The Death of Mrs. Westaway

“I will be in touch with you all,” Mr. Treswick said slowly. His brow was furrowed, and Hal felt deeply sorry for him, as he lifted his glasses to rub at the place where the rests pinched the sides of his nose. “There may be quite some disentangling to do, I’m afraid.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hal said, and she had no need to fake the miserable compunction in her tone. She wished, more than anything, that there was a way to tell him of her own complicity in this, without ending up as part of a prosecution, but she couldn’t risk it. Better to cling to the shaky pretense that this was all an innocent mistake, though she was beginning to wonder how long that edifice could hold up. “Good-bye, Mr. Treswick.”

“Good-bye, Harriet.”

She nodded and stood, and he took her hand. At first she thought he was going to shake it, but he did not; he simply held it, rather gently, and when at last she smiled and pulled away, she thought for a moment that he did not want to let her go. It was a disquieting thought, the memory of his dry, old fingers holding hers rather insistently, and it stayed with her as she followed Harding down the hallway back to reception, wondering . . . wondering. . . .

At the end of the corridor, Hal looked back, and she saw that he was still there, standing in the doorway of his office, his gaze somber, and Hal found herself pondering his expression as she passed through the doorway after Harding, back into the bright, crowded little reception area.

The door swung shut behind her, but she could not resist one last glance back as it closed, to see him still standing there, his arms crossed, his brow furrowed. She could not escape the idea that there was something else Mr. Treswick would have said, if he could. Something more. But what?

CHAPTER 41

* * *

“Well,” Harding said, as they exited the lawyer’s office and stood uncertainly in the street outside. “Can I buy anyone lunch? Or, perhaps more to the point, a pint?”

“Not me,” Ezra said. He looked up at the sky, which was heavy and yellow, with the promise of snow. “I’ve got a crossing booked from Folkestone tonight. I need to get back and start packing.”

“Tonight?” Harding blinked. He looked a little piqued as he buttoned up his jacket against the cold wind. “Well, I think you could have warned us. I doubt Mrs. Warren will appreciate your running out like this.”

“Jesus!” Ezra said. He hadn’t shaved that day, and his four o’clock shadow extended down his throat below the neckline of his T-shirt. Hal thought he looked a sharp contrast to Abel’s groomed handsomeness, and Harding’s bluff middle age. “Will you piss off with the emotional blackmail, Harding. I’ve got a business to get back to.”

“We’ve all got responsibilities—”

“I didn’t even want to bloody come!” Ezra said. There was something a little dangerous in his voice, and Hal had the impression that he was holding himself back.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Abel snapped. Hal had the sudden image of a bubbling anger beneath the smiling, good-natured façade, as if something inside Abel were reaching boiling point and making the kind, compliant exterior increasingly hard to maintain. “I don’t know why you’re acting like you’re uniquely pissed off to be here.”

“Keep out of it, Abel,” Ezra growled, but Abel shook his head.

“No. I know Maud was your twin and this has stirred up a lot of painful stuff for you, but she was my sister too. You don’t get a monopoly on grief and difficult upbringings—in fact, you know what? You had a far easier time of it growing up than either Maud or me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were her favorite, you know that full well,” Abel said, a little bitterly.

“If Mother had a favorite, she didn’t let me know about it,” Ezra said shortly.

Abel gave a laugh. “Utter bollocks. You know you could twist her around your little finger. Same as Mrs. Warren. Maud and I got pasted for things you escaped with scot-free. You could have got away with murder.”

“Abel, shut up,” Ezra said curtly.

“Telling you truths you don’t want to hear?”

“You know nothing.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You don’t know what it was like for me those last years, after Maud ran away. You were off in the city shagging whoever your current toyboy was—”

“Oh, so we’re resorting to homophobic slurs now, are we?” Abel said.

“I have no problem with you shagging whoever you want,” Ezra said, his voice dangerous and level. “I’m just making the point you weren’t bloody there, so don’t tell me what it was like.”

“Children, children,” Harding said, with a rather forced laugh. “That’s quite enough. Now, come on. Of course you’re quite right to leave whenever you want to, Ezra. No one is suggesting otherwise. Just that it would be a good idea to keep us all apprised of your plans.”

“Well, in the spirit of keeping you both apprised, I’ll probably head off tonight as well,” Abel said. He shivered a little at the cutting wind that was blowing down the narrow alley. “There’s snow forecast, apparently, and I want to make a start before the roads get shut down. I can’t afford another day out of the office either, and . . . well . . . I need to see Edward. Sort some things out.” There was a short, awkward silence. “Do you want a lift back to London, Harding? I know Mitzi took the car.”

“Thank you,” Harding said, a little stiffly. “That would be very kind.”

They had reached the car park now, and Abel pulled out his keys and pressed the remote unlock.

“What about me?” Hal said, rather faintly.

“I’m sorry?” Harding turned to her, and then blinked. “Oh. Harriet, of course. What time is your train?”

“I don’t know,” Hal said. “I haven’t checked the timetable. But I need—”

The word stuck in her throat, but she forced herself on. “I mean, I don’t have any way of getting to the station.”

“I’ll drop you off en route,” Ezra said briefly. “But I warn you, I want to be away by four. Is that too early?”

He unlocked his car.

“Thanks,” Hal said. “Any time is fine, honestly. I think there are trains roughly every hour until about six.”

Ezra nodded. Then without another word, he got into the car, fired the engine, and drove off.

Beside Hal, Abel let out a gusting breath of exasperation as he watched his brother’s car drive away.

“Oh dear. I’m sorry, Hal. I . . . we’ve never really got on, the three of us. We’re too different, and I don’t think we’ve ever got over a childhood of Mother playing us off against each other. I don’t know what Ezra thinks, maybe he honestly doesn’t believe Mother favored him, but to everyone else it was pretty clear that as far as she was concerned, he could walk on water, and she didn’t try to hide it from the rest of us. It was no fun growing up with that.”

“It—honestly—it’s none of my business,” Hal said awkwardly.

“Quite,” Harding said crisply. He put an arm around Hal’s shoulders. “I think the last thing Harriet needs to take home with her is memories of our dirty washing. Well, my dear, this has certainly been a very odd business, but I hope now that our branches of the family have found each other, you’ll stay in touch.”

“I will. I promise,” Hal said, though she had a horrible feeling she did not have much choice, given Mr. Treswick’s worried look as she left.

“Now,” Harding said briskly. “Let’s all get out of this perishing wind and back to Trepassen to break the news to Mrs. Warren.”

CHAPTER 42

* * *

“Where is Mrs. Warren?”

The words floated up the stairwell towards Hal as she bumped her case down the final flight, and she felt a little prickle of something—trepidation, perhaps.

All the time, while packing, she had had to fight the urge to cram her belongings into her case any old how, so strong was the sense that the old woman might be making her way up the stairs for one final confrontation.