Stan Hunt swept her off her feet.”
“Has she been your housekeeper for long?” Garnet asked, finding herself a little curious about the woman.
“Oh, only for about the past year. Ever since I started to get my dizzy spells,” Elizabeth replied. “I’ve known her for years, though, from church. And really, she’s more than a housekeeper. I don’t know what I’d do without her, especially now that I can’t drive anymore. She comes about three times a week to help me out. She even takes me to the doctor and counts out my pills and sets them out for me so I don’t forget to take them.”
Garnet looked around the room. A grand piano took up the entire front corner and plants set in the alcove of the bay window absorbed the last of the sun’s morning rays. Beyond the oriental rugs the hardwood floor gleamed, and the high, ornate ceiling, framed by plaster mouldings, held a chandelier with eight yellowed fabric shades in the centre of it. Several paintings, depicting rural landscapes, and signed by Homer Watson, hung on the walls, and on either side of the wooden mantel stood a pair of side chairs, their golden fabric worn through years of use, and resembling the one Elizabeth had commented on the day before.
But what struck Garnet most about the room was that, if it hadn’t been for a few modern conveniences such as the television, it was like taking a step back in time. Their home in Owen Sound had also been a century home but it hadn’t been like this. It had undergone too many renovations over the years.
“I love your house, Elizabeth. It feels ...” Like I belong here, Garnet wanted to say. The thought came out of nowhere and she didn’t know why it had even entered her mind. Somehow, being surrounded by these items from the past offered her solace, like a loyal friend she could count on. But that was so ridiculous. “It ... it just feels so comfortable,” she finished, grabbing at the first word she could think of.
“Ah, that it is,” Elizabeth agreed. “But unfortunately, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stay. Gerdie has been helping me to keep the house in order, but I’m getting too old. The stairs are too steep and getting around this immense home has become cumbersome. Gerdie’s fiancé, Stan, is a real estate agent. He said I could get a good price for it and I don’t doubt that. When he sold my good friend Clara’s house, she got top dollar for it. Now he keeps urging me to sell. He says it’s a good time to do it, but I ... I don’t want ... I can’t sell it yet,” she finished firmly.
“Why not?” Garnet asked.
“Because ...” Elizabeth sighed. “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as it sounds.” She seated herself in the armchair and motioned for Garnet to seat herself as well. As Garnet sank into the sagging burgundy sofa behind her, an unusual hand-painted clock on the centre of the mantelpiece began to chime. Elizabeth waited for it to finish, and Garnet felt her eyes on her again, as they had been the day before. Elizabeth hesitated, then seemed to come to some sort of a decision.
“You see, a long time ago, in April of 1940, I came to this house as a young bride. My husband, Albert, went to war two months after we were married. He was a pilot and went willingly, the war being a cause he believed in. I was left behind with my father-in-law, Reginald Tate. He was rather a strange man. Eccentric might be the better word. I often wondered if some sort of dementia had set in. Of course, it didn’t help that he’d been deaf in one ear since the Boer War and was losing his hearing in the other ear as well. In any case, I was left behind with him and the housekeeper until his death in March of 1942. In that time, I found his behaviour to be, well, quite frankly, a little unusual.”
Garnet frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he would say things. Things that didn’t make sense. And he only got worse as time went on,” Elizabeth explained. “He was a very religious man and would sometimes quote the Bible. He’d go on about the ’Day of Christ,’ or how if the owner of the house had known what time the thief was coming, he’d have kept watch and not let the thief break in. He’d ramble on and on, whether anyone was listening or not.
“In the end he contracted pneumonia and became delirious with fever. The doctor was called but nothing could be done for him. The housekeeper did her best to keep him comfortable and, of course, I tried to help, for Albert’s sake, but I’m afraid I wasn’t able to do much. Whenever I’d enter his room, he’d only shout at me. I don’t think he remembered who I was anymore. Except on the day he died. That day, the housekeeper summoned me and said that Mr. Tate should like to speak with me.”
Garnet lifted her eyebrows. “What did he say?”
“Well, as you can imagine, I was a little taken aback. I didn’t know what he wanted from me. He was quite feverish and gasping when I entered the room, and I thought, at first, that maybe the housekeeper had misunderstood. But he looked right at me when he spoke, and he seemed to be trying to relay a message. He said, ’The angel. Tell Albert. The angel. Look. The cross. Remember Thomas. The angel will guide you.’ Something like that. I assumed it was more of his nonsensical religious gibberish. I had no idea who Thomas was or what he was talking about. But he pointed to that angel.” Elizabeth directed a finger toward the mantelpiece where a silver angel stood to the right of the clock. “He used to keep it on his night stand.”
“So, what was he trying to tell you?” Garnet asked.
“I don’t know. That is, I don’t know for sure.” Elizabeth’s eyes were downcast as she twisted the gold ring on her left hand. “I wrote to Albert about his father’s death and what he had said to me. Albert replied that I was not to worry. He would explain everything to me when he returned. But he never did come back, you see, so there was never any explanation.” She gave a deep sigh. “Maybe Reginald was just talking gibberish — that’s what Albert would have told me. He was strange, after all. Anyone could see it.” Elizabeth pursed her lips. “The thing is, something happened a few years after the war that has always made me wonder.”
“Wonder what?” Garnet asked.
“Wonder if his words were more than just gibberish. You see, one spring night, after I’d been out, I returned home and heard noises in the house. I noticed a broken window in the kitchen and quickly realized I had an intruder, so I left to call the police from the neighbour’s house. They soon arrived, but the intruder escaped and ran to the park where he had left his car. He sped away and the police followed. They chased him all the way to the outskirts of the city, but before they could stop him, he lost control, drove into the Grand River, and drowned. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. Sometimes my mind even plays tricks on me and I dream that I hear someone walking around the house at night.” Her pale blue eyes narrowed behind her gold-rimmed glasses. “The point is, I’ve always wondered whether that was a random break-in or if the intruder knew anything about the jewels.”
Garnet’s eyebrows knitted together. “The jewels? What jewels, Elizabeth?”
“The royal jewels of Sofia Tate.”
2
Portrait of Sofia Tate
A loud knock sounded at the door and Gerdie pattered to the front hall to answer it.
“Hello, Danny,” Garnet heard her say in a monotone voice.
“Hello, Miss Pitt,” a young man’s voice replied. “How are you today?” he added cheerfully.
“Fine. Just fine. Come on back to the kitchen with those,” she ordered. Garnet heard Gerdie’s footsteps move down the hallway, with heavier ones following.
Elizabeth
