Dark Rooms

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Jane was in her pyjamas, her bag open on her bed as she searched for the leaflets on stair carpets. She suddenly thought she remembered leaving them in the kitchen so got out of bed. She was about to put on her slippers but decided to tip the contents of her bag out on the bed first. She put the copy of Helena Lanark’s letter to one side, then began to sift through receipts, invoices and paint charts, until she found the old envelope containing the family tree that she had inadvertently kept from the photo album.

She tapped it against her hand, frowning. She had not thought the document was of any importance. The only reason she had not given it to Jason when he came to collect the album was that it had fallen out under the kitchen table.

Jane turned the thick, worn envelope over. Could this be what Jason Thorpe had really wanted? Was this why he went to the care home when he found it was not at the back of the album? She chewed her lips as she carefully opened the envelope. The folds in the documents were almost tearing as she eased each page apart on top of her duvet.

The finely scripted writing in looped black ink named the Lanark grandparents and then documented the marriage between Henry and Muriel. Lines were drawn to show the births of Helena and Beatrice, born within five years of each other, and then a ten-year gap before Marjorie was born. The death of Marjorie had been altered — a date had been written and then carefully adjusted to indicate that she was sixteen years old when she died, not twenty-two.

Jane sighed, aware of the implication of incest between Henry and Marjorie. Even Hadley had remarked on the nude photograph of her being strange. She was certain that if he had seen the poses in the photographs she had found in the boathouse, he would have been even more shocked. Henry Lanark had taken sexually explicit photographs of two of his daughters, but not Helena. She glanced down the page of the neatly written family tree that continued up to the death of Muriel Lanark. Henry Lanark’s death was recorded as being five years after his wife and Jane presumed this had been added by Helena.

She carefully put the first page to one side as she picked up the second. It was equally worn, and the creases were splitting. There was the date of Beatrice’s marriage to John Thorpe, and the word Australia underlined. The date was five years before the death of Henry Lanark, and other dates were listed and crossed out. John Thorpe’s death was dated before Henry Lanark’s. There were two further names: Matthew John Thorpe, but there were three different birth dates. The date that was underlined gave his birth date as three years before the marriage of Beatrice and John. This meant that both Beatrice’s sons were illegitimate, and that Jason was the eldest.

Jane was trying to understand what she was looking at, remembering that Beatrice had told her she went to Australia alone and waited for her future husband, John Thorpe, to join her. However, judging from the dates on the family tree, Beatrice was already pregnant and gave birth to Matthew before she got married. By this time, according to the dates, Jason was already two years old.

Closing her eyes to concentrate, Jane remembered Beatrice telling her angrily how she had been widowed with two young sons and she had to pawn her mother’s jewellery to get by, though oddly she kept the pearls. Jane wondered if this was when the blackmail had started, meaning she didn’t need to sell the pearls because she had started receiving money from Helena.

Jane took a deep breath. This had all taken up too much of her time and energy. If there were still unanswered questions, what was she going to gain from answering them? Eddie was right. She had become obsessed and had even put her career in jeopardy.

Jane carefully refolded each page and was about to put them back in the envelope when she noticed, caught in the creases of the last page, a thin folded square of paper. She carefully eased it free and read the faint scrawled writing. John Thorpe, it said, had married Gladys Jones in Lambeth. The date was illegible but not the underlined date of a son born to them and christened David Thorpe. There was a date for the death of Gladys Jones, a year after the marriage, then further underlined dates for John and David Thorpe arriving in Australia.

Jane closed her eyes, recalling Hadley telling her how Helena had reacted when he came back from the walk, whispering to him about the puzzle. She was certain that this had to be it. Jason was not Beatrice’s biological son. Beatrice had simply changed his name to Jason. She now understood what Helena had written in her letter, her reservations about Jason’s bloodline and his right to any Lanark inheritance.

Jane looked towards her bedroom window. Even with her curtains closed, she could tell the porch security light had just come on. She crossed over to the window and eased back the curtains as the lights went out. Probably a cat, she thought, as she returned to her bed and began to put everything back into her bag — then instantly tensed as she heard a scraping sound inside the house. She quietly moved across to the partly open bedroom door and listened. She heard the same scraping sound again. She stretched out her hand to switch off the bedroom lights, then inched the door open further. She crept silently along the landing to the top of the stairs, half hoping that it was Eddie, but knowing it wasn’t.

