Dark Rooms

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jane rang the doorbell, and as Tina opened the door, Jane was confronted by Jason Thorpe.

‘I’m afraid my mother is not available to speak to you,’ he said brusquely. ‘She has already given you quite enough of her time and answered all your questions.’

‘I do apologise for the inconvenience, Mr Thorpe,’ Jane said firmly, ‘but your mother hasn’t actually answered all of my questions. I would appreciate it if you could encourage her to have a further meeting with me. I would hate to have Mrs Thorpe taken to the police station but will do so if it is necessary.’

His lips tightened. ‘That is absolutely preposterous! I’m perfectly aware that you don’t have any jurisdiction here. To suggest that you would question my mother at the police station is an empty threat. One call to my lawyers will have you removed from my property immediately.’

Jane stood her ground. ‘If I return to London, Mr Thorpe, I will have to report to my senior officer that I believe your mother could be responsible for infanticide.’

‘That is fucking ridiculous,’ he said angrily.

Jane carried on undaunted. ‘I’d like your mother to tell me exactly what happened at the shelter, and whether she did in fact give birth and bury the child. I will treat her with the utmost respect, but I can’t guarantee the press won’t get hold of the fact that your mother is a suspect in an infanticide case.’

Jane caught a glimpse of Beatrice coming down the stairs behind her son.

‘I don’t know if you told your mother about the press coverage which we’ve already had. The papers called it the “House of Horrors”. I can guarantee that there will be even more unpleasant headlines.’

Jason stepped forward, as if to grab Jane’s arm. His face was distorted with anger as he shouted, ‘She has told you the truth! She is not involved whatsoever!’

‘Yes, I am, Jason.’

Jane could hardly believe it. Beatrice, wearing a Chanel suit, her famous pearls, and high-heeled black patent leather shoes, appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Please tell Tina to bring us a cool drink in the drawing room,’ she said.

He curled his hands into fists as if about to argue with her, but she spoke firmly.

‘Do it, please.’ She then gestured for Jane and Tim to follow her into the drawing room.

Beatrice sat on the sofa. She was wearing the same jangling charm bracelet as yesterday as she indicated for Jane to sit opposite her. This time Tim, without being told, went and sat on the hard-backed chair. The tension in the room was palpable. Jane placed the envelope of photographs on the table beside her. She then opened her bag and took out her notebook.

‘I apologise for my son’s rudeness,’ Beatrice said, tight-lipped. She then gave a small sigh. ‘I was not aware of the newspaper stories you just mentioned... my son told me that it was not worth reading such garbage. I also chose not to discuss with you the appalling events that he told me had occurred. I obviously feel great compassion for that poor girl they found...’

Jane could feel Beatrice was about to go off topic again.

‘I’m sure you do, Mrs Thorpe,’ she said quickly. ‘But that case is closed. What remains unknown is who murdered the newborn baby.’

‘There was no murder,’ Beatrice said quietly.

‘Yes, there was, Mrs Thorpe. The newborn child was suffocated. We have that forensically proven. What we do not have is the identity of the person who wrapped the baby in the blue shawl so tightly that threads of the wool were found in the infant’s lungs.’

Jason moved silently into the room.

‘Dear God, is this necessary? Are you deliberately trying to shock my mother into some kind of admission when I can guarantee that she was not involved?’

‘Shut up, Jason,’ Beatrice said.

There was an awkward pause as Tina brought in a tray of iced drinks. Nobody spoke as she handed glasses to Jane and Tim. Jason took a glass from the tray and sat perched on the end of the sofa beside his mother.

‘Firstly, I want you to know why I previously declined to be honest with you, Detective Tennison. It was simply to protect my family’s reputation.’

Jane could see a strange, frightened look in his eyes as Jason turned towards his mother. But Beatrice took no notice, continuing calmly.

‘My sister Marjorie became pregnant. For a considerable time she kept it secret from everyone, but eventually it was too obvious for her to hide, and the poor girl told Helena. She told our parents that Marjorie was ill with flu and had a touch of bronchitis so that she had to wear a quilted dressing gown...’

