The Secrets of Palmerston House Read online

  Forgive who? Frannie and Dorothy. But a little voiced nagged at Martha. Those two woman might have conspired and set things in motion, but ultimately, she was the one who’d walked away from Thomas. Over many years she’d found a certain peace. Acceptance. Except tonight the feelings flooded back. Thomas moaned in his sleep. Was he dreaming about Frannie? As if sensing Martha’s growing distress, Randall came to her side of the bed, his muzzle seeking her hand. She stroked his velvet ears, forcing the emotions back into their box.

  Chapter Seven

  Before dawn, shoes dangling from his fingers, Bernie headed down the staircase, taking great care to avoid the creaky boards he’d identified and memorised yesterday. He figured he had half an hour, perhaps less, to explore. Once the house stirred he’d have no hope, unless everyone went out at the same time.

  In darkness, he reached the kitchen and stood for a moment in the doorway. He could just see the neat row of keys hanging beside the doorway on the other side. Six if his memory was correct, based on the quick look he’d had. From a pocket he took a small torch and flashed its light on the keys. Six. Of course he was right. Only the master set was missing, presumably with Elizabeth.

  On closer inspection, four of them were modern keys. Useless. One might work, with its elongated teeth, but it was tagged as the garage key. Thank goodness the final one had potential and he dropped this into a pocket in case he needed it later. He held his breath, listening to the house. Still no movement but he needed to hurry up. Bernie opened the door and stepped through.

  It was cooler on this side. He was in a narrow hallway. In half a dozen strides, he reached the top of a set of stairs, so he took them, wincing when they groaned under his weight. From the bottom it was merely an arm’s length to another door. He expected it to be locked, but it wasn’t, opening with an alarming creak to reveal a cellar with wine racks.

  He left the door open behind himself. On the opposite wall was yet another door and again, unlocked. Harry Temple sure liked his doors. This room was small. Boxes and shelves cluttered it. It was cold in here. The shelves on the furthest wall were a complete unit, housing a collection of boxes. One by one, he moved them off. He tested the weight of the unit and then, grunting, lifted it enough to bring it forward on one side.

  Behind it was another blank wall. He swore under his breath and leaned against the wall, head down. The plaster moved against his body and he reached a hand out to feel where he thought the door might be. A thin straight line gave way as he pushed on it, plaster falling to the ground in small pieces. Bit by bit, he worked at it until he found a keyhole.

  Once it was clear of debris, he took the key out and slid it into the keyhole. It didn’t fit. Not even close. He moved the unit back against the wall and replaced the boxes. This was just a reconnaissance anyway. Once he had the house to himself, he’d find a way to get through it.

  ***

  The first rays of sunlight woke Martha from fitful sleep and for a few moments, she lay with her eyes closed, listening to the morning calls of the resident magpie family. Thomas was up already; she’d heard the tap turn on in the kitchen to fill the kettle. With daylight came a more logical thought process and by the time she opened her eyes Martha was past her night-time fears. What mattered was the here and now, not the events of half a century ago. She was happy and nothing would change that.

  “Did I disturb you?” Thomas watched her from the doorway holding two steaming cups. “I was going to tiptoe to the porch if you were asleep still.”

  “As long as you bring me coffee, you are always welcome to disturb me.” Martha sat up, smiling when Thomas came over to sit on the edge of the bed.

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then I shall make sure I do so every day. The earlier you’re awake, the longer we have together.” He handed her a cup, and sipped from his own. “Christie’s long gone.”

  “Running? And Randall?”

  “In the garden. Shall we get a dog?”

  “Where do we find one like him?”

  “Good point.”

  “Besides, he’s over here almost as much as with Martin. And when they go on their honeymoon, he’ll be staying again.”

  “They’re going on a honeymoon?” Thomas put his cup on Martha’s bedside table. “Since when?”

  “Well, most newlyweds do.” Martha put her cup beside his and shuffled in the bed. Thomas stood up to let her legs swing over the side. “There’s a travel agent in Green Bay.”

