“I hate leaving you to all this on your own, darling,” Gerald said. He stood in the hall of the Stable House with his arms round Helen. “I wish I could stay with you.”
“So do I, but there it is,” said Helen. She gave him a quick kiss. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty to do. All our unpacking, for a start, and Phyllis may like some help during the day. Then there’s Cathy. Maybe she could show me the village this afternoon, if she’s not too busy.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Gerald. It would do both of them good to get away from the atmosphere up at Pantons for a time. Gerald let her go and picked up his briefcase. “I’ll be back as early as I can make it, sweetheart, but I’ve been away from the office for so long that there are things I must attend to. And I’m sure to have to take more time off before this business is finally cleared up. I must be here for the inquest, at least.”
“I know, dear,” Helen said.
“After everything that’s happened, to think there should be this to face now,” said Gerald bitterly.
“I keep telling you not to worry,” Helen said. She kissed him again. “Soon we shall forget it all.”
“Yes. Oh, damn it all to hell,” Gerald said. He put his briefcase down again and caught her to him once more.
“I wanted to make up to you for everything,” he told her.
“You do, darling. You have, and you will,” she insisted.
He started to kiss her again, until at last she broke away from him.
“Darling, you must go,” she said gently.
But when he had gone, she felt alone and afraid. She occupied herself for a time by clearing away the breakfast dishes and making a list of stores that she must get. Perhaps there was a grocery in Winterswick where she could buy them. She had just found the vacuum sweeper, stowed away in a closet under the stairs, when there was a contrived cough in the background and she looked up to see a small woman with bright red hair standing in the hall.
Helen’s heart thumped. Ridiculous to be so terrified.
“Beg pardon, Mrs Ludlow, if I startled you. I’m Mrs Bludgen, come to clean,” said the stranger.
The pounding in Helen’s temples slowed. Mrs Bludgen from the lodge. Phyllis had said something about a woman to help with the housework, but that had been on Friday night: so long ago, it seemed.
“Oh, good morning, Mrs Bludgen. I hadn’t realised you’d be here today,” said Helen, speaking calmly.
“Mondays and Thursdays are my days,” Mrs Bludgen said. “I oblige Mrs Medhurst on the other mornings. I’ll just take that sweeper, madam, if you please.” She reached out for the cleaner.
Helen surrendered it.
“All right, Mrs Bludgen. You’d better carry on,” she said faintly. This was an example of that formidable person she had read about in novels and seen portrayed in British movies, the daily help. Phyllis would have to explain how she should be managed, if indeed she must be kept at all.
“What a terrible thing about poor Mrs Mackenzie,” Mrs Bludgen eagerly remarked, whilst at the same time in one movement somehow plugging in the sweeper and removing her own mock suede jacket. “I said to Bludgen, you could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard. I was talking to her on Saturday, as large as life; stopped by, she did, to pass the time of day on her way back from the village. And now she’s dead. It makes you think.”
“It’s very sad,” said Helen.
“Of course, you didn’t know her, Mrs Ludlow,” said Mrs Bludgen, disappearing into the cupboard and coming out again with tins of polish and a pile of dusters. “But she was quite a nice person. What her boy will do I don’t know.”
“Her boy?”
“Her son in London. Young Alec. Devoted, he was. Ah, dear,” Mrs Bludgen sighed. She began to rub polish into the hall table. Helen ironically wondered if she put as much effort into her work when there was no witness.
“And the police are up at the house just now,” Mrs Bludgen added. In fact, she had thought Phyllis might require her assistance more than the new Mrs Ludlow today, in view of what had happened; and curious though she was to get a sight of the American lady, events at the big house were much more compelling. So she had felt snubbed when turned away at the door first by a policeman, and then by Phyllis herself.
Helen stiffened. It was unlikely that anyone outside the family knew many details yet; better keep it so for as long as possible.
“It’s usual, when there’s been a sudden death,” she said firmly.
“Oh, I know,” said Mrs Bludgen, who saw such things all the time on television. “I expect she had a heart attack, poor soul.”
“I expect she did,” Helen agreed.
The longer everyone in Winterswick thought the same, the better. The moment a hint of anything else escaped, down would come the Press, like vultures on the scene, and who knew what might happen then, what past embarrassments for everyone might be resurrected? Helen knew the power of newspapers.
She murmured something and went upstairs, leaving Mrs Bludgen to her speculations.
Mrs Bludgen polished on, more lingeringly now, musing. There was much to think about, for once. Usually there was only old Mrs Ludlow’s latest tantrum to dominate the scene, but now there were alternatives, Mr Gerald’s new wife, for instance. She seemed a frail little thing. Still, it was time he got married; he should have done it years ago, for Cathy’s sake, if not his own. Mrs Medhurst did her best, but it wasn’t right for the girl to be cooped up in that big house with a bad-tempered old witch and a frustrated aunt. Oh, Mrs Medhurst might have been married once, but it was only in name, Mrs Bludgen was convinced. She too read lurid novels. Mrs Medhurst was often touchy and awkward, though, to be fair, she was just. Still, she was a disappointed woman, that was certain.
And now, on top of Mr Gerald’s wedding, there had come a sudden death. It went to show, thought Mrs Bludgen, who had seen something sinister in her tea-cup only last Wednesday, drinking her elevenses in the kitchen up at Pantons, and had said as much to Joyce Mackenzie. She plugged in the sweeper. Joyce had not reacted. She was always one to keep her distance; thought herself superior, Mrs Bludgen had often said to Bludgen, and much good it had done her now. But sad and shocking as it was, you couldn’t deny that things like this took you out of yourself. Two, there’d been: the wedding, and the death. There was bound to be a third.
She pushed the cleaner back and forth across the carpet. Helen, upstairs in her bedroom, heard the sound it made as she sat before the mirror at her dressing-table, staring at her own white and frightened face.