Misery at Wellsford House

PROLOGUE

Selena Harwood gazed out a grime covered window pane of the French doors. Years had passed since they had been cleaned on the outside. Selena had occasionally made an effort to clean the inside but her arms had ached for days after so they remained as they were. It was like looking through a sheet of plastic.

There were about a dozen dead blowflies on the sill of the French doors. Selena left and went to fetch a dustpan and brush to remove them. She knelt to sweep them up but instead of standing when she had finished, she remained where she was. Tears fell and she impatiently brushed them aside with the back of her hand.

A wave of loneliness engulfed her and the tears again made their way down her cheeks. This time she let them fall.

She regretted not selling the house after Fredrick died. It was too big for an elderly woman without family to fill the empty rooms.

If she had gone to the meeting with the Historic Places Trust, they may have sent someone to maintain the grounds.

She lifted her head to look again at the outside scene.

The once immaculate gardens were now overgrown with weeds. The lawns that once had the appearance of velvet were now home to rank grasses and annual weeds. The rhododendrons and camellias still gave a display of colour but they had grown ragged without the care of Gordon Stokes. Leaves from the deciduous trees added to the untidiness of the gardens. It was midway through autumn and Selena gave an involuntary shudder as she thought of winter weather still to come.

Selena was a reflection of the gardens. Her once beautifully groomed hair was now worn in a roll low on the base of her head held in place with a plastic hair slide. The navy blue twinset was missing two buttons and the tweed skirt could no longer be considered smart. It was misshapen at the back from sitting. Her comfortable slippers had lost their pompoms and a small hole allowed a stocking covered big toenail to show through. Although her face was lined by the passage of years, her complexion was flushed. Her pale blue eyes still held a sparkle and she had not needed reading glasses. Selena was past caring about her appearance just as she was past caring about the garden.

Gordon had been their gardener for as long as she could remember. He had brought in fresh blooms for the housekeeper to arrange for the many floral displays around the big house, whenever a social occasion was planned.

Selena had felt dismay and depression when the gardens began to show neglect without the skill and care Gordon had bestowed on them. The ornamental statues and bird baths had long discoloured and were no longer fully visible.

Selena vividly remembered the day that Gordon Stokes departed this world. He had come into the kitchen for his morning tea as usual. Halfway through eating his shortbread biscuit he had complained of a pain in his chest. Her mother, Sybil, had been called for and suggested she call the Doctor in the nearby town. Gordon refused, telling her he would put the garden tools away and go home and rest. If the pain persisted, his wife would make an appointment with his Doctor.

Gordon had been a father figure to Selena in her younger years, a confidant and advisor. When her own father whom she rarely saw, criticized her friends, clothes and music taste she would seek out Gordon who would tell her what she wanted to hear. ‘The dress was made for her or her friends were normal kids, and he liked the music that he could hear coming from her upstairs bedroom at the front of the house.’ When he started working at the big house he was in his late forties; he was close to seventy when he passed away.

An hour after Gordon had left the kitchen; Selena noticed his pushbike was still leaning against the garage wall where he always left it.

Concerned for the gardener, she had gone out to the front garden to look for him. She found him, crumpled among the rake, spade and gardening shears. His open sightless eyes, stared out at the big house. Selena had run to the house and called out to the housekeeper. Together they straightened the old man out and removed the tools from under him. When the housekeeper pronounced him dead, Selena had cried for her friend. She wept for Gordon, but she never shed a tear when told her father had died.

Selena’s mother had not known of the friendship and reminded her that Gordon was only the hired gardener and not worthy of the tears Selena shed for him. She had been shocked by her mother’s callousness. For a few years after his death she would take the first of the spring flowers and place on his grave in the small cemetery nearby.

Sybil, Selena and her brother Walter, had attempted to keep the gardens tidy and the lawns mowed, but they had none of Gordon’s skills and eventually they gave up and let nature take over.

Selena turned and looked around the dining room. The rosewood furniture shone with recent polishing. At one end of the buffet, a round silver tray held an empty crystal sherry decanter and a dozen small crystal glasses. A similar tray held a full whiskey bottle with a dozen crystal whiskey glasses was placed at the other end. The whiskey was reserved for visitor. It had never been opened. A two branched silver candlestick holder took centre place.

A rosewood piano was placed near the study door. On top of the piano was a tall matching pair of silver candle sticks. The tapestry cover on the piano stool was in pale rose colours which blended with the rose, blue and cream brocade curtains.

In the centre of the room was the long rosewood dining table, large enough to seat ten people. The cream sofa and two matching lounge chairs faced the fireplace, which was hidden from view by a brass fire screen.