Sensing Beatrice moving off course again, Jane interrupted.

‘So Marjorie went to full term?’

‘Yes. I lied about the belt, Detective Tennison. I lied about it because I didn’t want Helena to get into trouble. But it was her belt, and it was Helena who arranged everything.’

Beatrice had straightened her back and clasped her hands together so that even her charm bracelet was silent.

‘She took Marjorie into the shelter through the door in the basement. We knew that Father was not at home. He had gone to the Garrick, his private members’ club. Helena took towels with her and there was a gas cooker where she could boil water. Marjorie was to have the baby and as soon as it was born, Helena said she would take care of it.’

‘What did you think she meant by that?’ Jane asked.

‘I don’t really know, but I’m sure she didn’t intend to harm the baby. I think both Marjorie and I believed she would have the baby taken to a convent.’

‘So, what happened?’ Jane persisted.

Jason put down his glass and moved from the arm of the sofa to sit closer to his mother, reaching out for her clasped hands.

‘You don’t have to put yourself through this, Mother, you really don’t. Unless Detective Tennison can give you some kind of promise that what you are saying will never be disclosed. I cannot, at this time, afford to have any bad press. As it is, no one here knows that we are even associated with the Lanark family, and we need assurance that this will never be made public.’

Jane gave a small shrug of her shoulders. ‘I obviously can’t give you one hundred per cent assurance, but if you tell us the truth about what happened, we may simply be able to close the case.’

Beatrice unclasped her hands and patted her son’s knee.

‘This has been a very long time coming — I cannot tell you for how many years I have been forced into silence. My sister put me in a humiliating position, having to beg her to help me financially here in Australia.’

Beatrice now reached out to clasp her son’s hand and gave him a wretchedly sad look. Jane knew instinctively that she was about to begin one of her lengthy sagas.

‘Mrs Thorpe, on the night your sister gave birth, could you please tell me exactly what happened?’

Beatrice took a deep breath. ‘We were all in the shelter and poor Marjorie was so afraid to cry out, because even our mother didn’t know — not that she would have cared. She would have just said “So what?” as she would’ve been the same age when she gave birth to Helena. You know she locked our father out of their bedroom...’

Jane interrupted again. ‘Mrs Thorpe, I need to know what happened in the shelter.’

Beatrice glared. ‘That is all you care about... what happened in the shelter?’ Beatrice seemed to be mimicking Jane. ‘You never asked me what happened to Marjorie.’

‘I know what happened to Marjorie.’

Beatrice was hardly able to contain her rage.

‘No, you don’t. I even tried to tell you... but I just couldn’t... I was too ashamed.’

Jane frowned, convinced that Beatrice was going to change her story. Beatrice stood up and began to pace the room.

‘We would hear him come in — the sound of his keys in the silver bowl in the hall and his footsteps along the corridor terrified us. He wore heavy brown brogue shoes with steel heel caps. We would hear the click-click-click on the marble floor, praying that his footsteps would go down into the basement and to his darkroom.’

Jane interrupted. ‘So, were you in the shelter with Helena and Marjorie?’

Beatrice was still pacing up and down behind the sofa, whilst Jason sat straight-backed, his hands clenched.

‘I think this has gone far enough. You are clearly distressing my mother.’

Beatrice suddenly shrieked. ‘Distressing? You don’t even know the meaning of the word! Yes... yes, I was in the shelter. Marjorie had started to feel labour pains and we were trying to calm her... but most of all we were desperate to keep her quiet. Helena put a flannel into her mouth and told her to bite on it. She laid towels out on one of the shelf beds in there... and then we heard him.’ Beatrice was physically shaking. ‘Dear God... we heard him calling her, he was shouting Marjorie’s name... and the baby started coming, and Marjorie was moaning in agony and Helena shouted at me to get out of the shelter and into the tunnel. I had to stop Father from finding out what was happening. I was midway through the tunnel and he was shouting so loudly for Marjorie that I thought he was coming to find us. Then I heard the baby crying and I ran into the basement, shutting the door just as my father came out of his darkroom.’

