Withering Heights

4

I’m glad you’re coming,” I told Ben the following morning, “but I doubt it will be more than a turn-around trip. I can’t see the Hopkinses inviting us to stay for a few days. Especially after your saying Tom sounded as though he couldn’t wait to get you off the phone last night.”

“He was understandably embarrassed.”

“It’s Ariel’s finger-crossed hope they’ll feel under an obligation, especially as we are taking her back.”

“Who knows?” Ben handed me a pair of his pajamas to put in the suitcase. We were in our bedroom, a roomy apartment with warmly aged dark oak furniture and rose-patterned chintz fabrics. Bright sunshine poured in through the windows, as if eager to atone for the storm. “Betty may enjoy demonstrating her detective skills to you and Mrs. Malloy by flaunting a spyglass when looking under rocks for the body of the missing husband.”

“Who, according to Ariel”-I zipped up the case-“is in reality off on a safari or climbing Mount Everest. It seems the more probable scenario. Had his absence aroused suspicion, there would surely have been a hue and cry from the police.”

Ben eyed me thoughtfully. “Has it occurred to you Ariel is hoping you’ll blow the Mr. Gallagher’s Ghost theory out of the water as a means of publicly humiliating Betty? That kid is a tough little customer if ever I saw one.”

“That could be a front.” I crossed to the dressing-table mirror and assessed my reflection critically. “She’s vulnerable. That’s something I can understand because so was I at her age. Where she’s thin and pasty, I was podgy and pie-faced. Under those circumstances, one learns either to stand up for oneself or let the bullies reduce you to a cowering huddle.”

“You were never pie-faced.” Coming up behind me, Ben placed his hands on my shoulders. “Must I punish you for such statements?” His lips brushed my neck.

“That’s how I saw myself. It didn’t help that I sat next to the prettiest girl in our class. Her name was Bridie O’Donnell. She had beautiful black curly hair, perfect skin, and the bluest eyes. I used to go to bed at night and pretend I was her. For good measure I gave myself a wonderful singing voice, a flair for languages, and the ability to perform cartwheels.”

“I bet you could give her a run for her money now.”

“Nice of you to say, Mr. H.” I smiled at him in the mirror and decided that I did look better than might have been hoped when I was twelve or thirteen. My hair had decided to comply that morning and stay put in its chignon, and a flick of mascara had brought out the green in my eyes, matching rather nicely the dress I was wearing. “Perfume,” I said, reaching for the bottle, but Ben turned me to face him.

“I like your scent. Eau de Ellie, sunshine with a subtle bouquet of furniture polish.” He kissed me deeply and there were no shadows at Merlin’s Court.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” I admitted. “My mind was too busy, so I got up early and had a whip round with the spray can of lavender wax. There’s nothing like a little light housework for clearing away the mental cobwebs. Mrs. Malloy headed for the bus stop after breakfast. She should be back by now with her suitcase. If her sister doesn’t offer to put her up, she’ll be looking for a place in Milton Moor to spend the night. Which will be the same for us, if Tom and Betty send us smartly on our way.”

Ben kissed me again. I inhaled the spicy scent of his aftershave and the other essence that was essentially him. There are aromatic moments that put romance back into marriage, without thought of a ticking clock or a moody thirteen-year-old girl to be returned home.

I stroked his crisply curling black hair. “What about Abigail’s?”

“Freddy will handle things. We got it all sorted out over the phone while you were getting breakfast.”

“I know the situation has altered since last evening, but you so much wanted to get a quick start on the new book; also, you said you’d feel like a third wheel traveling with Mrs. Malloy.”

“It was the reverse. I didn’t want her feeling like piggy-in-the-middle when she was already under strain with this reunion with her sister looming.”

“Oh!” Talk about feeling small!

“I thought you’d guess where I was coming from.”

Perhaps I would have if I hadn’t said all the wrong things about the review in Cuisine Anglaise and leaped to the conclusion that he was eager for some time alone. I had been petty and petulant, a prey to foolish insecurities. But I wouldn’t let it happen again. From this moment on, I would trust unwaveringly in his love for me. Not a quiver of doubt would intrude.

