The Boat House Page 5

  ‘I’m coming to that!’ He read aloud from the notes. ‘Mrs Matlowe immediately identified the body as that of her daughter-in-law and broke down in tears with the words: “Thank God this is over!”’

  ‘So how did she die? And when?’

  ‘Don’t hurry me, Judith.’

  ‘Sorry!’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Fools rush in! I know!’

  He read on. ‘The body was originally adjudged to be that of Leonora Matlowe until the post-mortem was undertaken by Mr Eric Spencer. His examination produced the following evidence. The woman had been strangled and then thrown into the Thames. She had been in the water for up to two days . . .’ He glanced up. ‘So why did Georgina Matlowe identify her? The body wouldn’t have changed much in a couple of days.’ He read on in silence, then added, ‘She was almost the same age, give or take a year, and had blonde hair . . . and was pretty.’

  ‘Height, etc.?’

  ‘Two inches shorter – but hard to tell that when a body is horizontal on a mortuary slab – and the same slim build.’ He tapped his pencil on the desk while he considered the facts. ‘I suppose Mrs Matlowe made a genuine mistake. It’s possible she wanted it to be Leonora so the uncertainty would be at an end.’

  ‘Ah! But if the police suspected her son, earlier on, of course, then the discovery of the body would bring the police nearer to finding the truth.’ Judith narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted that, surely.’

  ‘Unless it would help pinpoint the real killer. If Leonora had gone to stay with friends one of those might have done it.’

  ‘Fine friends they’d be!’ Judith tossed her head again but her cousin still failed to notice the bob.

  ‘Or she might,’ he said slowly, ‘have booked into a hotel under an assumed name and then fallen in with someone who eventually murdered her. Is that likely?’

  Judith hesitated. ‘Anything’s possible.’

  ‘But it wasn’t Leonora! It was someone else. A woman called Eliza Broughton.’ Donald began to pace the small room, still clutching the police reports. ‘All we can do with this information is wonder why Georgina Matlowe was so quick to identify the wrong person. If, for instance, she suspected that Neil had killed his wife, surely her instincts would be to deny that the corpse resembled Leonora. To put them off discovering the truth.’

  Judith nodded. ‘And if she didn’t suspect her son, she would be still thinking that Leonora might be with Neil . . . that they had found each other . . . and that they didn’t want Georgina to know.’

  ‘Maybe we’re missing something.’

  ‘Why don’t you go for one of your walks, Donald? It often clears your head.’

  ‘I think I will – and I’ll try and have a word with the Matlowes’ new governess. Someone on the inside would be invaluable.’

  Minutes later he left the office, and she watched him from the window as he strode purposefully along, his mind no doubt filled with exciting possibilities. ‘You’ll get there in the end,’ she muttered and turned her thoughts to the composition of poor Mrs Montini’s final letter.

  Georgina sat in the corner armchair of her sister’s service flat and watched with barely disguised irritation as the twins and the two other children raced round a circle of chairs, waiting for the music to stop. Even as a child herself, Georgina had never liked games that involved pushing, shoving or screaming. When Ivan had suggested Musical Chairs, she had groaned aloud but her sister, always a bit of a hoyden in Georgina’s opinion, had clapped her hands with delight, organized the chairs and rushed to seat herself at the ancient but well-tuned piano.

  Ivan, confined to a wheelchair, watched with excitement. He was thin and pale with huge brown eyes and his head was shaved. Sickly was the word for him, Georgina thought, regarding him uneasily. She felt a frisson of compassion but it was followed by one of satisfaction that her own grandchildren were hale and hearty.

  Screams erupted as ‘John Brown’s Body’ came to an abrupt stop and the excited children scrambled for the remaining chairs. Ida turned from the piano, laughing, to find Edie was without a seat.

  ‘Never mind, dear,’ Ida cried. ‘You can come and stand by me but first I must take away another chair! Oh, this is getting so exciting!’ She caught Georgina’s eye and winked then turned back to the piano. ‘What shall I play next?’ she asked Edie.

  ‘Pop Goes the Weasel.’

  ‘Pop Goes the Weasel? Right you are! Your wish is my command!’

