Chapter Nine
NINE
‘You are going to be Deborah Lawrence,’ said Iris.
‘All right. Who is she?’
‘Someone who was at Newnham with me.’
‘Why is she here with you now?’
‘We’re organising a Newnham event. The real Deborah married an American soldier and is now living in the States, so no danger of her actually showing up. She wasn’t close to Nancy, so the Spurlocks wouldn’t know her.’
‘I see. And who are you going to be?’
‘I’m going to be me.’
‘Why do you get to be you, but I don’t get to be me?’
‘They might recognise Deborah’s name as a Newnham student even if they’ve never met her. It will give you more plausibility than being Mrs Gwendolyn Bainbridge, who has been in the newspapers solving murders occasionally.’
‘As have you.’
‘Yes, but I actually met the Spurlocks a few times back then, so they will more likely make the Newnham connection. I’ll take the lead, you observe and pop in with any questions you come up with.’
The Spurlock residence was on Holland Villas Road.
They passed one stately Victorian house after another, finally coming to one set back from a low brick wall with pillars placed at even intervals.
There were covered holes along the top of the wall between the pillars, showing where the iron fence had been before it had been removed and donated to the war effort.
The two women walked up the steps under the portico and rang the bell.
A minute later, a maid opened it.
‘May I help you?’ she asked.
‘Good morning,’ said Sparks. ‘I am Miss Iris Sparks and this is Miss Deborah Lawrence. We are with the Newnham College Alumnae Association. We were wondering if Mr or Mrs Spurlock was at home today.’
‘May I ask what this is in reference to?’
‘There is an upcoming event at Newnham, and we wished to speak with them about the remembrance portion.’
‘Mrs Spurlock is in,’ said the maid. ‘Please come into the sitting room, and I will ask if she is able to see you.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sparks.
The sitting room was to the left. The furniture was old but well-cared for. The two women sat side by side on a sofa upholstered with a burgundy brocade, with cushions covered in an autumnal print of brown, orange and red leaves.
They rose as the maid returned, followed by a woman in her early sixties.
Her grey hair was plaited unevenly and bound into an untidy bun.
She was wearing a dark grey frock that stopped a few shades short of full mourning, but was funereal in appearance nonetheless except for a brilliant diamond brooch pinned over her heart.
‘How do you do?’ she said. ‘I am Mrs Florinda Spurlock. Miss Sparks, I believe you were a friend of my late daughter, Nancy.’
‘I was, Mrs Spurlock,’ said Sparks. ‘This is my friend and Newnham classmate, Miss Deborah Lawrence.’
‘How do you do, Mrs Spurlock?’ said Mrs Bainbridge.
‘How do you do,’ replied Mrs Spurlock. ‘Were you also a friend of my daughter?’
‘I was not,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘I knew who she was, of course, but we were not close at the time. I regret not getting to know her better.’
‘You were kind enough to attend the funeral, Miss Sparks,’ said Mrs Spurlock. ‘One of the few from Newnham, in fact.’
‘I was, Mrs Spurlock,’ said Sparks. ‘Nancy was a good friend, and I miss her to this day.’
‘Lottie mentioned something about a memorial.’
‘Yes,’ said Sparks. ‘I don’t know if you’ve been following events at Cambridge, but a report recommending that Newnham and Girton be given full status as colleges within the university was issued last month.
We anticipate that the proposal will be put to a vote by the proctors before the end of the year.
We are optimistic that it will pass, aren’t we, Deborah? ’
‘Long overdue, in my opinion,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.
‘So we anticipate a formal celebration next year. Some of us were talking about all the Newnham girls who sadly did not live to see this, and it was suggested that there be some form of memorial established in their honour. I thought of Nancy, of course.’
‘Why?’ asked Mrs Spurlock.
‘Because of her passing, and—’ began Sparks.
‘Why should that wicked girl’s memory be prolonged any further?’ said Mrs Spurlock, her expression darkening.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
‘I never thought of her as wicked,’ said Sparks, recovering.
‘No, I expect you wouldn’t,’ snapped Mrs Spurlock. ‘You were very much the same way.’
‘We were young,’ said Sparks.
‘You were supposedly intelligent, though. Weren’t you? Smart enough to think that the world couldn’t ruin you.’
‘We were smart enough to think that we needed an education to change it,’ said Sparks.
‘A fat lot of good that did you,’ said Mrs Spurlock. ‘The world is still decaying by the minute. Not that I think for a second that improving it was ever my daughter’s goal.’
‘What were her goals back then?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge.
‘To leave the course of protection and tutelage that I had arranged for her, and to go to a place with no limits and no proper supervision,’ said Mrs Spurlock.
