The morning mist turned to rain just as the taxi pulled up to Lydia’s house. From the street, Cat had a clear view of her aunt and Annie through the window. Annie held a paintbrush as she worked at an easel, while Lydia stood behind her, pointing and talking with the unique passion her aunt reserved for anything to do with art. Cat let the taxi go and carried her own suitcase to the front door. She walked into a house redolent with the smell of soup and roasting chicken. Her stomach growled.
‘Hello,’ she called out.
‘In here,’ Annie said. She smiled at Cat, and waved the paintbrush she was holding through the air. ‘Look, your aunt’s teaching me to paint.’
‘She doesn’t need much teaching. She’s really talented. Look at this.’
Lydia turned Annie’s easel so Cat could see her work. The canvas depicted a still life of a bouquet of flowers arranged in Lydia’s unique style. Rather than paint the flowers in colour, Annie had captured them in black, white, and varying shades of grey.
‘This is marvellous,’ Cat said.
‘Thank you.’ Annie smiled with pride.
Cat switched on the lamps and closed the curtains.
‘What are you doing? We need the light to work,’ Lydia said.
‘You’re on parade, Lyd. Anyone from the street can see in,’ Cat explained.
Lydia cocked her head. She gave Cat a searching look. ‘That’s never bothered you before.’
‘It bothers me now,’ Cat retorted. ‘I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.’
‘Annie, if you’ll go turn the flame up, we can have our soup. I need to speak to Cat for a moment.’ When they were alone, Lydia said, ‘What’s going on? Are you in some sort of trouble? Does it have to do with Benton’s murder?’
Cat wanted to tell Lydia everything. It would have been so easy. But she held her tongue. ‘Everything’s fine,’ Cat said.
‘You’re keeping something from me, love. Don’t think I don’t know it because I do. You wear your feelings on your face, despite your aptitude for silence. Never mind. You’ll tell me in your own good time. Are you ready for some chicken soup?’
‘Yes. But I must make a phone call first.’
‘Help yourself,’ Lydia said. ‘We’ll picnic in the studio. Like old times.’
Cat sat down at the telephone desk in the hallway and put her call through to Scotland Yard.
‘Sergeant Perkins is with Chief Inspector Bellerose, ma’am,’ the man who answered the phone said. ‘Can I have him ring you?’
‘Either that, or he can come and see me. This is Catherine Carlisle. I found something out …’ She didn’t know how much she should tell this person. ‘It may have to do with my husband’s murder.’
There was a pause at the end of the line.
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Carlisle, Catherine Carlisle. Please tell Sergeant Perkins I would appreciate it if he could come to see me, or at least telephone. I have some information.’ Cat gave the man Aunt Lydia’s phone number.
‘I’ll see that he gets the message, ma’am.’
Aunt Lydia – with Annie’s help – had prepared a light lunch of chicken soup, fresh bread and butter, and berry pie for dessert. They ate in Lydia’s studio on the floor, picnic style, while the rain pelted the window. Lydia spent an hour regaling Annie with stories of Cat’s childhood. Annie ate heartily. Her cheeks were flushed and the dark circles under her eyes had started to fade. The poor girl had been through hell, and Cat couldn’t help but feel that she was partially to blame.
After the soup was eaten and the pie reduced to crumbs, Lydia said, ‘Let’s go make some hot choco –’
A knock on the door interrupted her mid-sentence.
‘Are you expecting someone?’ Lydia asked.
‘Yes. The police.’ Cat jumped up and hurried to the door, expecting to see Sergeant Perkins standing outside; instead she saw Violet Havers Green and a fat-lipped man with a big nose covered in an impressive network of veins.
‘I’ve come to collect my daughter.’ Annie’s mother pushed past Cat and into the house, the fat-lipped man following close behind. ‘Your husband’s been murdered, Mrs Carlisle. Are you still going to tell me that Annie’s better off with you? Don’t bother answering. I am taking her home with me right now.’
Cat led them into Lydia’s studio, where Lydia and Annie were sitting on the picnic blanket.
‘I don’t think –’ Cat started to say.
‘No.’ The man shook his head. ‘You haven’t a say in the matter. She’s my daughter, and she’s coming home.’
‘I am not your daughter. I am not going with you,’ Annie said. She and Lydia stood up. Annie faced her stepfather.
‘Don’t worry, Annie,’ Cat said. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’ She turned to Mr and Mrs Green. ‘Won’t you come in and sit down?’
‘We’ll stay right here,’ Mr Green said. He turned on Annie. ‘You get upstairs and pack your things. If you’re not ready to go in ten minutes, I’ll give you a beating, the likes of which you’ve never seen.’