The hall was in darkness as Jane slowly started to move, step by step, down the stairs. She stopped as she heard a sound coming from the kitchen, as if whoever was in the house had knocked into a chair or the kitchen table. Someone was definitely down there but the phone in the dark hall was too far away for her to be able to use. Trying to determine where would be the safest place for her to hide, she slowly retraced her way back up the stairs and across the landing. She eased open the bathroom door, the only room in the house with a lock. Just as she closed the door, she heard the footsteps on the uncarpeted staircase. Whoever it was was now making no attempt to be quiet. She heard her bedroom door being kicked open, then the click of the light switch and what sounded like heavy breathing.

As she listened to the sound of things being thrown around in her bedroom she tried hard to keep the panic from rising, breathing deeply and hunting for anything in the bathroom that she could use to protect herself — but no tools had been left behind and there was nothing else to hand. Jane could hear the footsteps coming closer and then, terrifyingly, she saw the handle of the bathroom door turning. When it rattled in the lock, the door was kicked hard to force it open.

Jane snatched up a big bath towel and as the door burst open she threw it over the intruder, pushing him backwards with all her strength. He lost his footing and stumbled as she wrapped the towel around his head, but she knew she only had a few seconds to get to the stairs, hoping to run down to the front door and out of the house before he caught up with her. She raced out of the bathroom but as soon as her feet hit the stairs, she felt the ground give way beneath and she hurtled down the stairs, falling head over heels and cracking her head on the newel post at the bottom.

Everything went black, and then Jane, barely conscious, felt herself being lifted. She tried to scream but it was painful even to breathe. She heard the door into her living room being kicked open as she was carried in.

She could smell the dust sheet enveloping her as she was laid down on the sofa, and slowly came to her senses.

For the first time, she heard voices.

‘Dear God, what have you done to her?’

‘I just wanted to talk to her... then she came at me. I didn’t touch her! I swear I didn’t do anything to her... she just fell down the fucking stairs.’

‘Get away from her, and get me some wet towels. How could you be so stupid?’

Jane tried to see who was talking but was unable to lift her head.

‘You’ll be all right, dear, just lie still.’

Jane’s eyes fluttered half open and she smelled Beatrice’s sickly-sweet perfume as she leaned over and felt for her pulse, the tell-tale jangle of her charm bracelet being the final clue to her identity.

Jason handed his mother a soaking wet tea towel which she rolled up and placed over Jane’s forehead. Jane began breathing deeply in an attempt to stem the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

‘See if you can find some brandy.’

‘Where do I find that? The place doesn’t look lived in.’

‘Kitchen... go and look in the kitchen.’

Beatrice held Jane’s hand, gently patting it and then pressing the cold cloth around Jane’s face as she began to try and move.

‘Just stay quiet, you’ll be all right. It was an accident; he didn’t mean to hurt you. Can you hear me, dear?’

‘Yes... yes,’ Jane whispered.

Jason returned with a half-full bottle of whisky and an empty glass.

‘There’s no brandy,’ he said.

‘Pour some into the glass and hand it to me.’

Beatrice gently put an arm around Jane’s shoulder and eased her up to a sitting position. She opened her eyes, and her head began to clear.

‘Just take a sip of this, dear... gently does it, just a little sip... good girl. I’m going to help you sit up a little bit more.’

Jane could feel the rim of the glass against her teeth as she took small sips, and gradually her breathing calmed.

‘I just wanted to talk to her... I never meant anything like this to happen. I swear, she just fell.’ Jason took a deep swig straight from the bottle. He was shaking badly and sounded near to tears.

‘Stay back, Jason. Go and sit down. You could have killed her.’

‘But it was an accident... you told me to go in and talk to her.’

‘Shut up, just shut up!’ Beatrice whispered furiously. She gave Jane a few more sips of whisky and helped her to sit up straighter.

‘Can you see clearly now, dear?’

Jane was still dazed. ‘Yes...’

‘Have you any pain in your chest?’

Beatrice began to feel Jane’s arms, patting gently and then leaning over to feel down her legs.

‘Nothing hurts... no broken bones. You just banged your head, but you’ll feel better in a minute.’

Beatrice threw the tea towel at Jason. ‘Go and get some ice and wrap it in that.’

Jane kept her eyes closed. She had a thudding headache, but her main concern was whether she had done something to her neck; it felt painful if she moved her head.

