The Durham Deception Read Free

surmounted by a single curled green feather.
    â€˜Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr and Mrs Ansell?’ she said and then proceeded before Tom or Helen had the chance to nod agreement. ‘But of course I have. Even if the girl had not told me of your arrival I would have known you , my dear. You are Mrs Helen Ansell, née Miss Helen Scott.’
    She stretched out her heavily ringed hands and took one of Helen’s between them. Seized rather than took. Tom saw his wife’s delicate fingers and palm disappear into the clasp of hands which were as red and chapped as if their owner washed her own laundry. But Helen kept her self-possession and did not try to snatch her hand back.
    â€˜I’m afraid you have the advantage of us,’ she said. ‘I am not sure I have ever had the pleasure of meeting you before, madam.’
    â€˜Nor I you, though I knew who you were straightaway,’ said the woman. ‘I am Miss Smight, Miss Ethel Smight. Oh but I can see the likeness in you.’
    â€˜Likeness?’
    â€˜To Julia Howlett. Your aunt.’
    â€˜Aunt Julia. I have not seen her for many years. How do you know my aunt?’
    â€˜You are the very image of her,’ said the woman, finally letting go of Helen’s hand but not answering the question. ‘The image of her when she was younger, much younger of course.’
    â€˜But how do you know her?’ persisted Helen. ‘And how do you know we are connected? I was never a Howlett but a Scott and I have another name now.’
    She brushed her hand against Tom’s sleeve. Tom thought she was enjoying herself. The woman, presumably a sister to Mr Smight, pushed some of her straggling hair back beneath her cap before replying.
    â€˜I knew your aunt well at one time. I knew your mother when she married Mr Scott. I am also a devoted reader of the marriage announcements in the newspaper. People of my age are sometimes said to prefer the death column, but I am all for life, yes all for life! When I saw at the end of last year that a Miss Helen Georgina Scott of Highbury was to marry a gentleman called Mr Thomas Edward Ansell, I said to myself that she must be the niece to my old friend, Julia Howlett. Said it over the breakfast table not only to myself but also to my brother Mr Smight. So when our maid told me that a Mr and Mrs Ansell had arrived, I put two and two together. I wonder what brought your feet to our door?’
    â€˜Destiny?’ said Helen. Tom could tell she was speaking lightly, if not flippantly, but the woman treated the answer with seriousness. Miss Smight peered through the gloom at Helen.
    â€˜Is it destiny? If you are able to say such a thing, then perhaps you have the gift.’
    Helen looked sideways at Tom, who said, as a way of getting himself into the conversation, ‘What gift is that, Miss Smight?’
    â€˜There is only one gift that matters,’ said the woman, leaving them not much the wiser. ‘You have favourable features, Mrs Ansell. Helen, if I may call you that. Blue eyes and fair hair are particularly conducive.’
    â€˜That’s what my husband always says,’ said Helen, looking sideways again. Tom thought she was trying to stifle a giggle.
    â€˜He is a wise man then,’ said Miss Smight, looking full at Tom for the first time. ‘A wise man, sir, to appreciate the value of blue eyes and fair hair. And a wise man altogether to judge by the shape of your head. If you will permit me . . .’
    Miss Smight put out her podgy red hands and gently pressed the fingers into the sides of Tom’s head. As when she’d seized Helen’s hand, she acted as if it were her right to do so.
    â€˜It’s a pity we have no time for the callipers; in order to take the exact dimensions of the skull, you know.’
    â€˜I can do without the callipers,’ said Tom, as Ethel Smight continued to palp the sides of his head. She reached round the back