Man, it was good to get back in the city. I navigated past a bag lady pushing two trolleys along the pavement, one of which had a giant cuddly panda in the child’s seat, and smiled fondly as a flushed taxi driver flicked two fingers at an overtaking cyclist. Some city bloke in a suit talked loudly into his mobile phone while shoving me out his way. A party of tourists stopped en masse outside a sandwich shop. One of them started taking selfies whilst standing on my toe. Ah, London, my sweet metropolis, remained wonderfully unchanged.
Montgomery Walker was seated at the table when I got to the restaurant, looking for all the world like an off-duty city gent, and thus completely indistinguishable from the other clientele.
I apologised for my lateness and began to explain about what was going on in Adder’s Fork, but it appeared the agent already had the low-down.
‘Came over on the tom toms this morning,’ he said. I’d heard him use that term before and figured it referred to some internal secret data collection departmental memo thingy. Whatever it was, it seemed damn up to date.
‘Yes,’ he said and added enigmatically. ‘There’s more to come out of there, I’m sure.’
But he wouldn’t be drawn further.
I watched him deflect all my questions with a charming smile on his face. The bloke was attractive in a posh competent way. His hair was slightly receding around the sides and temples, black and neatly trimmed. Despite a vaguely military sort of bearing there was something a little raffish about the bloke. He dressed completely nuts though: today he was wearing a sports blazer and a polo shirt and chinos. I imagined if I peered under the table I’d spot brogues.
Monty went on to apologise for his absence at the launch and asked me if it was successful. I told him about how it was disrupted, and he nodded sagely. It was my intention next to go into the real reason for lunch but the waitress came over. I knew Mary-Jane from a previous case or incident or occurrence or whatever you wanted to call it – oddness, perhaps. I enquired after her and the rest of the staff and was pleased to hear that order had been restored to the restaurant. Though, apparently a few of the staff had left. I couldn’t really blame them – some of that stuff that we’d gone through had been very upsetting indeed.
The place had been redecorated since I’d last been here and I commented on it. MJ said Ray Boundersby had insisted on it. He was the owner and a friend (somehow) of my Auntie Babs. Apparently, he’d felt he needed to ‘reposition and refresh’ the restaurant and blow out all the associations with the past. Before, it had been full of blacks, purples and gold. Now, however, it was much brighter – white and chrome with so many glass finishings you’d be forgiven for keeping your shades on.
I could see what Boundersby was trying to do and told MJ to pass on my compliments. She said that the boss already knew I was coming and, although he couldn’t be there in person to greet me, he insisted I should accept the meal with compliments of the house. Which was just the result I’d been hoping for, so ordered the sesame tiger prawns for starters and a steak for main, medium rare. Monty was more restrained and went for one course only – roasted hake. I suspected eating in places like this came with Mr Walker’s salary.
‘So,’ said Monty, once MJ had taken our orders. ‘I suppose we should talk about your grandmother. I realise it’s why I’m here.’
I was quite taken aback by the bald acknowledgement of my motives, but then again Monty, as polite as he was, had never been one to prevaricate. And I was mostly glad for it, truth be told. One had to take the rough with the smooth. And I was pretty much prepared to take Monty most ways as, being a government agent (though in which department I still wasn’t sure), he was a good friend to call on if ever things got very sticky. Indeed, he had access to people with guns and black outfits and helicopters and things. In fact he’d saved my bacon (and some of Sam’s too) on more than one occasion with his proactive and very direct approach. Oh yeah. Who doesn’t want friends like that, right?
And so I didn’t contradict him. I did, however, send over a beguiling smile: eyes wide open, chin down, nostrils slightly flared. I had practised it a few times on Sam. With patchy results, I’m sad to say. On a couple of occasions, the curator had responded positively. But like I said, they were few and far between. Mostly he’d gone all eyebrows and enquired after my health.
Monty barely registered my fulsome beam and just carried on talking. ‘I must warn you. I do think that some stones are better left unturned. Your family have had a tragic history. Is it wise to stir it up again?’
That was strikingly similar to what Edward de Vere had said this morning. ‘How do you mean?’ I asked him.
‘Well, your grandmother wasn’t the only person to come to a sticky end. Your aunt, Celeste, she drowned you know.’
I considered this. That wasn’t what I’d heard. ‘I thought it was a car crash,’ I said.
‘Yes. But the car ended up in the Piskey Brook. It was the water that killed her in the end.’