Beatrice stood over her, draining the whisky left in the glass in one swallow. It felt like an age before Jason came back with the ice but Jane felt almost instant relief when it was gently wrapped around her neck. She kept her eyes closed as she tried to figure out what to do. Happily the panic had subsided, mostly because of Beatrice’s soothing manner, talking to her as if nothing untoward had happened.

Yet they had broken into her house and Jason had forced his way into the bathroom, terrifying her. Jane tried to think why they were willing to take such risks, intuitively sensing that Jason, despite his protestations to the contrary, was still dangerous. Beatrice took Jane’s hand again and felt for her pulse, then stroked her forehead.

‘I’m used to looking after my son, Matthew. He often used to fall. I’ve had to nurse him all his life, so I know what I’m doing, dear. I’ll keep on making ice compresses for your neck. Can you sit up now?’

Jane kept her eyes closed, not wanting either of them to know she was fully conscious.

Beatrice got up. ‘Stop pacing up and down, Jason. Go and get some more ice, because if she doesn’t come round soon, we’ll have to call an ambulance.’

‘We can’t do that,’ Jason whined.

‘Then what do you think we should do? Can’t you get it into your head what you have done? Did you find what we came here for?’ she then added in a whisper.

‘I think so. These papers were on the bed. They’ve got names and dates of birth...’

Beatrice snatched the sheets from him. ‘I knew she had them, I just knew it!’

Jane heard them both walk out of the room and opened her eyes, scanning her surroundings for anything she could use as a weapon. There were numerous work tools on the seat of a straight-backed chair, including a thin-bladed chisel for stripping wallpaper. Leaning over the arm of the sofa, Jane was able to reach out for it, snatch it up and hide it in the fold of the dust sheet. Beatrice and Jason were still in the kitchen talking, the fridge door opening and closing as Beatrice’s voice became increasingly shrill.

‘Just leave. I mean it... just get out and let me talk to her. Go back to the hotel and wait for me. Just give me time to explain everything.’

‘No, this is my fault. I’ll take the blame. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, but I won’t leave you.’

‘You will do whatever I say. Now get out. You drain me dry... you always have.’

Jane straightened up as she heard what sounded like a scuffle, then something smashed, and Beatrice screamed.

‘You ever hit me again and I swear to God, I will leave you here to fend for yourself — and we both know how that will turn out. Just like everything else you have ever touched. All you had to do was talk to her. You could have killed her, you bloody idiot.’

There was another scream, more glass shattering, and the back door slammed hard enough to break the hinges. Jane was sitting upright, the chisel in her hand hidden at her side when Beatrice walked back into the room. She was holding the ice pack meant for Jane to her own nose to stop it bleeding.

‘Are you all right?’ Jane asked.

Beatrice gave a humourless laugh. ‘That’s rather ironic, coming from you, wouldn’t you say? It’s nothing... but at the same time it is so very sad.’

She picked up the bottle of whisky and poured the rest of the contents into the now-empty glass.

‘I haven’t got any copies of Helena’s wills, if that’s what you’re looking for. I don’t even know what was in them.’

Beatrice laughed. ‘That’s not why I’m here. I have a copy of her first will and am prepared to contest the new one if needs be... and not necessarily in court.’

Beatrice stood by the fireplace, her back to Jane who could hear the repeated flick of a cigarette lighter followed by the smell of burning.

‘What are you burning?’ Jane asked

‘The family tree.’ Beatrice threw the burning papers into the fireplace. ‘I haven’t been honest about everything for so many years, but I think I have to be now.’

She took a long drink then swilled the remains round in the glass, her charm bracelet jangling.

‘My father forbade me to marry John, as he was an illiterate working-class bus driver who had been left a widower with a young child and didn’t have a penny to his name. But John was my salvation.’ She sipped her drink again, then touched her nose gingerly. It had stopped bleeding. ‘I’m sorry, do you need this?’ She held up the bloodied compress.

Jane shook her head.

‘You know about little Marjorie... well, after she died, Father’s attention turned to me. The sound of his keys in that silver bowl in the hall, and the clicking of his steel-tipped boots... that dread when he called me to go into the basement dark room. There were five steps down and below that was the cellar leading into the tunnel and the shelter.’

Jane gritted her teeth, anticipating that this was going to be a long, drawn-out theatrical explanation, like the one she had been forced to listen to in Australia. She watched as Beatrice sat down in an easy chair opposite her, crossing her legs at the ankles and smoothing down her skirt.

‘I didn’t think I was pregnant because he used a horrible douche contraption afterwards. Then there I was, all on my own in Sydney. I had to wait for John as he couldn’t raise the finances to bring his son with him. By the time he did arrive, poor Matthew had been born.’

