Truth Will Out (27 page)

‘Here we are!’ Jane set down the tray, which contained three cups of tea and a plate of biscuits. ‘I’m afraid they’re not home-made,’ she confessed. ‘I don’t have much spare time these days.’

Barlowe joined them and they chatted until the last biscuit had been eaten. Jane hurried the tray into the kitchen and returned to her own desk to type up the last three letters of the day.

Sitting on the train on his way back to Folkestone, Derek suddenly remembered that tomorrow was Amy’s fifth birthday and that Auntie Alison was giving her a birthday party in the hotel. He smiled suddenly, oblivious to the curious looks from the passengers around him. It was a smile that brought a gleam to his eyes. Derek knew he was a lucky man. He had a devoted wife whom he loved to distraction. He had a beautiful daughter who was a constant delight. Thirdly, he had a happy life. No man should ask for more. He knew that Maude didn’t like to dwell on the past but he saw things in a more positive way. From all the traumas of eight years ago something good had emerged. He and Maude had met and, eight years later, they were married with a lovely daughter. Without the intervention of Lionel and Alice Brent he and Maude might have remained comparative strangers. Fate works in a mysterious way, he thought, and his smile broadened.

At the moment that he smiled, his wife was answering the door to a complete stranger who stood on the step holding the hand of a young girl.

‘Mrs Jayson?’ The woman looked about fifty, heavily built and wearing unbecoming clothes that did not flatter her.

‘Yes?’ Maude glanced at the child, confused.

‘I’m Eleanor Surridge. That won’t mean anything to you.’

‘It doesn’t, I’m afraid . . . So what exactly are you doing here?’

The child, a girl, watched her intently. Maude guessed her to be a few years older than Amy. Seven, probably, or eight. She had curly blonde hair and hazel eyes and was neither pretty nor quite plain but had a healthy glow to her complexion and a ready smile.

Maude regarded them curiously but also with some caution. Somehow, for no good reason, the sudden appearance of the woman and child disturbed her and she hesitated. Good manners required her to ask them in but she was reluctant to do so.

Mrs Surridge waited but the child said, ‘Please can we come in?’

The woman said, ‘Maggie! That’s very rude. Say you’re sorry to Mrs Jayson.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Jayson.’ She fixed Maude with a pleading look, which the latter found hard to resist.

Maude opened the door wider and said, ‘Of course.’

Closing the front door, she led the way into the sitting room and invited her visitor to take a seat. The girl moved to the window and stared out at the front lawn through the net curtains.

Maude said, ‘My husband will be home soon. He’s been to London for the day.’

‘It’s you I have to see.’ The woman fumbled in her large handbag and handed Maude a letter. ‘We had a housekeeper but she has died.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘She contracted diphtheria – no-one quite knows how – and it closed her throat. The struggle for air weakened her heart and eventually it failed.’ She shuddered. ‘I did not visit her in the hospital because of the risk. Diphtheria is highly contagious. In ten days she was gone. Poor soul died all alone.’ She nodded towards Maggie and mouthed the words ‘her daughter’.

The girl must have heard and understood everything Mrs Surridge said but she made no comment. Instead she said, ‘There’s a big ginger cat running across your grass.’

Nobody answered her.

Mrs Surridge sighed. ‘You should read the letter. She wrote it three days before she died and said I should bring it to you. I said I’d send it but she was adamant.’

‘Bring it to
me
? But how could she . . .?’ Maude stared at the envelope.

Mrs Surridge said, ‘Tell her to keep away from the shrubbery.’ She smiled. ‘That was her message for you. Poor thing. I think she was delirious!’

Already a suspicion had entered Maude’s head. ‘What was her name, this housekeeper?’

Mrs Surridge lowered her voice slightly. ‘She told us she was an unmarried mother but we gave her a chance and she never let us down. Worked hard, bless her, and was very willing. Nothing too much trouble. And she could cook. A dab hand with puddings, especially Bakewell tart, which pleased my husband. No truck with young men, either. Nothing like that, thank goodness. She said she’d learned her lesson. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say. Her name? Oh sorry! It was Alicia Brand.’

Alicia Brand. Alice Brent. Very similar . . . Maude began to pray that Derek would be home on time. Occasionally he caught a later train but today his wife was feeling the need of his support.

Maggie said, ‘Mum’s name was Alicia Dora Brand and mine is Margaret Ann Brand. I was going to be called Maude but then she changed her mind. I’m glad she did because I like Margaret better.’ She smiled at Maude.