“You’re wonderful.” I was bathed in sunlight, inside and out.

“Let’s hope the Hopkinses do boot us out and I can prove myself tonight in a hotel bedroom,” Ben murmured in my ear.

“I hope Betty doesn’t know Mrs. Malloy and I have done some sleuthing in the past. If she’s set on making it her mission to prove Lady Fiona murdered her husband, she’s unlikely to want either help or competition.”

“I don’t think you need worry about that angle. There was only one article in the local paper when the two of you took over that private investigator’s case and solved it-much to his chagrin.”

“Poor Milk Jugg. I hope he’s forgiven us.”

“Time to get going.” Ben picked up the suitcase and ushered me out of the bedroom.

“What’s Tom like?” I asked, as we headed downstairs.

“Quiet. Low-key.”

“Any hint of hidden depths beneath still waters?”

“We were never pals, even when working together at Uncle Sol’s restaurant. The only times I saw any real emotion in him was when he talked about his girlfriend and then on the couple of occasions I saw them together. The one before Ariel’s mother.”

“Who was his parents’ pick.”

“Right Angela. Same religious background. Safe choice.”

“For him, perhaps, but not for her. She died in a car he was driving.” I paused but found myself unable to ask Ben if he thought there was the remotest possibility it hadn’t been an accident. “Poor Angela! I wonder if he was ever madly in love with her. It’s obvious Ariel believes, or wants to, that it was the perfect union and Betty is a poor substitute turned pain-in-the-neck.”

“Then he’s got double trouble: his wife and his daughter.”

“Tom didn’t insist on coming to collect Ariel?”

“A halfhearted offer. He said there was some sort of household panic going on that made it difficult for him or Betty to take off.”

“Maybe they have Lady Fiona tied up in the kitchen waiting for the police to arrive.” We stepped down into the hall to see the front door standing open and Tobias seated on the top outdoor step sunning his coat and lazily stirring his tail. Further investigation showed Mrs. Malloy heaving an enormous suitcase into the back of the Land Rover and Ariel standing off to the side with her skinny arms folded and a disapproving expression on her face.

“What’s in there,” she snipped, “the washing machine? So you don’t have to wash out your knickers in the sink at Crag-stone?”

Mrs. M was puffing too hard to reply.

“Let me help you with that.” Ben hurried over to her, and while he was stowing our luggage along with hers, which included the addition of a couple of hatboxes and a makeup case, Freddy ambled up the drive. Though looking the worse for his evening at the Dark Horse, he smiled amiably in our general direction. Scooping up Tobias, he nuzzled him into his beard, making it difficult to say where either of them left off.

“Never fear, Ellie.” He yawned a grin at me. “All will be well at Merlin’s Court under my command. Don’t bother to get in touch unless somebody dies.”

Hardly the best send-off. But Freddy has his own brand of humor. He claims the bodies start piling up wherever Mrs. Malloy and I put in an appearance. Completely unfounded… or, shall we say, exaggerated. Ben and I, having returned his wave, watched him head into the house and close the door. Paradise lay within: our entire refrigerator to himself.

We took our seats in the front of the vehicle while Mrs. M and Ariel got into the back. For a while we drove in silence, presumably each busy with our own thoughts. I for one was glad of the lengthy drive ahead. It would take us a couple of hours to get into Yorkshire. Mrs. Malloy had to be wondering what reception she would get from her sister, Melody. Ariel was surely somewhat nervous about being returned to the bosom of her family. Ben was probably the only one of us capable of enjoying the scenery as it slid past the windows. Or was I projecting my unease onto the two in the backseat? Maybe they only had happy thoughts in their heads. Ariel sounded chipper enough when she finally spoke.

“I hope nobody minds that I used the phone this morning.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “Did you ring your-”

“I’d rather not say for the moment who I spoke to.”

“That’s up to you,” Ben told her.