‘I told her father over and over that university was no place for a girl, but she was the apple of his eye and could do no wrong. She needed to stretch her wings and soar, he said. And, as I predicted, she flew too close to the sun and fell. I should have stopped her from going, but I didn’t have the courage to stand up to him.
I failed her. She died, and I have lived with that failure ever since. ’
‘Perhaps we could speak to Mr Spurlock if this is too upsetting for you,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.
‘He is away,’ said Mrs Spurlock. ‘He has been away for some time. He’s in Guiana, working for the Booker Group.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘You must be lonely here.’
‘I have the Good Book and my faith to sustain me,’ said Mrs Spurlock. ‘I pray for my daughter’s soul every day, as well as my own.’
‘Is there anything you could tell us for the memorial?’ asked Sparks. ‘I would like to pay some tribute to her. She was my friend, after all.’
‘She died in shame,’ said Mrs Spurlock. ‘You may engrave that upon your plaque if you wish.’
‘That was never established,’ said Sparks. ‘It may have been an accident. The coroner’s verdict—’
‘The coroner’s verdict was what we and the authorities wished it to be,’ said Mrs Spurlock. ‘But I know the truth. She drowned herself.’
‘Do you know why?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge.
‘Because she carried the fruits of her sinfulness within her,’ said Mrs Spurlock.
‘She was pregnant?’
‘She was, and will burn in everlasting hellfire, all because she wouldn’t follow the true path that the Lord set before us.’
‘Did she say who the father was?’
‘She said nothing to us. We only learned of her condition after the autopsy. It wouldn’t have mattered. It was God’s justice.’
‘You had no interest in justice for her?’ asked Sparks.
‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,’ she replied.
‘I would not be so arrogant as to usurp His will. My daughter reaped what she sowed. So you see, ladies, why I have absolutely no interest in keeping any memory of her alive any longer. Let her story die with me. I am sorry you wasted your time. Lottie! You may show them out now.’
‘Once again, I am sorry for your loss, Mrs Spurlock,’ said Sparks as she got to her feet.
‘You and your daughter will be in my prayers tonight,’ added Mrs Bainbridge.
Mrs Spurlock nodded to them briefly, then left the room without saying anything further.
Lottie, the maid, walked them to the front door.
She looked quickly around the hall to make certain that her mistress was out of sight, then whispered, ‘Please know that despite your reception, I’m sure she appreciated your visit.
She doesn’t get many visitors any more. Not since Mr Spurlock left her. ’
‘It’s like that, is it?’ said Sparks.
‘They say he has another woman in Guiana,’ she said. ‘And another daughter with her. The new apple of his eye.’
‘Then may God have mercy upon all of them,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘I will come visit again. Thank you.’
They left, waiting until they had gone past several houses before speaking again.
‘There were no brothers or sisters?’ asked Gwen.
‘None,’ said Iris. ‘They put all of their hopes and dreams on her. She told me once that the pressure was almost unbearable.’
‘Did you know she was pregnant when she drowned?’
‘No,’ said Iris. ‘I did not.’
‘I can understand how, having betrayed her father’s trust and her mother’s faith, the poor girl felt she had no other recourse,’ said Gwen.
‘There were other options available,’ said Iris. ‘She never looked for them.’
‘If she was with child, I would think she would have at least confronted the man responsible,’ said Gwen.
‘Maybe she did,’ said Iris. ‘Maybe his refusal to help or accept responsibility sent her into the river.’
‘Do you suppose he could have pushed her in himself?’ asked Gwen.
‘It’s a thought, isn’t it?’ replied Iris. ‘It’s crossed my mind more than once over the years. But if Kevin or Bruce did it, they’re gone beyond the reach of any justice, earthly or otherwise.’
‘And Mrs Spurlock seems content to let justice rest in God’s hands, while the father has moved on to greener plantations across the seas. Which, if smiting there be, doesn’t explain the recent hellfire visited upon Tony.’
‘It doesn’t sound like it came from this quarter, in any event. Fine. Let’s continue on.’
Gwen looked back at the Spurlock house for a moment, a sad, compassionate expression on her face.
‘What is it?’ asked Iris.
‘I was thinking how rattling around a big place by yourself could turn a woman into what Mrs Spurlock has become,’ said Gwen. ‘That could be me once Ronnie has grown up and taken over as Lord Bainbridge.’
‘It could be worse,’ said Iris. ‘She could be rattling around in a much smaller place with no money and no servants. And you, if anything, are getting progressively saner as you get older.’
‘I hope so,’ said Gwen.