Mrs Surridge rolled her eyes. ‘That’s enough from you, Maggie. What have I told you?’

‘Speak when you’re spoken to!’

She had a cheeky grin, thought Maude. So was this Alice’s child by Lionel? Was it her imagination or did her own heart now beat erratically?

As Maude began to tear open the envelope there were footsteps in the hallway and Amy came into the room. The contrast between the two children was immediately apparent. Beside sturdy Maggie, Amy was a feather-light girl with long fair hair and blue eyes. Seeing the visitors, Amy at once reached for her mother’s hand and, half hidden behind her mother, managed a nervous smile in Maggie’s direction.

Maude said, ‘Amy, this is Mrs Surridge and Maggie who is . . . a friend of hers. Say hello, darling.’

‘Hello.’ She eyed them uncertainly.

Primmy trotted in, wagging her tail, and made her way over to Mrs Surridge who obligingly patted her. The dog was ageing and had lost her boisterous ways.

Maggie looked at Amy. ‘Is that your cat out there?’

Amy’s hand tightened in Maude’s but she said nothing.

Undeterred, Maggie persisted. ‘The big ginger one. He’s sitting in the middle of the grass, washing his paws.’ She laughed. ‘Come and look.’

To Maude’s surprise, Amy slowly released her hand and crossed uncertainly to the window. ‘Yes.’ She whispered.

‘So what’s his name?’

‘Foxy.’ She didn’t look directly at Maggie but kept her eyes on the cat.

‘That’s a good name because foxes are a bit gingery. Did you choose the name?’

‘Mummy helped me.’ At last she glanced up at the older girl. ‘He was my Christmas present. Father Christmas brought him and he had a blue bow round his neck. That’s Primmy, our dog, but she’s an old lady dog and we have to take care of her.’

It was quite a speech for Amy and, although pleasantly surprised, Maude was still anxious and said desperately, ‘You haven’t finished your rest, Amy. Perhaps you should—’

‘I know but I heard voices, Mummy, and I’m not sleepy.’ Amy smiled shyly at the older girl.

Maggie said, ‘I can do cartwheels. I might be an acrobat when I grow up and join a circus. I could show you but we have to do them on the grass otherwise we might hurt ourselves.’

Mrs Surridge returned to her earlier explanation. ‘We’ve got a man coming tomorrow from the council about the orphanage. It’s sad but these things happen, don’t they? It’s not ideal but she won’t be the first child or the last to find herself in such a place.’ She shrugged helplessly.

Amy crossed the room to stand by Maude and tug at her sleeve. ‘Can we go out on to the grass, Mummy?’

‘But I thought I’d come here first,’ Mrs Surridge continued, ‘since Alicia was so insistent. She wouldn’t tell me what was in the letter but she said you’d understand.’

‘Mummy? Please.’

Maude was aware of a moment’s irrational panic. First herself and Alice and now Amy and Maggie. Was it history repeating itself? Could it be a recipe for disaster? She had vowed never to think again of Alice or Lionel but it had proved difficult. Seeing this child, who was Alice’s daughter, had thrown her off balance – but suppose she was wrong. Suppose she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. She found herself stammering, ‘Are you sure you want to do cartwheels, Amy? I don’t think you . . . you might hurt yourself.’

Maggie took Amy’s hand in hers. ‘I’ll teach her.’

Mrs Surridge said, ‘Maggie’ll look after her. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.’ She sounded impatient and glanced at the mantelpiece clock.

Maude gave in. ‘Oh, very well then, but stay where I can see you. Just outside the window.’ She was opening the letter with shaking hands.

Was this wavering handwriting Alice’s? She took a deep breath and began to decipher the clumsy, pencilled words which straggled drunkenly across the page.

Dear Maude,

I’m going to die. They say I won’t but I feel that I will and I don’t want Maggie to go into an orphanage. She doesn’t deserve it because she’s not to blame for anything that happened. Can you put the past to rest and take pity on my little girl? If not, I will understand but I know you have married and have a daughter so perhaps you will be kind . . .

Alice.

Mrs Surridge watched curiously as Maude wiped away her tears.

Maude handed her the letter and watched as her visitor also struggled with the almost illegible handwriting.

