Chapter Nine #2
The Kendall home was a smaller affair on St James’s Gardens, down from the church.
It was a three-storey townhouse, more in proportion with the number of people living in it which included several small children, if the number of small bicycles leaning against the railings of the front steps was any indication.
‘This time, I will take the lead,’ said Gwen. ‘And I am going to be me. I rang earlier for an appointment. You may still be you, though.’
Lucinda Kendall, née Pickard, answered the door herself.
She was somewhere in her late thirties, but clearly took great pains to conceal that fact from the casual observer.
She was wearing a black rayon bijou dress with floral borders that looked both stylish and comfortable.
She herself looked flustered, the cause most likely being the high-pitched screams and ongoing mayhem that echoed from somewhere in the depths of the house.
She looked at the two women blankly for a moment, then her face lit up in recognition.
‘Mrs Bainbridge, right?’ she said. ‘You called earlier. Sorry, many distractions, forgot all about it. Do come in.’
‘Is this a bad time?’ asked Mrs Bainbridge as they were showed into the front sitting room.
‘There are no good times, and God knows I could use the break,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘Let me tell nanny to chain the little beasts inside the playroom and I’ll be right back.’
They sat where she directed them, listening as they heard her indistinct shouts followed by a chorus of protests, finally muffled by the closing of a door.
‘Why exactly do you want more children?’ asked Iris.
‘Not every moment is like this,’ said Gwen.
Mrs Kendall reappeared.
‘Forgive me, they have a load of friends over, and they are re-enacting the Charge of the Light Brigade, complete with horses,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I’ve sent Kitty to fetch us some lemonade from the kitchen. Unless you want something with more of a kick? Please tell me you do.’
‘Whatever you’re drinking is fine with us,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.
Mrs Kendall got up and leaned into the hallway.
‘Kitty!’ she shouted. ‘Cancel the lemonade and bring a bottle of whatever’s cold and white, would you?’
There was a distant acknowledgment of the change, and she returned, sinking into an armchair.
‘Thank God you’re here,’ she said. ‘It gives me a reason to be social. Either of you have children?’
‘One son,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘He’s in the country with his grandparents at the moment.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘My parents have a place, a huge one, in fact, but it’s on loan to His Majesty at the moment. I know you from somewhere, Mrs Bainbridge, don’t I? Before the war? What was your family name?’
‘Brewster.’
‘I was right! You’re Thor’s little sister, aren’t you?’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘I may have dated your brother once or twice back then, I can’t recall. Good-looking man. Still with us?’
‘He is.’
‘Still good-looking?’
‘A sister is never the one to ask that, but others seem to think so,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘I say, aren’t you the one who cracked up and got sent away?’
‘When my husband was killed in the war, I went through a difficult period,’ replied Mrs Bainbridge evenly.
There was a loud crash from upstairs, followed by multiple wailings.
‘That must have been nice, actually,’ said Mrs Kendall, glancing upwards. ‘I wouldn’t mind having a holiday in the country lolling about in my pyjamas all day.’
‘It wasn’t as much fun as it sounds,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.
‘No, I suppose not. Oh, goodness, I haven’t properly introduced myself to your friend, have I? Forgive me, I’m Mrs Jeremy Kendall, but please call me Lucinda.’
‘How do you do?’ replied Sparks. ‘Miss Iris Sparks, and thank you for seeing us.’
‘Not at all, it’s lovely to be speaking to some fully grown humans at this time of day,’ said Mrs Kendall.
A housemaid came in with an opened bottle of Riesling in a silver ice bucket along with three wine glasses. Mrs Kendall filled the glasses and handed them around.
‘To adult conversation,’ she said, then she took a long sip and sighed contentedly. ‘I believe you said on the telephone that it was a personal matter, Gwen?’
‘I did. A mission of mercy for a friend.’
‘That sounds rather serious,’ said Mrs Kendall, looking back and forth between the partners.
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘He recently returned from a long sojourn overseas, but unfortunately met up with a severe accident. He’s in extremis, I’m sorry to say, and was hoping to be reunited with some of his old friends while he still may.
I’ve been trying to locate them. Iris was a classmate of his, and recalled that one of his friends had some older sisters, which led us to you.
