The door was opened by Bettina herself. She was wearing a clinging medieval-style gown of dull green brocade. Her faded brown hair—if indeed that was her hair and not another wig—was parted in the middle and brought down over her ears. She had the look of an ageing Madonna, an effect somewhat spoilt by her lapis-lazuli blue parrot earrings.
She didn’t seem to find their unexpected visit at all strange. She seemed genuinely pleased to see them. She invited them in and led the way into a room painted pale gold and furnished with cherry-wood Victorian pieces. Although the afternoon was warm, logs were burning in the grate of an elegant arched fireplace, and there was a bowl of green tulip-buds on a low table beneath one brightly twilit window.
‘Belinda du Broke’s boy is always welcome here. Hugh, wasn’t it? The last time I saw you, you were wearing a black bowler!’ Bettina wagged her forefinger at Major Payne. ‘The trouble with black bowlers, Hugh, is that they can create a false impression. You could have been taken for an Ulster Protestant. Belinda married a man young enough to be her son. Fellow called Talleyrand-Vassal, if one has to be precise. She must have had you a bit late in life.’
‘Rupert Talleyrand-Vassal was my stepfather.’
‘Do sit down. Make yourselves comfortable. Let me light these scented candles—there—drat, I always scorch my fingers—delicious smell, don’t you think? How about a little drinkie à trois—or are you here strictly on business? This is not a bad dress, my dear,’ Bettina told Antonia. ‘It suits your colouring admirably. I imagine you live in the country?’
‘Hampstead.’
‘I grew up in the country and I hated it. The annual clay pigeon shooting used to upset me more than words can express. Once my father tricked me into eating strawberries soaked in ether. He said it would be like kissing snow, but it was nothing of the kind. My twin brother—he is dead now—made my life hell. I loathed that guileless limbo between girlhood and adulthood. Do remind me of your name, my dear. Antonia? Women with classical names are almost invariably bitches. Ah, the Claudias, the Helenas and the Cassandras I have crossed swords with! I dare say you do seem an extremely nice woman. You have a generous mouth, though your lipstick is a shade too pale. Be bold, that’s my advice. You won’t regret it.’
Bettina held up her right hand and twiddled her fingers admiringly. She was wearing the ring, Payne noticed. The ring. The unique Wallis ring, which she had stolen from her brother. She seemed completely unselfconscious about it.
‘Did you manage to see my brother that day, Hugh? You seemed intent on bearding him in his lair.’
‘No. I didn’t see him.’
‘Seymour apparently died the next day. Seems I was wrong about it.’ She sighed. ‘So much wasted energy! Unless the Master perpetrated a deception? In my opinion, the Master is the one to watch. Never trust a man with a beard, unless he is a king. That’s what my father used to say. Are you sure you don’t want a drink? I have some apple-green liqueur, which I find delicious but no one else seems to like it. I have no idea what’s in it. Not apples. A most interesting flavour. You haven’t come to ask questions about the funeral, by any chance?’
‘Not quite—’
‘The funeral seems to have been postponed indefinitely. I am not sure whether I should attend. It would be hypocritical of me if I did, don’t you think? They haven’t yet issued a death certificate. Penelope is naturally worried, poor girl. The contents of the will haven’t been revealed to any of us either. I tried to pump old Saunders about it on the phone, but he was terribly tight-lipped about it. I suppose you know that Seymour intended to leave all his money to that ghastly place?’
‘To Mayholme Manor? Really?’
‘Yes, Hugh. Really. He told Penelope about it. He was mad about that place. He brought home one of those orange habits once, she told me, and had been using it in lieu of a dressing gown. I still like the colour, mind. Isn’t it a blessing Seymour snuffed it before he could change his will? There may be a post-mortem. Heaven knows what they hope to discover. Have you met Penelope?’
‘I went to see her this morning,’ Antonia said.
‘You went to Half Moon Street? How perfectly splendid. Good to know Penelope has loyal friends who stick by her at times of trouble. She phoned me an hour ago, actually. She took me to task about something I did.’ Bettina laughed. ‘I must say she was extremely sweet about it. She is a dear, dear child.’
She twiddled her fingers once more, causing the Wallis ring to flash in the lamplight. She seemed to expect them to make some comment. She must have had the band narrowed, Payne thought.
‘That’s a beautiful ring,’ he said.
‘Yes, isn’t it? It belonged to Papa, then to my brother. Now it’s mine,’ Bettina explained nonchalantly. ‘Finders keepers, losers weepers.’
‘This sounds like some private kind of joke.’
‘It’s a Van Cleef and Arpels. I intend to sell it eventually, but the future belongs to me, as they say, to carve as I wish, so I would like to wear it a bit longer. Papa’s passion for jewels knew no bounds. In one extraordinary photo he is wearing at least ten tiaras, about twenty necklaces, fifty bracelets, a dozen diamond clips—and very little else. My poor mother had her garden, but I do believe there was talk in the servants’ hall. Whenever a piece of jewellery caught Papa’s fancy, he simply had to have it. He couldn’t rest, he got tension headaches. He was like a magpie. He’d go to the most extraordinary lengths to acquire it.’
