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A week later they all met again.
It was the first week of December and usually the weather in Britain could be counted on to remain quite mild until the turn of the year, but Saturday the 8th of December proved to be very cold. A chilling wind snatched at the guests as they hurried, hats clutched on their heads, coats gripped tightly across their chests, into the church for the christening of Flora and George Gascoigne’s twins.
Only a handful of people knew that the twins were no such thing. In fact, they were first cousins. The little boy, Freddie, now a little over five months old, was George and Flora’s own child, but the little girl Diana, almost four weeks older, was the secret illegitimate daughter of George’s sister, Diana, who had died in childbirth. It had been George and Flora’s decision to raise the little girl as their own, and to keep her shameful origins hidden from the world. George’s and Flora’s parents all knew, of course. Gervase knew, because Dottie had told him, and no doubt the servants of both the Gascoigne and the Manderson households knew as well. William Hardy knew, because George’s sister had been a witness in a murder case, the victim being her married lover. And obviously Dottie knew, not because she and Flora told each other everything, but because she had been with Diana as she gave birth to her daughter, only to die after placing one gentle kiss on the baby’s cheek.
But society at large knew nothing, and so Flora and George stood at the front of the church proudly holding their two babies as the ceremony began.
Dottie had not been looking forward to this event. Ordinarily she loved any celebration or occasion, but once again, that man was involved in her family’s intimate affairs. She couldn’t help wondering if it was to spite her that Flora and George had asked William Hardy to be godfather to Freddie and Diana Gascoigne, and Dottie to be godmother.
She had to admit he looked very nice in his new grey suit. It wasn’t an expensive, hand-made suit like Gervase’s, and it didn’t fit him with Gervase’s suit’s perfection. It was a good colour for him, though, and he looked—she grudgingly admitted—he looked really rather gorgeous in it.
Gervase was good-looking, there was no denying it. But the colour of his jacket was less flattering. That this particular shade of fawn was fashionable was beyond doubt. However, it wasn’t a colour that flattered Gervase at all. Rather he looked fawn all over—his hair, his skin, his clothes, his features had become indistinguishable and uninteresting, a kind of beige mass.
Dottie glanced at Flora, who raised an eyebrow at her, signifying her amusement at Dottie’s discomfort. Yes, Dottie thought, they definitely did this on purpose.
She stepped forward and in her clear contralto, made her promise before God, the vicar and those present as godparent to the fidgeting baby boy and the quiet baby girl who watched everything with such interest. Hardy did the same.
The babies were so good, Diana looking about her, Freddie soon falling fast asleep amongst all the lace and frills thought necessary for the christening gowns of infants. It really was quite difficult to tell them apart, Dottie thought, not for the first time. That gave weight to the success of the ‘twins’ idea. It helped that although tiny Diana was a crucial twenty-six days older, Freddie was a big fellow, so they looked the same age.
The peace was not to last though. As soon as the vicar took the first baby and bathed its head with the chilly water from the font, the deafening wails of protest told everyone who knew the family that it was Freddie being baptised.
When they left the church, hurrying to their cars, the first few flakes of snow began to fall. It was a relief to reach Flora and George’s and be welcomed into the house by roaring fires and a glass of warm punch from Greeley, their butler, back in his own domain once more.
Gervase was being very possessive of Dottie, keeping an arm about her waist or shoulders at almost every moment, and continually dropping hints about having christenings of their own. It was such a relief when they took their seats for lunch and she found herself sandwiched comfortably between Charles and Alistair, George’s good friends, with Gervase seated at Flora’s right hand further along the same side of the table. But her relief was short-lived when she found herself staring across the table into the eyes of William Hardy who took a seat opposite. Dottie made a mental note to have a serious discussion later with her sister.
Charles and Alistair were something of a double act. They made it their business—having been coached by Flora and George the day before—to keep Dottie occupied, entertained and distracted from Gervase Parfitt for the rest of the afternoon. Her eyes were drawn several times to glance across the table. She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised to see Hardy chatting in that relaxed, very animated way with her mother. Surely that didn’t bode well? But with Charles and Alistair talking nonstop nonsense, she couldn’t hear what was being said on the other side of the table, although she caught the name Eleanor once: that was Wil—Inspector Hardy’s sister. If any last doubts lingered, they were now completely banished. There was a conspiracy afoot among her relations to include Hardy in everything they did as a family. Which could only mean one thing: they didn’t like Gervase, and wanted Inspector Hardy in their family.