  Georgina did her best to ignore her surroundings and thought instead about the cook’s complaint regarding the butcher, who apparently made too many mistakes with the orders, and her suggestion they change to another butcher. It sounded sensible but Georgina was reluctant to take advice from one of the servants. She thought longingly about the days when she was younger and she and her husband entertained friends to dinner. Somehow everything had seemed to work like clockwork without all these aggravating problems – unless it was a case of distance lending enchantment to the view.

  She watched Emmie rushing red-faced around the last chair. It was a pity they took after their mother in looks and not their father – it was a permanent reminder of something she preferred to forget – but hopefully they might grow out of it. She took a surreptitious glance at the clock. Not that it would help, to know the time, but a little of her sister’s company went a long way.

  When the game ended Ida produced five small jigsaws and gave the children one each. ‘Now we’re going to have a little competition. The person who finishes the jigsaw first is the winner,’ she told the children, who had settled obediently around the table while Ivan was wheeled close enough. ‘Look on the box the jigsaws come in and you will see your picture – that’s the way. Yours is a train, Edie, Emmie’s is a bus. Let me see . . . Ivan, yours is a boat with white sails . . .’

  ‘I like boats!’ he said.

  ‘That’s good then, dear.’ She patted his shoulder.

  Emmie, flushed with victory from the Musical Chairs asked, ‘Is there a prize?’

  Georgina stiffened. ‘You shouldn’t ask, Emmie. It’s not polite.’ A little too forward, like her mother. She sighed.

  ‘A nice red apple is the prize,’ Ida told her, smiling. ‘Now is everyone ready? Ready, steady, start!’

  Ida then beckoned Georgina into the kitchen where Ivan’s mother had provided a platter of paste sandwiches, a plate of butterfly cakes and a yellow jelly. ‘She has a dentist’s appointment, poor woman. She suffers with her teeth.’

  Ida indicated a chair by the kitchen table and her sister sat down warily, aware that Ida was watching her with that concerned look on her face.

  Ida said, ‘You look very tired, Georgie. Is it all getting too much for you? Bringing up the girls, I mean.’

  ‘I hate being called Georgie. You know I do.’ She also hated being told she looked tired because immediately she felt tired.

  ‘Sorry, sorry! But you do look a bit pasty. You’re probably overdoing things. You should have kept Nanny. I did my best to persuade you.’

  ‘It was none of your business . . . and anyway, it was for her own good. She was getting on in years, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘But she was all they had left, with both parents gone.’

  ‘They had me, didn’t they? Really, Ida!’ She pursed her lips. ‘The last thing two lively children need is a faded old woman who spent her time talking about their vanished mother. She claimed it was to keep Leonora fresh in their minds but I know better. She did it to spite me; to encourage the girls to compare me with their mother!’

  ‘Oh what nonsense! Why on earth should she try to disparage you?’

  ‘You weren’t there, Ida. You cannot possibly understand what went on.’

  Ida held up her hands in mock surrender. ‘Please yourself, dear, but the fact remains, you do look very tired. I’d hate you to have a heart attack or something. Then where would the twins be?’ Swiftly changing the subject, she prattled on. ‘I thought the jigsaws would keep th
em busy for a while, because I need to talk to you about this man who called last week. Has he been in touch with you? His name is Richard Preston.’

  Georgina frowned. ‘Richard? I don’t think I know the name but . . . something at the back of my . . .’ She blinked suddenly. ‘Preston? That was Leonora’s maiden name, but it can’t . . . Are you sure it was Preston?’ Her eyes widened fearfully. ‘Leonora’s father was quite ill last time I heard from them. The usual Christmas card. I don’t know why they bother – I never send them one. Preston. It must be a coincidence.’ Please God let it be a coincidence, she prayed silently.

  ‘Oh no, Georgie, this wasn’t the father. It was a young man.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ She stared at her sister. Keep calm, she told herself. Count to ten. Do not let her see that you are upset.

  But Ida, tying a ribbon around the birthday cake, wasn’t looking at her. ‘It was Leonora’s brother. Her younger brother. In fact her only brother.’

  Georgina felt her heart beat faster. ‘Leonora’s brother called on you? Here? He’s in England?’ Her voice faltered as the shock set in.

  ‘No, no, not here in person,’ Ida explained, arranging seven small candles on Ivan’s birthday cake. ‘Poor little lad. Just to think that he will die before his . . .’

