Page 13 of Ghost in the Garden
“Yes.”
“Good. The washing is sent out, but the pressing is done here. Goldie and Denise were doing that, but you might as well do mine while you’re here. Let’s go out.”
She unlocked the back door, through which Constance had first entered the house, and they went out into the cold garden.
With more leisure to concentrate, Constance looked very carefully at the back of the house, which was largely covered in ivy and other creepers. It had a few low, barred windows, through which no one could get in or out. A path led down the right hand side of the house to the front.
“Are the front gates locked at night?” Constance asked while she looked at the herbs Angela was pointing out.
“Yes. From about six o’clock in the evening. It wouldn’t be easy to climb over them—or the walls—but I suppose it could be done.”
“Same at the back,” Constance observed. “I suppose the door in the far wall is kept locked too?” Since she already knew it was, she was not surprised when Angela nodded. “It would be helpful to have the key. To communicate with my partner when necessary.”
Angela frowned. “Why would you need to do that? You’re the one that’s here.”
“I might need him to find out about people or events he doesn’t yet know about. Things I can’t easily do from here while I’m being your maid. We work together.”
“I see.” Angela appeared to regard this as something of a novelty. “I suppose I could give you mine.”
“Who else has keys to all these doors?”
“My husband, of course. And Duggin. Pat and Robin need keys too, to keep a proper eye on the place.”
“Are valuables kept here?” Constance asked. “Beyond the usual, I mean. Or a lot of money?”
Angela shrugged. “Not really. I suppose when the rent’s collected, some of it might sit in the house till next morning. Caleb uses banks.”
There appeared to be some pride in that revelation. Constance supposed it was more refined than stuffing it in a stocking under the mattress, though she had done that in her time too.
“How often is the rent collected?” she asked.
“Some every week, some each month or even every quarter. Depends on the tenant and their ability to pay. Why?”
“I was wondering if those nights when there was a lot of money in the house coincided with any of the ghost’s appearances.”
Angela’s jaw dropped. “You think someone’s pretending to be a ghost in order to get into our house and steal the rents?”
“It’s a possibility, isn’t it? If Mr. Lambert’s habits are known.”
“I suppose. We collect weekly rent on a Saturday—which is the day I saw the ghost.” Angela still looked doubtful, though she did seem to be thinking it over while they walked toward the apple tree. “But I don’t think it was a Saturday when Goldie saw it.”
It would have been too simple, Constance thought as they followed roughly the erratic pattern of the ghost’s movements to the pond and the willow. There was no obvious place for a person to hide except among the mist-laden branches of the willow, or deep in the mist itself.
“It’s not far from here to the door in the wall,” Constance mused. “With some nice, swirling mist, someone might get away without being seen.”
“Raises the question who. And why.”
“True.”
“Come on back inside. It’s cold out here. I’ll be going out this afternoon. You don’t need to come with me. Bert will. You can just settle in till I get back, and look around all you want—only not in Caleb’s office. He wouldn’t like that.”
Constance was sure he wouldn’t. But she had every intention of getting in there as soon as she safely could.
*
Ida Feathers, thecook, finished cutting her vegetables while she watched Angela take the new girl back upstairs with her. Wiping her hands on her apron, she felt the outline of the flask in her pocket and mechanically took a little nip.
Ida didn’t care for change. For one thing, the new girl would make Goldie and Denise jealous by being superior in rank and in looks. And the lads would fight over her. Robin would win, of course, and that would be bad for Denise’s hopes of him. Unless Caleb himself wanted her. For a moment she even wondered if Caleb had foisted the girl on Angela. But no—Caleb was no saint, but he never publicly humiliated his wife with his infidelities. Everyone could pretend she didn’t know.
