Hand In Glove Part 11

"Empty-handed. We've searched the place as thoroughly as we can short of lifting floorboards or climbing up the chimney. There's nothing there. Like I say, she had no need to hide the letters. n.o.body but me knew they even existed."

"So what do you think? Did she destroy them?"

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"Her dead brother's last letters? No. n.o.body would do that. Besides, she'd promised me she wouldn't. And she wasn't a lady to break her word."

"Then what did she do with them?"

"I don't know. Unless-" He broke off and frowned thoughtfully.

"What is it?"

"Unless she was afraid they'd go astray. Be overlooked after her death. Trashed before anybody realized what they were. Is it possible she left them with somebody for safe-keeping? A friend, perhaps?"

"Of course it's possible. But why would she trust a friend with the letters if she wouldn't trust Maurice or me with them?"

"Because she might have wanted to use a neutral party-somebody outside the family. Not that I'm saying it's what happened.

I'm just trying to cover every eventuality. h.e.l.l, I don't even know if she had such a friend."

"Oh, but she did!" Suddenly, Charlotte smiled. "You're right. It's obvious. Her oldest friend of all. She was the neutral party. Lulu Harrington."

They drove back to Tunbridge Wells, Charlotte having to restrain herself from exceeding all known speed limits, so impatient was she to put her theory to the test. Her first action on entering Ockham House was to seize the telephone and dial Lulu's number. Relief swept over her when it was answered in Lulu's familiar tone.

"Lulu? This is Charlotte Ladram."

"Charlotte? What a delightful surprise. How are you?"

"Fine, but-"

"I really was so very sorry to miss Beatrix's funeral. I trust my wreath was safely delivered?"

"Yes. Yes, it was. Forgive me, but this call is rather urgent. I'm hoping you'll be able to help me."

"I'll be happy to, if it lies within my power."

"I think it may. Tell me, did Beatrix ever leave anything with you for safe-keeping? A parcel or packet of some kind?" She paused and waited for an answer, but there was none. "Lulu?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes. I heard. A parcel or packet. What makes you ask?"

"That's a little difficult to explain."

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"I see." She sounded pensive, almost apprehensive.

"So what's the answer?"

"Are you phoning on somebody else's behalf ?"

"No."

"Not perhaps on your sister-in-law's?"

"You mean Ursula?"

"She will have to accept I did not know what it contained. And that I was bound by a solemn promise. What else could I do?"

"Lulu, I don't know what you're talking about."

"But you must."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"No. No, I haven't, have I?"

"Are you going to?"

There was no reply. Charlotte thought she could hear Lulu's slightly wheezy breathing at the other end and decided this time to let her choose when to break the silence. At last she said: "I think we must meet, my dear. This matter has been preying upon my conscience. And I can think of no one better than you to confide in. There is no one else, indeed, in whom I could confide. So, let us meet. The sooner the better. I see now that I must make a clean breast of what I have done. Without further delay."

CHAPTER.

THIRTEEN.

To Charlotte, Cheltenham seemed like a less hilly version of Tunbridge Wells. There was the same abundance of Regency architecture, the same bustling but well-ordered gentility.

She arrived in the heat of early afternoon and spent an uncomfortable half hour locating Park Place, where Lulu lived among the many similar tree-lined residential roads south of the centre. She had come alone, having persuaded Emerson that his presence might alarm Lulu. Indeed, though she had not told him so, she did not propose to mention his interest in Beatrix's affairs. She did not even know yet whether she would relay to him everything Lulu had to say. Their H A N D I N G L O V E.

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telephone conversation had left her confused and uncertain about what to expect of her visit. Vapid anti-climax or astounding revelation. Either was possible. And, to tell the truth, she was not sure which she was hoping for.

Courtlands was one of a terrace of white-rendered Regency dwellings where, according to the array of bells at the entrance, Miss L. Harrington occupied the ground floor only. Charlotte had barely time to remove her finger from the buzzer when the door opened and a tiny white-haired old lady with twinkling blue eyes smiled out at her.

"Charlotte?"

"Yes. I . . . I'm sorry if I'm late."

"You're not, my dear. Do come in."

