Chapter Eight

August

The bank holiday weekend was being celebrated in earnest as the beaches had been opened to the public for the first time since war began. The promenades along Roker and Seaburn were chock-a-block with townsfolk who had crammed onto the trams and buses and travelled across the river for a much-needed break. Absenteeism was high in the shipyards, coal mines and other industries, but no one would be reprimanded too harshly for the Allies were well on their way to victory.

D-Day had resulted in the liberation of Western Europe and there was no denying that the ‘biggest shipbuilding town in the world’ had played its part. Even those still in domestic service in the more well-to-do areas had been granted time off to enjoy the break. All apart from those employed at the Havelock residence, where the master of the house was not in the mood to be gracious to his staff and allow them even a few hours off. His malady had worsened of late as every day it seemed the headlines brought news of yet more Allied successes. The Warsaw Uprising, staged by the Polish Home Army, was being enthusiastically reported on, the Americans and the Chinese were making inroads into northern Burma and had overcome strong Japanese forces to take the city of Myitkyina, and Rennes in north-western France had been taken by American forces.

The only slightly uplifting news, in Mr Havelock’s opinion – an opinion he kept firmly to himself – was the trial of those who had tried to assassinate the Führer, and, of course, the massacre of tens of thousands of civilians in the Wola district of Warsaw.

Mr Havelock had also managed to buoy up his spirits by mulling over the plan he had formulated back in June, which was the reason he was now walking from his study, across the hallway and down a short flight of stairs to the back of the house where the kitchen and the staff accommodation were located. Not that there were many servants any more. Since the outbreak of war, he’d lost half his staff – his valet had joined up, his two maids had gone to work in a munitions factory, and the cook, Velma, who had been with the family most of her life, had succumbed to influenza.

Not bothering to knock, Mr Havelock pushed open the door with the end of his walking stick.

‘I thought we’d all go for a little walk around the garden!’ he announced, stepping into the kitchen. It was warm and smelled of baked salmon. The back door was open as the day was hot. Eddy immediately stubbed out his cigarette and Agatha put down her cup of tea. Both stood up, like army recruits ready for inspection. Eddy flashed Agatha a worried look. They had worked for Mr Havelock long enough to know that this was not simply because the master wanted to enjoy the beauty of the gardens. There was something in the air. There had been since Miriam’s return. They had chatted about it and agreed they thought it might have something to do with Henrietta. She was a thorn in Mr Havelock’s side – one they knew he’d want removed.

‘I’ve been talking to Sinclair,’ Mr Havelock said as he stepped out of the back door and onto the lawn that stretched halfway up the garden to the start of a large vegetable patch and an equally large greenhouse. ‘And I thought I’d come and see for myself all his hard work.’

Neither Eddy nor Agatha could remember a time when the master had felt the need to view, or appreciate, the hard graft of others. Especially in the gardens. He’d never been particularly interested in nature of any kind. They also knew that this suited Sinclair down to the ground as he enjoyed working alone and, although he had never said so outright, was not Mr Havelock’s greatest fan. His employer did, however, have an amazing plot of land that Sinclair had been able to nurture to his heart’s content over the years, as well as some spectacular plants that weren’t native to these parts.

‘Dig for Victory, eh?’ Mr Havelock said, repeating the slogan of the government campaign. He looked up the garden towards the wealth of vegetation growing in the perfectly cultivated allotment. ‘Well, old Sinclair has certainly achieved victory in his little part of the world, hasn’t he?’

Eddy and Agatha mumbled their agreement, their unease increasing with each step they took towards the vegetable plot and the greenhouse.

‘I thought we might go and have a look at some of the wonderful foreign flora I brought back from my travels all those years ago.’

Eddy shot Agatha another anxious look. Whenever the master had returned home from his trips abroad as a negotiator for one of the major shipbuilders, he would always bring with him something from the countries he had visited. Sometimes it would be food, other times a rug or some silk, and they would all stand and admire it before it was taken away. Of course, the tokens he brought back from other countries and cultures were never gifted to his servants. Their treat was in the looking. View what you can never have, hold, touch or taste. Occasionally, he would bring back some seeds or a plant, which he would give to Sinclair to nurture. He would often make a show of gifting some to the town’s Winter Gardens, which would entail a small ceremony with a handful of local bigwigs and the unveiling of yet another small brass plaque with his name on it.

