Charlotte! So it was Charlotte all along. No one had suspected. Dixon herself didn’t guess, not for one second, and she knew better than anyone else what a wicked child Charlotte was. How could she have been so blind? When she came upon her that day, sitting in the mud, building one of her bridges out of stones and bricks, it didn’t cross her mind that she had been anywhere else during the last hour. Certainly not down by the river disposing of her sister. Mad with resentment, of course, at her mother showing an interest in Victoria and rejecting her older daughter. It was so obvious she could kick herself for not working it out at the time. If she had thought for one minute that Charlotte would defy her by going to the river and if Lady Blackshaw hadn’t fixated on Teresa right from the start she might have come up with the solution, but she had led herself down the wrong track and would still be there if Teresa hadn’t dropped her bombshell a few minutes earlier.
She sat on her bed, trying to bring her mind under control. Her head felt as it was rotating. All her previous conceptions were shifting at an alarming rate. She wanted to lie down and try to sort them out. Should she send a message to Teresa to say she was unwell and could they continue their conversation another time? No. No. She must pull herself together and see it through. With her talent for acting a role, she should be able to cope.
A sip of brandy would help. She kept a bottle in her bedside locker for emergencies. The oblivion of drinking had never tempted her – she preferred to stay alert at all times, listening to the secrets of drunks, but never giving away any secrets of her own.
Teresa had no idea of the significance of what she’d seen because she had left Ballybrian before hearing of Victoria’s disappearance.
If Charlotte, all these years later, thought Dixon, has persuaded anyone to marry her, hiding her true nature behind her social standing, and if she has a child, wouldn’t her husband need to be told for the sake of the safety of that child what Charlotte had done?
Not that Charlotte would ever admit to any wrongdoing, of course. The broken vase, the spilt milk, the soiled clothes, the lost hairbrush never had anything to do with her. She could hear her claiming that Victoria’s drowning was not her fault, it was an accident, Victoria had slipped and she had nearly fallen into the river herself trying to save her.
Then why didn’t she run for help? Her mother and Manus were around the corner. If she had alerted them straight away Victoria could have been saved and Charlotte would have been hailed as a heroine.
It was no accident. That’s why she didn’t run for help.
It was guilt that kept her quiet.
How cunning of her to sit in the mud, building a bridge, to provide an explanation for her wet and muddy clothes, and how cunning to pretend she had lost her voice so that she couldn’t trip herself up when she was questioned by that nice constable.
The brandy was working, moistening her throat and taking the edge off reality. Twenty minutes had passed since she’d run out of her office. Teresa would be wondering what had happened to her. Dixon stood up, breathed in deeply and, feeling in control of herself again, went downstairs to join her old friend.
“Are you all right?” asked Teresa with concern when Dixon came back into the office. “I was wondering if I should send someone to look for you.”
“Sorry about that. I’ve had a tummy upset and cramps for a couple of days but I’m fine now.”
A waitress brought in a fresh tray and flashed a worried look at Dixon before leaving. Dixon poured a cup for Teresa.
“Please help yourself,” she said, motioning towards the lamingtons, “and continue what you were saying before I so rudely ran off.”
“You’re still pale. And look at you – you’re shaking.”
“I’m fine, really. Carry on.”
“If you’re sure you’re all right. Where was I? Oh yes. Regretting I couldn’t stop to talk to the girls. I had to keep going. I looked back when I turned to cross the bridge but couldn’t see you or them for the trees. I was hoping Manus was with you. Was he? Tell me, did he ever declare himself?”
“He did,” Dixon lied.
“I knew it. It was obvious he had taken a fancy to you but was too caught up with politics and the horses to do anything about it. So why did you turn him down?”
“Religion,” Dixon continued to lie. “He wouldn’t marry me unless I turned, and I refused.”
“Oh. Oh. So you never married?”
“No, I never felt the need.” She hurried on in case Teresa questioned her in more detail. “I was lucky enough to meet Mrs Sinclair . . .”
She could tell the story of the last twenty-five years without deviating from the truth.
Dixon was beginning to feel queasy again and she wanted to be on her own to try to assimilate the enormity of what Teresa had revealed, but Teresa continued. “Wouldn’t you love to know if Manus ever married and wouldn’t you love to know how Charlotte and Victoria turned out? Just think, they’re all probably married by now. I wonder who to. If only we could be flies on the wall just for a day.”
Dixon fixed her face in a solemn mask and let the silence lengthen between them. There was no way she was going to share what she had deduced from Teresa’s information with her.
“I’m afraid there is something I can tell you and it’s not good news,” she said.
Teresa’s apprehension became visible at once.