“Are we stopping soon for something to eat?” she inquired, with that imperious note in her voice that I’d compassionately ascribed to a desperate need to be loved. “I’m starving.”

“What, already?” Mrs. Malloy retorted before either Ben or I could flex our lips. “After that enormous breakfast you ate? I don’t know where you put it. Nice and slim as you are,” she added hastily, before letting out a piercing squeal.

Had Ariel pinched her? Before I could twist my head around, Mrs. M explained.

“It’s the underwire of me bra poking into me. They always do it after I’ve had them for a while.”

“Why not switch to another make?” I asked, as Ben passed a double-decker bus, only to discover it had been lumbering behind a lorry that seemed to be laboring under the delusion that it was a hay cart being pulled by a tired old nag. Making for further frustration, we were now going uphill, unable to see oncoming traffic.

“I couldn’t do that, Mrs. H. Like I’ve told you before, I had no trouble getting rid of me husbands when they didn’t work out, but I’ve kept me solemn vow to stay married to one make of bra for life.”

“I wish Dad would get rid of Betty,” muttered Ariel.

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Ben replied, without shifting his gaze.

Silence pervaded the Land Rover’s interior. We finally made it past the lorry and came to a roundabout, followed the arrow marked TO THE NORTH, and got off at the right exit. Had I been driving, we would have circled until we were giddy. I dozed off and wakened to hear Mrs. Malloy rustling around in her handbag; there followed the crackle of candy wrappers.

“No, thank you,” said Ariel.

“Want a toffee?” A paper bag was handed up front.

“Not for me, thanks.” Ben edged to a stop at a red light in a street lined by narrow-faced gray stone shops, with an open-air market glimpsed around one corner.

“Then I’ll take two.” I handed the bag back.

Mrs. Malloy said it was always good to have a few sweets on hand. I agreed and we sped on, leaving the town behind and entering the motorway, which we stayed on for an hour or more. We might have been anywhere in England. Everything seemed the same from one moment to the next, an unending stream of uniformity from the vehicles to the buildings. Metal and glass… concrete and glass… all stripped of color, scale, and shape. Everything moving at the same automated speed. Where were the famous dales, the mysterious, beckoning moors? Did the Yorkshire I had imagined exist anymore? Or had it been paved over and roofed in for a shopping center?

“I’ve changed my mind.” Ariel spoke from behind my head. “I will have a toffee, Mrs. Malloy.”

“Aren’t you the kind little miss?” An irritable rustling of paper bag. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you the word please hasn’t been rationed since World War Two?”

“Maybe Betty attempted to clamp down on her behavior.” Ben spoke in a low aside to me, but Ariel must have heard. She sucked in an infuriated breath.

“Ellie, can we please put him out of the car?”

“That’s enough.” I almost yanked my head off in turning around to face her. “I understand you’re on edge-”

“I’m not. I’m perfectly calm.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“You just said-”

“What my wife is attempting to explain, Ariel, is that we are fast losing sympathy for you,” Ben informed her, “whatever your grievances.”

I settled back in my seat, staring rigidly at the windshield. More silence. We were exiting the motorway to a view of hills as rough-hewn as the stone walls bordering the fields surrounding the outline of a farmhouse that might have been Wuthering-not Withering-Heights. Way off to our right spread a shadowy stretch of what I hoped might be moorland. But I couldn’t enjoy this introduction to the county of gothic glory. Had Ben and I spoken too sharply to the girl? How precarious was her state of mind? Would Tom and Betty prove especially difficult if we returned her blank-eyed and silent?

“I don’t know why I have to come off sounding bratty, at the very times when I really want to be nice so people will like me,” Ariel remarked plaintively. “Like last night, Ellie, when I knew I needed to win you and Mrs. Malloy over. I could hear myself talking and it didn’t sound right, but there just didn’t seem anything I could do about it.”

“Got one of them multiple personalities?” Mrs. M asked eagerly.

“I suppose I’m perverse.”

“Probably.” Ben laughed, and I felt myself relax.

