Martha opened the front door of the bungalow at the same moment as a small, dumpy woman bustled out through the imposing gates of the house opposite. They exchanged smiles and she waited for Martha to join her on the lane.
‘You must be our new neighbour.’ To Martha, she sounded like a Londoner. She extended a small gloved hand. ‘I’m Pearl Carson.’
‘Martha Trueman. How do you do? I’m only a housemaid. I work for Miss Rachel Savernake.’
‘Please don’t say that you’re just a housemaid. My mother was in service and I’ve worked below stairs as well as behind shop counters. Where would the rich folk be without having people like us at their beck and call?’
Martha smiled. Pearl Carson was about ten years her senior and five feet tall at most. She had a small, heart-shaped face and black curls peeping from beneath a cloche hat made of straw. Her coat looked expensive and it would be unfair to say that her appearance was nondescript. Pleasant and inoffensive would be nearer the mark.
‘You’re right, Mrs Carson. Nice to meet you. I’m on my way to look at the pleasure grounds.’
‘Paradise? It’s lovely, and you won’t be bothered by any riff-raff. Sir Harold Jackson is very particular about maintaining standards. You’re sure to enjoy yourself.’
‘I gather there’s a fortune teller. I’d love to have my palm read.’
Pearl Carson laughed. ‘You’re braver than me. To be perfectly honest, I’d rather not know.’
‘Really? You’re not tempted to peek into what lies ahead?’
‘Not in the slightest. As it happens, my husband Louis and I have had a run of good luck this past two or three years. I’m always afraid things will take a turn for the worse. So I’d rather make the most of today and leave tomorrow to take care of itself.’
‘I can’t help thinking these fortune tellers must know a thing or two.’
Pearl smiled. ‘I hope he tells you everything you wish for. As it happens, I’m heading in the same direction. Shall we walk together?’
‘That’s kind of you.’ Martha glanced over her shoulder. ‘You have a lovely home.’
‘Thank you, we’re very proud of it. Especially since both of us know very well how the other half lives. Louis and I never imagined living somewhere so grand, not in our wildest dreams. As for Hemlock Bay, this time last year, the name meant nothing to us.’
‘Where do you come from?’
‘We lived in Brighton for a few years, but I was born in Hackney.’ Pearl looked sheepish. ‘I’ll be quite honest. I never knew my father and my poor mama didn’t have two pennies to rub together.’
‘Goodness!’ Martha indicated the imposing gates. ‘And now you live in a mansion!’
‘An old converted farmhouse, actually. The Jacksons lived there after the war, while Hemlock Hall was being rebuilt. Sir Harold has worked a miracle here. He’s a remarkable man.’ A faraway look came into Pearl’s eyes, but quickly she pulled herself back together. ‘And now Louis is in partnership with him.’
‘How marvellous!’
‘I still can’t quite believe everything that has happened. When I met Louis, he was selling wine for a merchant with premises next door to the pharmacy where I worked. We both had tragedy in common. I’d lost my husband to the Spanish flu, and his wife died the same way.’ Pearl hesitated. ‘We both felt bitter about the hand Fate had dealt us.’
‘I can’t blame you,’ Martha said. ‘At least your luck finally turned.’
‘Yes.’ Pearl gave a nervous smile. ‘After my childhood sweetheart died, I swore I’d never remarry, but when Louis popped the question, I had to say yes. He was born with the gift of the gab, you see. All he needed was some money behind him.’
They walked on the grass, following the course of the lane as it wound towards the resort. After a few moments, both of them began to speak at the very same moment.
Martha laughed. ‘Sorry. Please go on.’
‘I was only going to ask about the people you work for. They made a good choice. Bay View has such a lovely position.’
‘I’m employed by Miss Rachel Savernake. So are my brother and sister-in-law.’
‘Elderly lady, is she? Not a crotchety old spinster, I hope? Believe me, I know they can be very difficult.’
‘Oh no, Miss Savernake is my age.’ Martha paused. ‘Rather like you, she came into money.’
