House of Lies

Hermione’s eyes found Hugh. She waved as she walked towards him. The years had not been as kind to Hermione as they had to Margaret. Smile lines had formed around her eyes. Her skin had a weathered look to it, from hours spent riding horses and golfing. Her waist had thickened, and she was a wee bit too plump through the hips. But Hermione still had her beautiful blonde hair – the silver that laced through it only added to its shimmering beauty – which she now wore piled high on her head. Physical attributes aside, all one had to do was look into Hermione’s eyes to see the innate kindness there. She was the woman to turn to in times of trouble, the solid foundation to be leaned on. Hugh couldn’t count how many times he had come running to Hermione when Margaret had been gallivanting in London with her friends, doing god only knew what.

They met at the drinks trolley. Filling two crystal glasses with ice and pouring just the right amount of Scotch, he handed one to Hermione just as she reached him. She took it and raised her glass to him in a silent toast.

‘Another successful house party,’ Hugh said.

Hermione gave him a tired smile as she wove her free arm through his. ‘We’ve just about depleted the wine cellar. We’ve made a deal with the butcher. Every three months he gets a case of our fine claret, and we in turn get fresh beef. I don’t know how long the arrangement will continue. When the wine’s gone, we’ll be eating tinned beans like everyone else. I’m afraid this will be the last party for us.’

The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder surveying the crowd. Hugh was grateful for the weekend house party; at least he knew he and Margaret would be fed, have a roof over their head and a bed to sleep in. Despite his utter failure as a husband, he still felt responsible to provide Margaret these basic necessities.

Tongues loosened and the laughter got louder as more alcohol was consumed. The lights had been dimmed and silver candelabras had been placed strategically around the room, casting the guests in warm flickering light, their voices hushed by the thick carpets and opulent velvet curtains. For a moment, Hugh pretended that the world was right again. That there was no war. No threat of invasion. But even those thoughts couldn’t overcome the feeling of ruination that settled over him. Hugh’s eyes lit on Margaret and Martin, who were still engaged in conversation. Margaret leaned over to Martin, talking to him in that certain way of hers, gesturing with her hands. Margaret had a knack for making you feel like you were the only person in the world. That was her special charm, the facet of her personality that allowed her to manipulate so completely. Margaret was doing all of the talking, while Martin stood by, his expression running the gamut of attentive, serious, concerned, and – finally – upset. When he wobbled on his feet, placing a hand against the wall as though to steady himself, Hugh became concerned. But Martin recovered, his waxy pale cheeks mottling red with anger. He said something to Margaret before he turned and left the room. Ever relentless, Margaret hurried after him.

Hugh set down his glass and started after Martin, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm.

‘Wait. I need to talk to you.’

He turned to face her, startled by the look of concern in her eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong with me. I’m worried about you. You’ve been skulking around this house, hardly speaking to anyone and avoiding your wife. I know you and Margaret have drifted apart over the years. God knows, she’s got the energy of a twenty-year-old – just being around her exhausts me. But there’s more to it. What’s going on, Hugh? Margaret’s been hell for leather to get Martin alone since you two arrived. He’s been avoiding her – until now. Something’s wrong, dear friend. I can see it in your eyes.’ She turned away from Hugh, tactfully giving him time to compose himself as she freshened their drinks. Handing Hugh his glass, she asked, ‘What’s happened?’

‘Between my mother and my wife, I’m at my wits’ end. Turns out my wife has managed to saddle me with a monumental overdraft. When the bank wouldn’t give her any more money, she forged my name and helped herself to a chunk of my capital.’

‘Dear god,’ Hermione said.

‘Oh, it gets worse. You see, I’m so out of touch with Margaret, I had no idea of the forgery. Would you like to know how I found out?’ Hugh didn’t wait for a response. ‘My mother told me. Seems she’d hired an investigator to keep an eye on Margaret.’ Hugh downed his drink. ‘Just now, Mother sat us both down and issued an ultimatum. We’re to move home and behave like a normal married couple.’

‘And if you don’t?’ Hermione asked.

‘I’m to receive a stipend to live on and will otherwise be disinherited. And you know what, Hermione? I don’t care. I am going to divorce my wife and retire to Nanny’s cottage. God knows, I’m ready to live a quiet life.’ Hugh sighed. ‘Just saying those words gives me relief.’

