Chapter One
“The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts.”
Angeline Hamilton studied the card with the picture of the white lilies on the front. The caption read: In your time of sorrow. Sighing, she placed it on the mantle next to all the others—regiment style. The condolence cards had been arriving for several days now. Most showed up by mail, but some were hand delivered today by the funeral guests themselves. Many of whom she hardly knew nor cared for.
Turning, a yellow envelope on the bureau caught her eye. That was odd, she hadn’t seen it there before. She picked it up. Who sent this one? The heavy print handwriting just said, ‘Miss Hamilton’. Quite formal then, possibly from someone else she hardly knew. The envelope wasn’t sealed, so it opened easily and she extracted the card. On the front was a picture of a white dove with the words With Deepest Sympathy embossed in gold lettering. She looked inside, taking a sharp intake of breath as she read the words:
YOU, NEXT?
Trembling, she held on to the bureau to steady herself, her knuckles white with fear. Why should anyone want to send her a card like this? She stared at it again as if by doing so the words would magically erase and change to something more appropriate like: Wishing you comfort in your time of sorrow, or some other good wish. Not this. Was the person who sent the card here in the house right now with the other guests? Had he or she been at the cemetery as her father’s coffin was lowered into the earth only hours before? And more importantly, perhaps, was he or she present at the reading of the will just afterwards?
She glanced out of the French windows. Several people stood around in small clusters near the lawn. The only thing marking this from any other occasion at the big house was the black clothing they wore; otherwise it could have been one of the garden parties her mother and father held years back when she was a child.
Flinging the doors open, she stepped out on the terrace just in time to get away from two elderly aunts who were about to enter, their plates piled high with miniature sandwiches and their obligatory cups of tea. The cool evening air hit her like a welcome friend. The house felt stuffy and sad now that her father was gone.
How she missed him. Her dear father had been all that was left of her memories of this house, her mother having passed away a few years back. He was never the same man after his wife died. Her parents lived for one another. She felt a warm tear trickle down her cheek and brushed it away with the back of her hand. What sad, sick person would send her a card like this on the day of her father’s funeral? Surely, no one wanted to see her dead? She had no enemies as far as she knew.
Hearing the voices of more guests as they entered the adjacent room, she hoped none would venture out onto the terrace. She folded the offending card and slipped it into the pocket of her dress.
Her aunts’ voices rose to cope with the chatter taking place in the room.
“And to think he left her without as much as a penny…”
“It was well known he liked the odd flutter on the horses but to blow the whole lot and his home before he died on his gambling addiction is unbelievable!”
“Poor girl.”
The women’s trill voices drifted from inside the house and onto the balcony.
Angeline knew that the ‘poor girl’ the women referred to was herself. They were oblivious to the fact that she stood alone on the terrace outside with a glass of wine in one hand and a plate of canapés in the other. She had half a mind to walk into the drawing room right now, shocking the old biddies into red-faced humiliation, but that wasn’t her way. She’d often been told she was too nice to people, maybe that was her downfall.
Of course, she realised when the will was read out her inheritance had been squandered, but she’d reassured herself that, at least the Manor House was still hers. So she was more than a little taken aback to discover that her ancestral home had been sold, lock, stock and barrel, to a local businessman, leaving her high and dry. Who the man was, she’d yet to discover, all she knew for now was that she loathed him. She hated the unknown man with a vengeance. Hated anyone who could destroy her future by removing the only thing remaining of her past.
Her mind drifted back to memories of times with her parents on this very terrace when the house was still in good order, without the peeling paint, leaky roof and overgrown gardens. They’d had a houseful of servants back then. A butler, a cook and some kitchen maids; ladies maids; gardener and chauffeur. Now all that remained was herself and the housekeeper, Daisy White, the only links with the house and its past.
Angeline shivered momentarily, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Someone is watching me again. She’d sensed it for several days now, that uneasy sensation of not quite knowing who the person was or where they were, just that they were out there somewhere. The card! Maybe she hadn’t been imagining things after all.