  ‘Ida! For heaven’s sake, don’t tell me this is all starting again. The trouble about Leonora. This younger brother . . .’

  ‘He’s only in his early twenties and sounded very nice. Polite. Respectful. No, he’s not here yet but he explained what he wanted. I thought he would have called you already. He’ll get in touch, I’m sure, so you’ll meet him.’

  ‘What . . . what does he want with us?’ Georgina leaned forward, one hand on her heart.

  Ida stood back and admired the cake. ‘I made it for Ivan specially. It’s a lemon sponge because he doesn’t like fruit cake. His mother said this is his favourite. My little present to him.’ She tilted it towards Georgina. ‘See – his name and “Happy Birthday”. And I made a lucky dip for them. Just a few sweeties. Sugar mice and lollipops. Blue wrapping paper for the boys and pink for the girls.’

  Georgina was taking deep breaths and now she forced herself to sit a little straighter. ‘So . . . young Richard Preston. You were telling me, Ida?’

  ‘He telephoned. Said he was only sixteen when his sister disappeared and now he’s older he wants to find her before his father dies – to set his mind at rest. Or if not to find her, to learn what happened to her.’ Ida glanced up at her sister. ‘He hardly mentioned his mother, which was odd.’

  Georgina steadied her voice before speaking. ‘I understand she took to drink – with the grief. That was the last I heard. It was all so dreadful.’

  ‘And you didn’t keep in contact with the Prestons? I never understood that. I thought surely you would want to know if Leonora had returned home safely.’

  Georgina did not like the way the conversation was going. She felt an implied criticism in her sister’s questions. She said sharply, ‘You have no idea, Ida, what that family put me through.’

  ‘Meaning Leonora.’

  ‘Meaning the family. Her parents wrote a very unpleasant letter after she . . . after Leonora walked out. They seemed to suggest that I was somehow to blame! Their daughter ruined my son’s life and also mine. She . . . she abandoned her children. My grandchildren. Did the parents offer any condolences for her behaviour? Not a word!’

  ‘But in your shoes I . . .’

  ‘You were never in my shoes,’ Georgina snapped, ‘so you cannot understand. No, I did not want to keep in touch with the family. Leonora was jealous because Neil and I . . .’ She tried to swallow but her throat was dry. ‘She wanted to be the only woman in his life. Some women are like that. Selfish. It was because of her that I lost Neil. If he hadn’t insisted on trying to find her when she didn’t want to be found he might still be alive. The car crash . . .’

  ‘You poor thing. I know how you must have felt.’

  Georgina’s eyes glittered. ‘Don’t talk nonsense, Ida! I’ve just explained at length that you could not possibly know how I felt. You’ve never had a child!’ She felt herself starting to tremble and made an effort to calm down.

  Ida was now whisking cream to add to the jelly, which she felt looked too plain for a special birthday party. She said, ‘Richard Preston wanted to know what I thought had happened to send Leonora off like that. He said she was so in love with Neil – he couldn’t believe she would have left him so suddenly. Or ever! She said it was a match made in heaven and the family adored Neil. Richard said he knows his sister would never have left her husband and children.’

  ‘Well, she did! That’s all I can say.’ Georgina noticed the catch in her voice and counted to ten. She marvelled that Ida could not hear the thumping of her sister’s heart.

  ‘He asked me if Leonora and Neil had quarrelled.’

  ‘I don’t think so but Leonora had tried to stir up trouble between me and my son.’ Georgina watched impatiently as her sister spread the cream and decorated the cream with glacé cherries. ‘What no one understands is that that woman was a born trouble maker – a beautiful but dangerous trouble maker.’

  ‘If you say so, Georgie. I hardly knew her.’

  ‘You were fortunate! What else did he ask?’

  Ida shrugged. ‘I can’t remember everything he said . . .’ She carried the finished jelly back to the larder and closed the door. ‘If they see the jelly, they won’t want to eat the sandwiches,’ she explained. ‘Now, where did I put the chocolate biscuits?’ She stared round the kitchen. ‘Oh, by the way, I thought you’d like to stay overnight so I’ve made up the bed in the—’

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Georgina. ‘I mean, it’s very kind of you but . . .’ Her voice quivered and she was afraid she might cry.