‘Here we are!’ Mr Havelock said, pulling the wood-framed glass door of the greenhouse to one side and stepping in.

‘It’s a true saying …’ Mr Havelock turned his head slightly to speak to the two minions following him into the warm, rather stifling atmosphere. ‘All good things come to those who wait.’ He continued walking along the wooden slats that had been put down as a walkway. ‘And these particular beauties have taken a while to grow and come into blossom, but I am reliably informed by Sinclair that they are now in their prime.’ He stopped in front of a lush green shrub and caressed its flat-topped clusters of pretty white flowers.

‘White snakeroot, or as it is known by its Latin name, Ageratina altissima. When I brought these over from North America, they were just seedlings. I was amazed they survived the journey.’

He turned his attention to his two servants, talking to them as though they were his students.

‘But against the odds, they did. I gave a few to the Borough for the Winter Gardens and kept the rest. I knew they would come in handy one day. And lo and behold, that day has come.’

He smiled and looked at the two people who were going to help him put his plan into action, whether they wanted to or not.

Half an hour later, Agatha and Eddy were on their own back in the kitchen, the master having just left.

‘He’s got us over a barrel,’ Eddy said, fishing his half-smoked cigarette out of the ashtray.

Agatha looked grey. She was staring at the plant lying on the kitchen table as though it were roadkill.

‘I know,’ she said gravely, ‘but this is a step too far.’

She looked at Eddy with fearful eyes.

‘This,’ she said darkly, ‘would make us accessories.’

Eddy inhaled deeply on his cigarette.

‘No more than in all the other misdemeanours he’s committed during our time here.’ Smoke billowed out of his mouth as he spoke. He took another drag. ‘During our lifetime here,’ he added, his tone heavy with resentment.

They looked at each other and then back at the plant. They had never openly discussed Mr Havelock’s past transgressions. It was almost as though not talking about them meant they had never happened. They had ignored the master’s vile actions – turned a blind eye – and pretended they knew nothing of what was going on in the house after he returned home from his stints of working overseas.

But now it would seem that their silence had given Mr Havelock even more power over them, for he had just told them very clearly and very calmly, and with a cruel smile slowly stretching across his lined face, how he was going to force them to do his bidding. If they refused, he would make sure that were the truth about him ever to come out, he would drag them both down with him. And if that meant lying about the roles they had played all those years ago, well so be it.

‘I will make it quite clear that you were both procurers,’ he’d told them just twenty minutes previously. ‘I will make it clear that you both made sure the maids who were employed under this roof were – how would I put it – to my liking.’ Another smile, this one pure evil. ‘That they were young and blonde and blue-eyed.

‘I might even elaborate a little,’ Mr Havelock had added. ‘Might feel compelled to get everything off my chest, and much as I would hate to be viewed as some sort of turncoat, I might have to confess to them that it wasn’t just myself who liked to indulge in the forbidden fruits, but that you did too, Eddy.’

Eddy had felt sick to the very pit of his stomach. He had glanced at Agatha and they had exchanged looks. Deep down, they had always known their silence had made them culpable.

So, this is our punishment for keeping quiet. For our inactivity. Our passivity.

Mr Havelock had then given Agatha meticulous instructions on how to prepare the tincture, making her write them down so she got it exactly right.

‘And don’t even waste your time thinking of some way out of this,’ he’d said, ‘because there isn’t one. I’ve got a full confession in my safe in the event of my death. It will stay there until this deed is done. Then it will be destroyed – you have my word. I will even give it to you to burn for yourselves.’

Only then had he left.

Since the master’s departure, Agatha had barely taken her eyes off the pretty white flowers and lush green leaves of the plant laid out in front of her.

She looked up at Eddy.

‘Let’s not kid ourselves any more, eh? This is more than just a misdemeanour. Much more. This is murder, pure and simple,’ she said.