Several paintings of various scenes added more colour to the room. The mushroom coloured carpet needed the paintings to add cheer to her favourite room. This was where she celebrated her birthday every year and today was her seventy fifth birthday.

All that remained to be done was to set the table with the silver cutlery and add the centre piece.

Selena picked up the dustpan and brush and returned to the kitchen where she emptied the dead blowflies into a rubbish container.

She had spent hours polishing the silverware in preparation for the occasion. There would be no flowers throughout the house for this celebration and the thought saddened her.

Leaving the kitchen she made her way to the morning room. While it had once been the morning room, it now contained a single bed, a large wardrobe and a mirrored dressing table and stool. A bedside cabinet held a lamp, two books and a water jug.

After Fredrick had died of his injuries from his fall down the stairs, Selena had decided to use the morning room as her bedroom. The furniture upstairs was covered with dust sheets. It was years since she had ventured up the stairs.

The downstairs bathroom was small, but it was adequate for her needs. Other rooms on the ground floor Selena used were the smaller day room off her bedroom, kitchen and study; and of course the dining room for her birthdays.

In the early days when her parents entertained, the men would retire to the reception room with its comfortable leather chairs, billiard table, and card table. A drinks server stood against the wall.

Selena couldn’t understand why her father had ordered the door to the reception room to be sealed off from the entrance area, using the new space as a study. A few original oil paintings hung on the walls.

The heavy wooden door opened onto the terrace with an ornate wooden parapet. The parapet stretched across the whole front of the house; breaking only to sweep down each side of the wide steps in a gentle curve to the driveway.

The study was dark and gloomy and still held a hint of the odour of cigars. Selena used a lamp to light the desk area when she was using the room. If the weather was warm, she would sometimes open the heavy door to let in light and fresh air.

Sybil had hated the smell of cigars and cigarettes that had permeated the drapes and furniture. The housekeeper had been instructed to open wide the French doors of the dining room, leaving the heavy curtains closed before she retired for the night so the night air would freshen them.

The ladies would be served tea in the sitting room where they gossiped and discussed the latest fashions and musicals. Sybil also detested the cloying blend of expensive perfumes that lingered until the room was properly aired.

Selena remembered when she was about eight or nine years old, watching guests arrive from her bedroom window. She would then run down the stairs to crouch behind the wall at the bottom to watch the women guests be assisted in removing their fur coats by their husbands. Most of them would pass their fur coats to the housemaid to be hung on coat hangers, and then hidden from view in a hall closet. When the guests went into the reception room, she would creep along the passage, slip behind the heavy drapes of the closet and stroke the furs.

She smiled, remembering the excitement she felt as a child as she slipped her small hands into the pockets, searching for the lace handkerchiefs dabbed with perfumes. Selena had stolen seven of these treasures in a matter of three weeks. They were still hidden under the lining of her underwear drawer.

Selena stopped searching her wardrobe for a suitable dress to wear for her birthday dinner, and moved to the chest of drawers. She pulled open the drawer containing her underwear and lifted the paper lining to reveal her treasures. She wondered if the guests had ever complained to her mother about the missing lace handkerchiefs. What frivolous items they were. ‘Neither use nor ornament,’ Walter had said when she showed him her bounty. He had ruffled her hair, knowing she would be reprimanded for having it untidy, then added; ‘I hope you will not make a career of being a pickpocket.’

Selena wished she hadn’t told him, as now when he had done something naughty and said she would tell; Walter retaliated with, ‘I will tell first, miss pickpocket.’

How many times had Selena heard that phrase? ‘Neither use nor ornament.’ At first she didn’t understand what it meant, but she accepted the phrase when both her parents used it to refer to her incapability to achieve academically.

Selena had asked Gordon Stokes to explain it to her and his answer had hurt her deeply. ‘It means,’ he had said unaware that it was directed at Selena; ‘that a jug is useful to use to hold milk or water and a plain square brick would not be displayed as something to be admired.’ Selena had frowned trying to understand how that related to her. ‘If you said it to a person, what would it mean then Mr Stokes?’ she had asked. ‘It would mean the person was lacking intelligence or was not handy with their hands and was plain to look at,’ he had replied.

When Selena’s eyes had filled with tears Gordon realized the phrase had been used to describe her.

