The rain continued through the night and into the next morning. Rather than leave Annie alone, Cat decided that she would keep the girl with her when she went back to get the rest of her belongings – that way she could keep an eye on her and see that she stayed safe. The visit from the Greens had shaken Annie. She came downstairs for her morning tea pale-faced and subdued. She had borne too much for a child so young.
The events with Mr Green had unsettled Cat. She feared he would return to Lydia’s and try to take the girl against her will. When Cat had asked if Annie wanted to stay with her today, Annie’s relief had been palpable.
Annie was quiet during the taxi ride. As the cab pulled up to the Carlisle house, Cat vowed to get Annie away from Mr Green’s influence, to take her somewhere unknown by him. First she had to deal with Isobel.
A police saloon was parked in front of the Carlisle house. The driver was still inside. A constable was stationed at the front door. He moved in front of it as Cat and Annie approached.
‘Good morning,’ Cat said. She shook the rain from her umbrella and set it near the door. ‘I’m Catherine Carlisle.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Chief Inspector Bellerose is expecting you. I’m to tell you that he would like a word with you when he is finished speaking to Mr Blackwell.’ The constable nodded and held the door for them.
She and Annie stepped into the house and stood in the dusty hallway. The flowers on the entry hall table drooped. The musty smell had grown worse overnight. Annie ran her finger over the table and examined the grime. ‘No one’s lifted a finger,’ she said.
‘Let’s move along, Annie. The clothes I want to take are folded on the bed. Remember the quilt. I’ll just dash up to the attic and get the trunks –’
‘What are you doing here, Catherine?’ Isobel stepped around the corner.
‘I’m here to get my things.’
‘Benton’s solicitor is in the drawing room. He’s here to read Benton’s will. I need access to money, so I can plan his funeral. You may as well sit in. The house is mine now, as well as the contents. When the will is read, you’re to leave and never darken my door again.’
‘With pleasure,’ Cat said. ‘But I’ll be taking my clothing and books with me.’
‘You will not,’ Isobel said. ‘Those items were purchased with Carlisle money. They belong to me now.’
‘I’m taking my clothes, Isobel. Just try and stop me.’
‘What are you going to do – physically assault me? Look at you. Look at your face. You’re a gutter tramp, Catherine. I rue the day Benton married you. Now you’ve gone and killed him. As God is my witness, I’ll see justice served. I’m going to dedicate my life to proving that you murdered my brother. I won’t rest until you hang.’
Cat walked back to the door, opened it, and spoke to the constable. ‘Would you come in, please?’ The young man stepped into the hallway. ‘This woman has been threatening me. Would you please go upstairs with this young lady, and see that no one bothers her while she packs my trunks?’
He eyed the front door.
‘I’ll speak to Chief Inspector Bellerose on your behalf.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Thank you. Annie, just lock the bedroom door while you are packing. That way Miss Isobel won’t be able to bother you.’
Isobel turned on her heel and headed towards the drawing room. Cat set out after her.
The housekeeping tasks in the drawing room – where Isobel and Marie spent most of their time – had not been neglected. A cosy fire burned in the grate. The curtains had been pulled against the gloomy rain outside, but all the lamps had been lit, giving the room a soft golden glow. The furniture had been polished to a high shine, evidenced by the smell of lemon oil. Fresh flowers were artfully arranged in a crystal vase and sat on the coffee table, next to a tray with a coffee pot and two cups. Isobel sat down, poured coffee, and handed one of the cups to the elderly gentleman who sat on one of the two sofas arranged around the table.
Seeing that Cat wasn’t going to be offered coffee, the gentleman attempted to hand his cup to Cat. ‘Would you like coffee?’
‘No, thank you,’ Cat said, surprised that Isobel would forego propriety in front of a witness. ‘I’m Catherine Carlisle.’ Cat let her words linger in the air.
‘Oh, yes, of course. Bartholomew Owens at your service. I’m Mr Carlisle’s attorney. Miss Carlisle asked that I come and read the will.’ Mr Owens smiled at Cat, his eyes shining through thick glasses. He had a thick shock of white hair and eyebrows to match. Flakes of dandruff lay like so many snowflakes on the shoulders of his fine wool suit. He sipped his coffee, taking his time as he set his cup back down on the table. He picked up a narrow envelope with the words Last Will and Testament typewritten across the front of it, slid out a document, and unfolded it. The task seemed to take for ever.
