Murder in Hampstead by Sabina Manea (read this if txt) 📕

daring to populate the pavement with tables and chairs lest the unyielding rain they had endured over the past week wouldn’t subside. As the sun rose at seven seventeen, it became apparent that the prediction might hold after all.

Lucia pushed up the sash window and breathed in the damp but unmistakably warming morning air. Hampstead High Street was just starting to wake up. The establishment across the road was already doing a roaring trade in freshly baked baguettes and countless varieties of milky coffee. She had just recently finished the course of painkillers that the hospital had sent her home with. Aside from the occasional dizzy spell and largely ignored instructions to cut down on caffeine and alcohol, she was back to normal.

The time she had spent recuperating in the comfort of the Chanlers’ Belgravia home had been the equivalent of a no expenses spared holiday. The butler and the housekeeper had waited on her hand and foot, and Nina had barely left her side as they read, talked, and remembered. Without the aid of illicit chemicals or drink, Lucia finally slept with the wantonness of a small child, as if the concussion had reset her brain. She would have been unlikely to reclaim her freedom and go home had it not been for an unexpected phone call from Mrs Byrne.

‘Hello, Lucia.’

‘Mrs Byrne.’ The Irish lilt rang like an alien language in her ears. She hadn’t recognized the number of the Beatrice Hall landline.

‘How are you, child? I heard they let you leave hospital.’ The voice was tinged with genuine concern, but there was something else at play, as if a fog had lifted.

‘Better, thank you.’ Lucia surmised the police, and by implication Detective Chief Inspector Carliss, would have been in and out of the Hall. Emilia had been arrested and duly charged with the murders of Olga Galina, also known as Professor Alla Kiseleva, and Adam Corcoran.

‘Oh, I’m so glad to hear it. It’s like the world has suddenly turned upside down. Emilia, of all people…’ The horrified shudder at the housekeeper’s end of the line was palpable. ‘What the Professor did to her… I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. It’s a heartless thing to say, but I can’t help thinking Alla Kiseleva got what she deserved.’

It hadn’t taken long for the papers to get wind of the sensational affair – not just the red tops, but even the customarily serious publications couldn’t get enough of the sordid details. The irresistible combination of drugs, death, false identities and a Cold War spy caper made for journalism of minimum efforts and maximum returns.

Mrs Byrne continued with an invigorated tone. ‘I didn’t know whether you’d heard, so I thought I’d give you a ring myself. That Society’s inherited the house, and they want to keep me on as a caretaker.’

So that was the source of the audible spring in her step, thought Lucia.

The housekeeper wittered on. ‘I said yes straightaway, of course. I was dreading having to leave and fend for myself, after all these years. The place might look like a museum, but it’s my home. The thing is, they’ve put me in charge of the place, and they want the redecorating to resume. I thought, well… depending on how your recovery is going… that you might want your old job back. Thought I’d give you first dibs, in any case.’

It couldn’t have come at a better time. Before breathlessly accepting, Lucia paused to wonder at the discovery. ‘How did the house end up in the hands of the Collaborative Mathematical Society, Mrs Byrne?’

‘Adam left it to them in his will.’ The voice was lowered furtively, even though there wouldn’t have been anyone to eavesdrop. ‘I’m not really supposed to know this, but the solicitor was here the other day – nice man, that Mr Platt, and the baby’s thriving, from what I hear – gathering papers and whatnot, and he let it slip, you see. When Adam was appointed executor of the Professor’s will, she said she would only leave him Beatrice Hall if he in turn made a will leaving it to the Society. He hardly had much choice in the matter, did he? They’re looking to turn it into a new library, they said. They would have liked to name it after the Professor, but, given the circumstances, they thought it might be a tad… inappropriate. Either way, here I am, with a roof over my head.’

Mrs Byrne sounded like she was suddenly years younger. Lucia was pleased for her. It provided some degree of equitable reparation for the housekeeper’s unenviable existence.

‘I’d be delighted to carry on with the work. Thank you for thinking of me,’ Lucia replied. She needed to jumpstart her life – the torpor she had been forced into was making her itch with boredom. She would start first thing on Monday. The prospect of returning to Beatrice Hall with no portentous events hanging over her head was cause for joy. At last, the place was truly her own canvas, to craft into whatever she chose. The project would be her masterpiece, and with the last lick of smooth paint the grisly memories would be gone.

Chapter 36

The unseasonable weather had continued past the weekend, with nothing but blue skies. Bathed in the bright sunrise, the menacing turrets of Beatrice Hall were tamed, as if bent under the unrelenting whip of a higher entity. The van zig-zagged to a familiar spot, and Lucia marvelled at the temporary stillness – far from her to be superstitious, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that the house had been released from an evil spell. She heard steps approaching the outer gate and involuntarily readied herself. Mrs Byrne kissed her fondly on the cheek like a long-lost relative.

‘Come in, Lucia. It’s so good you’re here.’ The housekeeper was changed – something in her demeanour, a