Page 51 of The Cursed Writer
‘I’m sure you’ll manage,’ Harry replied briskly. ‘Go and collect what you need, Cecily. I’ll wait here.’
As her niece climbed the stairs, Joan rounded on Harry. ‘You never said she was going today. I’ve got three loads of laundry coming in the morning, and another four on Monday.’
Reaching into her bag, Harry took out the wad of notes she had counted out in case she needed to give them to Joan. ‘You’ll find someone,’ she said. ‘Here’s your compensation, as agreed.’
With sour-faced acceptance, Joan snatched the money, just as Cecily appeared on the stairs with a small suitcase in one hand. ‘Show me what you’ve got in there,’ she demanded, nodding at the case. ‘I want to make sure you’re not taking anything that’s not yours.’
Cecily’s cheeks flamed. ‘I would never do such a thing, Aunt Joan.’
The older woman did not dignify her with an answer. Instead, she rummaged through the contents of the case, undoing Cecily’s carefully folded clothing. When she came to a small drawstring bag, she jangled it menacingly. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘I brought it with me,’ Cecily said, raising her chin. ‘It’s my savings, from when I worked at the bank.’
Joan hefted the bag, considering. Harry took a step forward. ‘We had an agreement.’
The air hummed with tension. If it came to a fight, Harry knew she would lose. Joan was strong and Cecily would be no help. But thankfully, Joan seemed to think better of her greed. She dropped the bag into the case and slammed the lid shut. ‘Go on, then, if you’re going. And don’t think I’ll forget how ungrateful you’ve been.’
Harry felt her eyes upon them all the way along Circus Street. ‘Here,’ she said, once they had turned the corner and reached the safety of Victoria Gardens. ‘Let me take your case. It’s over now.’
They reached the station with just minutes to spare before the non-stop train left. With each step along the platform, Cecily’s mood seemed to lift, until she was almost laughing as they tumbled into an empty compartment and shut the door. She leaned back against the seat, panting a little, her eyes gleaming. ‘I feel better already,’ she said, as the train lurched and began to pull out of the station. ‘But I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Harry said, as the young woman turned to gaze out of the window. ‘All I ask is that you do your best for yourself and your child.’
Cecily let out a weary sigh. ‘There is so much to think about.’
‘But it doesn’t all have to be thought about today,’ Harry replied. ‘Most of it can wait until tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Cecily echoed, and closed her eyes. ‘At least I won’t have to wash the bed linen. It hurts my back so to bend over the tub.’
Harry shook her head. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’re going to be fine, Cecily.’
‘Fine,’ the girl murmured softly. Moments later, she was asleep, lulled by the gentle motion of the train. Harry allowed herself a smile of satisfaction, then reached for her notebook and pen.The Case of the Cursed Writer, she wrote,By R.K. Moss.
EPILOGUE
It was Christmas at Abinger Hall. Harry had finished work on 23rd December and gladly taken the train to Surrey, where she had been met by Seb in his speedy red MG. The drive to Abinger Hall had been a little hair-raising, since Seb seemed to have forgotten what the brake was for, but they arrived without incident. Harry had watched the house from the moment they had passed through the gate and its never-changing solidity warmed her heart. Once inside the magnificent entrance hall, decorated with an enormous, shimmering fir tree cut from the estate, she had been enthusiastically greeted by both family Labradors, Tiggy and Winston, her older brother, Lawrence, and her mother.
‘Darling, you look so pale,’ Evelyn White had chided, holding her at arm’s length to study her properly. ‘I’m not sure the London air agrees with you.’
Behind her mother’s head, Harry saw Seb pull a sympathetic expression. ‘I’m fine, Mama,’ she said. ‘Just a little tired. You know what a whirlwind the run-up to Christmas is.’
Her mother nodded. ‘Of course. But you’re here now and needn’t do a thing until New Year’s Day. Won’t that be lovely?’
It would, Harry thought, but she knew her mother better than that. ‘No parties?’ she said, raising both eyebrows. ‘No guests to entertain?’
Evelyn sighed. ‘Of course there will be parties, Harry. We are not bears, hibernating for the winter, after all.’
Now Seb was grimacing and even Lawrence looked pained. ‘I wouldn’t mind hibernating so much,’ Harry said. ‘I feel as though I could sleep for a month.’
‘Don’t be so dramatic,’ her mother said briskly. ‘We have our usual Christmas Eve drinks tomorrow, and then the Gladstones are coming for Boxing Day.’
‘So much for not doing a thing,’ Seb said dryly. Their mother had made no secret of her hope he might marry one of the Gladstone girls.
Evelyn pretended not to hear him. ‘But before I forget, your grandmother asked to see you, Harry. She’s in her study, when you’re ready.’
Dutifully, Harry went upstairs to freshen up and change, then made her way to her grandmother’s study. As usual, it was in a state of disarray. Baroness Abinger sat at the cluttered writing desk, a pair of spectacles perched on her nose as she bent over a letter. She looked up when Harry knocked on the open door. ‘Ah, there you are,’ her grandmother exclaimed, rising to kiss her on the cheek. ‘How glad I am to see you.’
‘Hello, Grandmama,’ Harry said, breathing in the familiar scent of gardenia and roses. ‘How are you?’
