reinhardt had assumed he was alive. For some reason, after all that had happened it was the doctor’s words I trusted most of all.

I suddenly felt very sad – not just for myself, and the shadow of a father who had now vanished, but for my poor mother too. To be married to a rascal like that, and to be left alone! No wonder she had gone into service for Eleanor Greave. Without a husband to support her, she must have been desperate for money.

I could barely think of what must have happened. Had my mother made the same mistake as Lizzy, falling for a follower and then being deserted? She seemed so level-headed, so sensible. How it must have angered Mrs Cotton that my mother – a mere member of staff – was allowed to stay on with the disgrace of a fatherless child. How it must have maddened her to see me grow up in the house that she thought hers by right through her dead sister. The fury must have ripened and fermented over the years, until one day she had snapped and taken her revenge.

I stood up, and found my hands were balled into fists. I made up my mind then to tell Samuel as soon as he got back. Until then I would avoid Mrs Cotton as well as I could. She had not reappeared to question me further about Dr Reinhardt, and I knew why. It was guilt. She might not know it for sure, but she at least suspected that I was on to her. She dared not challenge me for fear that I would tell everyone her secret.

Well, I shall, I promised myself. And that will be the end of you.

On my way back down to the laundry, I heard muffled voices from the library. I pressed my ear against the door. It was Mrs Cotton talking. Her tone was barely a hiss, and I could tell immediately that I was the subject being discussed.

‘She must not know,’ said Mrs Cotton.

‘But . . .’ It was Mr Lock, his voice plaintive. ‘His Lordship –’

‘My brother-in-law doesn’t know whether it’s day or night,’ she snapped. ‘Just burn them! Or I will.’

I heard them moving towards the door and quickly darted along the corridor and into the drawing room. Mrs Cotton emerged first and strode towards the servants’ stairs. Mr Lock came more slowly behind, his sagging shoulders seeming to bear an extra weight. He had been asked to do something of which he didn’t approve – something involving me.

As he went to the main stairs, I went to the back ones.

He continued past the first floor, slowly approaching Lord Greave’s chamber. Now things were awkward. If I were caught here, there’d be trouble. I planned an excuse that I was coming to check what clean bed linen was needed. It wasn’t convincing, but neither was it ridiculous.

As soon as he rounded the corner to Lord Greave’s room, I trod lightly after him. I hovered at the end of the corridor leading to Lord Greave’s private rooms. I could hear Mr Lock breathing heavily.

I crept along the corridor after him.

I had to know.

At the door, I peered in. He was bent over, rifling through the contents of Lord Greave’s little desk. He pulled out a sheaf of documents secured with a piece of string, untied them quickly and leafed through them, removing a few sheets of paper, then disappeared from my line of sight towards the other side of the room.

Towards the fire.

I looked further in. Sure enough, he was crouched beside the grate and feeding the pieces of paper into the small dying fire. I wanted nothing more than to stop him, to run in and tear them out, but it was unthinkable to go in there without permission.

So, hating myself every step of the way, I retreated back down the main stairs. Whatever was in those documents, I would never know.

A cry came from the bedroom – a howl of terror. I quickly scampered out of the way to the back stairs as Mr Lock shuffled into sight. His eyes were wide with fear, his skin pale. He didn’t see me as he half-fell, half-stumbled down the steps, supporting himself with the banister. He looked like he’d had a terrible fright.

He ran past as rapidly as his old legs would carry him, and down the next stairs to the ground floor. I realised this would be my only chance, and sprinted back up along the corridor and into His Lordship’s room. In the grate, the papers were blazing. A wail escaped my lips when I saw that most were already in ashes. I grabbed the poker and pushed them out of the fire. A fringe of orange was creeping across the pages, so I picked up an edge and blew out the flames, shaking the embers off. I ran quickly back to the door and down the stairs, clutching the papers to my stomach.

What was written on them, I couldn’t know. Something important enough to burn. Something to do with me.

I couldn’t help feeling that I was holding my past in my hands.

Back in my room I examined the papers carefully. It was a letter – two sheets, written in uneven lines. Both had been mostly eaten away or blackened by the fire, so only a little of the writing was left at the top of the pages, but it was addressed to ‘Darling Nathan, my love.’
Nathan?
His Lordship’s first name was Nathaniel. This was his private correspondence. A love letter? I knew that I should stop reading there and then.

The letter had a date at the top: ‘3.viii.39’. The third of August. On the second page, only a few lines remained. The signature caught my eye at once.

‘All my love, Susan’.

I’m not sure how long I sat there, but it was until my backside was numb and long after. My mother had been in love with Lord Greave! I felt like a ship unmoored and floating over a misty lake, the banks nowhere in sight.

I suppose I knew what the letter would say before I started reading, but read it I did, many times over. What came across most strongly was my mother’s voice: kind, loving, a hint of a smile even when what she spoke of was serious.

.

Little Sammy is sure to pick up on it; you would be surprised how perceptive youngsters can be. I thought today that Trevor had seen us share a kiss on the stairs. We must be more careful from now on, Nathan. Do not despair though. With our secret way—

A patch was burned from the middle of the letter and only a few more sentences remained.

.

I don’t expect any of them will understand, least of all Lillian. You say you are happy for all to know. Well, I am not, and I expressly
forbid
it. For a man of your—

Then just a fraction more:

.

You scoff at appearances, but they are
everything
. What matters is our love. Our child. Nothing more—

‘Our child’.

Me.

The product of an affair between the master and the servant, the celebrated naval lord and his son’s nurse. Had they really thought it was easier for me to grow up thinking my father was dead? I felt a sadness, a deep ache in my heart that my mother and I had never shared the truth.

In a single day I had lost one father and found another. The dates fitted perfectly. She had learned that she was pregnant with me some time in June, 1839.

‘You could have told me before,’ I said aloud.

Everything had to adjust, but it was like a jigsaw puzzle thrown into the air. I knew the pieces would somehow fit together again, but the picture would be different. I caught glimpses of it though, like a landscape illuminated under lightning.

Samuel, who’d always been like an older brother to me, was indeed my real half-brother. My mother had been happy all along; she’d found love again after James Tamper had left.

There were more bitter realisations as well and they led me on to a darker train of thought. Mrs Cotton was actually my aunt. She had known her brother-in-law’s secret all along. She feared that my mother would supplant her, that Lord Greave would elevate her within the household, that she, Lillian Cotton, would have to answer to the nursemaid.

Had she known from the start though, or was it the discovery of the affair that had driven her to murder? When had Mr Lock – or Trevor, as my mother called him – found out? They both knew of the letters, but had been willing to let them gather dust in a drawer until now. As long as they were safely out of the way in the attic desk.

I felt like confronting them there and then, but what good would it do? I’d seen with what a heavy heart Mr Lock had carried out his duties. He’d done it to protect his master, not through any spite harboured in his own breast. No, I had only one enemy in this house and it seemed she would stop at nothing to keep me in my place.

I gathered up the letter carefully and placed it in my chest. Now at least I had an advantage over her. I knew the secret that she’d tried her hardest to destroy.

I felt like my drifting boat had finally bumped against the shore.