White Phantom: Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five

After dealing with a furious Graham, Maggie felt guilty for what she was putting her family through. It wasn’t fair scuttling off across the country on a whim and leaving Graham to deal with the kids. She just hoped that one day Beth would come back to her and appreciate what she was risking for her.

The matron had made it quite clear on the phone that Miss Thistle was a recluse and that she never received visitors. Well, to hell with that. If this old bat held the key to the weirdoes, then Maggie was going to talk to her. It was with firm resolve that she rang the doorbell.

The place was old but well cared for. She was admitted by a young girl in a nurse’s uniform. Fresh flowers were arranged all over the foyer but although Maggie tried to be polite, she couldn’t help wrinkling her nose at the slight smell of old people and incontinence, which the staff clearly tried so hard to mask.

Maggie asked to see the matron and the girl enquired as to whether she had an appointment. Maggie told her that she didn’t, but that the Matron would be sure to see her as she had come to discuss Miss Thistle’s overdue account. Maggie flashed her sweetest smile. Shrugging her shoulders the nurse led Maggie down a corridor and tapped lightly on a door marked Office.

‘Come in.’

‘Somebody to see you about Miss Thistle, Matron.’ She held the door wider for Maggie to enter and then left, closing the door behind her. The woman behind a cluttered desk rose.

‘Good day to you, Mrs, um, I assume you’re the lady that I spoke to on the phone earlier. I really must insist that Miss Thistle’s account be brought up to date today, or I’m afraid her position here and no longer be sustained. I have the Balance on this print out all ready for you.’

This mercenary bitch wasted no time, straight down to business and not a chocolate biscuit sweetener in sight. ‘I haven’t come to pay her account. I need to speak to her.’

‘I’m sorry, but in that case you’ve had a wasted journey, but as I explained to you Miss Thistle has no interest in seeing anybody. I did ask her on your behalf, but she was adamant. Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ she indicated her desk and the papers that she had been writing, ‘I’m very busy.’

Ignoring her, Maggie pulled out the chair on the other side of the desk and sat down. ‘I thought you wanted to discuss Nanny Nettles account.’

The matron stopped on her way to the door, presumably to show Maggie out. ‘And you said you weren’t here to clear it. Are you a relative of Mister Robinson? You didn’t say earlier. She’s never mentioned you and I’m sure you’ve never visited.’ The last was thrown in as an accusation.

‘I came as soon as I could, I’ve been living overseas in—’ she had been going to say Ceylon, then remembered, as her tongue was forming the word, that it wasn’t called that anymore, and she didn’t have a tan. ‘—Ce…Sweden. Well, when I came back and found out that poor Nanny Nettles had been abandoned in this hell hole, I had to come and see her.’

The Matron bristled, ‘Let me assure you, Mrs, um, yes, Miss Thistle, has the best of care here, she’d tell you herself, she’s very happy. It will be such a shame if we have to let her go. Her account, you see…’ she tailed off.

‘It’s Maggie, love, the name’s Maggie. Now then, this account that you’re all worked up about. How overdue is it? How much is outstanding? And how are the payments usually made?’ Sharon had already told her that Marc paid for the old woman’s keep there. It seemed a strange loyalty to have to what was only an ex-employee.

‘Well, of course Mr. Robinson always took care of those things, dear. Now, I’m not saying anything untoward. He’s a very charming man, set the standing order up years ago and up until very recently there was never a problem. Never visited, of course,’ she looked disapproving, ‘but we spoke on the phone occasionally. Sometimes, she needed little extras, you know, things that weren’t covered in the bill. He never questioned it; the money was always transferred that day.’

I bet it was, thought Maggie, and how many of the ‘little extras’ she wondered, did her charge actually see?

‘Then,’ the woman continued, ‘last month, the payment was refused and the account lapsed into arrears. I haven’t been able to contact Mr Robinson, and now, well, it’s almost time for the next payment to go through. I’ve tried ringing him, of course, but there’s no answer. I’ve left several messages, and well, it’s very serious, we have a waiting list. I’ve spoken to Social Services, you see. I’m sure Mr. Robinson would be most upset to have…’

The woman was breaking Maggie’s heart. She interrupted the matron’s spiel,

‘How much?’