“Our own worst enemies, that’s what we all are sometimes.” Mrs. Malloy sounded ready to enlarge on this theme. But Ariel announced that we were now within a few miles of Milton Moor.

“And we haven’t stopped for lunch.” I looked at my watch to see that it was nearly noon. “Should we look out for somewhere?”

“It’s all right. That toffee did the trick. I’m not starving anymore. Why put off the evil hour? Of course, it’ll be bread and water for me.” Ariel sounded almost cheerful. It was Mrs. Malloy who betrayed uneasiness.

“I wonder if Melody will think I’ve aged some.”

It seemed likely after a span of forty years, but I crossed my fingers and said probably not. Ben nosed the car onto a sharply steep road with buff-colored houses, grimed with smoke, butting up against the pavement. All very prim and properly Victorian, with lace curtains screening the windows and pots of stiff-looking maroon and purple flowers on the steps. It was truly like stepping back in time. Finally my heart thrilled. A woman opened her door and whacked a mat against the wall. A cat leaped out of a tree and a little boy of about three came pumping along on his tricycle. A woman with orange hair came out of a house with a BED AND BREAKFAST sign on the gatepost. I noted a couple of side streets with shops and other businesses. Then we were again looking out on more open country, bordered by the dry-stone walls and punctuated by solitary trees and outcroppings of rock. Some cultivation, but mostly a sea of coarse wavering grass. We passed a man with shaggy black hair streaked with white, striding alongside a similarly colored sheepdog, both of them completely at one with the landscape. Elemental. Timeless.

“Who said a moor is merely a lawn in need of mowing?” Ben inquired.

“I don’t know.” I was a little peeved that he’d broken the mood.

“You made that up yourself, Ben.” Ariel actually giggled, like a real child.

“Caught out!” He grinned and I simmered down. It was good that the two of them seemed to be coming to terms. Now all we needed was a little harmony on meeting Tom and Betty.

“We’re here. Time to face the music!” Mrs. Malloy tapped on her window. “Look! It says it on the brass plate on that brick wall: Cragstone House. And there’s the roof and the chimneys towering up to the sky. Well, I never!” She continued her raptures as we drove in through the gateposts. “There’s a cottage off to the side, but much bigger than the one Freddy lives in back at Merlin’s Court. This one could house a family of six without anyone bumping walls.” She had rolled down her window and stuck out her head, risking getting scratched by the shrubbery lining the drive, which gave way on either side to flower beds in a park setting.

“Oh, you’re talking about the Dower House! It’s rather nice inside. Lady Fiona still owns it and a couple of acres of land.”

“Is that where she’s living?” I asked.

“No, she’s temporarily in residence at a hotel. Mr. Gallagher’s old nanny is at the Dower House with her great niece, Val. Their last name is-”

She didn’t get to finish. Ben had parked the Land Rover facing a flight of steps that would have seated a full orchestra. The moment called for a rousing flourish of Mozart. The handsomely carved front door opened to reveal a man and a woman descending to meet us. The stiffness of their gait suggested that they were either made out of fiberboard or were rigidly controlling their emotions. I decided the latter was more likely; Ben and I got out of the vehicle as if ordered to do so by two police officers. Mrs. Malloy and Ariel followed. I didn’t turn to see if they had their hands up.

The couple had reached the bottom step. Tom wasn’t much of a surprise. I had pictured him as being of medium height and stocky build, with pale, slightly protuberant blue eyes and a weak mouth. And there he stood. The reality was completed by the brown tweed sports jacket and elderly cords he was wearing, perhaps in ineffectual hope of looking like a landed squire, of the kind that lived for his trout fishing and pheasant shooting and had only given up smoking a pipe when it became politically expedient to do so. Betty was another matter. I had got her all wrong. She was neither an ethereal blonde trailing organza nor a raven-haired beauty wearing spiffy riding togs. She was a diminutive redhead in a too-large pale blue suit, with a nose that had been pinched out of plastic. Her eyes were clear green glass.