“Angeline!” A male voice drifted out onto the terrace. It was her cousin, William, who’d been invited like herself for the reading of the will. If he was disappointed not to receive anything, he wasn’t showing it, unlike some of the other relatives who had already driven off in a succession of Bentleys, Jaguars and Mercedes Benz, in total disgust at not being left a penny from Thomas Hamilton’s estate. That’s all it was to them--a game of opportunity.
William’s presence helped her relax as she reminded herself she was probably imagining things. Why should anyone want to watch her? And maybe that card was from some kook who had read of her father’s death in the obituary column of the local newspaper. Some people were odd—it gave them a thrill to do something like that. Well, she wasn’t going to let them get to her. Grief did funny things to people. It wasn’t at all unusual for someone bereaved to imagine a deceased person watching over them. Only she felt this person was very much alive. She pushed the thought away while she still had guests at the house.
Placing her china plate and crystal wine glass on top of a small black wrought iron table, she turned to William. He stood in front of the French window, his eyes widened. Perhaps he was surprised to find her outside on her own instead of chatting to the funeral guests inside.
He furrowed his brow and strolled towards her. “What are you doing out here? Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course I am.” She surprised herself by snapping at her affable cousin. “Sorry. It’s just been one of those days.” There was no point in worrying him about her possible imaginary feelings. But maybe she ought to show him the card. After all, that was hardly a figment of her imagination.
He drew near to her and draped one arm around her shoulders. “Come on in. It’s rather nippy for you to be standing outside in a short sleeved dress, Angel.”
Angel was William’s pet name for her since childhood. It irritated her then, but nowadays she felt comfortable with it, even liked it somewhat.
“I didn’t notice,” she lied, allowing him to direct her back into the house.
The two elderly aunts sat on floral armchairs, stuffing their faces with cucumber sandwiches. They both looked at her with a hint of apprehension in their eyes as she entered the room via the French doors, and then nervously glanced at one other.
For a second, she heard a tea cup rattle on a saucer.
Good enough for both of you. Now you’ll always wonder whether I heard you or not, you pair of old crones.
The larger of the pair put down her cup and saucer and stood to say something, but Angeline pretended she hadn’t noticed and walked away.
Following William through the door and down the long hall way, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” His lips curved into a smile. He took her hand and led her down a small spiral staircase and she immediately realised where he was taking her.
“You didn’t forget, then?” she asked in astonishment.
“How could I? After all the times we spent down here together as children. We led the grown-ups a merry old dance, didn’t we?”
She giggled at the thought of it. It was their secret place. The room was small and dark and cold, too, but they didn’t mind. A small shaft of light filtered in through the only window, high up, near the ceiling. Angeline guessed that years ago it was probably a bedroom for a scullery maid or some other servant.
Their footsteps echoed as they descended the steps. There in the corner was the same pine table they always ate upon—food they used to pilfer from the large kitchen above when cook took an afternoon nap before working on the evening meal. Now it was laid out with a red and white checked table cloth and plates of ‘doorstep’ sandwiches and an assortment of cakes. Both children felt wickedly naughty when they made their sandwiches; it was the only time they got to eat huge hunks of bread instead of tiny, thin slices with the crusts cut off.
“I’ve not forgot the drinks either.” William laughed and handed her a long glass of pink milkshake with a bright red straw poking out. “Strawberry. I remembered it was your favourite!”
She gratefully accepted the glass and took a sip of the ice-cold milky drink, just what she needed right now. “You’ve thought of everything, my dear cousin.”
“Yeah, well I thought it would be the last time we’d get to do this, here.”
Angeline felt a lump rise in her throat and tears prick the back of her eyes. She’d been so composed too, right throughout the funeral and the reading of the will, having fought so hard to hold it back in front of everyone.
“Let it all go, Angel.” William spoke softly. “If anyone needs to cry, it’s you after all that’s happened.” William opened his arms wide and allowed her to go into them.
She felt safe and protected in the circle of his arms as she finally let go and sobbed. He gently kissed the top of her head. After a few moments, she looked up at him through a haze of tears and said, “William, just where am I to go and what am I do to with the rest of my life? I’ve got to do something. I need to find a new home and a job.” It was now she realised how privileged her life had been until today. There’d been no need to struggle for anything, it had all been handed to her on a plate, a silver one at that. She was practically penniless.