That night, Gervase took Dottie dancing. It should have been the perfect end to an enjoyable, happy day. But Dottie felt irritable and scratchy, whilst Gervase spent too much time criticising her family and their guests. Dottie tried to smile and say the right things, but she was immensely relieved when after a relatively short kiss he said goodnight and returned to his club.
In his room at his club, Gervase was feeling pretty pleased with himself. He felt confident that he had shown Dottie how much happier she would be once they were married and moved into his home in Nottinghamshire. The sooner she was removed from her sister and parents’ controlling grasp the better. Among the guests there had been one young fellow he hadn’t taken to, the same one he’d talked to at the anniversary party. Oh, the man had talked about being a friend of the family, but Gervase realised now that it was more than that. He obviously had designs on Dottie. The way the chap looked at her! Gervase tried to remember what he’d said to the fellow at the anniversary party but could only remember the odd look in his eyes when Gervase mentioned Dottie. Clearly the man had an infatuation for her. Not that someone of his class could ever hope to win a girl like Dottie, but all the same, Gervase knew he’d be able to relax once he’d got her away from all these influences. And the sooner the better, he couldn’t afford to waste too much more time away from his business interests or his position as the Assistant Chief Constable of Derbyshire.
As Dottie got ready for bed, so grateful to Janet, the Mandersons’ maid, for the fire in her room and the hot water bottle in her bed. She was also deep in thought. She felt depressed. Where should she turn? Usually she would talk to her sister. Or in extremis, to her mother. But with the current slight reserve between them now, everything was all too difficult.
With the visit to her Aunt Cecilia and Uncle Lewis in Sussex looming as soon as Christmas was out of the way, she had a sense of being overwhelmed by everything that was happening. If she could only go back a year, to when her heart belonged—briefly, before being crushed—to Cyril Penterman, that would be perfect. It now seemed as if the childish broken heart she suffered then was nothing compared to the turmoil of her thoughts and emotions now. She should be happy. She had Gervase pressing her to marry him as soon as possible, and she had her fashion warehouse. Yet it felt as though her life was a complete mess, and that nothing was going the way it should. How had she let it all happen? What on earth was she to do about any of it?
But she slept well, in spite of her unsettled mind. In the morning she rose, went to church as usual, had a quiet lunch with her parents, then the three of them went to Flora and George’s for afternoon tea and to spend some time with the much-loved little ones.
It was a good thing that the butler, Greeley, showed William Hardy out the following evening, the Monday after the christenings. Left to himself, Hardy would have slammed the door with all his strength, he was so very angry. He had no words to give vent to his temper, but with a series of furious sighs and unworded sounds he reached his car, and slammed the door shut upon its inner world. He sat there in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel, and wrestled with what he’d just been told.
It was beyond preposterous. It was highly improper. It completely contravened every moral and legal aspect of police work not to mention the integrity of the law. He shook his head yet again. He just couldn’t believe it, although given what he’d already found out about the man, he should not have been surprised.
He leaned his forehead on the steering wheel and took a few deep breaths. Eventually he became calmer. He was still furious, yes, but the first heat of it was ebbing away, leaving him able to think in a rational manner about what he’d just been told.
She—no, he—it was he who had committed these ridiculous and false acts. She was not to blame. Well, perhaps she was a little to blame—she had been far too naïve, far too trusting, and had clearly not once paused to think about what she was doing, or what she was being drawn into. The potential for harm if something had gone wrong! Anything might have happened. Leaving aside the sheer breathtaking irregularity of the event, there remained the possibility that she could have been harmed. But Hardy’s rage was all against the man: legally knowledgeable, older, more experienced, and Hardy had no doubt, fully aware of the actions he was taking, and the implication of them. This was yet further proof of the uncertain nature of the man’s moral integrity.