He had pushed his garden fork into the lawn and looking up at the trees said quietly, ‘Have you ever seen a baby bird without its feathers, funny looking little things; give them time to grow up and get their feathers, then they are beautiful. A wee lamb has a pretty face, but when it grows up it’s just a plain old sheep.’ Gordon had been relieved when Selena giggled. ‘I think you could say I am useful because I keep the gardens and lawns tidy, but there are all sorts of usefulness. Where would we be without soothing music to listen to, or pictures to hang on our walls to look at? Someone has to play the music and do the paintings. You know Selena; when I’m out here working and I hear the music you are playing, I slow down my work just to listen. It would be a dull old world without music and art. You are a clever and useful girl and when you grow out of being a child you will be lovely, you mark my words.’

He watched as Selena skipped her way back to the house. ‘Miserable stuck up snobs, why can’t they enjoy their little girl’s talents?’ he had thought as he turned back to his gardening.

Selena stood at the bottom of the stairs. She placed her hand on the banister, willing herself to take the first step. Then as if she had never hesitated, Selena began climbing the stairs. She was slightly out of breath when she reached the landing and paused to look back down to the floor below. They seemed steeper than she remembered them to be. Once she regained her breath Selena walked to the far door on her left. This was her mother’s bedroom and private sitting room. Opening the door Selena entered and stopped to adjust her eyes to the darkened room. Going directly to the large window she pulled back one of the heavy drapes; she was mortified when the piece she held came away in her hand. Dust billowed out into the room. She glanced behind her, almost expecting her mother to be standing there. Her parent’s rooms were never to be entered and Selena, even all these years since her mother had died, had never entered the forbidden rooms.

With a nervous laugh she pulled back the other side drape taking a much larger piece of curtain as she did so. The sun had rotted them completely. Going to the door which separated her parent’s rooms, she flung it open and went straight to the window to pull back the rotted fabric. Selena tugged at the drapes until only ragged remnants remained. She only briefly looked at this room. She would come back up the stairs tomorrow and look through the chest of drawers and wardrobe. She decided there would be little here as her father had spent most of his time in London.

Returning to her mother’s room she went to the large wardrobe and opened the door. Selena pulled out several dresses and laid them on the dust coverings.

She held them against her as she looked in the wardrobe mirror. Turning, so the light from the window reflected her face in the mirror clearer; she studied herself.

High cheekbones gave her face a sculptured appearance. Her nose, without flaws was straight. She remembered Mrs Muller had a bump on hers. Pale blue eyes stared into the eyes in the mirror. Selena winked and the reflection winked back. Leaning closer to the mirror, Selena was pleased to see the condition of her skin remained unchanged, only very fine wrinkles lined her face. If she were to wear makeup, they would hardly be noticeable. Her light grey hair was pulled back from her face and rolled into bun. She used hair slides to keep the shorter strands from falling over her face. Today she would wear the hair slides with diamantes on the edge. Satisfied with her appearance; Selena returned to the dresses.

She finally chose a pale blue chiffon full length dress with a satin underskirt and bodice of a deeper blue. She had a vague notion that her mother wore a brooch on the shoulder to hold the loose chiffon scarf which was sown into the right shoulder seam, and left to the wearer to either drape around the neck, or pin to the left shoulder.

A large silver jewellery box sat on a small table beside the dresser. Opening the lid, Selena was surprised at the amount of jewellery it contained. She picked up a small velvet bag with a drawstring. Inserting her fingers into the slight opening she opened it further and removed the broach from inside. In the centre was a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds. Even to Selena’s untrained eye she knew this was valuable.

Picking up the blue dress and clutching the velvet broach bag; Selena left the room closing the door behind her. She would go through her mother’s belongings tomorrow as well as her father’s.

Who is there left to tell on me Walter? she said out loud as she made her way to the stairs.

Selena sat at the end of the table nearest the piano. The further end was always reserved for Fredrick. A white dinner plate with gold edging, silver cutlery and a white napkin in a silver holder was set for each of the nine guests.

Thomas, her eldest brother had been dead nearly a decade, his wife Helena, died three years later. Thomas had been a company manager, a position which Helena, with all her airs and graces had exaggerated to friends. She likened him more as owner rather than an employee to an overseas company. The offices he occupied were drab and cold. He had one office girl, Nancy, who did more than her share of the routine mailing of reports to clients and potential clients. Selena didn’t have the heart to tell Helena the office was only for forwarding reports and information from the head office in America. Still, a company manager he was according to Helena and she was proud of his position.

Gina the daughter of Thomas and Helena had married a foreigner. Selena couldn’t remember if he was Greek, Italian or what. It hardly mattered now. A place was set for Gina and Giovanni. They had died in an avalanche in the French Alps while there on a skiing holiday. There had been a young child who had been raised by Giovanni’s family.