‘You poor dear,’ Hermione said.

‘How’s Martin? I haven’t had a moment alone with him all week.’

‘I’m not sure. He’s been distant of late, but I assume he’s worried about the business and the war, like we all are. We don’t talk like we used to.’ She sighed. ‘But we’ve been married a long time and things can’t stay perfect forever.’

Across the room, the Shorehams’ housekeeper beckoned Hermione with a wave.

Hermione set her drink down. ‘If you’ll excuse me. It seems I’m needed.’ She turned to face Hugh. ‘If there’s anything I can do for you, I hope you’ll ask. You’re a dear friend, and Martin and I will always help you. You’d do the same if the circumstances were reversed.’

After giving Hugh’s arm a reassuring squeeze, Hermione hurried off to speak to the housekeeper, leaving Hugh alone to wallow in his problems.

***

Alex Bradshaw, also known as Bradley Alexander, Jeffrey Bradford and Ford Jefferson, was born the fourth son of an alcoholic wastrel who squandered his family fortune and beat his children until they systematically left home. An intelligent young man who had a knack for all things mechanical, Alex had suffered a bout of scarlet fever when he was fourteen, which left him homebound and bedridden for nearly a year. During this time he taught himself locksmithing from a book he found in his father’s vast and underused library. Practising on every lock in the house, including the various safes scattered around his family home, Alex soon became a master safecracker. When he was eighteen, he started sneaking into other fine homes near his own, practising on the safes and lockboxes of his neighbours. By the time he was twenty-two, there wasn’t a lock he couldn’t tame.

On this October morning, he woke just as the autumn sun shone through his window. His bedsit, on the top floor of a luxury Edinburgh hotel, was just big enough to hold a bed, a desk and a comfortable chair. A small kitchen area provided a kettle for his tea and room to store a tin of biscuits. He smiled as he put the kettle on. Last night’s job couldn’t have gone better.

A small velvet bag lay on the table beside his bed. He dumped the contents – a strand of pearls, a diamond brooch and a dozen loose stones – on the forest-green counterpane, pleased at the size and quality of the goods he had stolen. The loose diamonds would be easy to sell. It would be days, maybe weeks, before Vanessa Trevelyan realised her precious jewels were no longer in residence. He thought of her as he went through his morning ablutions – imperious, bossy and condescending to all who crossed her path. Alex didn’t begrudge the woman her shortcomings. After all, no one was perfect. But she was greedy and cruel, a terrible combination for someone in a position of power.

Alex had stumbled across Vanessa Trevelyan quite by accident, hearing her name mentioned at a cocktail party months before. A quick investigation revealed Vanessa’s husband had died with considerable wealth. A generous man by nature, he had left respectable legacies to his loyal servants, along with an even larger chunk of his money to Saint Agnus’s Orphanage. Vanessa Trevelyan had been outraged by her husband’s generosity and had threatened to contest his will, claiming her husband was not in a fit state of mind to leave so much money to the servants. Word of this got out, and after said servants received their money, they left en masse, leaving Vanessa Trevelyan a huge house to run and no one to help her do so. After trying without success to hire help from the closest village, she went straight to Saint Agnus and offered to care for two sweetly disposed sisters, whose parents tragically died in a car accident. Saint Agnus, always short of funds and grateful for two fewer mouths to feed during this time of rationing, took Vanessa Trevelyan up on her offer. In reality, the girls were no more than slaves. No schooling was provided for them. Alex heard, but hadn’t been able to verify, that the girls shared an attic bedroom and were often sent to bed hungry.

He picked up one of the diamonds and held it up to the morning light, where it glistened and glimmered and seemed to grow hot in his hand. Lady Trevelyan would most certainly not be happy when she discovered her diamonds had been stolen. He smiled. If only I could be there when she discovers her loss. Now all he had to do was arrange for money to be transferred for the care of the orphans. Maybe a legacy from a long-lost relative? The sisters would receive enough money for an education and room and board. Neither of them would be treated poorly again. Not if Alex had any say in the matter. Timmer Ashcourt, Alex’s trusted friend and man of business would see to it.

