Monday I put my house in order, made a trip to the library, and tried unsuccessfully to get up with George. He had changed the message on his answering machine. From a curt, “You know what to do at the beep,” to a cheerful, “Hey, I’m not available right now. Tell ‘em to leave a message, Muff, will you?” followed by two enthusiastic barks by the dog. What had come over the guy?
Miss Carey called about seven-thirty. We exchanged pleasantries, she fussed a bit because I was driving alone, and reminded me the auction was Saturday, and obviously I would miss it.
“It can’t be helped,” I was resigned, “I’m committed as a courier now. You’re probably right anyway. It would be depressing to go.” But remembering those boot hooks did bring me a flash of regret.
Tuesday and Wednesday nights I worked my shifts and pushed the trip to Texas to the back of my mind. The first night Emma was on duty. We were pleasant to each other and kept our conversations along well-worn and comfortable paths. I said nothing about my plans for the weekend.
Thursday began routinely with my morning in bed, my afternoon breakfast out, and a walk, although a short one. I spent the rest of the day getting ready for the trip. I put gas in my car and had the tire pressure and oil checked. The purchase of an up to date atlas and half an hour gave me a concise picture of where I was going. I tried twice more to reach George and finally settled on leaving a message, which included Leonard Marsh’s birth date.
It is torture for a night person to get up early in the morning. Six-thirty was the best I could do. Eight-thirty found me on the doorstep of the law office, where the same secretary who greeted me on my previous visit was waiting. Except for her the office was empty, not a lawyer in sight. On her desk was a small, sturdy box, wrapped as though it was being shipped instead of hand carried. I was not allowed to inspect or tamper with the goods. The label on it said only “Elaine Barclay,” but I was given a separate envelope with the home address and phone number of my destination printed on it. This was also sealed.
Miss Private Secretary, whose name I forgotten and who had no name plaque on her desk, seemed to realize I was pressed for time. After a pleasant good morning we got down to business. There was a form ready for me to sign taking responsibility for the package and envelope entrusted to my care. She asked me for an estimated time of arrival, and when I told her said she would call the Barclays to give them some idea of when I would get there. I was amenable to that, and added my intention to call them when I got to Athens so they could give me explicit directions to their home. Good. She would tell them. After accepting perfunctory wishes for a safe trip I headed southwest.
If you have never taken a long motor trip by yourself, I recommend it. If the weather and traffic are cooperative it is very relaxing. I listened to music and an audio book at intervals, but sometimes just enjoyed the landscape. There was an abundance of fall color in southern Indiana, Kentucky, and Arkansas. I had no problem finding lodging by six o’clock Friday night near Little Rock. While swimming in the indoor pool a balding middle aged guy with a paunch offered to buy me a beer. My skills at gracefully getting out of an invitation like this were rusty, but I must have declined with a certain aplomb as he cheerfully wished me goodnight when I left. The next day I lingered over breakfast near Malvern, and took a long stroll in Texarkana, which put me in Texas by early afternoon.
It was no problem to find a telephone, and no surprise when Elaine Barclay answered on the first ring. In her shoes, who would not be waiting by the phone? Ten minutes later I was parking my car in front of the Barclay’s home in an upscale middle class neighborhood.
Of course Ross was there, too. They were hospitable and courteous, and certainly taking my measure just as I was theirs. Elaine looked so much as her mother did in the photograph sitting on Amelia Marsh’s table that I would have known who she was if she walked past me on the street in Hanley. I guessed her dark hair was still natural, and I thought how well she carried her height and her weight. She led the way into a spacious sitting room and urged me to make myself comfortable. Ross, following Elaine, was only an inch or so taller than she, but thin. His face was not extraordinary but it was a pleasant face and I found myself relieved. It would not be hard to talk to these people.
After exchanging a few social amenities and accepting a diet coke, I handed Elaine the package. She looked hard at it, looked up at her husband, then down at the box again.
“Go ahead,” he urged quietly, “open it.”
She did so. Ross and I looked on as she carefully removed four separate parcels and opened each one. The pearls were there, the strands Amelia Marsh had worn for her last photograph, along with a matching set of clip earrings I had never seen. They were unfashionable but lovely, genuine rather than cultured. Elaine remembered her “Aunt Mely” wearing them and was obviously pleased to have them. The second package contained a cocktail ring with chipped diamonds and sapphires set in white gold. I found myself giving an exclamation of pleasure as Elaine held it out for us to see. Elaine’s face openly showed her own pleasure.
“That is a pretty thing, Elaine,” her husband said quietly, “we must have it sized for you.”
“It is not so small,” she said, slipping it up to the knuckle on her ring finger. “She lost weight after Leonard died, but for a number of her middle aged years Mely was full figured. I have never seen this, but mother told me about it. Leonard gave it to her on an anniversary, their twenty-fifth, I think.”