He sat there a little longer, his thoughts circling round and round in his head. He was completely unaware that Greeley was watching him from the dining room window, a troubled look on his face, and that Flora herself was peeking from behind the curtain in the drawing room, biting her lip as she realised all too late that she had said too much, and had light-heartedly confided in entirely the wrong person.
Almost half an hour after leaving the house, just as Flora had made up her mind to go out to him and bring him back into the house to talk, Hardy drove away. He reached his home and sat at the kitchen table for the rest of the evening, late into the night, pulling out a file he’d brought from work, reading and rereading, making notes, crossing them through, ripping up pages and tossing them, crumpled, into the rubbish bin in the corner of the room. He paced the floor. When it was time to go to bed, he made a fresh pot of tea and sat back down at the kitchen table, still trying to come to a decision.
He slept in the chair, waking to find a crick in his neck and ink all over his cheek. As soon as it was a decent hour to call, he drove back to the Gascoignes’. Greeley opened the door within five seconds, clearly expecting him, as was Flora who was up and dressed and waiting in her pretty little sitting room.
Hardy walked in, and without preamble said to Flora, ‘Does she love him?’
Whatever Flora had been expecting, it wasn’t this. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ And she thought, not for the first time, how haughty she sounded, and how like her mother.
‘If she loves him, if they are getting married, I’ll hold my tongue. What you told me yesterday... Surely you must see what a serious breach it was? And it’s not the first such breach I’ve discovered in the man’s career. But if she loves him...’
Flora hesitated. In truth, she was not convinced of Dottie’s undying affection for Gervase Parfitt. But how could she tell Hardy, of all people, about her uncertainty?
He held out his hands imploringly. ‘Flora. I’m—I need to know. I don’t intend to try to come between them. I don’t want to make trouble. I would never hurt her. But if there’s nothing serious on her side, then I have a duty to inform my superiors of what you’ve told me. For Parfitt, there will be a hell of a stink, and that could affect her. But as I said, what you’ve told me about, that’s only one small breach in a whole range of... Well anyway. But you know how I feel about Dottie. I wouldn’t involve her in a scandal for all the world. If she loves him, well then. I shall try to pretend our conversation yesterday never happened. But as a police officer, you must see how I stand.’
Still Flora hesitated. He threw himself down in a chair, leaning back with his eyes closed.
She could see he’d hardly slept. He was pale; there were dark circles under his eyes. And her practised womanly eye detected he was wearing the same shirt as the day before. Either that, or all his shirts had a crinkle on the collar in exactly the same spot. This one was also blotted with ink on both cuffs. She took the chair next to him and reached out to pat his arm.
‘I don’t know how she feels, William, dear, and that’s the honest truth. She won’t discuss it with me.’
He looked surprised. ‘I thought you told each other everything?’
‘Yes, we did used to. We—well something happened and—you know, with the babies and everything. We just don’t see quite as much of each other, so I suppose it’s inevitable things change.’ She looked unhappy. He was curious, longing to know what had happened, but he felt he couldn’t possibly ask. Flora took pity on him.
‘It was when Dottie first came back from the Midlands in the summer. My mother told Dottie something. Something that had been a secret, a painful secret. She felt she had to tell her. But... It’s created something of a...’ She fought for the right words. ‘It shook us all up, and it’s been hard to know how to go back to how things were before.’
His mind was busy. ‘Is this to do with Parfitt?’
She shook her head. ‘No, no it’s nothing to do with Gervase.’ She looked at Hardy. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’
‘Not at all. But I can’t tell you what I think without using the kind of language unsuitable for a lady’s ears.’
‘George hates him with a passion and calls him all sorts of names, practically on a daily basis. Oh William, we’re all so concerned that she might actually marry Gervase.’
‘I must say, I’m surprised. I had assumed all the family loved him as much as Dottie does.’
Flora made up her mind to be very candid. ‘I told you I didn’t know. I’m not certain, William, but I’m not at all sure Dottie does love him. She enjoys his company, that’s all, and he is something of a steamroller, he just seems to mow down everything in his path. But as for the rest of us, we’re not especially enamoured of him. I don’t know why, I just don’t trust him. He’s so slick and plausible. And pompous. And—well, I don’t know what it is about him, I only know that I dislike him intensely.’
He had made up his mind. ‘Dottie will be furious.’