When she handed the letter back she regarded Maude silently. Feeling that the woman deserved an explanation, Maude said, ‘We knew each other a long time ago. We were friends but . . . then we parted on bad terms. Something rather dreadful happened . . .’

Playing for time, Maude replaced the letter in the envelope, placed it behind the clock, then sat down heavily. ‘I’ll show it to my husband when he gets back.’ Her heart hammered behind her ribs and she seemed trapped in the chair, unable to get up, undecided what to think and wondering how to deal with an impossible situation.

Mrs Surridge said, ‘A bit of a shock for you, I should think. Are you all right?’

‘Not really. I don’t think we can . . . Really, she shouldn’t have asked . . . I mean, it’s not something you can do lightly.’

‘Not fair of her to ask, Mrs Jayson, if you want my opinion.’ She looked round helplessly. ‘A bit of a shock – springing it on you like that.’

‘But she was dying!’ Maude regretted the words immediately. Why on earth had she sprung to Alice’s defence? She must not be swayed by sentiment. She would tell Derek that it was out of the question. This was Lionel’s child! How could she be expected to love her?

Mrs Surridge crossed to the window and glanced out. A smile played across her face as she watched the children. ‘Cartwheels indeed!’ she said. ‘Maggie is very keen on acrobatics. She’s got so much energy. And your little girl is having a go! Oops! She hasn’t quite mastered it.’

‘Is she all right?’ Maude forced herself up from the chair and joined her visitor. Amy’s face glowed with excitement as, with her hands held high, she hurled herself across the grass in a vain attempt to produce a cartwheel. To Maude’s relief, Amy collapsed laughing and Maggie pulled her to her feet again.

Mrs Surridge said, ‘She’s nearly there! I didn’t think she’d do it.’

Maude saw Derek turning in at the gate and saw the two children rush towards him. Obviously delighted, he allowed himself to witness Amy’s attempt at a cartwheel followed by Maggie’s more polished version. He glanced up at the house, saw the women at the window and waved cheerfully. Maude wondered just how happy he would be when he learned the identity of the older girl.

So poor Alice was dead, she thought with a lump in her throat. What a terrible way to die. Diphtheria was such a scourge – it was time the scientists found a cure. She could visualize Alice in her hospital bed, near to death, and wondering what would become of her daughter. Alice had been a healthy, cheerful woman with a future ahead of her until she met Lionel Brent – and until he discovered the Barlowe Gallery and the chance of cheating Maude out of a large sum of money! The three of them had been so happy together at the beginning. If only they could have continued . . . If only Lionel had not been a liar and a cheat!

She hurried to meet Derek at the door and thrust the letter into his hands before he could ask about their visitors.

‘Read it!’ she hissed urgently. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

He looked at her in surprise. ‘You’ve been crying, Maude!’

‘Just read it,
please
,
Derek!’

Hovering beside him she watched his expression change – shock and grief followed by the beginnings of understanding.

‘Good God!’ he muttered. He slipped an arm round her shoulders and drew her close. ‘So that child is . . .?’

‘Alice’s daughter, Maggie. Lionel’s child.’ Maude clung to him, her thoughts chaotic. If he agreed to keeping Maggie . . . But if he said no . . .

‘It’s a tough one!’ he said, as though reading her thoughts.

‘If we keep her, we’ll spend the rest of our lives remembering what happened.’ She pulled back from him, studying his face.

He nodded slowly. ‘But if we turn her away we’ll spend the rest of our lives wondering about what has happened to Maggie – so we’ll still be remembering!’ He shook his head slowly. ‘Maude, I’ve never said this before but, in spite of all that happened, some good came out of it. Alice and Lionel brought us together. You and me. I’ll always be grateful for that. Tell me what you want to do, Maude. You’ve suffered most. I can live with either decision.’

‘Can you? With Lionel’s child?’

‘Yes I could. I would. It’s up to you, Maude. I won’t try and persuade you either way but I’ll support you.’ He pulled her close and kissed her. ‘Now, put me in the picture, please.’

‘The woman’s a Mrs Surridge and Alice was her housekeeper – under another name, Alicia Brand.’ Quickly she filled him in on the rest of the story and he listened intently.

He said, ‘So she was making a new life for herself and Maggie. Well done Alice – Sorry! Alicia.’

There was sudden rush of footsteps and a knock on the door. Derek opened it and the two girls rushed inside.

Amy’s pale face was flushed with excitement. ‘Please may I show Maggie my room and my teddies and—?’