The third parcel contained another ring, with a good quality jade stone set in heavy yellow gold, and again Elaine was able to provide history. This piece was older and had come from the orient, probably in the ‘50s. She remembered admiring it when she was a little girl.
“It would suit my daughter better now, I think,” she said to me with a smile. “It is also a beautiful piece, but my tastes have changed.”
And fourth came a necklace of high quality yellow gold, probably eighteen carat. I had seen such soft quality gold while living in the Philippines, and I had a bracelet of it myself. This one was designed with a rope like filigree and had an opal of respectable proportions dangling at its center. The stone shone as only a good quality opal can. Again all of us made admiring noises.
“She wore this at my wedding, Ross, do you remember?” Elaine exclaimed. “She had a turquoise dress on, we have a photograph of it in our album. That’s the only time I remember seeing it, but I’m sure she wore it for that occasion.”
Ross admitted he didn’t remember much about the wedding at all, and certainly not the jewelry of the guests.
“Oh Ross, there’s a letter here!” She had opened the envelope and pulled out two separate letter sized envelopes.
The first was predictably from the law office, listing and describing the contents of each separate package. The second contained a form asking her to sign to verify that she had received everything, which she was to then seal and mail directly back to the office address printed on it. My courier duties were over. Elaine looked disappointed. She had expected a personal note.
Ross conversed with me about Indiana while his wife lost no time but went ahead and filled out the receipt. She would make sure it went out in the post by Monday morning, she said.
They seemed in no hurry to get rid of me, perhaps appreciating the long distance I had come and too polite to hurry me out of the door. We moved on from chatting about their former home to their present one. I found out Ross was a chemist and a teacher. Like June and Eric Fisk the Barclays had one daughter, now in graduate school, although there was a photograph in the foyer of a small boy, and in time I would find out this was their first born, a son, who died of leukemia before school age. They inquired politely, albeit sincerely, about my own family, which steered our conversation very nicely back to Mrs. Marsh. It seemed to me the groundwork was now laid and I could get down to brass tacks.
During my driving hours there had been plenty of time to consider my approach. True to my nature, the direct one seemed the best.
“I asked Mrs. Marsh’s lawyers if I could personally deliver your legacy,” I was looking directly at Elaine, “because I want to ask you what you know about her past. No one in Hanley, including her closest friends, seems to know very much about her. As you heard, she was killed. Her friend, Miss Anne Carey, and I both wonder if her death has anything to do with her life before she moved to Hanley. You are the only person we know who may be able to tell us anything about that.
“Of course you don’t know me and may not want to share anything,” I added hastily, not at all sure from the looks on their faces how they were processing what I said. "I am a nurse, not a private detective or law enforcement officer. I was Amelia Marsh’s closest neighbor, and our relationship was friendly enough that she felt comfortable to ask me to come and see her the day she died. All she told me was she wanted some advice. When I arrived to keep our appointment she was already gone. Now I suspect what or who she wanted to confide in me about may have been involved in her death. It isn’t easy to explain, but I feel very impressed to learn more about her life before I knew her, and see if there might not be an answer from the past in why her life ended as it did. There is no other explanation that presents itself.”
After looking at her husband for a long moment Elaine seemed to find the reassurance she wanted. She nodded and smiled slightly. “I see no reason why you shouldn’t know what I do. That may not be a great deal, but lately she’s been on my mind, of course, so the memories are fresher again. Have you had any lunch? Ross has to go out for awhile, but I think it’s safe to leave us together, don’t you dear?”
Ross thought it was. I am a very safe looking character and I usually give a great first impression. After he left, taking the mail for the attorneys with him to try to make the last post for the week, we moved into the kitchen. We spent the next two hours together. While we conversed we ate salads and chicken noodle soup, then we talked some more while I helped her clean up the dishes. I listened carefully and jotted down a few notes.
Elaine told me the Marshes had always been a part of her life, rather like any close family. She stayed with them overnight as a little girl for almost a week once when her mother was hospitalized and her paternal grandparents could not keep her. Leonard and Amelia had owned a house in New Jersey for several years before Leonard’s retirement, using it when Leonard’s business took them to New York or Washington D.C.. Amelia sold it when she moved to Indiana.
“I don’t remember when they were not a part of my growing up years,” she told me. “One takes things like that for granted as a child.” I agreed. “They sent me gifts for my birthday and holidays when they were away, nice things. Mely flew in from Spain to be at my college graduation, and as I mentioned earlier, she attended our wedding.” She amended, “They were both there.”