We were hoping that you might know where we could find your brother. ’
‘My brother?’ exclaimed Mrs Kendall. ‘Do you mean Kevin?’
‘Yes,’ said Sparks.
‘You mean you haven’t heard?’
‘Heard? Heard what?’
‘Oh, dear, I could have saved you the trip,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘Kevin died at Anzio back in ’44.’
‘Kevin’s dead?’ cried Sparks. ‘Oh, no!’
She burst into tears as Mrs Bainbridge turned to her in alarm.
‘Iris, are you all right?’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ sobbed Sparks, pulling a handkerchief from her bag. ‘I didn’t know about Kevin. We were friends in Cambridge. More than friends briefly.’
‘Ah,’ said Mrs Kendall, nodding sympathetically. ‘One of those. He cut quite the swathe through the female populace for a while.’
‘God, I had no idea I would react like that,’ said Sparks, wiping her eyes. ‘It was rather a torrid— no, I shouldn’t say it. You’re his sister.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ Mrs Kendall assured him. ‘I’ve heard many such stories about my baby brother. I consider your tears a tribute to his, ah … let’s say his virtues.’
‘I still remember sitting across the breakfast table from him at your house, thinking what a gorgeous man he was,’ said Sparks.
‘You were at our house?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Sparks. ‘He threw a party, when was it? Spring of ’36, I think. He had the whole massive place to himself.’
‘Oh, you were at that party?’
‘You heard about it?’
‘Not in great detail,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘But word reached Daddy, and there was quite the to-do when he came back.’
‘Sounds like it must have been some bash,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘Were there frequent parties back then?’
‘Oh, Kevin took full advantage of being a Pickard while the parents were away, which was a frequent occurrence, thank God,’ said Mrs Kendall.
‘We all did, I suppose. They weren’t particularly concerned with our upbringing once they had us, especially when they finally manufactured a son and heir after the disappointments of two daughters, so we had free rein back then. ’
‘Why do you think this particular party drew your father’s ire, then?’
‘You know, I never really heard the full story,’ said Mrs Kendall, sipping her wine.
‘We heard Daddy roaring in his study, then Kevin emerged from that little father–son tête-à-tête with his beaten-puppy expression and didn’t say a word.
The next day, he packed his trunk and was off on an extended world tour. ’
‘Um, my name didn’t come up by any chance, did it?’ asked Sparks.
‘Not that I’ve heard,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘I don’t believe I ever knew your name before today. In any case, that was years ago, and he’s no longer around with any reputation to besmirch, so you’re quite safe.’
‘I’m relieved,’ said Sparks. ‘Gosh, I should write your parents a note now that I know about his passing. Do you have their current address?’
‘I’ll get it for you,’ said Mrs Kendall.
‘Is that housekeeper of yours still there?’ asked Sparks. ‘I’d like to write to her as well.’
‘Mrs Dorter? No, she’s not with the family any more. I’m surprised you remember her.’
‘She was very kind to me that weekend,’ said Sparks. ‘And she made a wonderfully effective hangover cure. I’d love to get her recipe. Hangovers are still a regular part of my existence. Where is she now?’
‘She’s running an inn somewhere,’ said Mrs Kendall. ‘Daddy helped set her up with it, in fact.’
‘Very generous of him,’ said Sparks.
‘Yes, uncharacteristically so,’ said Mrs Kendall.
‘But she’d been with us forever, so I guess he felt he owed it to her.
It was that same year, now that I think of it, towards the end of the summer.
She was tired of keeping that enormous place ready for whenever one of us showed up.
Can’t blame her, really. I was surprised Daddy let her go, she had been with us for ages. Wait here, I’ll be back in a sec.’
She left, and they listened to her footsteps ascending the stairs.
‘How long after Nancy’s death did Kevin leave England?’ asked Gwen.
‘Beginning of the summer,’ said Iris. ‘So maybe a month or two after.’
‘I wonder what happened in the interim to trigger that decision,’ said Gwen. ‘It had to have been more than just his father’s anger over a party. Hold that thought. I hear her coming.’
Mrs Kendall returned with a piece of paper, which she handed to Sparks.