“Ariel!” Her voice was a spurt of ice-cold water. “Get over here.”

“Oh, Betty darling!” I was staggered to hear the girl reply. Indeed, I clutched at Ben’s arm and was glad of the additional support of Mrs. Malloy’s sturdy presence behind me. “Daddy!” A breeze, absent until now, fanned my cheeks and fluttered my skirts. It was caused by Ariel’s sobbing breath. She raced around me, hands extended, spectacles askew, and limp hair flying. “Please, please don’t be cross. I’ve got the loveliest surprise planned.”

Tom’s smile had the look of a false mustache that could be taken off and hurriedly slipped into his pocket if it didn’t meet with his wife’s approval.

“Get indoors this minute, Ariel!” Betty’s rigidity suggested an outraged Barbie doll. So far she had not deigned to glance at Mrs. Malloy, Ben, or me. Neither, for that matter, had Tom.

“Oh, but not before I tell you about the surprise!” Ariel flung herself at her stepmother. “This morning I had the brilliant idea to phone a-”

“I’m not interested. You’ve caused no end of an upset at a time when your father and I have other things to worry about. Tell her, Tom.”

The recipient of a jab from an undoubtedly sharp elbow cleared his throat. “You shouldn’t have done it, Ariel. We’ve been worried sick about you, and I’m sure you’ve put Cousin Ben and his wife to a lot of bother.” He finally looked our way. “Whatever made you take off like that?”

“And why to them?” Betty’s tone said it all.

“I couldn’t think of anyone else. Ellie had been kind, sending those books to me.” This was uttered in a broken little voice. “We don’t have many relatives and none that we ever see, now that Grandma Hopkins is dead. I’ve been so mixed up and miserable. Everything changed after the lottery. People talking about us. Moving to this house. Being frightened that you’re right, Betty, about Lady Fiona murdering her husband and burying him out here where we could be stepping on him every day and disturbing his eternal rest. I can’t sleep at night because I’m so scared of waking up to see his ghost.”

“Clever little whatsit!” Mrs. Malloy muttered from behind me, and Ben murmured agreement.

“Ariel, you know that murder business is nonsense,” said Tom.

What was there that Betty could say? She stood looking furiously flummoxed, and Ariel nimbly seized the moment.

“You’re right, Dad, I did put Ben and Ellie to a lot of trouble. But they were wonderful. And so was Mrs. Malloy, who works for them. It was mostly her who made me see what a silly girl I’d been, not talking my fears over with you instead of running away. We have to find a way of making it up to them, don’t we?” She turned and beckoned to us, her smile one of timid optimism.

The scene had come more broadly to life. There was concerted movement now. The Hopkinses were moving toward us, Ariel with the prancing gait of an exuberant six-year-old, Betty with a visible lack of enthusiasm, and Tom looking uncertain as to whether or not he should take his smile out of his pocket and stick it back on his face. I let Ben and Mrs. Malloy go ahead of me. While they were being greeted, I focused my attention on the stark edifice that was Cragstone House.

It lacked a north tower, or the remnants of an ancient keep, so beloved of my heart in fiction. But in other ways it was splendidly suggestive of dark doings, fueled by unbridled passion, being conducted within. It was many times the width of Merlin’s Court, its rugged gray stone walls rising three stories to a jagged roof as black as a night sky, with chimney pots too many to count. I could picture it gobbling up normal-sized houses for breakfast and, like Oliver Twist, asking for more: just one small cottage… or maybe two… to keep things going until lunch. There was a furtive aspect to the tall narrow windows, which when combined with the grappling ivy and the shadowy passageway separating the ground floor of the main structure from the west wing, produced the requisite shivers to be experienced by the hapless governess or the unwanted visitor about to enter the premises. Yes, I could see why Ariel had nicknamed it Withering Heights.

Ariel appeared at my side to grab my hand and propel me forward, whispering to me as I put one faltering foot in front of another, “Dad seems pleased to see Ben, and Betty is thawing, so now it’s up to you not to ruin everything. Act humble and impressed.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult.” I was the governess clad in a stiff black gown with the demurest hint of a white collar. My bonnet was serviceable, my boots sturdy and well polished. Poverty had not defeated my attempts to present myself tidily to an uncaring world.