“It was not until later, after I was married myself and came back with my own child to visit my parents, that I got rather curious about Len and Mely’s past. I asked mother about it.” Elaine paused here to offer me a piece of lemon cream pie, which I declined, but reluctantly. It looked good. She went on. “I knew Amelia and my Mum had been chums since their London days and how they both met their American husbands during the war while they had some secretarial jobs in the war department. Mely’s cousin put her up when she first came to London, my mother said. When the cousin got a transfer to the continent Mely moved in with Mum and another girl.”
The cousin must be the girl named Meg whose letters Miss Carey read, I thought.
Elaine went on to relate what she remembered of the war years from her parents’ reminiscing. Everyone worked long, hard hours, and the bombing was terrible. But there was camaraderie, too, and good times. Elaine’s parents met in a pub where American officers stationed in London hung out, and her father, Eric, introduced Amelia to Leonard early in 1944. I asked her what Leonard Marsh’s job had been during the war.
She smiled. “Something rather hush-hush and intriguing,” she said. “Intelligence and all that. Dad got out of the military in 1946, but Len stayed on in his capacity. For years, both during the war and after, he would disappear at the drop of a hat. Sometimes he would be gone for a few days, sometimes up to a month. I remember a bit of that from when I was a girl, hearing the grown-ups talk. Mely didn’t complain too much about it. I guess she knew that’s just the way it was. She married into it.”
I asked her if her father had known more about his friend Leonard’s profession, and she thought he had known during the war, and that he might have been associated with it. After his discharge, she didn’t think so. Their friendship endured not only because of their wartime connection, but because of the friendship of their wives and their mutual enthusiasm for fly fishing and boating. Her impression was her father had not been privy to his old friend’s professional life, and that suited him.
“What kind of a man was he, Leonard Marsh?”
She thought about it. “He was pleasant and very well mannered, charming when he wanted to be. I’m sure he was fond of me, although he wasn’t demonstrative about it. As he got older he was more introverted, quieter. There was a presence about him so you noticed he was there even if he didn’t say very much. Amelia was usually the perky, lively one, while he was content to let her do most of the talking. But you didn’t overlook him.” She paused to consult her memory again. “I only saw him two or three times the last years of his life. He was drinking a little more than I remembered, but I don’t recall him drunk. I remember thinking once he was only partly with us—we were spending the evening together, the six of us—and the rest of his mind was far away. But he was never confused or senile. My mother said he was lucid even after his first stroke, although he had difficulty speaking after that.”
I just had to ask. “Do you think the Marshes were still devoted to each other in their later years? I hope that doesn’t offend you, the personal nature of that question."
Elaine shook her head. “Funny, you asking that. I didn’t notice myself. As an adult, as I said, I only saw them together again a few times. But mother said something once that struck me so I still remember it. She and Dad were like lovers, always. It was wonderful. My friends teased me about it, the girls who would come home from college with me. Dad died five years before Leonard and my mother had a terrible time for a while. She went back to England to visit her family there for over a month.” Here Elaine rambled for a bit describing how her mother coped with her grief. Eventually she got back to my question. “She came to stay with us for a while, too, but at first she wouldn’t consider moving. One evening over tea I mentioned Amelia and made a comment about how much of a comfort a friend like her must be. Mother looked very strangely at me. She said, ‘she understands, but not like you might think. Her marriage underwent a change some time ago, and it wasn’t the first time she’s gone through grief. But at least they have peace with one another.’ Those were almost her exact words. I was so surprised I don’t think I said anything else about it.”
I ingested that for a moment. “As far as you know, did Mrs. Marsh ever go back to England to see her own family?”
Without hesitation Elaine responded in the negative. “I never knew her to go. Somehow the understanding was there was nothing there for her. Honestly, I guess I thought she had no one. Did she?”
“Once she did. Miss Carey and I found photographs of parents, a sister, and probably two brothers.”
My hostess looked puzzled. “Did they die in the bombing, do you think?”
“I don’t know. But wouldn’t your mother have mentioned that?”
Elaine thought she would have. She also believed her mother knew a great deal about her friend she never talked about. I was frustrated but tried not to show it. There were still so many mysteries, so many unanswered questions. I tried to think of other avenues to pursue and asked Elaine if she was aware of any other friends of the Marshes that might still be alive.
“I can’t help you much there,” she replied regretfully. “We’ve been away for so long. Claire might still be living in Virginia if she hasn’t passed on. Didn’t the lawyers mention her?”
“Claire who?”
“Why Claire Marsh, Leonard’s sister-in-law.”
Elaine did not seem to realize she had dropped a bombshell. She was putting dishes up in the cupboard as she spoke and did not see my face. I was composed by the time she turned to look inquisitively at me, but there was no reason not to level with her.