‘Mr Carlisle made this will a year ago. He was very specific in his intentions. Aside from a handful of bequests to various charities, he has left everything to you, Mrs Carlisle.’
‘What?’ Cat and Isobel spoke at the same time.
‘I don’t want anything –’ Cat said.
‘There’s been some mistake,’ Isobel said. ‘My brother would never leave his money and my home to that harlot.’
‘Isobel, your brother said that he settled a large sum of money on you when he married Mrs Carlisle, in case you wanted to move house.’ Mr Owens set the will down and read from the file, using his fine gold pen as a pointer as he read. ‘It says here that he gave you a rather generous settlement, in addition to the trust your parents set up for you.’
Isobel’s face blanched white as yesterday’s milk. Her breath came in short rasping gasps. Cat wondered if she should summon a doctor.
‘I’ve no husband, no children. I dedicated my life to caring for Benton. When he endowed me with money, I reached out to Lady Montrose. She was so desperate to get her charity work going.’
Cat asked the question, but she already knew the answer. ‘Are you saying that you used your settlement from Benton to garner favour with Alicia – Lady Montrose?’
Cheeks flushed, eyes blazing, Isobel jumped out of her seat and moved towards Cat, her hands in fists. Cat jumped up too, an act born out of instinct and resulting from her recent physical altercations with Marlena X. ‘I’ve watched you and Alicia become friends. I don’t know why she took to you, but she did. I am the one who has worked tirelessly for her charities. I’m the one who has devoted my life to Benton. You’ve taken everything from me. My brother, my friendship with Alicia. My life was fine before you came into it. Now I’m in ruins and it’s all because of you.’
The walls of the Carlisle house inched ever closer to crushing Cat. Unable to cope with her sister-in-law’s embarrassing outburst, Cat turned her back on Isobel and walked away.
‘You get back here and face me,’ Isobel said.
‘I am going to pack my things,’ Cat said.
She heard Isobel’s footsteps as they hurried after her. Cat ignored them. She couldn’t get away fast enough.
‘You’d best not steal anything,’ Isobel said. ‘In fact, I think I’ll check your progress to make sure none of my family heirlooms go missing.’
Cat turned around and faced Isobel. Something in Cat’s manner gave Isobel pause. She stopped in her tracks. ‘Everything in this house belongs to me. You are here at my sufferance. Stay. Away. From. Me.’ Cat’s words came out in a low grumble, each syllable bursting with a hot potent rage that threatened to explode. She turned on her heels and ran for the stairs.
‘Almost ready,’ Annie said. Cat stepped into her room, surprised at the neat piles of clothing spread out on her bed, her writing table and on the floor. She hadn’t given Annie instructions regarding which clothes to bring and which to leave. Now her bookcase was bare, her wardrobe empty. Two suitcases were shut, ready to be taken downstairs. Annie was industriously folding sweaters and setting them in a third case.
‘Thank you, Annie,’ Cat said. Within the hour she would walk out of this house for the last time.
‘We’re going to need one more suitcase, miss, and maybe a box for the rest of the books,’ Annie said.
‘Would you mind fetching them from the attic? Isobel is busy with the police, so she won’t be able to bother you. Can you manage it on your own?’
‘Of course,’ Annie said.
‘Annie?’ Cat interrupted her as she headed for the door. ‘Thanks for coming with me today. You’ve been through a lot these past few days. When we figure out where we’re going to live, we’ll find you a school and arrange some art lessons.’
‘Thank you, Miss Catherine. And I’d be happy anywhere, as long as I don’t have to go back with my mum and Harold Green.’
Cat looked around the room, now empty of her belongings, the sweet taste of freedom here at last. She picked up a crystal paperweight that Benton bought her on their honeymoon. She set it down and ran her fingers over the silken shade of the lamp on her writing table. The rain stopped. The sun filtered through the mullioned windows, casting beams of light on the threadbare rug.