“Betty, darling!” Ariel, still clutching my hand, was jumping up and down in a way that Tarn and Abbey at seven had outgrown and even five-year-old Rose didn’t do much anymore. “Here’s Ellie. Oh, I do know the two of you are going to be great friends! I can feel the emanations!”

Did we have here a budding Madam LaGrange?

Betty extended a miniature hand, which I took gingerly, for fear it would break off in my grasp and Tom would have to put the Barbie doll back in the purchase box and return it to the manufacturer for a refund. That would solve my problem of trying to get on her good side in hope of being asked to spend a few days at Cragstone.

“As Tom has been saying to your husband, we appreciate your bringing Ariel home and sorry her acting out had to involve you. It’s embarrassing for us and awkward for you.” Her voice was stiff and jerky, causing me to wonder if the wrong mechanism had been installed or she had been played with more than recommended.

“She’s at a difficult age.”

“You can say that again. Sometimes I think she hates me.” Emotion showed fleetingly on Betty’s face.

“It’s a stage. We all went through it.”

“I’m not sure I’ve outgrown mine,” she said surprisingly. “Let’s go inside, shall we? You must be ready for a cup of tea.”

“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.” We followed in the wake of the others, Tom and Ben going up the stairs ahead of Ariel and Mrs. Malloy.

“Your cleaning woman seems brighter than most.” Betty pointed a finger at the purple taffeta figure now entering the house. “She’s come to see her sister, she said.”

I had to stop grinding my teeth to reply. “That’s right, Melody Tabby. She’s secretary to a Mr. Scrimshank.”

“We went to him for some advice about the money we… came into. But he won’t be handling our investments.” Betty stepped through the open front door. “We feel quite capable of doing that ourselves.”

“Do accountants often perform that service?”

“He did for the Gallaghers who owned this house. But that may have been because they were friends. Perhaps Ariel told you”-she gave me a speculative look-“that Mr. Gallagher disappeared, just upped and vanished, about a year and a half ago. And no sign of him since.”

I hedged. “I heard what she said to you and her father, about a murder and a ghost.”

“All these months I’ve thought she, like Tom, didn’t believe me.”

“The police?”

She shrugged, a gesture so akin to Ariel’s it might have been genetic if they had been blood relatives. The hall in which we stood was vast and thick with shadow. Given the lack of light, it could have been any time of day-from early afternoon, which was the case, to dead of night. The vast chandelier was unlit and too closely resembled the branches of a gallows tree to suit my sensibilities as a designer. The window high on the staircase wall resembled a leper’s squint. The rest of the group, though standing just a few feet away from us, were mere silhouettes in monkish robes. Ever since picking up my first gothic romance, I had yearned to enter a house such as this. The sensation I had experienced when looking at the exterior was now heightened. The dark wainscoting, somber furniture, and looming paintings in heavy frames issued a hushed warning that Death could be lurking behind a door or crouched down on some hidden step. I shivered, despite a muggy warmth that was oppressive in itself.

Betty flicked a switch and the chandelier burst into light. No longer did it look like a gibbet. It glinted with gold and sparkled with crystal. The paneling was revealed as a richly mellow walnut, the staircase a graceful curve of banisters and broad steps, exquisite in its simplicity. Regency, I thought. Or more likely Queen Anne, my favorite period. There was an Aubusson carpet underfoot, its colors faded by time to possibly even greater beauty than originally present. A grouping of Empire chairs with black gilded frames and yellow silk seats occupied one corner, along with bronze-topped tables. To my right stood a magnificent long case clock of Beuel design and on my left a Chinese chest whose period I could not even begin to guess at.

My foolish panic evaporated. Perversely, I found myself wishing for a more Tudor atmosphere: dark oil portraits of Elizabethans in ruffs staring censoriously down at me, pewter tankards on a trestle table, rush mats on the floor. This was all very lovely but too suggestive of an ultra-expensive hotel.