She could have sworn that she saw the glint of greed in the green eyes, or maybe it was just the light. ‘You can settle the account? Oh, how wonderful, Miss Thistle will be pleased. The outstanding balance for last month and of course this coming month, because we like to keep a month in advance, is three thousand, two hundred and sixty-eight pounds. We accept cards, dear.’

Maggie almost spluttered at the size of the bill, sixteen hundred quid a month to stay in this dump. Okay it wasn’t bad, but it was hardly The Ritz. She felt a twinge of guilt. She couldn’t care less about deceiving the grave robber, in front of her with her hand out, but she felt bad when she thought about the old lady going to rot and being haggled over. ‘I’ll have to see her first.’

‘Of course, dear, I’ll have one of the staff take you straight up.’ She pressed a button on the intercom on her desk.

Bastard, thought Maggie as she smiled sweetly.

The same nurse who had answered the door to her led her up two flights of stairs that made Maggie pant and were hardly conducive to making life easy for little old ladies. Maggie envied them the Stannah stair lift. After a maze of corridors, at least one of which Maggie was sure she walked down twice, the girl stopped and tapped on a door. Without waiting for an answer she opened it and walked in.

It was only mid-afternoon but the room was in almost complete darkness. The curtains were closed and despite a low-lit bedside lamp, the light didn’t extend as far as any of the corners of the room. Motioning with her finger against her lips for Maggie to be quiet, she ushered her in and closed the door behind her. The gloom enveloped her, and as the girl walked towards a huddled figure in an orthopaedic chair by the closed curtains, Maggie went to follow, but was frightened of falling over something. She groped along the wall for a light switch.

‘Don’t turn the light on,’ the nurse snapped at her, and then more softly she said, ‘Miss Thistle doesn’t like it.’

‘Who’s there? Who is it?’ A reedy but sharp voice issued from the wing-backed chair that was turned away from them. The old lady sounded terrified but feisty. ‘Claire, who have you brought in? Is it a new member of staff? Make them go away. What are you thinking of, girl? I won’t have anybody new, I won’t.’ Maggie decided that she was wasting her time talking to the old crone because she sounded nuts.

‘It’s okay, Miss Thistle,’ said the nurse, ‘it’s your niece. It’s Mrs. Johnson come to visit you. Isn’t that nice, now?’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, I don’t have a niece. And stop talking to me as though I’m a three year old. Have you any idea how lacking in intelligence you sound?’

Maggie cut in. ‘It’s me Aunty Cynthia, remember? Maggie, Marc Robinson’s sister’ She turned to address the nurse, ‘I’m not a real niece, of course, we were her wards. Miss Thistle was our nanny, years ago.’

There was a moment’s silence before the crone in the chair spoke again. ‘Of course I remember you, you stupid woman. Why does everybody around here think that I’ve lost my faculties? Are you an imbecile?’ Maggie grinned and moved a step towards the voice.

‘Did I say you could come over to me? Sit there on the bed,’ Maggie saw a withered arm come out from a blanket and motion in the direction of the single bed behind her. ‘And you girl, get out of here. Haven’t you got any work to do? Do they pay you to stand around and look gormless?’

The nurse left the room and only when the door had closed did the woman speak again. ‘So, niece, you have two minutes to tell me what all this subterfuge is about before I ring to have you removed.’

Maggie smiled. The old lass was gutsy.

‘Hello, Miss Thistle. Nanny Nettles, isn’t it? I really need your help, a friend of mine is in danger and you might be able to spread some light on what I’m dealing with.’

‘Well, if it has anything at all to do with the Robinson family, I’d advise you to get your friend, walk away, and keep on walking until you can’t smell the evil any longer. They’re no good, either of them. Sick in a way that it’s hard to describe. You frightened me for a moment. When you said you were his sister, I thought you were the girl, here to finish me off. But from your voice I knew that you’re not her. They feed from each other like succubus, and sometimes it’s hard to tell which of them is leading the other.’ The old dear didn’t hold back, it didn’t look as though Maggie was going to have to drag information from her. As she spoke, the old woman’s voice had taken on a reflective tone, as though she was in a different place in her mind, still talking from behind the wings of the huge chair, she said, ‘Evil, no other word can describe her.’

‘Her?’ questioned Maggie, ‘Are you talking about Jennifer? Please go on.’ She felt her heart beating faster.