Mrs Green’s eyes widened. ‘Harold.’ She placed a hand on his arm. He brushed it off. ‘Don’t, Vi, this is partially your fault. If you’d disciplined her properly as a child, she wouldn’t have run away from you. A child should follow their parents’ orders without question. That’s how it’s going to be from now on, Annie. Do you understand? Get moving, girl.’
Lydia, as was her custom, stood by the mantel. She took a cigarette out of the case, put it in her mouth but didn’t light it.
‘I am not going to let Annie go home with you,’ Cat said.
‘You have no authority to keep my daughter from me,’ Mr Green said.
‘Neither do you, Mr Green. Annie isn’t your daughter.’
‘Now see here, don’t you think you’re overstepping the mark?’
Cat turned her attention to Annie’s mother, who looked like a trapped rabbit. Her eyes darted around the room, a look of terror in them. ‘Your husband wants to molest your daughter, Mrs Green. Surely you’re not going to stand by and allow that?’
‘You have no proof of that.’ Mrs Green’s voice was but a whisper.
‘I trust Annie,’ Cat said. ‘She told me that Mr Green came to her room at night while you were asleep. It’s obvious she’s scared of him. She’ll never reside under the same roof as your husband, not if I can help it.’
‘Mrs Carlisle, while I appreciate that you are nothing more than a flighty woman with a little too much time on your hands, and while I appreciate what you’ve tried to do for my daughter, do you think she is safe with you? Your husband was murdered.’ Mr Green surveyed Lydia’s studio, a supercilious look on his face. ‘Are you an artist? Not the best influence for an impressionable young girl.’
Lydia, who had been silent until now, spoke.
‘Mr Green, what do you think would happen if Annie went to the police and reported you?’
‘It would be her word against mine,’ Mr Green said. Warming to his subject, he continued. ‘She is a young girl with an overactive imagination. I am a businessman, a pillar of the community. I am good to the children in the neighbourhood. They love me.’
‘As it happens, I know about these things, Mr Green. Let me enlighten you. Once the police receive an allegation of any wrongdoing against a child, they would launch an investigation. While they are doing that, Catherine and I would be using our considerable resources and connections to dig into your past and look for any other children you have molested. You see, I understand men like you, Mr Green. I’m sure Annie’s not the first child you’ve toyed with. Trust me when I tell you that I will make it my singular obsession to expose you for what you are. I will go to your neighbourhood and track down every child who has crossed your path. I’m sure one of them will have a story to tell.’
Mr Green’s face turned a mottled shade of red. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. Poor Mrs Green seemed to shrink within herself.
‘You need a man to knock some sense into you,’ Mr Green said.
‘Utter nonsense, and you know it. It is time for you to leave my home. You come near Annie again, and I go to the police,’ Lydia said.
Mr Green stood up, and moved towards Lydia, his meaty hand clenched into a fist. Lydia, who was faster, grabbed the poker from its spot near the fireplace. She brandished it like a sword. ‘I wouldn’t mind giving you a beating. God knows, you deserve one. How many little girls besides Annie have you molested, Mr Green?’
Mr Green stopped short. Cat had never seen her aunt so angry. She held the fire poker, her eyes filled with steely anger. Cat’s breath caught. She didn’t want to be involved in another murder.
‘Get out of my house,’ Lydia said.
Mr Green eyed the poker and stepped out of Lydia’s reach. He grabbed his wife by the arm. Annie’s mother – helpless to do anything else – followed behind him. As they turned the corner towards the front door, she cast a helpless look at Cat, her eyes pleading for something that Cat couldn’t give her.
‘Mum,’ Annie cried out.
The door shut. Violet and Harold Green were gone.
Annie stood rigid, her fists clenched, staring at the door. Cat wanted to go to her, but something in Annie’s stance told Cat to let the child be. She glanced at Lydia. Lydia shook her head.
‘I’m so sorry, Annie,’ Cat said.
‘I’m worried for my mum, but there’s nothing to be done about that,’ Annie said. ‘She won’t leave him. At least not now.’
‘I know,’ Cat said. ‘If she ever wants to leave him, we can try to help her, okay?’
‘Thank you, both of you.’ Annie went to the blanket and started to straighten up the picnic mess.
‘I’ll take care of that, love,’ Lydia said.
‘I don’t mind,’ Annie said. ‘I would rather be busy.’
Cat and Lydia watched Annie as she methodically stacked the plates onto the tray, and carried them into the kitchen.
When she had gone, Lydia turned to Cat. ‘Won’t you talk to me, love? You look like you’re about to snap.’
Cat trusted her aunt more than she trusted anyone. She knew deep in her heart that Aunt Lydia would never betray a confidence. She went over to the drinks trolley and poured two brandies. She beckoned her aunt, and they sat down side by side on the sofa.