Beatrice started crying.

‘I told him that Marjorie was sick in bed and that Helena was concerned she might catch pneumonia, so I had come down in her place.’ Beatrice reached into the sleeve of her jacket and took out a small lace handkerchief to wipe her tears. ‘That is what happened in the shelter.’

‘What happened next... after the child was born?’ Jane asked.

‘Marjorie came back into the house and went up to her room. Helena came in shortly after, as Father was in such a rage, shouting that he needed Helena in the darkroom.’

Jane had been making notes throughout and now closed her notebook. ‘Thank you very much for your honesty, Mrs Thorpe. I understand why you have tried to protect your sister. Can I just ask you just a couple more questions?’ she asked hesitantly.

Jason stood up abruptly. ‘Jesus Christ! Haven’t you heard enough? Surely, you’ve got what you came for? Can’t you see the distress you are causing my mother?’

‘Actually, Jason, I’m relieved that at long last I’ve been able to speak about what happened in that bloody, stinking shelter; now I hope to God I will be left in peace.’

Jane knew she had to choose her words very carefully. ‘Mrs Thorpe, did you ever confront Helena? From what you just told us, the baby was born alive.’

Beatrice shook her head. ‘No, Helena chose not to speak about it again. She just said she had taken care of it. And then, as if it was some kind of sign, my father discovered that part of one of the walls in the tunnel had buckled. Obviously by this time the war was long over, so he bolted the basement door to prevent anyone else from going into the tunnel, or into the shelter, as he said it was dangerous.’

Jane flicked from one page to another in her notebook. ‘Did Helena leave the towels in the shelter? They must have been bloodstained. And what about the afterbirth?’

‘Oh, she put those things into the furnace that heated the house. We used to have a lorry delivering coal every week, down a shoot into the furnace.’

Jane knew she had to stop Beatrice from going off the subject. ‘How long after this happened did Marjorie commit suicide?’

‘Maybe a week later?’

Jane was shocked. ‘A week?’

Beatrice shrugged her shoulders. ‘Yes, something like that, I think. I know it wasn’t too long after the birth.’

‘Did your father ever wonder why Marjorie would have done such an awful thing?’

Beatrice pursed her lips, then shrugged, as if she didn’t want to think about it. Jane concentrated on her notebook, underlining the word ‘photographs’ and biting her lip. She was certain there would be serious repercussions if she showed Beatrice the photographs they had found in the boat house. She turned back a page.

‘Mrs Thorpe, can I just go back to something you said earlier? Your father was calling for Marjorie, then you said you told your father that you had come down in her place, because she was ill. Is that right?’

Beatrice wouldn’t meet Jane’s eyes. Instead, she stared at the lace handkerchief, twisting it in her hands. ‘I made it clear to you that my father was a keen photographer, and we would often be called into his darkroom separately to have our photographs taken. He chose Marjorie more often because she was exceptionally beautiful... he really didn’t like to photograph Helena as she was not so pretty. He used her to help him pin them up, you know, on a wire with pegs.’

Jane knew very well the kind of photographs their father had been taking of the girls and was in two minds whether or not to let Beatrice know. But then Beatrice gave a strange laugh. ‘I was even jealous at one time... can you imagine that? Jealous! But when he found out that our mother had been having an affair with the young music teacher, Mikhail, and he suspected that Marjorie was not his child...’

Jane leaned forward. ‘How long before Marjorie committed suicide had your father started suspecting?’

Beatrice looked up and Jane caught the tightening of her lips again as she gave a sidelong glance at her son. ‘A long time before.’

She turned back to Jane and waved her handkerchief.

‘The house was consumed with his rage. He physically whipped poor Mikhail and threw him out. My mother was tormented, begging and praying for him to leave Mikhail alone.’