‘There’s Mummy and Daddy’s current address, no idea if they’re home or travelling,’ she said, pointing to the top. ‘And there’s Mrs Dorter’s inn. It’s outside of Bradford-on-Avon, which is outside of Bath. Middle of nowhere, really, but I imagine it’s nice and quiet.’
A series of crashes emanated from the upper floor. Mrs Kendall glanced upwards.
‘I could use some quiet,’ she said, refilling her wine glass. ‘Maybe I’ll book a month there and let her take care of me again. I must thank you for this lovely interval, ladies. It was very much needed. Oh! You never told me who your friend in hospital is.’
‘Tony Danforth,’ said Sparks. ‘He was great friends with Kevin.’
‘Tony’s back? I had no idea. I haven’t seen him since he and Bruce Cater took off to Spain together. Poor Bruce! Well, break it to Tony about Kevin, and give him my best, would you?’
‘We will,’ said Mrs Bainbridge. ‘Thank you for seeing us.’
A cacophony of shrieks sounded from upstairs, then every child in the building began to cry.
‘Mrs Kendall, I could use some assistance,’ called the nanny.
‘I’d better go check for casualties,’ said Mrs Kendall, downing the remainder of her wine in a single gulp, then getting to her feet. ‘I guess that makes me Florence Nightingale in this scenario. Please show yourselves out, would you?’
‘Good luck,’ said Mrs Bainbridge.
They parted in the hall, Mrs Kendall dashing up the stairs. A moment later, they heard her shout, ‘C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre!’
‘Maybe not that many children,’ said Gwen, looking after her thoughtfully. ‘Let’s go.’
It was late afternoon when they regained the street. Gwen glanced at her watch.
‘No point in going back to the office,’ she said. ‘I told Saundra to close at four. Shall we walk to Dr Milford’s? We can compare notes along the way.’
‘Fine,’ said Iris. ‘What did you think of our new friend, Lucinda?’
‘She doesn’t seem overly mournful over her brother,’ said Gwen as they headed north.
‘Of course, it has been over three years since she lost him, and people react to loss in different ways, as we both know too well. That was quite the performance you put on in there, by the way. I wasn’t expecting tears. How do you do that?’
‘Part of my Intelligence training, oddly enough,’ said Iris. ‘They brought in an acting coach to work with us. The theory for women was if information came out of us while we were sobbing uncontrollably, it would be more likely to be believed. Now, I can cry on cue with the best of them.’
‘This was training for being interrogated?’ asked Gwen.
‘Yes,’ said Iris. ‘And tortured.’
‘My God, Iris,’ said Gwen, taking her hand and squeezing it for a moment. ‘I remember you telling me about the women you knew who were tortured and killed by the Nazis after their capture. They had this training as well?’
‘They did,’ said Iris. ‘Not a single one of them gave up a single thing.’
‘You were crying last night when you told me what happened at the Pickard place,’ recalled Gwen. ‘Those tears were real.’
‘They were,’ said Iris. ‘You were right, I needed to get that off my chest. The gin helped.’
‘I hope you’ll forgive me for that,’ said Gwen.
‘For what? For plying an alcoholic with drinks? It’s what we live for. If anything, you probably kept me from drinking even more last night.’
‘That was part of my thinking. It doesn’t make me any less complicit.’
‘Work it out at church or with Dr Milford,’ said Iris. ‘I personally absolve you. So, what else have you figured out?’
‘I am very interested in the fact that Mrs Dorter was set up in a very nice situation by Mr Pickard shortly after his son either fled or was banished from England,’ said Gwen. ‘The generosity of the gesture and its timing are curious, to say the least. It sounds like her silence was purchased.’
‘And if it cost that much, she must have known something of consequence,’ said Iris. ‘Have you ever been to Bradford-on-Avon?’
‘No. It sounds lovely. I think we should visit.’
‘If it’s on the Avon, maybe we could take my boat there,’ mused Iris.
‘Which would also be lovely if there were no urgency to our quest,’ said Gwen. ‘Come back to my place after our appointments and we’ll consult the train schedules. We’re off to the country for the weekend. My treat.’