‘How much do you know?’

Maggie thought about her answer for a second, wondering whether to play another bluff. She decided to be completely honest, ‘Very little. Almost nothing.’

‘I’d better ring for tea then, hadn’t I?’

Maggie rose to move closer to her.

‘Stay where you are. Did I tell you to move?’

‘I’m sorry, didn’t mean to overstep the mark. Actually, no, I’m not. Look, Miss Thistle, now that we’re acquainted, would you mind if I pulled that chair up so that we can talk properly? It’s really difficult talking to you through a Chesterfield.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, but I suppose you better had. Just give me a second.’ Maggie’s eyes had become accustomed to the gloom and she saw the old lady pulling something around her shoulders.

‘Come along then, we haven’t got all day, pull up the chair and we can talk. I must warn you, though; I’m not much of a looker.’

Maggie pulled the pink draylon chair beside the bed up to sit beside the old lady. ‘It’s okay,’ she replied with a nervous laugh, ‘My mirror demands that I pay it danger money before looking into it.’ She had to force herself to remain impassive and not register any noises of either revulsion or pity. The poor woman had no nose or lips and that was only part of the Halloween mask facing Maggie. Little wisps of fluffy white hair poked from an almost bald pate, even though Cynthia had pulled a lace shawl about her head and face, it didn’t do much to cover the wreckage. Her bald scalp was covered in thick burn scars. Her right eye socket hung down onto what was left of her cheekbone, the inner rim red and watery. The eyeballs had sustained damage. One had been removed completely leaving a line of stitching where the socket had been closed. Beneath the filmy cataract of the remaining eye was a shrewd and intimate appraising gaze. Her nose had gone, leaving only the open nasal channel and a sharp cliff of bone, her lips had also been lost to the burning, only a ridge of hard scar tissue remained. Maggie could see that the burns also travelled from her neck down into the material of her dress. Cynthia pulled her cardigan defensively around her and said bitterly, ‘There, so now you have it.’

Maggie was at a loss of how to answer, but she had to fill the uncomfortable void with something, ‘What happened?’ she asked simply.

‘All in good time, dear. Have a good stare, and let’s get beyond it. I can see that it’s making you feel uncomfortable. You came here for information. Well, I’ve got quite a story to tell you, but first I need to whet my whistle, it’ll give us a few minutes to be easy with each other. We’ll have a cup of tea and a slither of cake. The cook’s meagre on portions, but she does do an acceptable sponge. We’ll have our tea and you can tell me all about yourself, because once I start, I don’t want to be interrupted.’

Cynthia rang twice more before the tea arrived. It had been less than ten minutes since she had first asked for it. ‘And tell Cook that I don’t want any burnt edges on the cake,’ she said to the closing door after the third time her bell had been answered. When the afternoon tea arrived, Cynthia berated the girl because one of the paper doilies had a small brown stain where a cup had been placed on it. ‘I will not have second-hand doilies, the amount I pay to stay here. I expect to be given a new doily with every cup of tea.’

Maggie exchanged a sympathetic glance with Claire – she was sure that she had better things to do than play room-service to a cantankerous old woman. ‘And never mind you two rolling your eyes at me. I’m old; I’m entitled to be difficult. You’ll have your day, but this one, my dears, is mine.’

‘Get away with you, Miss Thistle,’ said Claire, good humouredly. ‘You know it’s a pleasure to bow and scrape to your every whim.’ She smiled fondly at Cynthia and Maggie realised that, despite the fact that she was particular and demanding, there was a fondness between Cynthia and Claire.

‘And don’t come back until you learn some manners,’ shot Cynthia to Claire’s retreating back. While they ate what Maggie thought was excellent cake, but Cynthia declared too dry, and drank their tea, Maggie gave the old woman chapter and verse of her life to date. Cynthia probed and questioned and although it was only light chit-chat about nothing in particular, by the time Maggie had picked up the last crumbs from her plate and wished that there was another slice on offer, she felt as though she’d been interrogated by the Gestapo. Cynthia was as sharp and as they talked, Maggie found that she was less sensitive to the horrendous burns of the other woman.