Gina’s brother Ralf; had become a missionary and departed to the African continent never to be heard of again. His mother spent her last years trying to locate him to no avail. His place at the table was also to remain vacant.

Walter, who was nicknamed ‘Walnut’ by his siblings; due to his natural ability to act the comedian, was two years older than Selena; who loved this brother more than anyone in the family. To her he was the most handsome man she had known. He was also sensitive to her treatment by their parents. He knew she was treated as a disappointment, due to being plain and lacking the intelligence of her brothers. Walter had seen talent in her drawings and poetry. She played the piano and violin with a natural ability but these gifts were disapproved off. They would not get her employment in positions that young ladies should be aspiring to.

Walter told her to marry to escape the noose her parents had put around her neck. Selena had laughed, although she knew if she didn’t marry she would be consigned to caring for them in their old age.

Walter had solved her dilemma by introducing her to Fredrick. He was not as handsome as Walter; he had a pleasant face and better still, was an artist. He was also a reporter for the Daily Times and sketched the cartoons each week.

Sybil was furious with Walter, and Edwin her father, seemed to neither care nor give an opinion. All he said to Selena was ‘you’ve made your bed, now lay in it’.

Sybil sulked. One of her friends had a son training to be a doctor, and both mother’s agreed marriage between Selena and Clyde would be very satisfactory. The tall gangly, serious young man was not the type of man Selena had dreamed about.

Selena was twenty three when she and Fredrick exchanged marriage vows. They moved into town and rented a two bed roomed flat. Selena knew she wasn’t in love with Fredrick when they wed, but with the passing years they developed a loving relationship, much to Walters delight.

Three days before Walters twenty-ninth birthday Selena’s world fell apart. Her beloved brother was dead. Trying to catch the attention of a young lady walking along the pavement, he had leaned too far out the window of his third floor office, and had fallen to his death.

Fredrick had tried to console his distraught wife with little effect. Selena grieved for three months before she slowly returned to normality. A place was set at the table for Walter.

Alice and Nigel were the twin children of Fredrick and Selena. When the babies were three years old the family moved into a three bed roomed bungalow. Selena and Fredrick had never been happier. The house was never tidy but it was clean. Laughter abounded throughout the house and other children visited with their mothers. Selena reflected on her own childhood and could not recall as much noise and gaiety in the big house as what was heard in her home.

Alice loved theatre. She had had ballet lessons and later singing lessons. Her destiny was the stage. At eighteen, Alice signed up with a touring theatre company. For about eight months she had sent postcards from all over England. There were promises of coming home for Christmas or birthdays, but she never arrived.

Fredrick had contacted the company to see if Alice was still with them, and was worried when they informed him that she had left the company after only six months and joined another touring group.

Nigel had taken it upon himself to find his sister. Armed with photographs of Alice; Nigel went to London leaving a photo with several theatre companies. A year passed before news came from a theatre company. Alice had left when she became pregnant to a married actor, and had taken an overdose of sleeping tablets. She had been dead a year.

Alice had given herself a stage name by which all the theatre people knew her, Miss Sylvia Lang.

It was only when a visitor to a theatre who had known Alice, was browsing through photos of musicals that Alice had been identified. She had been given a paupers burial. Selena wanted her remains bought home and buried in the family plot. Fredrick urged her to let her lie in peace. ‘London was where she wanted to be, amongst the bright lights of the city.’ A headstone had been erected instead.

A place had been set for Alice at the table.

Selena would hardly let Nigel out of her sight. She demanded he ring her if he was going to be delayed. His work as an accountant did not end promptly at five o’clock and often he was late ringing. On these occasions Selena would begin crying, telling him she needed him home.

It was after one of these episodes that Nigel knew he had to move out of the big house into a flat. He was dating a new girlfriend and was embarrassed having to report to his mother when he went to a restaurant or film.

His father encouraged him to leave. He would take care of his mother. It would be easier for him as the constant fretting and weeping was getting on his nerves. Nigel found a flat in town; he knew his mother wouldn’t be able to walk that far. His father would bring her to visit occasionally. It was agreed between Nigel and his father, that when Selena calmed down Nigel should come for brief visits.

Two years after Nigel moved into the flat when he was on his way to the house for Christmas dinner, a car travelling towards him lost control and slammed head on into Nigel’s car. Both drivers died at the scene. A place for Nigel was set at the table on the left, nearest to Selena.