She walked across the floor to the window, weaving through the suitcases. She wondered about Marlena X and how things would be resolved. Something would have to be done about her. Cat wondered what. She wondered who would help her. Chloe had been less than enthusiastic. Reginald had disappeared and all but abandoned her.
Cat pressed her forehead to the cold glass, a final look at Kensington, with its clean streets and well-manicured inhabitants. She’d enjoyed coming here with her parents as a child. She had fond memories of picnics and trips to the museum, but she had never felt at home here, not like she did at Aunt Lydia’s.
People milled along the street. Some stopped to shut their umbrellas and remove their rain hats, while children splashed in the puddles. A dog strained on his leash. And there in the garden square, leaning against the trunk of an oak tree stood Marlena X. Today she had on a raincoat, accompanied by a bottle-green floppy hat that all but hid her face. But Cat still recognised her.
The anger bloomed in Cat’s belly. An uncontrollable rage threatened to take her reason. In a spurt of recklessness, Cat ran down the stairs and out the door. So focused was she that she stepped into the street and was nearly run down by a passing car. It skidded to a stop. The driver stuck his head out the window and yelled at Cat. She ignored him. She kept her eyes on the woman, intent this time on having it out with her once and for all. Cat was ready for a fight. She didn’t care who witnessed it.
‘You there,’ she called out to the woman just as she approached her.
The woman tucked herself behind a large tree and buried her face behind a newspaper. She looked up when Cat called to her, registering surprise at Cat’s approach.
‘I want to speak to you,’ Cat called out.
***
A black police saloon was parked one street over from the Carlisle house. As Thomas approached, the driver – a uniformed policeman with hooded eyes and a nasty expression – opened the back door.
‘This way, sir. Chief Inspector Bellerose is this way.’ He held the door open and glared at Thomas.
Thomas crawled into the back seat of the car. He and Bellerose sat next to each other on the seat. The two men sized each other up. Bellerose nodded, his greeting frosty at best. Thomas didn’t blame him. He wouldn’t appreciate an outside party participating in the questioning of a suspect.
‘Bellerose.’ Thomas nodded at the man. Chief Inspector Bellerose was dressed in a finely tailored suit that spoke of financial means beyond those of a Scotland Yard chief inspector. He had a strong jaw and intelligent, questioning eyes.
‘Sergeant Perkins is in the front. The driver is Constable Simmons,’ Bellerose said. ‘Care to tell me why you’re interested in Michael Blackwell?’
‘No one’s briefed you?’ Thomas bit back his irritation at Reginald. The old man assured him that all parties had been thoroughly briefed regarding the joint interrogation. Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose, in an attempt to stave off the headache that threatened.
‘My superior officers weren’t terribly forthcoming,’ Bellerose said.
‘You’re aware of Mr Carlisle’s work?’
‘Not the specifics,’ Bellerose said.
‘His firm is furiously working on a project for the Air Ministry. Mr Carlisle’s custom is to bring the plans that he’s worked on home with him, where he keeps them until they are retrieved by a secure courier and taken to the party who will work on them next.’
‘So we have sensitive documents in the Carlisle home,’ Bellerose said.
‘And we have a long-lost cousin living in the house who claims to have escaped Germany.’ Thomas took the two pictures of Michael Blackwell out of his pocket and handed them to the chief inspector. ‘It seems that Michael Blackwell is an imposter, Chief Inspector Bellerose. I am not trying to solve your murder, nor would I take credit if I did. My job today is to find out who this man really is and to determine what he’s doing at the Carlisle house.’
‘Understood,’ Bellerose said. ‘I need to be in the room with you.’
‘Agreed. With the proviso that you don’t repeat anything that could compromise the security of my operation.’
‘Understood.’ The two men shook hands.
The car pulled to the kerb. Chief Inspector Bellerose and Thomas got out of the car. Thomas tipped his head back and stared up at the house, as if inviting the structure to share its secrets.
‘Mr Charles?’ The other man stared at him.
‘Ready,’ Thomas said.
A stout woman with a hawk-like nose over thin lips opened the door for them.
Shrew, Thomas thought.
‘Miss Carlisle,’ Bellerose said.
‘It’s about time you showed up. Catherine is here. She’s upstairs packing her things. Are you here to arrest her?’