  Thomas offered her a hand and once she was on her feet, put both arms around her. “Are you suggesting we go for a drive?”

  She gazed up at him. “I am. After all, I’m the matron of honour, so getting some brochures on honeymoon locations is surely one of my jobs. And I’d like to get some ideas for wedding gifts, because I’ve already been asked by half a dozen people.”

  “What are we getting them?”

  “Let me have a shower and we’ll work on it.”

  “I might cook us some breakfast in that case. Sustenance for the day ahead.” Thomas released Martha, collected both cups, and wandered out as she straightened the bed.

  On his bedside table was a photograph from their wedding. The two of them exchanging vows on the end of the jetty. How I love you. This wedding of Christie and Martin’s was yet another thing to be grateful for. Her life changed for the better the day she met her great-niece, and she intended to do everything to make Christie’s special day as wonderful as her own was.

  ***

  Elizabeth prepared breakfast trays for Charlotte and Bernie. Cooking for two was no trouble at all, but Elizabeth loved to prepare beautiful meals no matter what the time of day, with special touches to show her appreciation for their patronage. Most Palmerston House guests were tourists, here for a night or two as they explored the town and beach, or drove up the mountains. But long term patrons were special. She’d get to know their likes and dislikes and be able to fuss over them a little more as they became part of her extended family.

  With the upcoming wedding, she was expecting a full house. Christie had friends in Melbourne she would invite and, most likely, would stay here as well. The prospect of the place being filled was delightful. As long as Angus is here. She pushed the thought away. He had business to attend and would be back in time to walk Christie down the aisle. Well, down the path to the pond.

  Elizabeth picked up Charlotte’s tray before seeing her at the doorway, peering in as though not sure of herself. Like you used to be. Whatever was bothering Charlotte, Elizabeth was not about to let it get any worse.

  “Well, good morning, dear.” Elizabeth put the tray down again. “You know you’re welcome in here anytime. Day or night.”

  “I didn’t know if you were alone.” Charlotte stepped in, her eyes darting around the room. “I mean, I didn’t want to interrupt if you were... umm talking to anyone.”

  “Just me, myself and I. And now you. I was about to bring this up, so would you like it in the dining room? Or perhaps outside? It’s nice this morning.”

  “Actually, I might eat out on the verandah with my book, but no need for you to take it.”

  “Well, it’s warm under the cloche and the kettle just boiled, so would you like a coffee to take with you?”

  Charlotte smiled at last. “Sounds lovely.” She pulled the tray across the table and lifted the cloche a bit. “Those eggs look delicious.”

  “Good. This will just be a moment.”

  “Did I see Christie driving out yesterday, with Randall in the car?” Charlotte replaced the cloche.

  “Oh yes, you would have. He’s staying at the cottage until Martin comes home. Now, here you are, I’ll make a bit of space for it on the corner.”

  “Thank you, Elizabeth. I didn’t realise Martin was away?”

  “I think a few days at most.”

  Charlotte lifted the tray. “Well, I don’t think I can wait much longer to eat this. All those wonderful smells!”

  “Enjoy. I might take Bernie�
�s up to his room seeing as he hasn’t been down yet.” Elizabeth picked up the other tray and followed Charlotte out of the kitchen.

  ***

  At last! On the other side of the door to the cellar, Bernie pressed his ear against the timber, willing the women to keep walking. Their voices faded and with a cautious turn of the handle he opened the door a fraction. Through the crack there was no sign of movement so he swung it enough to fit through.

  For more than an hour he’d been stuck on the other side, afraid to go back down the creaky steps and tormented by enticing smells of bacon and coffee. Much nicer than the insipid tea he’d shared with Elizabeth last time.

  The last two minutes of the long wait were worth every second. Martin Blake was away and what’s more, the dog was away as well. Time to have another look around the cliff.