‘That must have been terrible,’ Jane said.

Beatrice looked at her sharply. ‘Don’t patronise me, dear. You can’t begin to know what it was like. I lived in a horrible, damp apartment that smelled like that disgusting cellar. Having a very sickly child, I had to pawn or sell what I could of my mother’s jewellery. I was always afraid I might be arrested because I knew my father’s enduring hatred and venomous nature. And I had taken my sweet little sister’s pearls. I broke them up sold them one or two at a time. We moved to Adelaide so John could try and find work. He cared for Matthew, and poor Jason had to deal with him as well. Then it just got worse. John became sick and died four years later. I was forced to do whatever I could to provide for my sons, one of them sick and utterly helpless. Have you any idea what I had to go through?’

Jane slowly turned, swinging her legs to the floor.

‘Mrs Thorpe, I am aware that Helena provided for you...’

Beatrice was indignant. ‘Provided? How many years did she ignore my pleas before she “provided”? I prostituted myself. My father taught me how to pleasure a man and that’s what I ended up doing to survive.’

‘Mrs Thorpe, I don’t want to...’

‘You don’t want to what? You don’t want to hear this, but it’s all right for you to dig into my life, delve into private boxes and remove photographs that you had no permission to take? You think I wouldn’t find out?’

‘I was investigating a child’s murder—’

Beatrice interrupted her. ‘You broke into my boathouse and stole my property! Let me tell you, I had no notion of what Helena did with that baby, and my son didn’t know anything about it either, until you brought it up. For your information, I never threatened or blackmailed Helena about the baby because I didn’t know she had left it in the shelter.’

Jane took a deep breath. She knew she shouldn’t antagonise Beatrice if she wanted to get her out of the house, but at the same time this was an important new revelation. Beatrice continued, angrily explaining how the medical bills mounted as Matthew needed constant hospital treatment to drain the fluid on his brain. Plus, Jason had begun to go off the rails.

‘He grew his hair and started taking drugs... staying out on the beaches all day. But then I turned it around.’

She pointed her finger at Jane, standing up and seeming to gloat.

‘I threatened to return to England, taking Matthew with me and making sure our monster father’s abuse would be splashed all over the papers. I wasn’t sure at first, but even with his swollen head you could see he had my father’s eyes.’

‘Beatrice, are you telling me that Matthew is your father’s child?’

‘Of course I am — and probably conceived on the night Marjorie was in the tunnel giving birth. He abused sweet Marjorie from an early age, and may God forgive me, I was thankful because if he could have her, it meant he never touched me... until that night he came home early, drunk and shouting for Marjorie, and we told him she was ill and he made me take her place.’

She started to run her hands through her hair. ‘Helena constantly rejected my pleas for financial help until I threatened to make it public about our father’s abuse. Then she sent the money as often as I needed it, but I swear it wasn’t because of any threats, but out of guilt for turning a blind eye to our father’s disgusting abuse.’

Jane thought Beatrice knew full well her demands amounted to blackmail, but she said nothing, allowing her to continue.

‘She paid for Jason to go to college, and when I wanted to move back to Sydney, she even bought a house for us. She helped Jason start various businesses, and he began to get used to a different life. And I spoiled him because I had finally started to live mine.’

Jane held the wallpaper stripper in her right hand and eased forward onto the edge of the sofa.

‘What about Helena? Did your father abuse her too?’

Beatrice gave her a twisted smile. ‘She was his doting slave, but he wouldn’t touch her because she was ugly and thin as a rake. He used to call her his boy. She had to know what was going on because she helped him in his darkroom, developing and pinning up his filthy photographs. She burned Marjorie’s blood-soaked nightdress when he raped her and the one she wore when she gave birth. I’ll tell you something else about Helena — when Father had terrible fights with our Mama, she would take his side. And she reported back to him like a spy about our lovely music tutor. We hated her, and when I eventually escaped from that house, I was thankful she had him all to herself.’

Beatrice shook her head as if to rid herself of the images she had conjured up and then leaned forwards.

‘Helena wrote letters telling me father was gaga, detailing how she washed him and put a diaper on after he shit himself. She fed him and rocked him to sleep, like the baby her skinny body could never conceive. I never wanted to see her again, even when I knew she was in a care home.’

Jane waited, not wanting to interrupt Beatrice’s flow.

‘Did you ever talk to her?’ Beatrice asked.