Jane watched, fascinated, as Beatrice stood up and again waved her handkerchief dramatically in the air. ‘My mother threatened to throw herself down the stairs, or poison herself. She was a better actress than Sarah Bernhardt. But when father turned on her, she spat and kicked at him like a wild cat. My father was a devious, wicked man. He was able — because of his knowledge of the print business — to alter documents and birth certificates. My mother, for example, was too young to have been married...’

‘Mother, for God’s sake there is no need to go into that,’ Jason interjected.

‘Go into what? You have no idea what my life was like. You have no idea how my heart was broken.’

It was quite extraordinary to witness the way Beatrice had become so theatrical. It was as though the relief of her confessions had energised her.

‘I just have one more question, Mrs Thorpe,’ Jane said. ‘From what you told me, I’m wondering if inappropriate sexual behaviour occurred in your father’s darkroom.’ She hesitated before continuing. ‘Was Marjorie’s baby a result of an incestuous relationship with your father?’

Beatrice’s legs buckled under her as she screamed, ‘No, no, no!’

Jason ran to the archway and shouted for Tina, returning quickly to his mother to help her stand. She was sobbing uncontrollably and seemed almost to be having some kind of fit.

Tim stood up, shocked. Jane closed her notebook and also moved towards the panic-stricken Jason, who held on to Beatrice as she thrashed her arms and foamed at the mouth.

Tina, accompanied by the stocky man who had been pushing Matthew in a wheelchair, hurried into the room. They immediately appeared to know what to do, carrying her between them to lay her down on the sofa. Jason pointed a finger at Jane.

‘You had better get out of my house now,’ he barked. He grabbed hold of Jane’s arm just as she was trying to put the envelope with the photos into her bag. Tim stepped forward.

‘There is no need for that, sir.’

Jane jerked her arm free. ‘Do not touch me, Mr Thorpe. I am very sorry for your mother’s distress.’ But Jason maintained his tight grip, dragging Jane out of the room and into the hall. He was white with rage.

‘Are you satisfied now? I told you my mother was not well, yet you have not stopped interrogating her, even insinuating that she had something to do with the death of that baby.’

As she had been taught to do, Jane took deep breaths to regain her control.

Jason opened the door. ‘I hope you now realise this is over!’

‘Not quite yet, Mr Thorpe,’ Jane said, regaining her composure. ‘If you and your mother are planning to be in London for your aunt’s funeral, I will require her to make a statement at the station. However, if she is unable to make the journey to London, then I will require written confirmation of what she has told me today.’

Jason pushed his face close to Jane, almost spitting with rage.

‘You will get what you want, detective, but I hope to Christ it will then be over.’

Jane stepped back, almost knocking into Tim who was hovering protectively behind her.

‘It won’t quite be over, Mr Thorpe. I will keep you informed regarding an autopsy on Helena Lanark, and on my return to London I will be making a report detailing my suspicions that your aunt’s necklace was stolen.’

Jason stepped back. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘You were the last person to see your aunt alive, Mr Thorpe, and her pearl necklace has not been recovered.’

Jane turned to Tim. ‘Detective Constable Taylor will bring my bag.’ Jane walked out, taking a deep breath to calm herself.

Tim joined her shortly afterwards, carrying their luggage. The front door slammed shut behind him.

‘I wouldn’t be too concerned about her, ma’am. She was sitting up and asking for a gin and tonic when I left.’

‘My God, she can put on a show! But at least I can now confirm exactly what happened in that shelter. And you saw what a nasty piece of work Jason Thorpe is. I am no way finished with him.’

As they walked down towards the ferry, Jane suddenly stopped. ‘Damn! I left the photographs. I was just putting them in my bag when he started manhandling me.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Tim grinned. ‘When he hauled you away, I snatched them up and snuck them into my rucksack.’

Jane couldn’t help laughing. ‘Well done, Tim. Still,’ she added more seriously, ‘best we keep it between ourselves. Hopefully Jason won’t be going into the boathouse any time soon, and if he does, we replaced all the boxes where we found them.’

Tim nodded. ‘Whatever you say, ma’am.’