  ‘In the spare bedroom.’ Ida smiled at her. ‘You can sleep in the big bed and one of the twins can have the small one. The other one can sleep on the sofa bed in my room.’ She held up her hands. ‘I won’t hear any arguments, Georgina. You seem quite exhausted and I’m not surprised. Such a responsibility at your age, even with the governess. I can see you’re not really fit to travel and those trams are so noisy and rattle about so! We can have a nice quiet breakfast tomorrow and then you and the twins will be on your way.’ She smiled fondly at her sister. ‘Now, let’s rejoin the children and see who’s won the jigsaw competition. Ivan’s mother will be back from the dentist shortly and then we can sit down to tea.’

  Back at The Poplars, Marianne hung up the telephone, a little startled to realize that she would be spending the night alone in the house. Mrs Matlowe had been persuaded to stay with her sister overnight, although her tone of voice had suggested that she had agreed somewhat unwillingly. Neither the cook nor the maid lived in at The Poplars and had already left.

  Standing at the base of the stairs in the gathering gloom, she shivered but her mind was already considering possibilities. ‘Six thirty-five,’ she muttered. What could she do? An evening stroll in the park, maybe, or along the river bank? That would pass an hour. She could catch up on some mending – the hem of one of her skirts was down . . . She could play the piano or explore the house . . . or the garden. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Or explore the boat house while there is still some natural light!’

  She grinned suddenly, aware that her employer had given her the perfect opportunity to see for herself exactly what was in the boat house. ‘If I can find the key.’

  The keys to various parts of the house were kept on the back of the pantry door, on a board full of small hooks.

  At first glance these appeared to be a baffling selection. Marianne began to decipher them. B1, B2, B3 . . . up to B5. Then there were CB and MB. ‘Can’t imagine.’ But the numbered Bs were presumably all bedrooms. Much easier than she had expected. ‘DR must be dining room and K is definitely the kitchen. FD . . .?’ It took less than a moment. ‘Front door! So there’ll be a BD for the back door . . . Yes. And this . . . LC? I
t’s probably the linen cupboard!’ She felt pleased with herself until she saw that the hook labelled BH lacked a key.

  Staring at the vacant space she wondered why the only missing key was the one belonging to the boat house. Obviously to discourage anyone from entering it. ‘But why?’ she asked aloud. Maybe over the intervening years the place had been unused and had become unsafe. For a moment she hesitated but curiosity overcame her fears.

  ‘The key is somewhere!’ she decided and before she could change her mind, she went upstairs to the study and began to search the drawers of Mrs Matlowe’s desk. She found the key almost immediately and minutes later was hurrying across the lawn in the direction of the boat house.

  Last time she had taken a look inside, it had been a sunny day and the children were with her looking for their leaves. Today the sky was overcast and the boat house looked almost grim, like a fat toad crouching at the far end of the garden. It had rained in the night and the wooden frame had a sodden, almost sullen look, Marianne thought nervously, but she went up the three steps carefully and thrust the key into the lock. It turned, but only so far. ‘Try the other way,’ she told herself and tried to reverse it. It moved both ways but only part way and had presumably rusted within the movement of the lock.

  ‘Bother!’ she said loudly and then, in a lower voice, ‘Damn!’ Shielding her eyes from the reflection in the glass, Marianne peered in at what she could see of the interior. It seemed to her that the water level was slightly down but there were locks on the river in both directions so the water could not rise and fall with the tide. It was gloomy inside the boat house and it took some time for her eyes to adjust but then she could make out the wooden walkway around the edge and in the middle, on the water . . .

  ‘That’s odd!’ Where was the boat she had seen previously? The narrow, flat-bottomed boat that she had assumed was a punt. There was no sign of it. Just the water, which barely rippled, reflecting the small amount of light allowed in by the windows.

  On the riverside she could make out the outlines of the gates, which opened out on to the river, but now she fancied they resembled heavy doors rather than gates, and Marianne could just make out a chain and padlock that secured them. So how could a boat have made its escape? Unless, she thought, the boat house was being used by someone from outside – from beyond the house – with or without Mrs Matlowe’s permission. Or was it possible that she rented it out to someone?