‘You know I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation, Miss Carlisle. I would like a word with Michael Blackwell.’
‘Blackie? Whatever for? He hasn’t done anything.’ Her eyes softened. ‘He’s not doing well, inspector. Benton’s death has shaken him. He drinks too much. He’s probably passed out in his room. He needs treatment, poor man.’ Her eyes lit on Thomas. ‘Who’re you?’
Something in Isobel’s Carlisle’s manner – an underlying aggression – made Thomas want to run. He didn’t envy Bellerose having to conduct an investigation with the likes of Isobel Carlisle hovering about.
‘This is Thomas Charles,’ Bellerose said. ‘He is helping me.’
‘If you’d do your jobs this would be resolved by now,’ Isobel said.
‘Where is Mr Blackwell?’ Bellerose asked.
‘Upstairs, last door on the right. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
Thomas followed Bellerose up the stairs and along the dark hallway. The thick carpet muffled their footsteps. They stopped before the last door on the right.
‘Perkins, you stand on the inside of the door in case he makes a run for it. Simmons, you stay out here.’ Bellerose knocked.
‘Mr Blackwell? It’s Chief Inspector Bellerose. Police.’ Bellerose opened the door. He and Thomas stepped inside.
The stench of the stale cigarette smoke assaulted Thomas as he and Bellerose stepped into the room. The curtains had been left open. No lamps were lit, and the gloom seeped into every corner.
Michael Blackwell’s imposter sat on a chintz chair tucked into the corner. An ashtray filled with dirty cigarettes sat next to him. A tray with a half-full bottle of brandy sat on the table within reach. Michael Blackwell didn’t move when the men walked in. His skin was pale and shiny with perspiration, his shirt damp at the armpits and dingy around the collar. God only knew how long he had been sitting there. Thomas wondered if Blackwell’s impostor was on a mission to drink himself to death.
Michael Blackwell looked at Thomas with bleary eyes.
‘Mr Blackwell, my name is Thomas Charles –’
‘You know, don’t you? You found out. I killed them.’ He ran his hand over his face and took a sip of brandy. ‘I’m glad it’s over. Relieved.’
Bellerose moved close to Blackwell, as if he wanted to speak to him. Thomas waved him back.
‘When’s the last time you had something to eat?’ Thomas asked.
Blackwell looked at him with bleary eyes. ‘Can’t remember.’
He opened the door that led to the hallway and said to Constable Simmons, ‘Find this man something to eat, will you please? A pot of tea, some bread and butter.’
He stepped back into the room, walked across to the window, and opened it so the fresh rain-drenched air could circulate. Thomas resisted the urge to stick his head outside and take in great gasps of the sweet clean air. Instead, he went to the wardrobe and pulled out a clean shirt.
‘Here.’ He thrust the shirt at Michael Blackwell. ‘Go and have a wash. You can use the bathrooms up here. Wash your face and change your shirt. Get yourself sorted. When you are finished, you can explain who you really are and what you’ve been up to.’
‘I think he might need a doctor,’ Bellerose said. ‘He seems like he is about to crack.’
‘He does. He is. We’ll get him seen to. After I speak to him.’
Michael Blackwell came back into the room.
‘Have a seat. Get comfortable. Then you can tell me who you really are and why you’ve impersonated Michael Blackwell.’ The impostor sat back down in the chintz chair, while Thomas pulled a chair from the writing table next to him and sat down in it. He leaned back and crossed his legs, settling in to wait. This man would talk; Thomas was sure of it.
‘I’ll tell you everything. Just don’t send me back. They’ll kill me if I go back.’
A constable came back with a tray laden with a mug of tea and several slices of bread and butter. The man ate hungrily. After he gulped down the tea, Blackwell poured straight brandy into his teacup and drank it. He sat for a moment, staring at nothing in particular.
‘I’m so tired of all the lies. These people have been so kind to me. I’m glad this is over. I don’t mind what happens to me, just don’t send me back.’
Thomas waited.
‘My real name is Dieter Reinsinger. Michael Blackwell was married to my sister, Leni. The Gestapo took them. They’re dead. I’m sure of it. It’s all my fault. That part of my story is true.’