‘I went to get some clothes today,’ Cat said. Her words came out a whisper. She sipped.
‘My God, Catherine, what is it? You’re scaring me.’ Lydia took the unlit cigarette out of her mouth and set it on the table.
‘Isobel and Marie,’ Cat said. ‘They’re lovers.’
‘Isobel and Marie? Lovers?’ Aunt Lydia stared at Cat long enough to be sure that she was serious. She snorted with laughter, tipped back the glass of brandy and drank it in one go. She looked at Cat with incredulity. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ Cat said. ‘And Freddy Sykes is blackmailing them.’
‘You know this how?’
‘My plan was to start moving my things out of the house. I went today to retrieve some clothes and books. I thought I was alone. I overheard them talking about Freddy Sykes’s blackmail scheme. Something made me stop and listen. I heard everything. He has pictures of them in a compromising position. He’s blackmailing Isobel.’
‘I’ll bet she killed him,’ Lydia said. ‘I’m betting that Isobel asked Benton for the money to pay the illustrious Freddy Sykes. Benton said no. And in the heat of jealous rage, she’s offed him.’
‘Oh, Lydia, don’t make a joke.’
‘I’m not, love. Isobel Carlisle has a wicked temper, as you well know.’
‘But she loves Benton. She would never harm him.’
‘Passion does strange things to a person, Catherine. Never forget that.’ Lydia picked up a fresh cigarette and put it in her mouth. ‘And if you ever want to talk to me about what’s really bothering you, I’ll listen. You know you can trust me.’
‘I swear, Lyd, you’re a witch,’ Cat said.
‘Before I mount my broom and ride away, we should talk about the elephant in the room, love.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You need to go back to that house and get the rest of your things, and you don’t need to sneak around Isobel to do it. That house was your home for fifteen years. I’ll go with you, if you want, but don’t be worried about Isobel Carlisle. Until the will is read, you’ve as much right to be in that house as she does.’ Aunt Lydia took Cat’s hand in her own. ‘If you let Isobel push you around now, after all this time, you’ll never forgive yourself.’
Aunt Lydia’s words rang true. What was Cat thinking, skulking around the Carlisle house as if she needed permission to be there? She thought of the books and clothes she had left. She knew she needed to make a clean break of it, go back to the house and retrieve all of her belongings. ‘I’ll go back tomorrow morning.’
‘Do you want me to go with you?’
‘No. I need to face Isobel on my own.’
‘Good,’ Lydia said. ‘And once you get things sorted, we’ll give you the room upstairs and let Annie have the room off the kitchen. I’ll start moving my junk into the cellar. We can paint your room and Annie’s, if you want. I’ll even treat you to some new curtains and linens. I’ve been lonely here. It’ll be nice to have young people about.’
‘Thank you,’ Cat said.
Cat settled into the sofa and spent the afternoon reading the Times. She checked the personals, but – as was expected – there was no message from Reginald. The rain lulled her. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and napped until the ring of the hallway telephone startled her out of her reverie. She heard Lydia say, ‘Of course. One moment.’
‘Catherine.’ Lydia stood in the doorway, a serious look on her face. ‘It’s a Chief Inspector Bellerose. He said you called.’
‘I’m going to tell him about Isobel and Marie,’ she said.
‘And the blackmail?’
Cat nodded. ‘I didn’t love him, Lyd, but I want to find his killer.’
Chief Inspector Bellerose listened as Cat relayed what she had seen and heard at the Carlisle house that day. She gave Chief Inspector Bellerose a verbatim report of all that she had witnessed. When she finished speaking, the silence lay between them, like an empty echo.
‘Mrs Carlisle, you’ve given me a very detailed accounting of what you saw today. Would you share any impressions you gleaned, just anything that struck you?’
Cat hesitated, surprised at Bellerose’s request. ‘There is one thing – it might not be important, but it struck me. Marie is usually so subservient. She kowtows to Isobel in ways that are embarrassing. Not today. Today she seemed as though she were in charge.’
‘Do you think Isobel Carlisle could have murdered her brother?’
Cat did not hesitate. ‘There’s no love lost between my sister-in-law and me, Chief Inspector Bellerose, but personal feelings aside, I do not. Isobel loves her brother. She would never hurt him. Freddy Sykes is a different story. Have you spoken to him?’
‘I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation,’ the chief inspector said. ‘Are you planning on going back to the house?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m going tomorrow to get the rest of my things.’
‘Very well. Thank you for calling, Mrs Carlisle.’ He hung up before Cat could ask any more questions. She stood in the hallway for a moment. The rain pattered on the roof. Benton was dead. Chief Inspector Bellerose would find out who killed him. Cat felt certain of that. She just wondered at what price justice would be served.