“I don’t know why you don’t leave that light on, Tom,” Betty called across to him. “It’s not like we have to worry these days about meeting the electricity bill.”

Had things been tight for them financially before the big win? Had the stress of pinching pennies made her snippy? I paused in the general movement toward an arched doorway to glance sideways at an assortment of porcelain snuffboxes on the Chinese chest. A cobalt blue and gold one caught my eye. It was a lovely thing with birds delicately painted on the lid. But it would not do to dally. As it was, I made up the rear in entering a drawing room that possessed two superb marble fireplaces.

Although the leaded front windows did not admit an abundance of light, this was more than compensated for by wall-to-wall glass doors at the rear, leading into what appeared to be a conservatory. The furnishings were an elegant eclectic mix of antiques and the contemporary. There were groupings of gold damask sofas and chairs covered in black and cream toile. I spotted an art deco table, a William and Mary secretary desk, and two Venetian glass lamps by an artisan whose name was currently being spoken with awe. The artwork was an interesting juxtaposition of abstracts and meticulously detailed etchings. I gave the Hopkinses’ decorator top marks. A major name, I supposed, from a London firm. I couldn’t have come up with anything this good.

“What a wonderful room,” I told Betty.

“That’s a real compliment, seeing you’re in that field. Tom’s mother mentioned it. We were very close.” She ushered me toward a chair positioned across from the front fireplace and took the one beside it. The others were already seated and engaged in conversation, save for Mrs. Malloy, who, with her handbag on her lap, appeared to be soaking up her surroundings, the better to report back to her chums in the Chitterton Fells Charwomen’s Society. It would be something to fall back on if she returned with her tail between her legs after a failed reunion with Melody. “I had a friend help me with the details,” Betty continued. “Well, not a friend exactly, more of an acquaintance living at the Dower House. Val gave up her job at a travel agency in London to come and look after her great-aunt, Miss Pierce, who was once Mr. Gallagher’s nanny.”

“What a good niece. She’s obviously enormously talented.”

“Never took a decorating class in her life.” Although she was perched on the very edge of her chair, Betty’s feet didn’t touch the floor. “It’s just something Val’s interested in. We were talking one day and she made a couple of suggestions that sounded all right. Tom didn’t offer any opinions. That’s how he is, but I knew he liked yellow.” She looked to where he was sitting with Ben on one of the gold damask sofas. “We tried to get Val to let us pay her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I’ll have to come up with an idea for a present. I thought of flowers, but it doesn’t seem enough. She’s certainly been a big help.”

That was apparent. I looked around the room that had been brought to life and beauty by an amateur and felt more than a twinge of envy. I was not a nice person. Hadn’t I all too readily bought into Ariel’s negative opinion of Betty? Looking at her now, I saw that the pale blue of her designer suit might be to blame for her plastic appearance. She needed warmer colors, softer lines and subtler makeup than the dark eyeliner and cherry lipstick that clashed with her red hair. What a pity the otherwise helpful Val hadn’t offered these suggestions-and allowed Betty and Tom to infuse something of their own personalities into the house. There I went again! My nasty side creeping in.

“Lucky for us Val came to look after her great-aunt,” said Betty.

“She could be hoping to inherit the old lady’s money,” Ariel responded direly.

“Who’s Val?” Ben inquired sleepily from his chair.

“You’ll meet her. She’s always here.”

“I don’t think she’s out for what she can get from Miss Pierce,” protested Tom mildly.

“She’s not always here!” Betty shot back at Ariel. “Sometimes we don’t see her for days on end.”

Hardly surprising if Val was poring over decorating books, along with taking care of Auntie, whom I was picturing as partially bedridden and in need of nourishing little meals on trays and lengthy talks about what Mr. Gallagher was like as a small boy. Such a one for objecting to wearing his neddy when taken for a walk in the grounds! And, oh, the naughty fuss he made about eating his tapioca pudding! All highly entertaining, no doubt, but time consuming.

