He smiled. ‘I’ll have you know my shoulders are strong enough to support the biggest of heads. I’m not a weakling baby, you know. Oh, and talking of babies, I’ve got something to tell you, something I saw in the woods at the back of Island House on Sunday.’
When he’d told her, and after Florence had asked him if he was sure, she knew it was something Miss Romily should hear about it.
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn, Miss Romily,’ said Florence. ‘I’m not one for telling tales, I never have been. But I thought this was important and you should know about it.’
Romily put down the pen she’d been writing with and turned away from her desk to give Florence her full attention. ‘It’s not about that gypsy fortune-teller, is it?’
‘No. It’s about Mr Arthur Devereux. The thing is, Billy – Billy Minton from the baker’s …’
‘Yes, I’m well acquainted with Billy,’ Romily interjected with a smile. ‘He’s your young beau if I’m not mistaken.’
Florence blushed. ‘I wouldn’t say that. I mean we’re only …’
‘I’m teasing you, Florence, which is naughty of me. I apologise. Do carry on.’
‘Well the thing is, it’s what Billy saw on Sunday. He’d been with his parents down at the Sally Army hall, and afterwards he and his mate Tommy Fisher from the butcher’s decided to go rabbiting in the woods at the back of here. Tommy can be a bit pushy, so Billy says, and well, he insisted they take the short cut along the private path around the pond; he said the bushes were so overgrown there nobody would see them, so nobody would be any the wiser, because strictly speaking they were trespassing, and Billy was worried about that.’
When the girl drew breath, and sensing she was going to go into rather more detail than might be necessary, Romily sat back in her chair and made herself more comfortable. She couldn’t help but be intrigued. ‘Go on,’ she said encouragingly.
‘Billy says it was when they were skirting round the furthest side of the pond that he peered through the bushes, through the bit where they’re not so thick – he was afraid they might be seen across from the garden – and that’s when he saw Arthur bending down to the sleeping baby and carrying her off. So he wasn’t telling the truth when he said he found Annelise on the path heading towards the woods. He lied, didn’t he, to get Miss Allegra into trouble?’
‘And you’re absolutely sure Billy isn’t making this up?’ asked Romily.
Florence shook her head vigorously. ‘He’s not like that. He doesn’t say things for effect like some lads do. And for what it’s worth, and because I knew it was important, I made him swear he was telling the truth.’ She paused and fiddled with her apron. ‘I have done the right thing in telling you, haven’t I?’
‘You did entirely the right thing in coming to me,’ said Romily. ‘I’m very grateful to you, Florence, and to Billy for sharing with you what he saw. What made him tell you, by the way?’
‘He’d heard about Annelise going missing, and that Arthur was the one to find her – probably Mrs Bunch had the news all round the village by teatime yesterday – and he just thought it didn’t add up.’
‘He’s an astute young man,’ Romily said thoughtfully.
Florence smiled shyly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before now, but there hasn’t been time since yesterday when he told me, what with everything that’s been going on and looking after Annelise.’
‘That’s all right. I know now, that’s the important thing.’
‘It’s none of my business, but I can’t help but think Miss Allegra has been treated badly by that cousin of hers. He deserves stringing up for putting her through all that torment, especially as she’s not well. Is she feeling any better?’
‘Rest is what Dr Garland says is best for her,’ Romily said evasively. ‘But I think this news you’ve shared with me may well help.’
Left on her own, Romily contemplated just how loathsome a creature Arthur was. What a twisted mind he had to carry out such a scheme. And why? To pit Hope against Allegra and divide them yet further? What satisfaction did he gain from such a ploy?
But Florence was right. A great wrong had been committed against Allegra, and Romily was determined to see that it was put right. Arthur would be shamed for his plotting and scheming.
She returned to the chapter she had been writing before Florence had knocked on the door, but try as she might, she could not settle. Her mind kept dwelling on what Arthur had done, in particular the awful minutes spent searching for Annelise in the pond, fearing the worst. She remembered too how distressed Allegra and Hope had been, the terror on Allegra’s face and the hopeless misery on Hope’s. What sick delight Arthur must have taken knowing that he had caused such a commotion and instilled such panic. What drove him to want to be always in control, to be the consummate puppet-master pulling the strings to manipulate others to his amusement? Roddy had warned Romily that there was a dark side to Arthur and that he was capable of almost anything, but she had underestimated that warning.
It was exactly a week ago that Jack’s funeral had taken place, and this evening Roddy would be arriving to inform the family whether they had fulfilled the terms of the will to his satisfaction. His decision would be made tomorrow morning, after he’d spoken with Romily.
Whatever the final decision was, Romily strongly suspected the connection between Island House and Jack’s family would not be broken immediately. Free as they were to go their different ways, she was not sure everyone would leave. Kit and Arthur would probably return to London and their jobs, but Allegra and Hope would be in no rush to go. In fact, Romily felt bound to urge them to stay on. She would be happy to extend the same invitation to Kit, but not Arthur. The sooner that malign influence left, the better.
She put down her pen, abandoning the idea of work, and switched on the wireless to listen to the latest news on the ultimatum Hitler had sent Poland regarding Danzig. With still no word on the outcome, it was as if the world was holding its breath, the future as they knew it hanging precariously in the balance. In many ways it was a reflection of their own little world here at Island House, the family waiting to hear the outcome of their week spent together.
With a heavy heart, Romily switched off the wireless and went and stood at the open French doors, where a gentle breeze blew in, carrying with it the milky-sweet scent of freshly mown grass. It was late afternoon, and in the golden sunlight the garden’s exquisite loveliness had the power to touch her. But despite the warmth and beauty of the day, a shiver of fear ran through her.
It was later, after Roddy had joined them and they were having dinner, that Romily chose her moment to confront Arthur, when she sensed he was taking his final chance to rile everybody around the table. There was no getting away from it: the man enjoyed a captive audience and manipulating it for his own warped pleasure.
She waited for Florence to finish serving their dessert, and when the girl had left the room, Romily raised her wine glass. ‘I think a toast is in order, wouldn’t you agree?’