That was a nasty way to go, I thought and said so. Though I was wondering if the agent was trying to divert me away from what I wanted. ‘But we’re here to talk about Ethel-Rose,’ I said firmly, keeping things on track.
‘Yes, we are. This time,’ Monty intoned, like he was bracing himself.
I sent him a glance full of question marks, but he ignored me.
Though he did let out a little sigh, in an ‘it’s-your-funeral’ kind of way. ‘Okay. It’s all right, Rosie. I’ll give you what you want. I promised I would, didn’t I?’
‘Yes.’ I grinned. ‘I know you’re a man of your word.’
He inclined his head. ‘Your grandmother’s case did cause something of a stir at the department,’ he said and reached down by his side. ‘I understand that, now that you’ve inherited the Witch Museum, you may want to look into it. But, can I say this?’ he paused as though he was considering his words carefully and softened his tone, ‘Not that you will heed it.’ Then he made eye contact. ‘Sometimes, Rosie, it really is better to let sleeping dogs lie.’ He sat back and waited for a response.
I couldn’t see the logic of that remark unless … ‘Do you know something I don’t know, Monty?’
He crossed his legs and took a sip of his orange juice. ‘Dear girl, you know where I work – of course I know things that you don’t. Occupational hazard, you see. But I am always keen to remind those intent on digging up the past that sometimes things are forgotten for a reason. Some secrets are better left buried. From your experience I’m sure you’d agree.’
I thought about this and what had happened in some of our other cases. Then in my mind I saw the open grave by the Blackly Be.
Leaving a considerable gap to show I had ruminated upon it I said, ‘No I don’t. I think it’s better to face the strange, however painful or exhausting that might be.’ I was thinking now about what had happened here in this restaurant. And next door to it. ‘It brings closure and resolution. Mostly. And in some cases it also brings justice to bear. Shines a light on events that only some people want to conceal. And, I’d say that my experience has meant I’ve listened to silenced voices that would otherwise have remained unheard.’
I imagined he might be inclined to agree with me on my latter point but he puffed out his cheeks and said, ‘okay’ and fumbled in something down by his side. ‘On your head etc.,’ he said, and produced a briefcase.
As he righted himself he sent me another one of his classic charm-school smiles. ‘Now, you’re aware I can’t allow you access to the files.’
‘Come on Monty. I know you’re not a red tape kind of guy.’
He withdrew something and slipped it behind the case onto his lap. ‘There are some rules that are made to be broken and a quantity thereof to preserve the domain of the rule makers. There are also in addition to that some which seek to serve and defend the realm. A portion of this dossier falls into the latter category.’
‘Don’t you trust me, Monty?’ Might as well continue to try my luck. Persistence, though tiring, could also be a friend.
Monty steepled his elegant hands under his chin for a moment. Steely eyes sparkled. ‘You’re tough and resilient and loyal. But you’re effervescent too and, I’m aware, taken off guard, you might drop a pearl or two. You see, what I’m saying?’
‘Wow,’ I said, flattered. ‘What a great let-down. You can continue to hang around.’
He smiled and bowed his head. ‘Thank you.’
But something in my stomach had dropped and bottomed out. I was sorely disappointed, to be honest.
‘To avoid any such compromise, I’ve had one of the clerical staff do a precis. Included extracts from reports I think you might find useful. No more, no less.’ He passed over a light-brown-coloured file full of loose pages. ‘There was a lot of needless repetition in the file. You could just say I’ve edited it.’
‘Print,’ I said peeking at the pages within. ‘How quaint.’
‘Ironically it leaves less of a paper trail.’ As I opened the folder wide, he hushed me. ‘Not here. Put it in your bag. Read it at home when you’re on your own.’
‘Can I show it to Sam?’
‘Of course. But no one else, please. Not your father. Anything that helps clarify his situation or what happened back then I must urge you to communicate only verbally.’
‘Why not Dad? All of this is most relevant to him? Ethel-Rose was his mother.’
Monty’s eyes did a quick sweep of the room. ‘We don’t know how he’ll react. We’re very aware of how he feels about …’ he paused, ‘… our department and affairs. Please Rosie, I’m already going out on a limb sharing this much with you.’
‘Okay,’ I said and despite the almost unbearable impulse to rip the file open and devour it whole, I opened my bag and slipped it in.
But I could feel it.