He looked down at her and shook his head. “I don’t know. What I do know is, I can offer you a bed at my place for a few nights until you find somewhere more suitable. It’s absolutely shocking that Uncle Tom left you without anything at all. I think we were all mortified about that.”
She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “Yes, my only comfort from all of this is some of those gold digging vultures went away empty handed as well.”
“Angeline, how could you say that about your lovely relatives?” William said in a mocking tone. “It just doesn’t add up to me at all. Uncle Tom was a very shrewd man, he’d made a lot of overseas investments. He was hardly the type to do this kind of thing. He would have wanted to leave you well provided for.”
“You don’t know, do you?” Angeline asked, incredulous William had no idea about her father’s condition before he died. “My father wasn’t in his right mind when he died. He was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease.”
William blinked as he digested the information. “Well if that was the case, how could the will possibly be valid?”
“He made the will before he was diagnosed with the illness, although, I reckon he must have developed the disease well before then. Looking back, there are lots of little clues. He became forgetful. I needed to repeat things over and over to him. I put it down to his age. If only I’d realised back then, maybe I could have saved him from himself.”
William held her at arms’ length. “Maybe, or maybe not. Sometimes, Angel, things are meant for a purpose.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
He kissed her gently on the forehead. “I’m just nipping back upstairs to say goodbye to my parents. Don’t worry, I’ll explain how upset you are. Mother will probably ring you this evening when you’re on your own. I’ll be five minutes, I promise.” He placed a hand on her shoulder before leaving.
She nodded. William had always been able to read her so well. The thought of facing any more funeral guests was too much for her right now. A few minutes alone was just what she needed.
She jumped as she heard the door slam shut above, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. As much as she didn’t want to leave the old house, it was starting to spook her out.
* * * *
The man hid behind a tree, watching the funeral guests as they left the big house, his heart beating a tattoo beneath his shirt. He extracted a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and patted his brow. Must be all the adrenaline flowing around his body, he surmised. This was such an exciting day for him, better than winning any lottery. Ah, yes, revenge is sweet.
Most of the guests wouldn’t want to stay now there was nothing in it for them. Little did they realise it was because of his plan. Oh yes, he’d finally got his hands on the Hamilton money. Not only got his hands on a fortune, but made money on the money by investing it wisely, and now it was stored away securely where they would never find it. Especially that snooty cow. She deserved nothing.
He drew a silver hip flask from his inside pocket, unscrewed its top and took a long swig, gasping as the alcohol took his breath away. He had every right to celebrate--it had been a good day. Especially now he knew the bitch had lost it all. After all, it was the law of the universe, wasn’t it? Karma. What goes around comes around and all that. She’d really done a hatchet job on him some years back. His future was mapped out at the time: a wife, children, and Angeline’s inheritance when her old man snuffed it. But that was all taken away when she left him.
He took another sip of the amber fluid, feeling it hit the spot, right at the back of his throat, warming him to the very core. He drank a lot of whisky these days after what Angeline had done to him. He needed warming up the way she’d turned cold on him. Frozen him out, she had. If she hadn’t abandoned him like that, they would be married with children by now. Only she’d cheated him out of what was rightfully his, both his offspring and the money.
There had been no other women since, none of importance anyway. Most of them were interchangeable bimbos he met in pubs and clubs for a knee trembler up against the wall of some filthy alley way. Or if he felt generous and they looked fairly decent, he would book a hotel room for the night. If they were fortunate enough to share his bed, the following morning he neither cared for them nor wanted any more to do with them. It gave him a kind of kick that most of them wanted to see him again to start a relationship. He rejected the silly cows before they rejected him. Just like Angeline Hamilton had done to him. Well, someone had to pay, didn’t they? They were all bloody whores, the lot of them. Women couldn’t be trusted.
There was only one woman he trusted, the one who gave birth to him, and he hadn’t seen her for some time. No woman could compare to his mother. He thought Angeline had, but he should have known better.
He unlocked his car door and sat behind the wheel then slammed the flask down on the dashboard and stared at his trembling hands. Well, there was already blood on them and no doubt, there’d be blood on them again, sometime in the near future.