***

Two hours later, with the diamonds properly disposed of, money in pocket, and assurance the girls would be extricated from Vanessa Trevelyan’s care as soon as possible, Alex had ordered breakfast at his favourite café and was just settling in to read the morning paper when an over-dressed gentleman in a camel-hair coat, silk scarf and leather gloves sat down across from him. The waitress hurried over with a smile on her face.

‘Can I get you some tea, sir?’

‘Only some privacy,’ the man growled. Once the waitress scurried away, the man turned his attention to Alex. ‘Mr Bradshaw?’

Alex recognised Michael Grenville immediately. A frisson of fear ran down his spine. Michael Grenville was a notorious criminal. A master of theft, murder, arson and any combination of the three, Michael Grenville had never been found guilty of a crime. Witnesses slated to testify against him often turned up dead. The last thing Alex needed was involvement with a man like Grenville.

Unsure how to proceed, Alex pretended to be annoyed and said, ‘Yes?’

‘Michael Grenville’s the name. I have a job for you.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve a well-paying job that demands a certain level of expertise.’

Alex feigned ignorance. ‘Forgive me, sir. You must have me confused for someone else.’

The man recited a detailed precis of every single thing Alex had stolen over the past year, including Lady Trevelyan’s diamonds, and even knew Alex had attended a dinner party at Martin Shoreham’s estate, accepting a last-minute invitation and turning it into a reconnaissance mission. The evening had been fruitful, and Alex had come away with some ideas for future jobs.

‘You steal from the rich and give generously to the poor. Lady Trevelyan won’t be happy when she discovers her diamonds are missing. Rather embarrassing for you if the police came and arrested you in front of all those fancy people.’ The man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘Do I have your attention now? Very good. Now listen closely.’

The job was rather straightforward: intercept a medieval relic, which had been smuggled out of France and was soon to be transported for safekeeping to a small village.

‘You’ll impersonate the assigned guard. After the chalice is safely stored, you’ll return to the house and extricate it.’

‘Why not take it during transport?’ Alex asked.

‘Because I want you to check out the house and see if there is anything else of value there.’

‘You are going to rob a house twice?’ He shook his head. Foolish mistake.

‘No. I am interested in the house’s occupant. No need to concern yourself with that. I’ll see you have appropriate credentials and explain how I want the job handled.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,’ Alex said.

‘You’ll do as I say and be paid well for it.’ Grenville reached into his coat pocket and put a picture of a middle-aged woman on the table between them. ‘I want you to be on the lookout for this woman while you’re in Rivenby.’

Alex took the picture and studied it. The woman had a thin face, with prominent cheekbones and full lips. She wore a dowdy hat, a frumpy jumper and a tweed skirt with an uneven hem. Her eyes had a beseeching look in them, as though she were trapped and trying to escape.

‘Who is she?’ Alex asked.

‘None of your business. Let’s just say I want to find her.’

It would be very easy for Alex to flee from Michael Grenville. He had connections in the underbelly of Edinburgh and London. He could easily placate the man and simply move on, with Michael Grenville none the wiser.

‘Don’t think about running away, Mr Bradshaw,’ Michael Grenville said. ‘If you run, I’ll find you. That’s a promise.’

‘How do I know I can trust you? You could be with the police.’

The man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick wad of notes. ‘There’s twice that much when the job is complete. Get to Rivenby and lie low. I’ll be in touch.’ Michael Grenville slid out from behind the table, pulled his hat down over his face and walked out the door.

Alex sat for a moment, disconcerted that someone actually knew about his past criminal history. Glancing around the room to make sure no one had been spying on their conversation, he tucked the envelope into his coat pocket.

***

Hugh awoke to a cold grey morning and the sound of rain pinging against his window. Resisting the urge to stay under the warm eiderdown, Hugh placed his feet on the cold floor and dressed hurriedly. Margaret hadn’t spoken to him at all the previous evening, and she hadn’t come to their bedroom, not that Hugh expected her. With any luck, she’d find a new lover to take care of her. If Lady Fate smiled on him, maybe he would never see Margaret again. It didn’t take him long to pack his holdall, as most of his belongings were at his mother’s house. In a few hours, he would be well away from Margaret. For the first time in their marriage, he was going to sneak off without a word and leave his wife wondering.