‘We actually wanted to—’
‘My family is not a healthy family. I am terribly glad I haven’t got any offspring. Nicky—my nephew, you know—has had no children either, which I always thought a jolly good thing, but now, it turns out, he’s expecting not only one but two. By deux putains. Nicky phoned me earlier on. He seemed deliriously happy. A blonde and a brunette, he kept repeating. First one told him about it, then the other. He was a bit drunk, which is understandable. He intends to divorce his wife as soon as possible, so some good is going to come of it after all. He wants to do the honourable thing and marry both girls, or so he says. I suppose it could be done it if they all went to one of those sultanates?’
‘We wanted to talk to you about Penelope,’ Payne said.
‘Poor Penelope is completely out of her depth. Well, that’s how I would feel if I knew that by Hallowe’en I was going to be one of the richest girls in the land. We arranged to have tea at Claridge’s tomorrow, so I expect she’ll tell me all about it.’ Bettina turned towards Antonia. ‘You said you saw her this morning. How did you find her?’
‘She seemed fine. Two policemen came while I was there,’ Antonia went on quickly, fearing another interruption. ‘They wanted to talk to her about Mrs Mowbray.’
‘The housekeeper woman? But Mowbray is dead!’
‘The police were interested in Mrs Mowbray’s children,’ Antonia said boldly. She wondered if there would ever be a time when she wouldn’t have to tell lies.
Bettina inserted a cigarette into a short silver cigarette holder and rattled a silver match-box. ‘No more matches.
Light, anyone? Do you mean the police know?’
Payne produced his lighter.
‘I am afraid they do.’ Antonia hoped they were talking about the same thing.
‘Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later. Couldn’t matter less this day and age. Who cares about lowly origins any more? If we lived in the Victorian age, a novel might have been written about it. Lady Tradescant’s Secret. Something on those lines. People say I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and where did that get me? I imagine the police have come across papers and things proving beyond any reasonable doubt that they are mother and daughter?’
‘Yes.’ Oh dear. So I was right, Antonia thought.
‘Mowbray was an unsavoury character, though I dare say I admired her chutzpah. Did it all for the money of course, what else? A survival technique, some may argue. They haven’t been able to track down the other children, have they? Though why should they want to do that? At one time Mowbray had quite a farm of little ones, I understand. She was almost indecently fertile. Is childbirth too awful, my dear?’
‘Mine was very painful,’ Antonia said.
‘I knew it! I don’t think Penelope would mind paying for her mother’s funeral, if that is indeed what this is all about. She is a good girl. I hope she finds some nice young man soon enough.’
‘You seem to know her well,’ Payne said.
‘She has been scarred badly, poor child. Such an unsettled kind of background. When I first met her, she was the proverbial wild girl, you see. Doing really crazy things, dressing up in outrageous costumes, going on hair-raisingly reckless capers, taking incredible risks. She’s changed since. She is a different person now. She could easily have been vain, frivolous and foolish, but she is in fact frightfully intelligent. I love her to bits. She is the daughter I never had.’
‘When did she learn that Mrs Mowbray was her mother?’ Payne asked.
‘Her adoptive parents told her at some point, gave her the name and so on. Penelope then got it into her head to seek Mowbray out. Well, eventually they met and she and Mowbray hit it off, it seems. Got on like a house on fire. To start with, at least. Penelope was already married to Seymour. It was Penelope who got her mother the job in Half Moon Street. She is a very kind-hearted girl.’
‘Did Penelope ever try to get in touch with any of the other children—her brothers and sisters?’
‘If she did, she never told me. Apparently there are Mowbray children all over the place. Australia, Canada, the Middle East, someone in Kenya—adopted by a missionary couple. Penelope has inherited her mother’s business sense, I think. What other reason could there have been for her marrying Seymour? I must admit I encouraged her. Marry him, I said, make sure he leaves you everything, then have him bumped off!’ Bettina gave a loud laugh.
‘How many children did Mrs Mowbray sell?’
‘Don’t know the exact number. An awful lot. Started producing them at the age of sixteen, apparently. Thirty, thirty-five thousand pounds sterling, that’s what she charged per child, I do believe. Not bad. That was quite a lot of money at one time, especially for that class of person, but Mowbray’s husband blew it all, on drink and gambling and trips to Thailand. One shudders to think what he was after in Thailand, though that’s neither here nor there. Then the husband died, of his excesses, one imagines, that’s why Mowbray needed to get a job. To tell you the truth, I never really liked her. A calculating, grasping sort of person. Hard as nails and as dishonest as they come.’
‘Not the kind who commit suicide?’
‘Was it ever suggested she committed suicide, Hugh? I thought that was an accident. She was probably drunk when she fell to her death. I am not sure she drank, but she might have. Anyhow, good thing she’s gone, if you ask me. I feel absurdly relieved.’
‘Why relieved?’