“Life do get so busy,” Mrs. Malloy remarked, in the plummy tones befitting a woman who had twice been chairwoman of the Chitterton Fells Charwomen’s Association. “I can state without a word of a lie that I work me fingers to the bone at Merlin’s Court. I’d expect me head to land on the chopping block if the kitchen wasn’t shipshape when Mr. H gets to trying out one of his fancy recipes.” She patted her two-tone hair and inflated her bosom, I hoped without a poke from a dislodged underwire.

Betty eyed her narrowly before looking at Ben. “I’d forgotten you’re a professional chef.”

“It’s work I enjoy.” He smiled at her, and she turned her attention back to Mrs. Malloy.

“Mavis, our daily woman, is pretty much useless.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Betty.” Tom bestirred himself to remonstrate. “Lady Fiona seemed to think she was okay.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, coming from someone as vague as she is.”

“I thought you’d decided that was just an act, to cover up the fact that she’s a ruthless killer.” Ariel kicked the legs of her chair.

Betty flared back at her. “Don’t stick your nose into the conversation. You should be locked in your room, hoping we’ll let you eat again.”

“I’m already starving.”

“Don’t talk back, dear.” Tom got to his feet. “I’ll go down to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Cake to rustle up some lunch.”

This sounded good to me. It seemed an age since Betty had made the welcome offer of a cup of tea.

“And how’s she going to manage that, stuck in a chair as she is with her sprained ankle propped up on a stool?” Betty inquired sarcastically.

“I’d forgotten.”

“The best she can do is sit with a bowl in her lap shelling peas.”

“Perhaps she could whisk up some eggs instead.”

“And sit with the toaster on her lap, popping up slices of bread?”

Ariel looked from me to Ben and Mrs. Malloy. “Mrs. Cake’s a wonderful cook when she can be on her feet.” Sentimental sigh. “She makes the loveliest scones and things. Although not as good as that chocolate cake of yours, Ben.”

Life has its lively twists and turns. Heroes have a way of popping up when least expected. From the expression on Betty’s face, it was clear our visit was no longer entirely unwelcome. Ben was offering to accompany his cousin into the kitchen and prepare a meal, if that would be helpful.

“We don’t like to impose, do we, Tom?”

“No, dear.”

“If you’re sure, Ben?”

“It will be my pleasure.” His smile was directed at Betty, but I knew with secret wifely knowledge that it was meant for me.

Betty practically sparkled. “Thank you, and take Ariel with you. Put her to use with the washing up.”

This produced the requisite scowl in return.

“Now, then, no need to bother the child. Surely that’s what I’m here for.” Beaming fatuously at one and all, Mrs. Malloy converted instantly into trusted family servitor. “Got me pinny right here. Never without it in case it’s needed.” She opened her handbag and withdrew a scrap of white nylon trimmed with lace. To my knowledge it had never put in an appearance at Merlin’s Court, but the washing up there is not very grand on a daily basis. Our humble soup bowls, earthenware casserole dishes, and stainless steel cutlery deserve no more than a tea towel tucked in at the waist. Here, if Val’s revamping included the kitchen, it would be a different matter.

“Ariel!” Betty pointed a finger.

“Don’t you want me to stay and tell you about the lovely surprise?”

“I told you I’m not interested.” The green eyes flashed. “Something has to be done about your escapade, but I can’t concentrate on that now, or even Mr. Gallagher’s murder. I’ve a huge calamity on my hands.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, as Ariel pirouetted out the door. “And here you are with three extra people on your hands.”

“I’ve been frantic.” Betty gripped her tiny hands. “My first social engagement as lady of the manor is coming up, and I was sure it was doomed! But perhaps there is a way to salvage the situation if Ben and Mrs. Malloy would agree to help me out.” She eyed me with the desperate appeal of a woman trapped on a cliff ledge in a storm equal to the one we’d had yesterday. “It seems a lot to ask, Ellie, because it would mean your all staying on here for a few days.”