‘There, dear. Now that we’re comfortable with each other, we can discuss what you really came here for.’ Maggie wasn’t sure but she was almost certain that Cynthia tried for a wink, but the tight skin at the corners of her eye wouldn’t allow it.

‘Once upon a time there were two beautiful little girls,’ Cynthia began.

Maggie butted in. ‘Cynthia, please, I’m sure this is going to be very interesting, but can I just ask you some relevant questions about Marc and Jennifer Robinson?’ Not for the first time, she wondered if this had been a fool’s errand, after all, and the old fool was as batty as she had first thought.

‘You may not,’ replied Cynthia, sternly. ‘You have chosen to come and invade my space, young woman, so please, indulge me. I have a tale to tell and if it’s to be told then I will do it my way, from the beginning and concisely. When I conclude, you will have the opportunity to decide for yourself if there is any credence to it, or if I’m just a lonely disfigured old fool with too much time to play with my addled imagination.’ Maggie held up her hands in resignation and wondered just how far Graham’s temper had risen by this point.

‘As I said, two little girls. Twins. And if this were indeed a fairy tale, I could say that one little girl was very, very good, while the other was very, very bad, but that really isn’t the case. Melissa was an easier child to deal with. She was cheerful, biddable and easily entertained. But you see, Jennifer, she was a different kettle of fish altogether.

‘Wait,’ said Maggie, ‘Jennifer is one of twins? She has a sister?’

A cloud passed over Cynthia’s face. She ignored Maggie’s question and continued. Her voice had taken on the same tone that she had used earlier when she spoke about her charges. It sounded softer, as though she was reliving another time. ‘I was always there, you see. I had been employed first as nurse and then, later, as governess to the boy, Marc. He was older. A bright child, a handful sometimes as most small boys are, but he had a quick intelligence and was always eager to learn. He was a good bit older than the girls. I think he was approaching seven when the girls came along. I was going to have to look for new charges, a new family. If only things had worked out differently.’ Her hand came up to the side of her face and she fingered some of the wreckage below her left eye. ‘I gave up my entire life for the Robinson’s. I left it too late to marry and then after… well, after the accident there was nothing left for me. I was finished. But that comes later.’

The bitterness left her voice and she became reflective again. ‘I’m not one to talk of matters of a delicate nature, I’m sure, but I don’t think having the twins was part of the big plan for the Robinsons. I rather assume that the news of first one and then two new babies was as much a surprise to them as it was to me. James Robinson was a self-indulged man. He worked away a lot and dragged his poor wife from Whey to Fen, and often overseas, too. Miranda was a genteel woman, given to a slightly nervous disposition. Far be it from me to speak ill, but I always felt that she was apt to pander to the man, she appeased him too much, but it wasn’t my place to say so, of course. The children didn’t see an awful lot of their parents. It was a particularly lonely childhood for Marc. The girls had each other, you see, but he was such a speculative little boy.

‘When the girls came along it was quite a lively household, they breathed new life into it. They kept me on my toes almost from the day they were born. Later, I often looked back at the early years, tried to make sense of it all, pinpoint the exact moment when… Perhaps we’ll never know, but the chickenpox played a big part.’

‘Chickenpox?’ repeated Maggie. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Oh, most inopportune. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Jennifer was a bright little thing, but she was always into mischief, always the first to be told off. I called her White Phantom. That’s the definition of her name in Hebrew. She was like a little ghost appearing all over the place when you least expected it, listening at doors and getting into mischief. She felt that Melissa was favoured. Complete rubbish, of course. I loved both of them equally, we all did, but she was always vying for attention, always fighting with her sister to steal the limelight. She was what you’d call today a livewire. A right little monkey, she was. They both were. Oh and how she loved her big brother. She trailed after him day and night, absolutely idolised him. But of course to him she was just a silly little girl who would get in his way. He teased her mercilessly.

‘Well, the chickenpox, which I’ve always felt was the big catalyst that turned everything upside down, was a terrible blow for Jennifer.
‘Joanna – that’s Miranda’s younger sister – was getting married. They were to have the reception in the grounds of Swarthdale hall, the family home. Oh, it was a fine affair. No expense spared. I’d never seen the like. And the girls in their bridesmaid dresses, my little angels. You have never seen a child as beautiful as those identical twins.

