They shrugged and looked impatient.
‘Take your tea,’ urged Maria. ‘Do not mind us.’
I raised the cup once more, but before it met my lips, I became aware that it smelled quite unlike my customary herbal blend. In fact, the smell was strong, and familiar, but for a moment I could not place it.
When I did, I dashed the cup down in horror.
The girls’ faces fell.
‘Why do you not drink?’ asked Maria belligerently.
‘Oh, you little monsters, is it really possible . . .?’ I could not believe two well-bred little girls were capable of such a thing at first, but their guilty demeanours confirmed my worst suspicions.
‘We have done nothing wrong!’ they protested.
‘Nothing wrong? You see nothing wrong in . . . in . . . what you have done?’
I had risen to my feet and my voice was sufficiently raised to draw the attention of my husband, who joined us on the patio with evident displeasure.
‘What have my daughters done?’ he growled. ‘Of what do they stand accused?’
‘My love, I can hardly say the words. It is too repulsive. Too indecent. Too altogether shocking.’
‘We have done nothing,’ the girls insisted.
‘Let us see if your father agrees,’ I said, handing him the teacup. ‘Look at this. Breathe in its scent. What do you think it is?’
He did as requested. His response to the final question was too coarse to reproduce here, but suffice to say that it was composed of four letters and referred to the natural waste liquid of the body.
‘Maria? Susannah?’ He sought an explanation.
‘Papa, we have done nothing wrong. We went to the kitchen, asked for the tray to be made up, and brought it. That was all we did.’
He turned to me, gruff, not meeting my eye.
‘You see. They are not guilty of any wrongdoing.’
I was speechless. I could do no more than look wildly from husband to stepdaughters until my neck began to ache with tension.
It has been useless to mention the subject to David ever since this scene was played out. He insists that somebody below-stairs was playing a prank, and he refuses to take the matter further. The girls, at least, have not been insufferable about it, but have kept away from me. Is this the most I can ask?
It is unfair. Unfair and unjust, and I feel like the enemy in my own home.
What am I to do? What could anybody do?
These unnatural children have had nothing but kindness from me, but I resolve from henceforth to have no more to do with them. I will leave them to their own devices and be a stranger to them until their father deigns to take my part, or they start at their new school in September.
What more can be done?
‘Shit,’ said Jason, apparently impressed. ‘They actually pissed in her teacup? That’s hardcore.’
‘They do seem awfully disturbed,’ said Jenna. ‘They need therapy. If only the Victorians believed in it. I feel sorry for them. And her. All of them. Except stupid Harville, of course, turning a blind eye. That won’t do anyone any favours.’
‘Who do you think kills her then? Surely not the kids. That’s crazy.’
Jenna shook her head. ‘You’re very convinced it’s murder. It could be an accident. It might not even be her.’
‘So what was the diary doing in the cellar then? She took it down with her. Perhaps she knew they were going to kill her and she left it there as evidence. Come on. What’s the next entry?’