Jane shook her head. ‘No, I only visited the care home shortly before she died.’

Beatrice went on. ‘When the call came in the middle of the night I was so surprised to hear her voice. She had strange voice, a very particular way of talking, always very quiet.’

Beatrice cupped her hand up to her ear as if speaking into a phone and mimicked her sister.

‘“Hello, Beatrice, I have been working on finishing Daddy’s family tree. It has taken me such a long time, but I know your secret now and I will make you pay for it.”’

Beatrice raised her hands in a dramatic gesture.

‘Knowing she was already suffering from early onset dementia, I asked what on earth was she talking about. Then in that sing-song tone she just repeated the name David and then said Jason’s name and I knew she had found out. Then she hung up. I did try to contact her many times after that, but she always put the phone down or Arnold answered and said she was resting.’

Beatrice stood up, shaking her head. ‘At first I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t tell Jason the truth for fear of what it would do to the poor soul. He never had the acumen to run a business and was always trusting the wrong people. Out of the blue, Arnold wrote to me expressing his concern for Helena’s health and questioning the money she was paying us. I made Jason go to London and tell Helena I would no longer keep her secrets, unless she gave him power of attorney and made us beneficiaries in her will.’

‘Do you think Arnold Hadley knew about Jason?’

‘Not a lot got past him, and dear God, if I’d known they got married and she changed her will I would have done something about it a lot sooner. It’s clear now Helena didn’t want us to know as I might decide to reveal our father’s abuse.’

Jane thought Beatrice was probably right. The two sisters were, in many ways, as devious as each other.

Jane was now desperate for Beatrice to leave. ‘Mrs Thorpe, I have a really bad headache. I’m going to call you a taxi...’

Beatrice shrugged. ‘It’s all right, Jason is waiting outside. But you have to understand the depth of his frustration and disappointment. The only successful thing he ever did was taking over the Stockwell property and developing it into flats. Then that became a financial mess, so he had to make the decision to sell...’

With Jason waiting outside, Jane knew she couldn’t force Beatrice out, especially now she clearly wanted to talk.

‘He was so confident and proud of himself, but then came the threat to our inheritance, and the very thing I had hoped would never surface, her threat to reveal his true parentage. He’d always believed me to be his birth mother.’

‘He doesn’t know you’re his stepmother?’

‘No... and he never will, now I’ve burned those papers. I told him we needed them to contest Helena’s will. Like the fool that he is, he believed me.’

Beatrice sobbed, her bracelet jangling as she wiped her eyes. ‘Jason would never be accepted by that girl in Melbourne, or her family, if they found out he was a bankrupt who had lost everything and had no inheritance to look forward to. Looking back, I was foolish to encourage his business ventures, the poor boy is so inept.’

Jane pressed her body back into the sofa as Beatrice moved closer and closer. She decided not to mention Helena’s letter of confession and her accusations against Beatrice, fearing it would make matters worse. She also now regretted giving DCI Carter a copy, fearing the contents would become public knowledge.

‘I know you could have us arrested, but I am begging you... now that you know everything, please, please let him fly back to Australia. I’ll get on my knees to you... let him go... you can arrest me if you want.’

She held her wrists out to Jane in a theatrical gesture, as if waiting to be handcuffed.

‘Please, just go now, Mrs Thorpe,’ Jane said firmly. ‘I want you to leave.’

‘What are you going to do? Because you could also be in trouble, you know. You stole my photographs, Helena’s album and her family tree. But I’m prepared to do nothing about it. Jason never meant to hurt you...’

Jane sighed. ‘Tell him to go back to Australia.’

‘You won’t arrest us or tell anyone what happened tonight?’

Jane shook her head.

‘Can you give me your word on that?’ Beatrice pleaded.

‘You have my word,’ Jane replied, knowing that if Beatrice told DCI Carter Jane had stolen the photographs from the boathouse her career, and DC Tim Taylor’s, could be seriously damaged, if not over.

She watched as Beatrice walked into the kitchen, appearing moments later in the open doorway with her handbag, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.

‘I will pay for any damages,’ she said.

Jane tried to stand up and had to put her hand on the edge of the sofa arm to steady herself. She almost fainted with relief when Beatrice finally left, and the front door closed behind her. She slowly made her way to the window and saw Beatrice caught in the glare of the security light as she walked down the path towards Jason, who had got out of the car to greet her. Beatrice held out her arms and he embraced her as if his life depended on her, as in so many ways it did.