  Approaching footsteps dragged him from his thoughts and he pulled the key from his pocket. He threw it back over its hook and grabbed the first thing on the counter he saw. A teapot.

  “Oh there you are!” Elizabeth carried a tray.

  “Morning. I went for a walk and popped in to see if I might persuade you to share a cup of your lovely tea with me.” He put the teapot down.

  “Of course. But look, here is your breakfast, so take this and find a spot in the dining room. Well, any spot as nobody else is there.” She handed him the tray. “I’ll brew a pot and bring you a cup in a few moments.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Thanks, Mrs White.”

  “Elizabeth. Off you go.”

  She turned to the stove and picked up the kettle to refill as Bernie left with his tray. At the door he glanced back. Elizabeth stared at the other door. No, not the door. The key rack, where the key he’d so carelessly thrown there still swung from side to side.

  Chapter Eight

  Step by rickety step, Christie climbed the old pull-down ladder to the attic. Below her in the hallway, Randall whined. “Seriously, dude. I’m okay. Go hop on my bed.” Once through the open access door, she sat on the floor and peered back at the dog. He still stared at her, his tail flicking at the end. Well, she wouldn’t be long and then she’d give him a nice long brush.

  Last time she’d been up here, inappropriately dressed in the narrow-skirted dress from Gran’s funeral, she’d used the torch on her phone. This time, she knew about the light switch to one side of the long workbench where Thomas once kept his paints and brushes. On her feet again, she followed his earlier instructions and was rewarded with a surprisingly bright light from high in the pitched roof.

  She checked the workbench in case there was anything left behind, but Thomas had been thorough when he’d packed his belongings all those years ago. He’d told her there was nothing to find, nothing of his anyway.

  It hadn’t occurred to Christie to wait until Thomas and Martha returned from their shopping trip, or see if anyone was around to give her a hand. Almost as soon as the old four wheel drive was out of earshot, she was on the ladder.

  The atmosphere of the attic was different from her first visit. Then, with the rain thundering down on the metal roof, and dull light through the dusty window creating an aura around the old armchair beside it, she’d wondered if she’d been sent back in time. Perhaps she had. To a forgotten place in the 1960s, harbouring spiders rather than a talented young artist.

  She stood at the window, brushing some grime away. The morning sun highlighted the vibrancy of the garden. Trimmed trees and bushes, flowers, pathways. A lovely meandering wonderland. Hers for a while and now, for the first time ever, owned by a Blake. The cottage might have been built for the Blake family to reside in – generations of stationmasters – but it was owned by the Ryans and eventually the only property left in River’s End with a connection to the once dominant family of the region.

  Randall yipped, checking on her. “Soon, buddy.” The trunk was where she’d left it last November, pulled far enough out from below the lowest part of the roof for her to be able to open it. She’d remembered it was well-made but now, with proper lighting, saw she’d underestimated its quality.

  It was in nearly perfect condition, apart from a few scratch marks around the keyhole. She touched these, remembering how careful she’d been when she’d used the skeleton key left by Gran to open it. How she’d lifted the lid, holding her breath in anticipation of what might be inside. At first, seeing there was only an old shoebox, she’d been disappointed. Yet its contents led to the reunion of Thomas and Martha, and the end of the fifty-year-old mystery.

  Well, now she had a new mystery. Why was the trunk here? Who hid it in the attic, and when? Christie tested its weight, deciding it was light enough for her to carry. Now she had to work out how to get it down the steps safely without dropping it, or losing her own footing.

  ***

  The old police station in River’s End was a one person outfit with the station at the front and a one bedroom residence accessed through a common door. Until thirty or forty years ago it was a family home on the edge of the little shopping precinct. When it came up for sale, it was split almost in half and redesigned with a couple of offices, a counter, lock-up, and not much else on one side, and accommodation on the other. Just the basics. Nobody wanted to work there. Not because of the relative isolation from other police, but because one bedroom meant a single person or couple only, no kids.