‘Perhaps you could start from the beginning,’ Chief Inspector Bellerose said.
Dieter Reinsinger nodded. ‘I was an accountant in Berlin. I had a good job, made a good wage, and was able to provide for my sister, Leni. I felt responsible for Leni’s welfare. Our parents died, you see, when we were in our early twenties. We only had each other and we were very close. Leni was a beautiful girl with a romantic streak and wild ideas. She kept house, dabbled a bit in the arts. Leni was a romantic, a dreamer.
‘She met Michael Blackwell in 1928 at a friend’s dinner party. She kept their relationship a secret. They married. We all lived together in my apartment. I hoped my sister would settle down, give up her wild schemes.’
Bellerose stepped close to Dieter, as if he wanted to say something. Thomas shook his head. Bellerose stepped away. They waited.
‘I hated him,’ Dieter said. ‘He was everything I wasn’t. He was brave, where I was a coward. He spoke out about the way things are in Germany now. I was too afraid to do so.
‘He took my sister away from me. He put her in danger …’ Dieter’s voice drifted off. Thomas waited.
‘I tried to ignore the way Germany changed, as if that would stave off the inevitable. In September 1935 when the Nuremberg Laws were passed, Michael was outraged and he didn’t care who knew his feelings.’ He looked at Thomas with such sadness, Thomas almost reached out to him. ‘I don’t know why the Jews are so reviled. I don’t understand it. Businesses were seized. Jews were no longer citizens of Germany, but subjects. The laws forbade Jews from practising medicine, teaching at universities, or holding civil service jobs. It’s unbelievable that your newspapers don’t report on this. And the people in Germany just go along with it. No wonder Michael was so agitated.’
He reached for a pack of cigarettes with a shaking hand. Thomas took the pack from him, put a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and handed the lit cigarette to Dieter. Dieter took it, nodding his thanks. ‘Our next-door neighbours, the Neibaums were the first to suffer. They were quiet people. He was an antique bookseller, who lived a quiet life with his wife. One of their letters was accidentally left in the neighbourhood gossip’s post box. She accidentally opened it, and soon everyone on our street knew that Mr Neibaum had inherited a substantial amount of money from a long-lost uncle. He wanted to start an orphanage with the money.
‘I was just coming home from work when the men came. They hit him with a stick and told him that if he didn’t leave the country, they would take him and his wife to a camp.’ Dieter gave a hollow laugh. ‘Mr Neibaum lay in his courtyard, his teeth knocked out, his leg broken, his body beaten and battered. Of course, he agreed to leave. Not that he had a choice. But there was a price to be paid for his freedom.’
‘What price?’ Thomas asked.
‘His inheritance. The only way he could get an exit visa to leave the country was to pay the tax – ninety per cent of his inheritance.’ Dieter wiped his eyes.
‘What does this have to do with Michael Blackwell?’ Thomas bit back his impatience.
Dieter flashed an irritated look at Thomas. ‘Everything. Michael was an educated man, with a deep knowledge of politics, economics, and history. He and Leni were up to something. I knew it. I’m sure my neighbours knew it. When they went out, I searched Michael’s wardrobe and found a box of brochures, innocuous-looking at first glance, entitled Learn About Beautiful Germany. I reckoned that Michael – who freelanced as a writer – had written the brochures to sell for the upcoming Olympics.
‘Curious about Michael’s writing, I opened the brochure. What I saw inside was not information about beautiful Germany. Instead, he had written a scathing indictment of life under the Nazi regime, along with a map of the locations of all the camps. By this time, the Gestapo was watching us. It was just a matter of time before they raided our house. When they found the brochures, they would take us all away.
‘I hated him. He put my sister – and me – in danger. I had to do something. You see that, don’t you? I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.
‘I came home from work one day, just in time to see Leni and Michael loaded into the back of a black Mercedes. Michael struggled. Actually punched one of those Gestapo thugs in the nose. They retaliated by knocking Leni down. I watched from a neighbour’s porch, too cowardly to do anything. They weren’t supposed to take Leni.’ Dieter closed his eyes and bowed his head. The grief emanated from his very essence. ‘They shoved them in the back of the car. As the car drove away, I knew I would never see my sister again. I thought about killing myself. I should have.