‘But then, less than a week before the wedding, Jennifer came home from school with the chickenpox. The spots didn’t come for a couple of days but, oh my goodness, when they did the poor mite was driven insane with them. I had her coated head to toe in calamine lotion, but it did no good. She scratched and scratched.

‘I disapproved of their decision over the wedding. I thought it was wrong, damaging for the child, but they wouldn’t listen to me. This wedding had to be perfect and never mind the feelings of a hurt little girl. She was told that she wouldn’t be allowed to attend. It started when the rash broke out. Gosh they all flew into a flap. Jennifer was taken to a separate wing of the house and was expected to sleep there alone. I wasn’t going to agree to that, she was terrified the poor mite. I went to her isolation room in my dressing gown and slippers and crept into that ridiculous cot-bed with her. They didn’t want her to have any contact with Melissa, you see. The child had shown no symptoms and they wanted to keep it that way so that at least they still had one good looking child to walk up the aisle.

‘The day before the wedding, my little Phantom looked a sight. Her face was a mass of angry spots, but she was feeling a lot better. The thing is, you see, she could have taken part in that wedding the period of contagion had past. She should have been included. But they knew best. I was only Nanny Nettles who was expected to do as she was told. It all came down to their silly, egotistical photographs. Joanna, who I always felt was a spoiled little girl in adult clothing, screamed and cried and said how Jennifer would ruin her photographs and how everything had to be absolutely perfect. She refused to have her at the wedding at all, said that she had to be kept away from the guests at all costs, even though the incubation period was over.

‘I have to say, though, that young devil Marc didn’t help. I remember the screaming tantrum in that kitchen to this day. He came into the room and teased Jennifer the way he always did. I can remember it clearly. He kept calling her Zitzilla and pinching her. I told him to leave her be, that it was all going to end in tears. Nobody could ever have predicted just how those tears would fall. My accident was nothing compared to…’

Cynthia seemed to be tiring. She leaned back in her chair and took several shallow breaths. Her chest wheezed and Maggie asked her if she wanted to stop.

‘Stop, dear? Why, I’ve barely started. You want to know the horrible truth and I’m going to give it to you, no holds barred. There’s no proof of course. No proof of any of it, but I was an observer. I saw things that others didn’t. I saw pure evil. I watched it grow in that child and saw it swell within her until it was all that was left. I blame myself for it, too. I should have done something sooner. I saw it happening. I knew, but I hoped that she’d come right, that something could be done for the child before it was too late. I can only imagine what she’s become.’

‘I have my suspicions,’ said Maggie. ‘But I just don’t know what’s going on. All I know is that my friend’s in trouble and these Robinsons are at the bottom of it.’

‘Fruit and barley, dear. Like the juice. Listen, what I’m going to tell you next, if you believe me – and that’s entirely up to you – is not going to make you feel any better about things. Are you sure you want me to open this box? It’s been closed tight for a long time.’

Maggie nodded.

‘I missed the wedding, too,’ Cynthia said. ‘Not that it was any great loss in my book, all that pomp and finery wasted on one day when there’re so many starving children in Africa. I stayed at home with Jennifer. I had pleaded with Miranda to relent and let the child put on her pretty frock, but there was no talking to them, so taken up with this wedding and the perfection of it, they were. I will never forget how they broke that little girl’s heart. She put her head into her folded arms on the wooden kitchen table and she sobbed for three hours. There was nothing I could do to make it any better for her. She cried until the wedding party arrived by horse and carriage and then, with big wet eyes all a-stare, she went and had one little look out of the window before she took herself off up to her room.

‘Miranda said that under no circumstances was Jennifer to be anywhere near the guests. “Looking like that,” she’d added, too, in front of the child. I had no intention of locking the poor thing up, I’d keep her in the playroom with me and we’d have a picnic. But Jennifer wouldn’t be placated and while my back was turned she sloped off to her room and locked the door.

‘I felt that she’d come out when she was good and ready. I thought it best to let her cry. I went to the playroom and laid out a picnic, anyway, in case she changed her mind later. She must have been hungry with all that sobbing. I was in there, standing by the window when she made her way into the garden with the guests. I had a ringside view. I saw more than anybody else. I was higher up, you see. I saw what was going to happen. I knocked on the window, hammered on it to try and draw somebody’s attention, but I was too late. Could you get me some water, please? I’m a little hoarse.’