Pulsing neon like a sea anemone, beckoning from the darkness below.
‘Monty,’ I said tentatively chewing over a thought that had plagued me before. ‘Is there any way she could still be alive?’
Monty looked sideways at me, ‘Ethel-Rose? Yes, there’s a possibility. When endings aren’t finite there always is. Multiple possibilities. She would be in her nineties now if she lived.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Or lives.’
I took that onboard. That was very old. Where would she have gone? Dad and Septimus must have been through this too. Did they go looking for her? I wondered.
My starter arrived and succeeded in completely distracting me. The buttery garlicky smell was wonderful. I pushed the prawns into the middle of the table and Monty shared them.
Placing the remnants of a fried crustacean on the side of the plate, he asked ‘What exactly do you know about your grandmother?’
While I licked my fingers I dipped into my own mental file and retrieved a three-dimensional picture. ‘She was pretty. And she was a clairvoyant. Allegedly. Heard ghosts.’
‘That’s clairaudient,’ he said with a light smile.
‘Oh right, yeah,’ I mumbled and scrunched my napkin next to my plate. ‘Was the London branch of the Romanov family ever approached to see if she had gone there, when she walked off the stage?’
He frowned. ‘Not by us, but I believe Septimus did contact them. They hadn’t seen her.’
Another dead end. ‘What about her mother’s side? This Anne? The mother. Who were her relatives? Where were they from?’
‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Maiden name Anne Milligan. And yes, her side were also quite colourful characters, certainly. There’s quite an extensive file.’
‘Which you can’t show me?’ I ventured.
He bowed his head. ‘Which I can’t show you,’ he said, as if there was any doubt. ‘You could ask your father.’
Hah! I thought. The chances of getting any family history out of him was like blood and stones. But I said, ‘It would upset him to talk about it. He never mentions the family or the past.’
‘Understandable. Some people are like that.’
‘So then you tell me.’
Monty raised his eyebrows right up into his square forehead.
‘Go on,’ I said. ‘You’re not going anywhere for the next hour. Communicate verbally.’
He took a sip of wine, leant back into his comfortable chair and said, ‘Are you sitting comfortably?’
I grinned. ‘Oh yeah.’
‘Then I’ll begin. Mrs Anne Romanov was a bit of a snob. Her mother, Emily, had been the daughter of a well-to-do family, landed gentry, who had made good with canny investments during the industrial revolution. Emily Newsom and her sisters were endlessly cosseted and chaperoned. When young Emily first laid eyes on the steaming brawn of the navvies building the new railway across the bottom of the estate, she was utterly lost.’
How Monty knew all of this was interesting. I would have liked to ask, but thought it wiser not to spoil his flow.
‘Liaisons were arranged, meetings held, but as soon as the inevitable fertilisation was discovered, Emily was promptly disinherited and ejected from the family seat with only a few donated pounds from her nanny and sisters to help her on her way. She and Rory secured two rooms in Hoxton and filled them with several offspring. Anne was the fifth child of the seven that survived into double figures.’
Some poor waiter dropped a tray. The noise made everyone turn towards the kitchens.
A solitary pair of hands began to clap. A few others laughed.
I tuned back in to Monty. ‘There were brothers and sisters then? That would mean aunts and uncles in Ethel-Rose’s case. Cousins possibly.’
Monty bent his head. ‘As soon as she could, Anne distanced herself from them. Once in Adder’s Fork she was able to reinvent herself. She was forced to put up with her grandmother, Roisin, because of family duty but she didn’t like it.’
I considered the name and said, ‘Do you mean Rozalie? Fred’s sister?’
‘Oh you know about her then?’ Monty said. ‘No, Roisin was Rory’s mother, Anne’s grandmother. Rory and Emily once appeared at the cottage on Hollypot Lane for a surprise visit, with Roisin in tow. The old woman enjoyed herself so much she decided to honour them by extending her stay. Anne cried lack of space, but her daughter little Ethel-Rose, who had been sharing the room with her announced she would be happy to continue the arrangement.’
‘Ha ha,’ I said. ‘She sounds like a tinker.’
‘Indeed,’ said Monty. ‘A toothless Irish grandmother didn’t quite help Anne’s new persona. But Roisin stayed. For three years. Anne always thought that she was responsible for her daughter’s occult interests.’
I scrunched my face up. ‘I thought that was Rozalie.’