“It is a safe bet no one in Hanley knows a thing about Claire Marsh’s existence,” I said, “and that includes the lawyers.”
“Well fancy that,” she looked wonderingly back at me. “Well fancy that.”
We considered the oddity of this new fact.
“I suppose you would like to know as much as I can recall about her,” my hostess offered.
“Absolutely.”
We moved back to the sitting room. My hostess remembered and related some family history pertaining to Amelia’s husband. I learned that Leonard Marsh and his brother, Arthur, were orphaned as children and raised by the state of New York. Arthur was the younger, although Elaine did not know by how many years. She never met him. He died at Pearl Harbor, a young warrant officer aboard one of the ships sunk by the Japanese attack. Claire had been left a young widow with a small child, and pregnant with another. She went home to her own family after Arthur’s death and eventually married again. Elaine did not know the particulars but it had ended in divorce and Claire’s last name was “Marsh” again by the time she paid a visit to her former brother-in-law and his wife for the first time. Her children had come with her. There had been a party and Elaine remembered her introduction to Leonard’s niece and nephew well, although she was only thirteen at the time.
“I thought Leonard’s nephew was the most handsome boy I had ever seen,” she laughed, “he was eighteen. My first crush!”
She recalled Claire’s other child, too, a girl, but could no longer remember their names. They had come with their mother to visit a few more times while Elaine was a girl, but as she grew up so did they. Busy with their own lives they faded from the picture. Claire came alone to see her husband’s family after that.
“To be honest,” she admitted, “I haven’t thought about any of them for years. No one mentioned her after Leonard’s death. I wasn’t able to go back east for his funeral, but I think Claire was there.” She had a sudden thought. “I tell you what. Let me look through my old photographs. There should be a picture of her, at least one.”
She invited me to follow her into a spare bedroom, where I looked on while she rummaged through an old bureau. I asked her if she had any memory of what Claire had been like.
“She was blonde, blue eyed, and petite. Both the son and daughter looked like her, I remember everyone remarked about it. I want to say she was very nice. Aha! Here it is.” She pulled an old album out of the bottom drawer.
We sat side by side on the bed and I looked on as she paged through the album. Here were family photographs of the Fisks from the fifties and sixties.
“It is obvious I was a spoiled only child,” Elaine remarked dryly, “Mother put these albums together years ago. I’m afraid I am not so faithful with my pictures, yet. Oh! Here!”
And sure enough, here was a photograph of five smiling females, all reclining in lawn chairs in a well-kept back yard; rose bushes in full bloom. From the clothes and hairstyles I guessed the year the picture was taken to be circa 1960. Elaine pointed herself out as the one to the far left. About thirteen she already filled out her bathing suit. Next to her was a young good looking blonde in a halter-top and shorts. The middle spot was taken by Amelia, modestly attired in a sundress, looking stylish as always, toasting the unseen photographer with the frosty glass in her hand. Next came June, who the camera had caught glancing at her companion on the other side, Claire Marsh herself. Next to the voluptuous June she looked very slim indeed, and even in the casual snapshot, an attractive forty something.
“The girl next to you is Claire’s daughter?” I inquired.
Elaine nodded. “I wish I could remember more about her, about them. But it’s been a long time, you see.” She contemplated the past for a moment, and I gazed at the photograph, and took the liberty of looking at a few more. There were half a dozen of the Marshes at various occasions. There was one more of Claire, Leonard on one side of her, Amelia on the other, now dressed in winter clothes. I saw no photos of the nephew who had made Elaine’s heart throb.
“Amelia must have had photographs,” Elaine ventured. “They had boxes and albums of them. Leonard liked to take them, at least before he got old. As a little girl I loved looking at them all.”
She was shocked when I told her how little we found among Mrs. Marsh’s belongings. She remembered looking at pictures of the places Leonard and Amelia had traveled to, Amelia beautifully dressed for special occasions, poses in front of exotic places like the Taj Mahal, sometimes alone, sometimes with her husband or other companions.
We were both stymied by Amelia’s behavior. Neither one of us had any idea why she got rid of most of her photographs. Elaine put the albums away. It crossed my mind to ask for the snapshot with Claire, but I decided not to. I did ask if she had any idea how I might get in touch with her. Elaine knew, although she wasn’t sure how, that Claire left New York at some point and bought a home near Richmond, Virginia. She had done this before Elaine’s father died, and possibly because Claire’s daughter resided in Richmond. Elaine’s memory bank was exhausted. She couldn’t tell me any more.
We parted amicably. Elaine asked for my home phone number in case either she or Ross came up with any thing else that might be useful. I gave it to her gladly.
“It seems you have found more questions than answers,” she commented astutely as she walked me to my car, and I had to agree.