‘Of course,’ said Maggie. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

Cynthia patted her hand, and sipped at the glass that Maggie poured and held out to her. ‘No, let’s get this out and have it done with. Maybe I can sleep at night then. I will never forget the look of determination on that child’s face as she walked out of the door and towards the brazier where some of the guests had gathered. She had on her bridesmaid dress. She was going to attend the party, and may the good Lord help anybody who tried to stop her. I remember that day as one of three expressions: determination, hatred, and curiosity, each one worse than the one before. My poor little raggedy Phantom walked over the lawn with her dress hanging open at the back because she obviously wasn’t able to do it up herself. She was tripping over the hem in her little silver wedding shoes, and the yellow of that big, poufy dress only served to bring out the redness of her spots. But that little minx held her head up high and walked right into the middle of them.

‘I remember the ice-cream cone. She had snatched it out of her sister’s hand. Alone, Melissa looked breathtaking, the dress beautiful, but together, for that split second, standing by the brazier and lit by the flames of the fire, my little darlings should have been a picture. Why did they do that to her? She stood with her little body proud and the dress hanging off one shoulder. That’s when the tragedy happened. Everybody else calls it an accident. It wasn’t. It was a loathsome tragedy.

‘Melissa was too close to the brazier. The adults should have been watching her by an open fire like that. I saw, clear as day, what was going to happen. Jennifer stepped on the hem of Melissa’s dress. That part may have been an accident; after all, she’d been stepping all over her own. One little push, that’s all it took, all that taffeta and lace. The poor mite had no chance. She was a ball of flame. Somebody pulled Jennifer to safety. And then I saw her looking at Melissa, her face a mask of sheer malevolent hatred.

‘She was dragged further away from the heat of the fire. Somebody tried for a moment to shield her from watching her sister burn, but they were too engrossed in the burning pyre themselves to take her right away.

‘I watched my little Phantom glide back to the drama playing out in front of her. People were screaming and crying; the men had snatched their hired jackets off and were pathetically trying to swat Melissa with them to put the fire out. And that’s when I saw Jennifer’s third expression, the worst one of them all. She stood on the sidelines, her ice-cream cone still in her hand, forgotten, a sticky mess melting down her fingers. Jennifer’s eyes were open wide. She had a glimmer of a smile on her face, just the merest hint, a half-smile. But her overall expression was one of open curiosity as she watched her sister’s face melt before her.’ Cynthia touched her own face again. ‘They say once a murderer has perfected their M.O. they stick to it,’ she said wryly.

Maggie couldn’t take it all in. ‘Did Melissa survive? Is she all right?’

‘No dear, I’m afraid she died. Her injuries were horrific. The child suffered a terrible death but luckily she didn’t survive past the hour. She died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. It was merciful. I wouldn’t have wanted her to live like this.’

‘But Jennifer wilfully and knowingly murdered her twin sister. That’s horrific.’

‘It is, that’s true. But how culpable can a jealous eight year old be? Should I have stood up and informed the authorities then? What proof did I have, a couple of odd looks from an exasperated child. No, it was said by all to be an accident. It was best left at that. And that’s something I’ve had to live with since that terrible day, because it didn’t stop there.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There were others, Maggie. I’m sure of it. After Melissa’s death, things slowly returned to something akin to normal. The parents resumed their trips, I was left with Marc and Jennifer, and what had happened to poor Melissa was never mentioned. Jennifer became withdrawn. She would lock herself away for hours, reading. The only one who could ever get through to her was Marc. He was growing into such a big, strong boy. When he was ten he’d decided that he was going to be a mechanic.’ Cynthia chuckled. ‘You should have seen his father’s face. I thought he was going to explode. All that private tuition and his son wanted to be a mechanic. Indulging the whim and hoping that it wouldn’t last, his father bought him cars to tinker with. Marc was a determined child, he poured over books and manuals for days and then he’d get into his overalls and get greasy in his garage. Jennifer had her own little set of overalls, and she’d be there, too, handing him spanners and getting all technical and oily. In the two years between his fourteenth and sixteenth birthday, the lad became very proficient. He was good enough to work on the family cars, sometimes with a hired mechanic to oversee him, and then later, on his own initiative. When he first began he had to stand on a box to reach into the engine, he turned into a man while his head was in an old oil tank. He began with beaten up Minis and Volkswagens and then his interest took a more highbrow turn.