‘I went into our flat and took the money we kept hidden under a floorboard in the kitchen. Michael Blackwell’s passport was hidden there as well. As I held my brother-in-law’s passport in my hand, I realised that we resembled each other. Our colouring was the same, and the photo was old enough to account for any minor differences in the way we look. I took the passport and the money and went to the British Embassy in Berlin. I told them I was Michael Blackwell, and that the Gestapo had taken my wife and her brother. They managed to get me out of the country.’
‘And you came knocking on Benton’s door posing as an imposter?’ Thomas said. ‘Taking a bit of a risk, weren’t you? What if they asked about long-lost Aunt So-and-So?’
‘I had nowhere else to go. What would you have me do? I knew enough about Isobel and Benton to get by. Michael spoke often of his perfect English childhood. He used to regale Leni and me with stories of his antics with Benton and Isobel when they were young. Swimming, tennis, horseback riding, skiing in Switzerland in the winter. I knew about Michael’s father’s house in Bournemouth and the ghost stories that he used to tell Isobel when they were children.’
Dieter shook his head. ‘Michael Blackwell was a raconteur. When Michael told us his stories, Leni and I clung to his words, captivated by his life here. Benton and Isobel hadn’t seen Michael since he was a boy. Benton – for all his drinking, and the shoddy way he treated his wife – welcomed me with open arms. Of course, Isobel followed suit.’
Dieter took a slice of the buttered bread. While he ate, Thomas moved over to the window. Thomas believed the man’s story. This man didn’t have the courage to steal documents from Benton and pass them off to Marlena X, nor did he have anything to do with Benton Carlisle’s murder. He was too fragile to have killed Benton. Why would he harm the man who had taken him in and given him shelter?
Bellerose stood in the corner of the room. He leaned against the wall. His eyes were hard, his lips pursed.
‘Did you steal documents from Benton?’ Thomas watched Dieter’s face, looking for any sign of duplicity.
Dieter stopped chewing. He met Thomas’s gaze directly. ‘No. Of course not.’
‘Why did you say you killed them?’ Thomas asked.
Dieter looked at him, startled at first, then embarrassed.
‘You said it was all your fault. What did you mean?’ The compassion slipped away from Thomas’s face. In that brief instant he saw Dieter’s cowardice. He knew what Dieter had done. Now he wanted the man who sat across from him to give words to his betrayal.
‘I called the Gestapo,’ Dieter whispered.
‘You called the Gestapo on your own brother-in-law? Now I know why you stay drunk. I’d do the same, if I were in your position.’
‘Don’t judge me, sir,’ Dieter said. ‘I was trying to look after my sister, and my efforts got her killed. I have to live with that.’
‘We should send you back,’ Thomas said. There was a cold edge to his voice. ‘Let you suffer like your sister did, like Michael Blackwell did.’
‘You gave me your word,’ Dieter Reinsinger said.
‘I know,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m now wishing I hadn’t.’
Bellerose spoke. ‘Is that all, Mr Charles? I’ll take it from here, with your permission. Mr Reinsinger needs medical attention.’
Thomas turned his back on them and stared out the window. Outside, the rain had stopped. A woman stepped into an alleyway to put her umbrella down. She shook it before she rolled it up and stuffed it in the shopping bag she carried. Puddles had formed in the street, like small sun-dappled lakes. Two children wearing rubber boots stomped in one, only to be admonished by the nanny who trailed after them.
Another woman loitered beneath a tree at the entrance to the square. She didn’t carry an umbrella. Instead she wore a large hat that all but covered her face. Thomas recognised her right away. His heartbeat quickened. Marlena X. Below him, Mrs Carlisle stepped out the front door of the Carlisle house and onto the pavement, hatless, without her handbag or a coat. She walked towards Marlena X, back straight, her steps sure.
‘No,’ Thomas called out through the open window.
Marlena X looked up at Thomas. She smiled at him, knowing that he couldn’t reach Mrs Carlisle in time to save her, knowing that Thomas would give chase, and she would lead him right into her trap. Helpless, Thomas watched as Marlena X turned and hurried away, with Mrs Carlisle in hot pursuit.