“What made you think of her now? Was she particularly fond of curry?” I joked.
Kyle shook his head. “Mrs. Carter had two daughters, Holly and Hayley. Holly moved to New York with her boyfriend when she was about twenty, and Hayley took a job in Edinburgh. While Mr. Carter was still alive, they went up to Scotland once a year to visit Hayley at the holidays, and they took a trip to New York once.”
Kyle sounded wistful, but I still didn’t see a connection. I tucked into my curry as I waited for him to get to the point.
“By the time I was ready to leave for uni, Mrs. Carter was in her early seventies. She’d been widowed for several years and her daughters had barely visited her in all that time, too busy with their own lives to bother with their mother. She was struggling. My mum used to go over several times a week just to make sure she was all right. Mum would take her shopping once a week and help her with the bills. The poor dear was so grateful, for the help as much as the company. I was just thinking that she would have gladly given not only her jewelry but her house to any kind soul who showed up on her doorstep and cheerfully helped her with life’s more demanding tasks.”
“Are you suggesting that Bella Ridley’s mother had not been duped?” I asked.
“I’m suggesting that there isn’t enough evidence to prove conclusively that she was. She might have given the pieces of jewelry to Lisa as gifts and perhaps willingly changed her will, possibly to spite a daughter who had no time for her. I’m not saying that Lisa Prentiss did not take advantage of a vulnerable person; in all probability, she did. But what I’m saying is that the person in question might have genuinely felt gratitude toward her for the help she provided in their hour of need. It is possible that Lisa worked for Social Services at some stage of her life.”
“That might be true, but she did not come as a Social Services employee into Lockwood Hall. She claimed to be the niece of Jeffrey Lockwood. Do you believe she really is related to him?” I asked, wondering what Kyle was thinking.
Kyle shrugged. “Jeffrey was old and alone, his Alzheimer’s progressing quickly. Perhaps Lisa inserted herself into his life and coerced him into changing his will, or perhaps he decided to change it on his own, in his more lucid moments, grateful to this person who looked after him in his final months.”
“Are you saying we should drop this?” I asked, somewhat annoyed. He’d been the one to contact a detective and suggest we speak to Bella Ridley, and now he was behaving as if it were no longer relevant.
“I don’t think it’s germane to your story. Whatever happened to Alys happened a long time ago. Lisa and Alastair’s past has no bearing on your work.”
I looked down at my plate, unsure how to react. What Kyle was saying made perfect sense, but something didn’t ring true. It was as if he was trying to convince himself of the validity of his argument. He wasn’t discussing the situation with the cool detachment of a writer evaluating the usefulness of his research. There was something personal in his reaction, something he didn’t care to share with me.
Deciding not to press him, I looked up and smiled brightly. “This is really delicious. I don’t think I’m going to be hungry for dinner.”
“Perhaps if we take a nice long walk along the reservoir before dinner, you’ll work up an appetite.”
I laughed. “You are not even pretending to work, are you?”
Kyle’s gaze shifted toward the window, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t had much desire to write since the confrontation with Len. I can’t seem to focus. I need a few days to regain my equilibrium.”
So, this was why he was helping me, I thought bitterly. He was looking for a distraction. Well, it was fair enough. We each had our own reasons for gravitating toward the other.
“I know just how you feel,” I said. “I couldn’t focus on work after the split with Drew either. I simply couldn’t form a coherent thought. Every sentence seemed to splinter, the words flying in all directions and landing on the floor in a pile of useless shavings. I was hacking away at my manuscript, but all I was getting was dead wood.”
Kyle grinned. “I wasn’t really expecting a woodworking metaphor, but you hit the nail right on the head,” he said, continuing with my chosen imagery. “I can usually lose myself in work for hours on end, but since coming here, I feel completely disconnected from my everyday life. If not for you, I would have cut my losses and left.”
“I hope you don’t feel obligated to help me,” I said, stung.
“No, not at all,” Kyle protested. “I want to help, and I enjoy spending time with you,” he added shyly. “I haven’t felt this comfortable with another person in years. Please, let me see this through. You don’t even have to thank me in the acknowledgements,” he added, smiling again.
“So, what’s the next step?” I asked as I pushed away my nearly empty plate. I was stuffed.
“I suppose, at this stage, it’s just piecing it all together and coming up with a credible narrative.”
I nodded in agreement. I’d discovered all I was going to about what had happened at Ashcombe Manor. It was time to bring Alys to life. Suddenly, I was eager to start writing. After nearly four hundred years, Alys was about to get a voice.
Chapter 51
Alys
By the start of December,