Marc always had an eye for money. He enjoyed the feel of it in his hands right from being a little boy. “Pennies, Nanny, pennies,” he’d say, never sweeties or toys, like other children, always pennies. He got his first classic car when he was just sixteen. It was an old Aston Martin, a beaten up and neglected old thing, but he took it apart piece by piece and restored it with love. Before his parents’… accident, he was as good as any grease monkey twice his age.

‘That day, Jennifer was being difficult. She was just shy of ten, if I remember correctly. Her parents had come back from Japan and that night they were going out again to a party. Jennifer was crying out for attention from Miranda, she just wanted to spend some time with her mother. Don’t get me wrong, when Miranda had time she doted on Jennifer, it’s just that she doted on James more. His needs always came first. That night they were going out for cocktails and then on to a fancy restaurant for dinner, they were schmoozing some new clients that James was hoping to snare. It was all very tense. Miranda had spent most of the day having beauty treatments and her hair done and then came home to get ready. James had asked Marc to look at the brakes on his Jaguar. They were sticking and Marc said that they needed replacing. He was working on them that day. They could have gone out in one of the other cars that night but James was out to impress and was keen to go in that one, sleek blue thing it was, too big if you ask me. Marc had taken the old breaks off and with Jennifer’s help they’d replaced them with the new ones. He was very specific afterwards that he’d told Jennifer to come into the house and tell James that the breaks had been done, but light was fading and he hadn’t managed to finish the job properly. The car wasn’t safe to drive. Marc insisted that he told Jennifer to say that.

‘I was in the kitchen when she came in, wiping oil from her hands on her overalls. Of course I only remember the conversation so succinctly because it was important, otherwise I wouldn’t have given it a thought. Jennifer skipped into the room and went straight over to Miranda to fling her arms around her waist. Miranda pushed her away of course, she was in overalls. Jennifer was never a demonstrative child, she wasn’t one for kissing and cuddling, I put it down to the continued absence of her parents. She was a distant child, but it wasn’t just that that struck me. It was so out of character for her to come out of a sulk so quickly. When she’d gone to the garage she had been furious with Miranda. She came skipping in and over her shoulder she said to James, “Daddy, Marc says the car’s safe to drive.” Marc was in the shower when they left. They had only been gone about twenty minutes when the policeman knocked at the door. He had his hat in his hands, just like in the films. Jennifer was quiet; she said she’d made a mistake. The inquest said that it was a horrible accident. It had a terrible affect on Marc. He got into some trouble with some local thugs, petty thievery, and he was put away in a special place for naughty boys. He was there for two years. He never did blame Jennifer as far as I could tell, but he came back a different person. He had a nasty turn to him, anger at the world that seemed to boil away inside him.

After that I was all that they had. I couldn’t leave them, though there were times when I felt like it. Jennifer grew into an unpleasant child. She was sly and sneaky. Marc was surly and aggressive. What had once been such a happy home was now just a shell. We had to move, Marc was the man of the house, he had inherited most of his parent’s fortune. Gossip was rife in the village after Marc returned from his stint away. That was the first house move. Marc was eighteen now and became Jennifer’s legal guardian. Jennifer was twelve.’ Maggie hadn’t butted in for some time, she’d become so enthralled in the story as it unfolded.

Now she had questions.’ Cynthia, was Phantom really so evil that she could kill three members of her immediate family? Did she really understand the simple facts of right and wrong? When my kids were five they laready knew that it was wrong to hurt people. Surely she knew what she was doing?’

‘Oh yes, she knew exactly what she was doing. I blame myself dear, after Melissa, I should have spoken out. I should have done something. Possibly even before Melissa, I could have done something. Even then I knew that she had an unnatural jealousy towards her sister.’ She motioned to her face, ‘They say that what goes around comes around.’

‘What happened?’ Maggie asked for the second time.