Lulu led her down the hall and into a high-ceilinged drawing room crowded with books, paintings, photographs, figurines and a seemingly limitless number of different tea-sets displayed in gla.s.s-fronted cabinets. It would be difficult, Charlotte felt, to cross to the fireplace without accidentally kicking a china rabbit or upsetting a pile of knitting patterns. And what looked like the most comfortable armchair was occupied by the dormant mound of a huge Prussian blue cat. Of cats and clutter in general Beatrix had never approved and it seemed odd to think of her spending a contented fortnight there every year.

Lulu bustled about preparing tea and Charlotte followed her into the kitchen to help. The window looked on to a well-kept garden where two teenage boys were playing with a frisbee. Seeing Charlotte glance out at them, Lulu said: "They live in the first-floor flat. I have tenants above and beneath me. To be honest, I am glad of their company. We schoolmistresses like to have the young about us even in our dotage, you know."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Since I retired from teaching. Twenty years ago this month.

How time does fly. The College had accommodated me till then. I was a housemistress, you understand. What I should have done afterwards without Beatrix's help I cannot imagine. It would certainly have been beyond my means to buy this house."

"You mean Beatrix lent you some money towards it?"

"Not lent. Gave. Beatrix was, as you must know, exceedingly generous. Too generous, I sometimes thought."

"Yes. She was." Suddenly, Charlotte flushed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

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"It's perfectly all right. I know exactly what you meant. She was generous and discreet. I felt sure she would never have mentioned the a.s.sistance she gave me to anybody else. I only mention it now because it has, in some sense, a bearing on what has occurred."

"And what has occurred?"

"Come into the drawing room, my dear. Drink some tea and humour me by eating some cake. Then I'll explain everything."

Before Lulu offered any explanations, Charlotte was obliged to offer one of her own. Meeting the old lady's mild but perceptive gaze across the tea-tray, she had the impression that the lie she had prepared was no longer sufficient. But it was too late to prepare another.

"Beatrix once told Maurice and me she had letters from her brother, sent to her from Spain in the months before his death, that should not be made public while my mother was alive. We were puzzled we couldn't find them at Jackdaw Cottage and thought she might have left them with you for safe-keeping."

"She may have done. It is possible."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I. But you are about to, whereas I may never." Lulu smiled. "Forgive me. I do not mean to tease. But am I to take it you did not telephone me at the request of Ursula Abberley?"

"You are. Ursula doesn't even know I'm here."

"Extraordinary." She shook her head in evident bemus.e.m.e.nt.

"Beatrix and I met at Roedean, as I'm sure you're aware. More than seventy years ago. A very long time. Long enough, you might think, for me to know her mind better than anyone. Well, if I do, it means n.o.body knew her mind at all. For I did not, I freely confess. She was and is to me an enigma."

Lulu fell silent, but Charlotte could sense it was only an interval to collect and marshal her thoughts. She resumed without need of prompting.

"Beatrix was considerably more intelligent than me. She had a faculty for seeing to the heart of things which could be quite disarming. You must know that, of course. What I mean is that she had such a faculty even as a child. Her father withdrew her from Roedean after her mother's death. Had she remained, she could easily have surpa.s.sed my academic achievements. I went on to Girton College, H A N D I N G L O V E.

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Cambridge, and came here to teach at the Ladies' College in 1923, but we never lost touch. I often went to stay with her at Indsleigh Hall and later at Jackdaw Cottage."

"You must have met Tristram, then?"

"Oh, yes. On several occasions. But he had little time for a dowdy schoolmistress like me. I can hardly claim to have known him. An impulsive young man, certainly, as I suppose the manner of his death proves. So far as letters to Beatrix are concerned, she never mentioned receiving any, but, then again, there is no reason why she should have.

Our friendship was never intimate, you must understand. We enjoyed each other's company, but I was never her confidante."

Once again, Lulu paused, frowning as if it was difficult to frame what she had to say. But the difficulty was soon surmounted.

"I was, of course, immensely grateful to Beatrix for the help she gave me in buying this house and when she asked me to help her, I saw it as partial repayment of what I owed her. Not that Beatrix looked upon it in that light. She would, I do not doubt, have accepted a refusal to co-operate as no more than my right. But I did not refuse.

Not even when, as recently, what she asked of me seemed so . . . so very strange."

"What did she ask of you?"