‘Lucky girl,’ Pearl Carson said lightly. ‘Inheritance?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How lovely when money goes to the people who really deserve it.’ Pearl paused, as if inviting a confidence. ‘And you enjoy working for her?’
‘She is very generous, I must admit. Not too demanding, either. Although…’ Martha’s voice trailed away.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m not sure money has brought her happiness. She still seems… to be searching for something.’
‘Such as?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. New friends, new experiences. Anything out of the ordinary.’
‘Then she’s come to the right place, believe me. In some ways, this resort reminds me of Brighton. Hemlock Bay is much smaller, but it’s exciting in its own way. And nicer. No dingy alleyways, no festering slums. There’s plenty of fun of every kind here, as long as you know where to look.’
‘And where should she look?’
Pearl laughed. ‘I’m bound to recommend the Hemlock Hotel, aren’t I? That’s where I’m heading. You see, Louis is the hotel manager and I look after the female staff. To think I’ve worked as a chambermaid myself! Sometimes I have to pinch myself to realise I’m not in a dream.’
Her face shone and Martha found herself warming to the woman. She knew for herself the strange joy of embarking on a way of life that had once seemed impossibly far out of reach. Each day felt as surreal as one of Rachel’s paintings.
‘That must be very strange. But thrilling, too.’
‘I’m determined not to get above myself,’ Pearl said. ‘Sometimes I give the maids a hand. I’m not too proud to tidy up bedrooms or make beds. To this day, I pride myself on my hospital corners!’
Martha laughed. ‘What does Sir Harold Jackson make of that?’
‘Oh, he… doesn’t take much notice of me.’
‘Stand-offish, is he?’
‘No, no, quite the opposite,’ Pearl said hurriedly. ‘He’s very good-natured, not at all like some rich folk who wouldn’t give the likes of you and me the time of day.’
‘I suppose he’s hoping to retire? Does your husband hope to take over the business side of things eventually?’
Pearl hesitated. ‘Louis is full of ideas,’ she said slowly. ‘He’s keen to make all kinds of entertainments available.’
‘What sort of entertainments?’
‘Oh, there’s dancing, some of it quite… exotic. And Louis has set up a bridge club. He’s talked about introducing chemin de fer for those who fancy a little flutter. Of course, there are strict rules about gambling and Louis is scrupulous about keeping on the right side of the law.’ She paused. ‘But you must forgive me, my dear. If I’m not careful, I’ll give the impression of touting for business and that would never do.’
‘It sounds marvellous,’ Martha breathed. ‘Between you and me, Miss Savernake is quite daring. I mean, to look at her, she seems quite demure. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and so on. But beneath the respectable surface…’
The older woman giggled. ‘We all need a chance to let our hair down. Especially when we’re living in such troubled times. Everyone deserves a spot of pleasure, if you know what I mean.’
‘You never said a truer word, Mrs Carson.’
‘Please, dear, call me Pearl. I hate to stand on ceremony. Just because I live in a big house, it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it’s like to scrub floors and kowtow to my betters. I always dreamed that one day I’d escape.’
‘And so you did… Pearl.’
Martha saw the older woman’s eyes flicker as she noticed the scars on her face. But she regained her composure in an instant, and her expression was kindly.
‘Who knows, my dear? One day, you may drop as lucky as me.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m happy as I am. Most of the time.’ Martha hesitated. ‘Though now and then I get the urge to kick over the traces.’
‘Perfectly natural, and definitely nothing to be ashamed of. We all know what it’s like to be tempted to behave in a way that is… out of the ordinary.’ Pearl caught hold of Martha’s wrist and leaned towards her. Speaking in a whisper, even though there was no one else within earshot, she said, ‘Don’t be shocked, but I adore sitting out in the Sun and Air Garden.’
Martha stopped in her tracks. ‘You don’t mean…?’