“Little Victoria died less than a month after you left. Pneumonia. We cared for her around the clock. Everything that could have been done was done but it wasn’t enough.” To add verisimilitude she added, “Dr Finn wore himself out trying to save her. He was in a terrible state over it. We all were.”
Teresa looked at Dixon as if she’d never seen her before. Tears welled in her eyes and followed the cracks down her weather-beaten face.
“Poor pretty little Victoria,” she said softly. “The little darling. I loved that child. Poor sweet little girl.” She shook her head in disbelief, then replaced her cup with what she thought was care but it clattered against the saucer. “And poor, poor Manus,” she added softly as if talking to herself.
When Teresa came out of her first wave of crying, the receptionist was standing beside her and Dixon was gone.
“Excuse me, but Miss Dixon said I’m to show you around the hotel, as she has something important to do for the next half-hour, and then she’ll join you in the dining room for lunch.”
Over lunch, Teresa explained she had been lucky to find work as a live-in housekeeper to a kind family who had allowed her to keep her son with her, but in the end it meant that she had ended up with no home of her own.
“Like me,” said Dixon.
“Except that you’re not retired.”
“No, that’s true. And I’ll never be homeless. Jim and Norma, the ones I told you about, think the world of me and treat me as one of the family, so I expect they’ll take care of me until I fall off the perch.” Dixon refilled Teresa’s wineglass and with a feeling of satisfaction offered her a job working in the hotel. Now that she had found her friend again, she wanted to keep her close, basking in that remembered warmth of her personality.
“But what would I do? Wash pots?”
“Not on your life. No friend of mine washes pots.”
“But I’m not trained in hotel work.”
“I’ll fit you in somewhere. It would be wonderful working together again. Remember the good times we had at the Park?”
“Ah, yes, I do, but the two little girls were with us then. We could never bring those days back, try as we might.” Teresa’s voice wobbled for a second until she checked herself. “You must be very high up if you can offer an unskilled person like me a job without having to consult anyone.”
“I’m not just an ordinary member of staff,” Dixon couldn’t help boasting. “I have been head bookkeeper and assistant manager for years, and should have been manager, but in the end they lost courage and wouldn’t give that position to a woman, even though I could do the job with one hand tied behind my back. Well, what do you think?”
“It’s a tempting offer, and it’s lovely of you to think of me, but I’m afraid I can’t accept. I’m already committed to helping my daughter-in-law and little grandson until my son returns from the war, and after he comes back I’m going to move in to live with my Irish friend whose late husband left her comfortably off. She’s quite a bit older than me and needs the help and company.”
“Sounds as if she wants you to look after her in her old age.” Dixon couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Probably,” Teresa agreed without rancour. “That seems to be my destiny in life. My father and now my friend. But I’m not complaining. It’s wonderful not to be among strangers in my later years.”
“All very convenient and cosy,” said Dixon, deflated. “Never mind. It was just a thought. I didn’t really expect you to be available.”
“Perhaps you’ll come to visit me at my son’s house and meet my daughter-in-law and grandson.”
“Perhaps I will,” said Dixon, who had no intention of doing any such thing. Let you go off with your devoted family and your old friend and let you all have a lovely time and don’t give a second thought to me who has no one except poor old Mrs Sinclair who isn’t even a relation and who is at death’s door, anyway, and isn’t much use to me now. See if I care.
Dixon could feel herself cooling towards Teresa, who had achieved motherhood after all and who had brought Manus’s name into the conversation when there was no need, just to show off how well she knew him. The temperature in the room was dropping as if in a southerly wind, and a familiar greyness was being painted over her bright image of two equal friends working together side by side for life.
“Did you ever regret leaving Ireland?” she asked, scrambling around for something civil to say.
“No, not with my yearning for a child and the way things were with my brother. And then being blessed with a baby at the last minute. I love it here. I think I have been very fortunate in my life.”
“How lucky for you,” said Dixon, jealousy clawing away at her insides. “Tell me.” She leaned across the table in a confidential manner. “Tell me. There’s one thing I always wanted to know, and you can tell me now, seeing the Park life is over for both of us and we won’t be going back.”
“Of course. Ask me anything.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it at the time, but as the years went by it seemed glaringly obvious. You can clarify it for me now. Did Miss East employ you with instructions to spy on me?” The idea had come to her only in the last few minutes, but now that she’d put it into words, she believed it to be true.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Teresa picked up her glass and swallowed a large mouthful of wine. “She thought you could do with a hand after Victoria was born, that’s all.”
Dixon studied Teresa’s face. Its heightened colour and downcast eyes convinced Dixon she was lying.
Half an hour later Dixon paid for a taxi for Teresa to be rid of her, and stood on the pavement waving her off with the intention of never seeing her again. She then went to her room and howled into her pillow for a long time, tearing at the pillowslip with her still perfect teeth.