‘Why? Now that Mowbray is dead, there will be fewer chances of any Mowbray children going to Half Moon Street. Fewer chances of Penelope meeting one of her brothers and falling in love with him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I am a crazy old thing, I know, but I used to wonder what would happen if one of the Mowbray boys decided to track his mama down, the way Penelope had done. What if he turned up in Half Moon Street and met Penelope? Two good-looking young people. Passionate, impulsive. Apparently all the children were exceptionally good-looking. What if neither Penelope nor the boy realized they were brother and sister?’
‘Go on.’ Antonia’s heart was thumping in her chest.
‘It is a most unlikely kind of scenario, I must admit, but I suffer from insomnia, what I call my tango nocturne, so there is very little for me to do at night, but indulge in strange and frequently lurid thoughts. Is incest still the ultimate taboo, I wonder? What do you think, Hugh?’
‘I am sure that for most people it is.’
‘Can’t be worse than cannibalism, surely? The Bible’s full of incest. Adam and Eve’s children did it—must have done, when you think about it—then the children’s children must have done it—I mean, who else was there? This now is the apocalyptic scenario. One of Mowbray’s sons has tracked her down, but of course, like Penelope, he uses the name of his adoptive parents. He speaks with an American or New Zealand accent. He arrives at Half Moon Steet. It happens to be Mowbray’s day off. It is Penelope who opens the door. The boy doesn’t tell her whose son he is.’
‘Why not?’
‘Say, Mowbray has instructed him not to tell since the master has strictly forbidden relatives of members of staff to come into the house. And of course Penelope introduces herself as “Lady Tradescant”. The Mowbray boy and Penelope are violently attracted to one another. They start an affair—’ Bettina broke off with a little cry. ‘My dears, the look on your faces! One might have thought that it really happened.’
‘Well, it did happen,’ Antonia said as they were driving back to Hampstead. ‘That’s what I thought. The circumstances of their meeting may have been different, but the fact remains that they did become lovers. I noticed the resemblance, but of course I couldn’t be sure. Well, now we know for sure they are brother and sister. Poor Vic.’
‘People often choose partners who look like them, haven’t you noticed? I don’t think it’s a conscious thing,’ Payne said. ‘Liz Hurley and Hugh Grant might have been brother and sister.’
‘Perhaps it happened exactly as Bettina suggested … He introduces himself as “Vic Levant”. He speaks with a Canadian accent. His mother is not there when he and Penelope first meet.’
‘Penelope must have realized what had happened the moment Vic told her whose son he was. He was visiting his mother, remember? So it seems Penelope plunged into the affair with her eyes open while he remained in the dark. Poor chap. I imagine she fancied him wildly. She doesn’t seem to be a particularly responsible or moral person.’
‘Bettina did say that Penelope liked doing wild and reckless things. Perhaps it gave her a thrill—the secret knowledge she was breaking one of the greatest taboos?’
‘How long did the affair go on for?’
‘A couple of months. It’s just ended.’ Antonia frowned. ‘She must have persuaded him not to tell his mother about it.’
‘Mrs Mowbray must have realized what was going on,’ Payne said.
‘Yes. I don’t suppose it would have been possible for them to keep it secret from Mrs Mowbray. Not for long. And what does Mrs Mowbray do when she tumbles to the fact that her son and daughter are having an affair? I can’t quite see her as being outraged, horrified or disgusted—can you?’
‘No. I wonder if she struck some sort of a deal with Penelope? Perhaps she asked for hush money? In return for not telling Vic. Penelope doesn’t want to end the affair. Penelope is enjoying herself too much. She allows herself to be blackmailed for a while, but then—’
‘Then Mrs Mowbray becomes a liability?’
‘Yes. Mrs Mowbray keeps asking for more and more money. When she cooks the accounts and Sir Seymour sacks her, she asks Penelope to do something about it—persuade Sir Seymour to give her another chance. Penelope refuses. Penelope has had enough of her mother. Mrs Mowbray threatens to tell Vic … Maybe she threatens to tell Sir Seymour as well?’
‘Yes. Vic is a sensitive decent soul,’ Antonia said. ‘The type who would almost certainly have broken up the affair in horror and revulsion if he had learnt the woman he wanted to marry was his sister.’
‘He wanted to marry her?’
‘Still does! That’s what he told me. He sounded extremely serious about it.’
‘Bettina said Penelope was like her mother in some respects. Perhaps she takes after her mother in every respect? Calculating, amoral, as well as immoral, hard as nails.’
‘Hugh, what if that girl told the truth after all? I mean Daisy Warren. She reported to the police that she over-heard an argument between Mrs Mowbray and Penelope. Mrs Mowbray was threatening to tell Vic about something. Daisy had the impression it was something important. She then saw Penelope and Mrs Mowbray go up the stairs. Shortly after, Mrs Mowbray fell to her death from one of the top-floor windows … It all fits in.’
There was a silence. Major Payne spoke.
‘What I think we should do is go back to the very start of this affair. We need to re-examine all the known facts. We should look closely at the order in which certain events took place. We should also give the death of Petunia Luscombe-Lunt some very careful consideration …’