‘They both influenced Ethel-Rose in different ways. Roisin would put her to bed with tales from her ancestors, reputedly travelling people, and stories of the Fey. Roisin had spent a good deal of time in Kilkenny, near to where Brigit Cleary was allegedly snatched by fairies. Have you heard of that?’
I shook my head. ‘Was she a witch?’
‘No. But it was a famous case in 1895. I’m sure Sam could tell you more. A brief summary: Bridget was snatched by fairies and a changeling left in her place. It looked like Bridget, it sounded like Bridget but it was sickly, unlike Bridget. Her husband, however, wasn’t fooled and burnt her to death over the hearth. The court found him guilty of murder, but many folk, like Roisin, thought that rightly unfair.’
‘Blimey,’ I said. ‘Fairies? Really?’
‘Indeed. Well, your grandmother was interested in them. She also picked up skills such as palm-reading and the tea leaves from Roisin. She died when Ethel-Rose was ten.’
I remembered what Sam had told me in Carmen’s garden. ‘It’s no wonder Anne packed her off to Switzerland to try and make her normal. I’m sure the last thing she wanted for her daughter was to become clairvoyant. Or audient,’ I added quickly.
‘Yes,’ agreed Monty. ‘Ironically it was Anne who pressed Ethel-Rose to perform at that last séance.’
‘Oh, I assumed it had been Rozalie.’
‘Certainly, she’d been involved in the first round of “meetings”, as they called them then. But George, Ethel-Rose’s brother was called up in the war and went missing in action. Anne put pressure on Ethel-Rose to try and find him. Rozalie felt the meetings should be open to the public, to offer hope to others grieving so they could find comfort too.’
Rozalie sounded a bit crazy, but compassionate.
‘Then later she was arrested. After that she met your grandfather. It’s made mention of in the file, if you want more details. One of the witnesses was there.’
I nodded. ‘Oh that’s interesting. I’m looking forward to reading it. And it was later in the fifties that the next public meeting/séance was held? The one where she disappeared?’
‘Indeed. Anne had wanted her to do that, to try and reach out to her father, Fred, who died earlier in 1953.’
I processed this. Some of this Bronson had told me months back.
Monty lapsed into silence as our plates were cleared away. During the conversation we had made our way through our mains, desserts and coffee and now he was making signs about leaving. I needed to wrap things up with just a few more prods.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ I said, trying to get it all in. ‘There were three theories. The first that the government had arrested Ethel-Rose and taken her into detention?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Untrue as far as I can ascertain.’
I cocked my head at him. ‘Are you sure?’
‘One can never be 100 per cent sure. But I am perhaps 99 per cent.’
‘Okay. The next idea was that she had simply run off. That she was having an affair and went away with her lover.’ I said. ‘Is that possible?’
Monty shrugged. ‘It’s not impossible. She was a popular lady, your grandmother. Attractive. Glamorous. Quite fun.’
‘But that meant she would have deserted her children and left all her clothes and money?’
‘It was a hypothesis that Septimus, Anne and Rozalie discouraged.’
‘Then what – kidnap? Abduction? Murder?’
‘There was never a body found and there were searches conducted at the time.’
‘So the police concluded that Ethel-Rose had simply had enough of everything and buggered off somewhere else to find a new life and a new husband. I suppose it’s plausible. What do you think?’
Monty shrugged. ‘As I said, there are accounts in the file. Have a look at them. Now I really must go Rosie. It has been delightful. Let me know how you get on.’
I stood up to kiss him goodbye.
‘And,’ he said, as we pulled apart. ‘I might have something I’d like you and Sam to look at. To return the favour. Quid pro quo. Something has triggered a hair alarm in Damebury. That’s not far from you, is it?’
‘Oh, er no. It’s not,’ I said, rather taken aback. I hadn’t considered my request for information might be part of an exchange of sorts. But it was fair enough, I supposed.
‘May come to nothing, but if it does “kick off” as you might say, I’ll drop you a line.’
‘All right,’ I said and shrugged. ‘Let us know.’
As he turned to leave, I tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘One moment Monty. You didn’t answer my question. Did the police or your department check out the aunties and uncles on Anne’s side? Did they find anything?’
‘Yes they did, and no they didn’t.’
‘So she just vanished?’
‘Off the face of the earth, you might say. Yes curious.’
‘Not curious,’ I said as he waved goodbye. ‘Impossible.’