Shutting his holdall with a resolute snap, Hugh glanced around the room one more time to make sure he hadn’t left any personal belongings. Martin and Hermione would be upset with him for not saying goodbye, but Hugh needed to leave the Shorehams’ before his mother came knocking on his door, ready to enforce her own plans for Hugh. He was ready to walk out the door when Margaret burst into the room. A blood-red stain – probably wine – was splattered across her breast. Her rumpled dress hung unevenly around her ankles. The smell of yesterday’s drinks, another man’s cologne and sweat assaulted Hugh’s senses.

Margaret’s eyes darted over Hugh and around the room, coming to rest finally on Hugh’s closed holdall. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Having decided on taking up my mother’s offer, I’m off to scurry home with my tail between my legs and live a quiet life in a secluded cottage. You, dear wife, are officially free of me. I’ll have my solicitor contact you, so we can get divorced.’

‘Quiet secluded life? You? Good god, Hugh, you’ve no idea what it’s like to be without funds. Believe me, darling, you’ll hate it.’ She moved over to the mirror and fussed with her hair.

‘Will you never grow up?’

‘Me? Grow up? This from the man who is incapable of earning his way in the world. Face it, darling, you’ve done a horrid job of providing.’

He picked up his holdall and headed towards the door. ‘Good luck, Margaret.’

Margaret moved to block his way. ‘What about me?’

‘Surely you can get one of your lovers to take care of you. And so there’s no misunderstanding between us, if you ever forge my signature again, I shall prosecute.’

Margaret’s eyes showed fear for a second, but she recovered, secure in the knowledge there would be no legal proceedings. Neither Hugh nor Lady Rosalind would shame themselves with a court case. She walked over to Hugh and reached out to touch his face. He pushed her hand away.

‘Darling, I’ve actually solved all of our problems.’ She reached into the small evening bag she carried with her and pulled out a wad of notes, waving them in front of Hugh before she tucked them into his pocket. ‘Soon I’ll have more. That’s a promise.’

‘Where did you get that? My god, Margaret, what have you done?’ He took the money out of his pocket and thumbed through the wad of bills. Suspicious of Margaret and disgusted with his own momentary swell of greed, he thrust the money back at her.

She snatched it away and tucked it into her purse. ‘You don’t want it? Fine. I’m just trying to pay you back.’ Kicking off her shoes, she sat on the bed and rubbed her feet. ‘I’m trying to help you. Help us. Why don’t you trust me?’

‘Because you’ve been lying to me since the day I met you. And god knows I’ve suffered for it.’ He imagined Margaret having sex for money, no better than a common prostitute.

‘I assure you this money is rightfully mine. I’ve a plan to get us situated once and for all, far away from your mother. I’ve recently discovered I’m entitled to a bit of an inheritance. If you want a divorce, fine. I know I’ve put you through hell. I’m just asking that you wait a little while, so I can get some money to live on.’

‘Why do you need me for that? You seem able to navigate the world without me.’

Margaret looked at him, and for the briefest moment he saw the old Margaret, the beautiful young woman who had ignited his passion so long ago. But that Margaret was a figment of his overzealous imagination. It seemed he’d been waiting a lifetime for that particular side of Margaret to get a foothold in their marriage. It hadn’t, and the realisation that he had fallen in love with an affectation stung.

‘For security, I suppose. I’m a woman, alone.’ She looked at him beseechingly. ‘We don’t have to live together, but it will give me comfort to know you’re there if I need you.’

‘I thought you said your family was dead.’ Hugh stepped away from Margaret, as if putting distance between them would provide protection.

‘I have a brother. I haven’t seen him since I ran away. My childhood was horrid, actually. It’s something I don’t care to dwell on, that’s why I told you they were dead. I just vowed to be alone and forget them. In any event, my parents passed away and left me money. I intend to get it.’

Hugh thought Margaret could very well be lying, as he had learned ages ago that the truth changed according to whatever agenda she was manipulating. After years of marriage and thousands of lies, Hugh had learned the best course of action was to play along, as a confrontation would only prove fruitless.