‘Jennifer happened, simple as that that.’ Cynthia sighed. ‘She wanted chips cooking on one of those awful deep fryer contraptions. Jennifer asked for sweets before her meal. I told her no. I had my back to her; she was sitting at the dining-room table drawing. We were arguing, the child would never take no for an answer. In a rage she stood up suddenly from the table and scraped her chair into the back of my legs. It hit me at the back of my knees and they went from under me. I’ve had many years to think about this, it all happened so fast, but I swear that, if that’s all that happened, my knees would have buckled and I’d have let go of the frying handle and would have simply slumped downwards, but something pushed me forwards immediately after the chair hit my legs. My head was pushed towards the fryer, I reached out to shield myself from it with my arm and the whole lot came over on top of me. Jennifer was slightly burned too. She spent a night in hospital but was released the following day.

I was in hospital for eighteen months, I had operations, but what could be done about this? I was scared to go back, but I had no choice. I have no family, they were all I had. The Robinson’s had paid me generously for my years in their employ, and I’d spent little, but how could I live independently with this face.

I went back but I couldn’t face the world. I lived alone in a room at the back of the house. Jennifer was never put off by my face. Sometimes she’d come and talk to me and it would be almost like the old days before she became twisted, but other times she’d just come to taunt me. I learned that on the day of my accident, Jennifer had removed the picture that she had been drawing before the ambulance arrived. It was a picture of me, dead. She told me about it herself, bragged about it. Screamed once, that she had wanted me dead and would make a better job of it the next time. I’ve been waiting for her to come every since. There was nothing more that she could do to hurt me, Death would have been preferable to this. I wasn’t scared of her, not for me, at least.

I wasn’t there long. There were other things, things that I can’t bring myself to talk about even now. Bad, dirty things. I heard them together sometimes; please don’t ask me for details. I confronted Marc. I told him that I was going to go to the police. He begged me not to. They were like my own bairns, once. It was as though I’d borne them of my own body. He promised me that the dirty stuff would stop.

We came to a mutual decision that I’d be happier somewhere else. He promised to look after me, and by goodness, he has. This isn’t my first home, there was another one for three years and I’ve been here five now. Marc continues to pay the bills in return for my silence, or at least he did, until recently I believe. I really don’t know what’s going to become of me now.’

‘Is that why you’ve spoken to me?’

‘Good Lord no, this isn’t malicious. Not at all. I’m actually worried about Marc, I thought maybe he’d done something wrong, been sent to prison, or worse. He has never missed a single payment. He’s been very generous. I’ve been looked after well. But they have a twisted gene, the pair of them. They are capable of incredible evil. I had to warn you, I couldn’t face another death on my conscience.’ She gripped Maggie’s arm tightly. ‘Whatever happens make them stop, Maggie. I’m relying on you to do what’s right.’

‘So if Jennifer was twelve when she did this to you, how old is she now?’

‘She was ten dear, It happened while Marc was still away in that place, they let him out early because of it. Jennifer spent a little time away in foster care, but it didn’t last long, something happened, something bad, but I don’t know the details. She was later released into Marc’s care. They moved again shortly afterwards to escape the probing eyes of social services.

‘What can I do? Can I go to the police, will you talk to them?’

‘There’s no proof of anything Maggie, everything that Jennifer did was investigated and found to be a run of horrible accidents.’

‘Yes, but they were never investigated as one case before, seen one at a time they could be passed off as accidents but surely together, three deaths and your terrible accident in two years, it’s far too coincidental.’

‘She’s canny, that one and he’s as slippery as an eel. They’ll talk their way out of it and then they’ll disappear, begin again, somewhere new. There’s nothing concrete to get them on. You need to find something on them. I’m sure if you dig hard enough there’s something that will stick.’

‘What about the abuse that you hinted at?’

‘Their word against mine, dear. I’m a bitter old lady with an axe to grind, don’t forget. My best advice to you Maggie, is to dig and dig hard my girl.’

They talked for a little while longer, but Maggie could see that their afternoon had tired Cynthia. She shook the old ladies hand and crept quietly out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the door before anybody could stop her.

All the way home she worried about Cynthia. When she told Beth what she knew, it would put the old nanny in direct danger. And then there was her tenuous position at the rest home. Maggie felt somehow responsible for her. She’d told the matron that she’d pay Cynthia’s bill, or as good as, there was no way that she could afford that kind of money, but she had to do something to help her…but what? She drove home to face World War Three with Graham and her head was spinning with thoughts and unanswered questions.