‘Such a shame.’
‘I only have myself to blame. I left it too long. Age catches up with us all, even Lucy, it would seem. In a funny way, I have the school at Birchwood, for all its oddities, to thank for the direction of my adult life. I’m an archaeologist,’ she explained to Juliet. ‘A professor at New York University. But before all that I was a very keen member of the Natural History Society at Miss Radcliffe’s school. Lucy – Miss Radcliffe – was a real enthusiast. I’ve met professors with a less keen instinct: she’d amassed a wonderful collection of fossils and finds. Her specimen room was a veritable trove. It was only small – but then, of course, you’ll know which one I mean, at the top of the stairs on the first floor.’
‘That’s my room now,’ said Juliet with a smile.
‘Then you can picture how crowded it was with shelves lining the walls and objects covering every available surface.’
‘I can,’ said Juliet, retrieving her notebook, which was never far from hand. ‘And I love the notion that a single house has had so many different incarnations; in fact, it’s given me an idea.’
She jotted down a note, explaining as she did so about ‘Letters from the Laneway’, to which description Mrs Hammett couldn’t resist adding, ‘My ladies and I are already featured, Dr Lovegrove – the debut article, no less! You will make sure we have copies, won’t you, Mrs Wright?’
‘I’ve instructed my editor especially, Mrs Hammett. They’ll be in the post on Monday morning.’
‘Wonderful! The ladies are so excited. Now, if you write about Lucy, you’ll have to remember to mention that she was the sister of Edward Radcliffe.’
Juliet frowned lightly; the name was vaguely familiar.
‘The artist. One of those Magenta Brotherhood they talk about. He died young, so he isn’t as famous as the others, but it was he who bought the house there on the river. Something of a scandal, there was. He and his friends were staying at the house one summer – a long time ago, back when my mother was just a girl, but she remembered it to her dying day. A beautiful young heiress was killed. She and Radcliffe were supposed to be married, but after she died his heart was broken and he never returned. It came to Lucy in his will.’
The door opened and Mr Hammett arrived, fresh from his duties behind the bar, shepherding in a young kitchen maid with an anxious expression on her face and a tray of steaming plates in her hands. ‘Ah,’ said Mrs Hammett, beaming, ‘dinner is served. Just you wait to see what our cook can do with a steamed sausage roll!’
What their cook could do, it turned out, was nothing short of a miracle. Steamed end-cuts had never been among Juliet’s favourites, but served beneath a gravy of better-not-to-ask, the roll proved delicious. Equally pleasing, the children brought their most charming selves to the table, replying to every question with answers that were engaging if perhaps a little frank for some tastes, even returning a few interesting queries of their own. Tip had managed to stick his little fingers in the waxy pools of each candle, leaving a smattering of small fossilised prints, but they remembered to say thank you when they were finished, no one blew his or her nose on the tablecloth, and when Bea asked whether they might please be excused to continue their game of cards in the entrance hall, Juliet was glad to say yes.
‘Are your children enjoying Birchwood Manor?’ Ada asked as Mrs Hammett’s kitchen maid worried over the pouring of tea and coffee. ‘It must be quite a change after London.’
‘Thankfully the change seems to agree with them.’
‘But of course: the country offers so much for children,’ said Mrs Hammett. ‘It would be a strange child indeed who didn’t delight in our part of the world.’
Ada laughed. ‘I was always a strange child.’
‘You didn’t enjoy it here?’
‘Eventually. Not at first. I was born in India and very happy there until I was packed off to school. I was not disposed to like it and I didn’t: I found the countryside insipid and polite. Unfamiliar, to put it in the best light.’
‘How long did you spend at the school?’
‘Just over two years. It closed when I was ten and I was sent on to a bigger school outside Oxford.’
‘There was a terrible accident,’ said Mrs Hammett. ‘A girl drowned during a summer picnic. The school only lasted a few years after that.’ She frowned at Ada. ‘Then, Dr Lovegrove, you must have been there when it happened.’
‘I was,’ said Ada, taking her glasses off to clean a lens.
‘Did you know the girl?’
‘Not well. She was older than I was.’
The other two women continued to talk, but Juliet had fallen to thinking of Tip. He had told her that a girl drowned in the river and now she wondered whether he’d heard something in the village to that effect. But he had mentioned the fact to her on their first morning at Birchwood, so there hadn’t been time for any of that. It was possible, she supposed, that the nervy young man from the AHA had whispered to him about it. Now that she thought about it, there’d been something a bit sly-looking about him.
But then, Tip might merely have been voicing his own deepest fears. Wasn’t she always warning him – especially him – to be careful? Alan would say he’d told her so: she was turning them into scaredy-cats with her maternal worry. And perhaps Tip had simply made a good guess: people drowned in rivers; it was a safe bet that over time someone had drowned at just about any point along the Thames. She was only finding things to worry about, because she always worried about Tip.
‘Mrs Wright?’
Juliet blinked. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hammett. I was a million miles away.’
‘Everything’s all right, I hope? Would you like some more coffee?’
Juliet slid her cup across the table with a smile and, as so often happened when one had been struggling with a prevailing worry alone, found herself explaining to the other women about Tip and his imaginary friend.
‘The poor little mite,’ said Mrs Hammett. ‘Not surprising after all the changes. He’ll come good, you’ll see. One of these days you’ll realise that he hasn’t mentioned his “friend” in a week.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Juliet. ‘I never had one myself, you see, and it just seems such a remarkable thing to conjure an entire person from thin air.’
‘Does his imaginary friend make him do naughty things?’
‘No, thank goodness, Mrs Hammett. I’m pleased to say that she’s been rather a good influence.’
‘Small mercies!’ said their host with a clap. ‘Is she with us tonight? I’ve never had an imaginary guest.’
‘Happily, no. She stayed in for the night.’
‘Well, that’s something. Perhaps it’s a good sign that he only needs her sometimes?’
‘Perhaps. Although he did say that he’d asked her to come. Apparently, she told him she couldn’t walk that far.’
‘An invalid? How intriguing. Has he told you any other details about the child?’
‘She’s not a child, to begin with. She’s a lady. I don’t know what that says about me, that he’s chosen to create an adult woman to spend time with.’
‘Perhaps she’s another version of you,’ said Mrs Hammett.
‘No, not so. From what he tells me, she’s almost my direct opposite. Long red hair, a long white dress. He’s been quite specific in his description.’
Ada, who had been quiet to this point, said, ‘Have you considered that he is being truthful?’
There was a momentary silence, and then: ‘Why, Dr Lovegrove,’ said Mrs Hammett with a nervous laugh, ‘you are a tease. But Mrs Wright is worried.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry,’ said Ada. ‘I’m sure it means nothing more than that your little boy is a creative spirit who’s invented his own way to cope with the changes in his life.’