‘Nudism, yes. Sir Harold’s a strong believer in it. As he says, there’s no shame in the human body. Believe me, the garden couldn’t be more private or discreet. And it’s incredibly decent. All about purity. In fact, some of the regulars can talk the hind leg off a donkey about their beliefs. They call themselves gymnosophists and preach the benefits of a truly classless society. The Dean of St Paul’s himself has spoken about the new freedom of the body sweeping across Europe. He says it’s a splendid omen of increasing health. So Sir Harold reckons that God is on our side!’
‘My goodness,’ Martha said.
Pearl roared with laughter. ‘Sorry, my dear. For a moment, I was right up on my hobby horse, wasn’t I? Take no notice. I don’t want to embarrass you. Perish the thought!’
‘I’m not in the least embarrassed,’ Martha said stoutly. ‘It all sounds fascinating. I had no idea.’
‘Your mistress sounds quite delightful. And I’m sure she values discretion. A wealthy young lady needs to be careful, doesn’t she? There are so many people out to take advantage these days.’
‘How very true,’ Martha said sadly.
They reached the esplanade and continued walking until they reached the forecourt of the elegant palace that was the Hemlock Hotel.
‘I’d better say goodbye,’ Pearl said. ‘I must see how Louis is feeling. He’s been under the weather lately, so he needs to take it easy.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Martha said. ‘What seems to be the trouble?’
‘Gastric influenza, the doctor says. Once we get some better weather, a few more days like this, he’ll be as fit as a fiddle. Now, if you turn right at the end of the esplanade, you’ll find Paradise in front of you. The Sun and Air Garden is on the other side of Hemlock Head. If ever you did want to pop in for an hour or two, you’d be most welcome. A chance to absorb the sun’s healing rays will do wonders for you. No charge, of course. Be my guest.’
‘Oh… that’s extremely generous of you.’
‘Think nothing of it. Us working girls have to stick together, don’t we?’ With a merry laugh, Pearl opened her handbag and fished out two small red oblong cards. ‘Here you are. Just make sure you show this at the entrance to prove you’re a member. Obviously they have to take great care about who is allowed in.’
‘Obviously,’ Martha agreed.
‘Nobody in the least bit unsavoury. Sir Harold and Lady Jackson are very proud of the garden’s reputation and rightly so. In this day and age, you simply can’t be too careful.’
‘Thank you very much.’ Martha handed back one of the cards. ‘You gave me two by mistake.’
‘No mistake, my dear. Keep it. Just in case your Miss Savernake wants to come along. She sounds like just the sort of respectable young lady Louis likes to encourage in Hemlock Bay.’
*
‘I’d best be on my way,’ Hetty Trueman said. ‘My husband wants to go for a walk along the cliffs before supper.’
‘Might as well,’ Mrs Stones said dismally. She was an angular woman in her fifties with a forehead creased in a permanent frown. ‘Tomorrow, it will be raining cats and dogs, you mark my words. Mind you don’t fall over the edge. It’s quite dangerous. They’ve never put up any railings.’
The two women were sitting outside, on ancient metal chairs which wobbled nervously on uneven slabs of York stone. For the moment at least, the garden of End Terrace was bathed in sunlight, but throughout the half-hour span of their acquaintance, Mrs Stones had displayed an outlook so gloomy that even Hetty felt like a devil-may-care optimist.
She’d contrived to bump into the older woman and wangle an invitation to come in for a cuppa. Mrs Stones explained that she enjoyed a bit of company, but Hetty soon discovered this was a euphemism for having a captive audience to hear her litany of complaints. Hetty rapidly acquired an in-depth knowledge of Mrs Stones’s various ailments as well as her opinion on everything that was amiss with the state of the modern world.
When negotiating with the land agent over the tenancy of the bungalow, Cliff Trueman had declined the offer of Mrs Stones’s services as a housekeeper. Hetty was at pains to make it clear that this was not in any way a personal slight and was told bluntly that it was just as well Miss Savernake had her own servants, given the state of Mrs Stones’s varicose veins. Not to mention the rheumatism in her knees and hips. It was a wonder she could manage to make breakfast for that retired Irish doctor and do a little light dusting. Not that he showed much gratitude. Mrs Stones got to her feet and flapped a scrawny hand in the direction of Shepherd’s Cottage.