‘Who is this brother? Where is he? Was there a will? You can’t just show up and demand money. There are legal things you need to do. For one thing, we should get a solicitor —’

‘I’ve arranged a solicitor and I have everything under control. I just need you to be available, Hugh. I don’t need you to ask questions or get involved. We don’t even need to live together. I’m asking you to be near, nothing more, until I get my money.’

‘No,’ Hugh said. ‘I’m finished. I’m going home.’ He adjusted the strap of his holdall on his shoulder. ‘This is goodbye, Margaret. Face it, we’ll be glad to get away from each other.’

‘Wait,’ she said, stamping her foot like a petulant child.

She moved close to him and fixed the top button of his shirt. Against his will, the heat of her aroused him, just as she knew it would. ‘We’ve had a good run, Hugh. I know you don’t love me anymore, but if we’re going to part ways, I’d like to do so as friends.’

Her kind words were so out of character, he should have been suspicious, should have known that she was just being nice to him because she had no lover waiting to provide for her. But her nearness, the physicality of her, evoked a response that took away his reason.

‘I’m asking you to trust me this one last time. Allow me to at least repay you some of the money I stole. After I do that, we’ll part ways, divorce and you’ll never have to see me again. Come with me while I get my inheritance.’ She ran her fingers over his lips.

He had to get away from her, before she pulled him in as she had done so many times before.

‘Where is your brother?’ He couldn’t stop himself. He bent close and nuzzled her neck.

She brushed his lips with hers before she stood on tiptoes and whispered in his ear. ‘I’m going to get the money to which I am entitled and make things right with you. But you will not get involved. Those are my conditions. You can come with me, do as I say, and recoup your losses. Or we can say goodbye today and you can step out of this home and into your life of dependence on Mummy for your stipend. My rules. Your choice.’

She kissed him, and in a brief moment of weakness, he let himself go. After all the betrayals, he still physically craved her.

‘I’ll go with you,’ he murmured into her hair. God help him, he loved her. And hated himself for it.

‘Very good.’ Margaret pushed away from him. ‘I’ll go and change. We’ll leave in an hour.’

Chapter 2

Cat Carlisle hurried home from Emmeline Hinch-Billings’s secretarial school, the large ledger tucked under her arm. Autumn was in the air, along with its accompanying chill. She was so proud of all that Emmeline had accomplished, training the young women who enrolled in courses as bookkeepers, secretaries and shorthand typists, and then securing them good jobs. At first Cat thought participating as a silent partner, with generous cash donations when necessary, would be fulfilling enough. When Emmeline Hinch-Billings needed a bookkeeper, Cat had taken over keeping the ledgers. Numbers didn’t lie, and Cat had soon discovered she enjoyed the satisfaction of balancing the books.

Try as she might, going over the ledgers in the tiny office at the school proved difficult today. A handful of the young women had received job offers in Scotland. Their excitement had been contagious, their success an inspiration to the new young women who hoped to acquire the skills necessary to earn a living. While encouraging, the thrum of excitement had proved a distraction, and Cat decided she’d be better off doing the books in the privacy of her office at home. The school had been in operation almost a year, and it was already turning a tidy profit, much to the surprise of the bankers who had refused to give Emmeline Hinch-Billings a loan. Cat had stepped in with the financial backing and was happy to have done so.

As she stepped from the lane onto the path that led to the front door of Saint Monica’s, Bede Turner was busy hanging linen pillowcases on the clothesline. When she saw Cat, she picked up her laundry basket and headed in her direction.

‘You’re finished early,’ Bede said.

‘Couldn’t concentrate at the school, too noisy. I thought I’d work here. How’s Mrs Grenville doing?’ Cat said.

‘Not good. She’s been in her room crying a good part of the day. I took her a tray with tea and toast about an hour ago. The poor woman’s scared to death. And her face is terribly bruised.’

‘Should I get her a doctor?’

‘Given her current state of mind, a female nurse would probably be better. She does need medical attention though, Miss Catherine.’ Bede shook her head. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing. These women have violent men in their lives who will eventually come looking for them. Have you given any thought as to what might happen when an angry husband shows up on our doorstep? You can’t protect these women alone. Can’t you at least ask Mr Charles—’