‘She’ll get over it.’
‘It could ruin him.’
‘I don’t care about that. I don’t believe he’s a good man. I don’t want him to drag her into anything scandalous. And I don’t want him to break her heart.’
‘She won’t forgive me.’
‘She will, William. Just be patient and give her time. I’m afraid she’ll know that I talked to you, but that can’t be helped either. If there’s to be a fuss, you will try to keep her out of it, won’t you?’
‘Of course. I don’t believe she’s done anything so very awful. It’s he who has violated the trust placed in him. And more besides.’ The clock in the hall chimed nine o’clock. He ought to be at his desk by now. ‘I must go.’ He bent to kiss her cheek, and she felt oddly moved by the intimate gesture.
‘Goodbye, William, do take care of yourself, and come and see us often.’
He felt much lighter and happier as he left the house. His mind was made up, and come what may, he was going to do what he knew he had to do.
‘What time’s your train?’ Dottie asked. There was no reply. She felt his lips nuzzling her ear. It tickled, and not in a good way. She pushed down her irritation, wondering when she had become such a shrew. Forcing a smile, she gave him a playful slap, nowhere near as hard as the one she really wanted to deliver. ‘Gervase, stop it! Listen to me, I’m trying to ask you a question.’
‘I know.’ His tone was the vocal equivalent of rolling his eyes. ‘That’s women for you, forever chatter chatter chatter.’ He gave a theatrical sigh. ‘In answer to your question, it’s the usual train at half past two. Can’t I stay with you? I’d much rather do that.’
‘Don’t be silly, you know you’re needed.’ She kept her tone light, but in her head she was determined to make him go home to Nottinghamshire. The mere thought of him staying on was too much. She was depending on him going home. Although she was not at all prepared to consider why she felt that way. She pushed the feelings away with a mental shrug of the shoulders and a silent excuse: Everything’s fine. There’s nothing wrong. I’m tired, that’s all. I’m just so busy at the moment.
‘Well I don’t know that I’m needed exactly, but I can see I’m not wanted here.’ He pretended to pout, and she made herself smile, disguising another twinge of irritation. Just lately he’d started doing this. Pouting and acting like a child. She knew other couples did this kind of thing, and baby-talk and the like, but it wasn’t as sweet or endearing as he seemed to think; it actually made her want to slap him. Hard. But she tried not to react too sharply. They’d had one or two disagreements lately and it had been horrid. She didn’t want them to fall out over something so petty. Not when she knew she was just being beastly to him. She was just tired. And busy.
She said, ‘Of course you’re wanted here, but you’re a very important man and I can’t expect to keep you to myself.’ She knew it was exactly what he liked to be told.
The very important man straightened his tie. He took her hand in his, dropping a light kiss on the back of it.
‘Darling, you know I just find it so difficult to be away from you.’
‘I know, but...’
‘You know I love you, dearest. I wish you’d be a little kinder to me. It would be far nicer for me to go back to Nottingham with some happy memories instead of you saying, ‘Stop it, Gervase,’ every time I get you to myself.’ He adopted what he fondly imagined was an irresistible puppy-dog gaze.
Dottie gripped her hands together, just in case she did slap him, and said firmly, ‘I’ve told you, I’m not like that. You’ll just have to...’
‘I know, I know! I’ve just got to wait until we’re married.’ There was an edge to his voice. He tried again, this time in a wheedling manner. ‘It’s just so difficult being apart from you for two weeks at a time. I long for you, Dottie, I really do. I ache for you.’
She was spared the necessity of answering him; there was a soft tap on the door of the morning room, and Janet, the Mandersons’ maid, said from the hall, ‘Mr Gervase’s cab is here, miss.’
Dottie managed to stifle her first response, ‘Thank God,’ and merely smiled. Gervase cursed softly and got up to open the door.
‘Thank you, Janet.’ He took his hat and coat from her and began to head for the front door, which stood open. Out in the street beyond, Dottie could see a bored-looking cabbie standing by the door of his vehicle, ready for his client. She followed Gervase down the steps, felt so relieved to escape with just one more hasty kiss on the lips, then he was gone. Dottie waved, and for the first time that morning, she smiled with genuine pleasure.