‘That’s where the doctor lives. Not that he’ll take any interest in you.’
‘Airs and graces, has he?’ Hetty asked.
‘Doesn’t care for company, that’s for certain.’ Mrs Stones sniffed. ‘And do you know, he refused to even look at my bad back! I’ve never known anything like it.’
Hetty made sympathetic noises. She’d discovered that this phrase and its variants were recurrent features of Mrs Stones’s conversation.
‘Even said I was better off consulting someone who was up to date with modern medicine!’
‘I suppose that’s reasonable,’ Hetty ventured. ‘Nothing worse than a wrong diagnosis.’
‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Mrs Stones said, deploying another favourite phrase.
‘You don’t do for the ladies in the lighthouse, then?’
‘Ladies!’ Mrs Stones scoffed. ‘I could think of another choice word, believe me. I don’t want anything to do with that sort. One of them’s an artist, you know. I’ve never heard anything like it. Disgusting!’
‘Oh dear.’ Hetty got to her feet. She was gaining more respect for detectives like Inspector Oakes. The trouble they had to go through to prise information out of people. ‘Anyway, thanks so much for tea and the chat. Lovely to be out in the sunshine after such a damp spring.’
The garden amounted to a patch of grass speckled with daisies and dandelions, bordered by a row of lacklustre geraniums and pansies. Mrs Stones had fallen out with her neighbours, and a thick hawthorn hedge provided a formidable barrier to prying eyes. Between a circular well hole and a wire fence separating her property from farmland stood a black corrugated shed, where she kept the rusting chairs on which they’d sat while drinking their tea.
‘Far too much work for me,’ Mrs Stones said. ‘Looking after the outside was Stones’s job, not mine. Ever since he died, I’ve not had the heart to do anything with it. Just as well Sir Harold sends one of his gardeners over every now and then, to do the necessary.’
‘That’s very good of him.’
‘Oh, he’s decent enough, Sir Harold. Keeps his eye on things. We could do a lot worse.’ By Mrs Stones’s standards, this struck Hetty as positively effusive. ‘Mind you, I dread to think what will happen here if that fellow Carson takes over.’
‘Is that in the offing?’
‘You never know,’ Mrs Stones said darkly.
‘You don’t care for Mr Carson?’
‘That fellow’s nothing like Sir Harold, I can tell you that for nothing.’ Mrs Stones sniffed. ‘He’s certainly no gentleman, you can tell that a mile off. As for that wife of his, she keeps going on about how she was a servant once upon a time. Pretends the sun shines out of her husband’s posterior, if you’ll pardon my French, but she doesn’t fool me for one minute.’
‘No?’
Mrs Stones shook her head. ‘I caught sight of her once outside the Hemlock Hotel, when she thought nobody was looking. She and her husband were with the Jacksons, but Carson was doing all the talking, as per usual.’
She paused, and Hetty leaned towards her. ‘Yes?’
‘I saw the way she looked at Sir Harold Jackson.’
This woman, Hetty thought, was as skilled as Rachel when it came to building up the suspense.
‘Go on.’
‘If you ask me, she’s besotted with the man.’
‘Goodness!’
‘Shocking, isn’t it?’ Mrs Stones demanded.
‘Very.’ Hetty hesitated. ‘And how did Sir Harold react?’
‘Oh, if you ask me, he didn’t even notice. Anyway, her ladyship is a beauty, even if she is American. Not like Mrs Carson, that podgy little thing.’ Mrs Stones tutted her disapproval. ‘Ideas above her station. I’ve never known anything like it.’
‘What about Mr Carson? Did he cotton on?’
Mrs Stones was, for once in her life, less than definite. ‘Hard to say with that one. But I’ll tell you this.’
Again the cliffhanger pause. Hetty was sorely tempted to scream at her to get on with it.
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t trust him an inch. If he ever does find out that she’s making eyes at Sir Harold, I wouldn’t like to be in her shoes. Not for all the tea in China.’