The table looked lovely. The white damask tablecloth set with silver cutlery; the white plates with the gold edging, and the napkins in their silver holders lent an elegance that suited the rosewood furniture. The crystal glasses and decanter sparkled as did the silver candlestick holders. The centre piece was a silver rose bowl with several late blooms arranged without skill. Selena had lit the candles before returning to the kitchen to bring in her birthday meal. She had earlier emptied the can of chicken soup into a pot and gently heated it. She buttered two slices of bread and placed them on a small white plate. For desert she had made an apple crumble which now occupied a white desert bowl. She bought a silver tray from the pantry, and placed the soup bowl, the desert and bread plate, and a crystal wine glass filled with red wine neatly on the tray. Very carefully she carried the tray into the dining room.

Setting out the plates to her satisfaction, Selena took the tray back to the kitchen. When she returned to the dining room she opened a draw of the buffet and took out a bundle of cards tied together with a pink ribbon.

Seating herself at the head of the table, she thanked her ‘guests’ for coming to celebrate her birthday, and for the birthday cards. With a smile she told her guests that at seventy five, one did not need gifts but she would treasure the cards.

Untying the pink ribbon Selena picked up the first card. She took a sip of the red wine. Thinking she heard a slight noise, she turned her head toward the French doors on her right. She never saw the object that smashed into the left side of her skull that killed her.

She pitched forward. Strands of her long grey hair that had been fashioned into a French pleat fell into the bowl of chicken soup. Blood from her smashed skull dripped into the soup, turning both the soup and her hair red. The glass of red wine she still had grasped in her right hand; spilled over the white damask cloth giving the appearance of a more bloodied injury than was the case.

Gloved hands wiped clean the candlestick holder from off the piano. When all traces of blood had been removed, the candlestick was placed back on the piano and the cream coloured candle was replaced

Happy birthday Selena a voice whispered.

CHAPTER 1

Brendon Wilkes remained seated on his bicycle with his foot on the pavement to support him. A Post Office mailbag hung over the handlebars. He did not have mail for Mrs Harwood. He delivered the Council rates demand every quarter and the monthly power account. There was nothing else, just the rates and power bill.

It was against the Post Office policies to pick up mail to be posted but Mrs Harwood had pleaded with him. The ten shilling note was the deciding factor. If the red metal flag was up on the mailbox Brendon would collect the letter and deposit it in the mail box about ten minutes away on the other side of the road. He had to pass it, so he reasoned there was no harm in helping an old woman.

As he sat on his bicycle, he calculated when Mrs Harwood had last left mail to be picked up. The power account was due for payment on the twentieth of each month and the flag was always up on the seventeenth. Mrs Harwood had missed a whole month and he had delivered the last one three weeks ago. Perhaps the arrears and the current account will be in the mailbox in the next couple of days.

Brendon looked carefully at the French door windows at the front of the house. Perhaps Mrs Harwood would move a curtain to watch and see why he had stayed so long. Surely she would have left a note for him in the mailbox if she had been going away.

Turning the wheel of the bicycle away from the gate he crossed the road and peddled towards his next delivery. The Harwood house was the last on the road. The nearest neighbours were towards town on the other side.

Propping his bicycle against the power pole outside McGregor’s grocery store, Brendon entered and went in search for Mr McGregor. He found him stacking canned fish along the back wall of the shop. The two men talked quietly, stopping when a customer came within hearing. As well as posting Mrs Harwood’s mail, Brendon also dropped off a grocery order to McGregor’s store and one at the butchers. There had not been an order for more than six weeks.

Mr McGregor suggested Brendon carry on with his deliveries while he went to the Police Station to discuss the problem. Brendon urged Mr McGregor not to mention that he collected the mail and posted it for Mrs Harwood, just say he normally picked up her grocery order. He could lose his job if the Post Office people found out.

CHAPTER 2

The odour in the dining room was overpowering. Blowflies and maggots crawled over the soup bowl, bread, apple crumble and Selena’s head. The bread had curled at the edges and the rancid butter had grown grey mould. Congealed blood had formed a ring around and down the inside of the soup bowl. Much of the soup had evaporated. The desert had not fared any better. The mould was a living thing, along with the blowflies and maggots that crawled through the strands of hair, and fed off the congealed blood around the gash on Selena’s head and the broken down flesh of her body.

Selena’s body looked bloated, gray and smelt of raw sewage.

The two police officers rapidly retreated to the back door. The Sergeant vomited over his polished boots while the Constable made it to the overgrown lawn. The large broken flower pot concealed in the long grass caused his vomit to spray back over the legs of his trousers. After several minutes the Sergeant re-entered the house and wet a dish cloth and took a tea towel to wipe the vomit from off their shoes and clothing. Carefully closing the back door the two men made their way through the overgrown weeds back to their car.

They acknowledged they would need to call in men from Scotland Yard. Small town police did not have the stomach for this