  When the job came up yet again, Trev Sibbritt took a drive to River’s End and fell in love with the town. He was single then and single now, so the little place suited him well. Despite the low crime rate his days were busy as he serviced a wide area outside the town.

  In all the years he’d been here, the most crime was earlier this year when Derek Hobbs sent his thug, Rupert, to shake up River’s End and specifically, Christie Ryan, in his warped attempt to get her land. Trev managed the situation, but only with the help from the locals, who rallied on the beach in a storm to bring Christie, Martin and Randall back to safety. He’d never been prouder of his job than that night.

  His early morning duties done, Trev wandered down to the letterbox with a coffee in hand. From the outside there were few signs this was not still a family home. In a large garden with roses, a couple of gum trees, and a veggie patch at the back, only the signs ‘Police’ at the beginning of the driveway and on the building itself, plus the heavy duty security bars on the doors and windows, gave away its purpose.

  The letterbox was empty, so Trev leaned on the fence to watch the street as shopkeepers opened their doors, sweeping the pavement and calling to each other. The morning routine. Quick footsteps approached and he turned his head. It was Charlotte, hurrying along, her eyes flicking across to the other side of the road. When she noticed Trev, the oddest expression crossed her face and she slowed.

  “Morning, Charlotte.”

  She stopped a few feet away. “Hi, Trevor.”

  “Nice day for a walk.”

  “I’m not walking. I mean, I’m not just going for a walk. I have to see someone.” She glanced up the road, across at the far corner. Trev followed her gaze. Bernie Cooper was talking to George outside the jewellers. Was it George or Bernie who had her interest?

  “Like a coffee? I’m about to get another.”

  Her eyes shot back to his and her expression softened. “Thanks. But I have somewhere to go.”

  “I see.”

  “No, really, I umm, er, I’m going to see Christie.”

  “Want a lift?”

  She smiled. “Two good legs. Mum always said use them, or lose them. But thanks. Really.”

  “Your mum sounds like a sensible lady.”

  Charlotte’s smile disappeared. “I’ve got to go.”

  Her eyes went back to the corner, then to Trev’s and for an instance, something like a silent request for help was in those gorgeous eyes. Something wasn’t right and he opened his mouth to ask her but she started walking and the moment was gone.

  He watched her until she disappeared around the other corner, heading to the bridge. Had he
imagined the look in her eyes? Bernie Cooper had gone into the jewellers with George. Might pay to run a bit more of a background check on him.

  ***

  “I’m particularly interested in any artefacts from the 1800s.” Bernie wandered around the jewellery shop.

  From behind the glass counter, George Campbell glanced up. “Any particular decade?”

  “Dunno. About 50s to 60s? Isn’t that around the time the town began to grow?”

  “Palmerston House was built in 1850, but I imagine you know this already.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Aren’t you staying there? Elizabeth talks to all her guests about the history of the building.” George put both hands on the counter, tilting his head slightly. “You’re a photographer?”

  “Small towns. Of course, everyone knows everyone’s business.” Bernie smiled. “I am. This town intrigues me. Still has old charm and some of the buildings are in virtually original condition. This shop for example,” he waved a hand at the front windows, “is almost like stepping back in time. Nothing modern or cheap, just quality from ceiling to floor.”

  A small smile crept onto George’s face. “Thank you for noticing. Most people these days seem to want the latest watch or the cheapest ring. But they don’t last.”

  “I’ll bet yours do. Not that I’m a betting man, but what you make probably gets passed down through each generation.”

  “Indeed. Now, to your request. Are you interested in buying, or photographing? Either is perfectly fine of course, but it might help to know.”

  “Bit of both. I always keep... mementos, if you like, of places I visit. If you had a keepsake of some sort from those years, I’d be most interested in obtaining it. I do like a fob watch.”

  “I’m not an antique dealer but may have a couple of pieces of interest. Let me find my spectacles and I’ll show you. Please excuse me a moment.”