She raised a booted foot as Vera came within striking range. "I'm perfectly serious about wanting you to leave, Mrs. Dawson. You're frightening the child. Please do not come any closer."
"You won't hit an old woman. It's only Bob hits old women."
"I don't need to hit you, Mrs. Dawson, I only need to push you over. I don't particularly want to, but I will if you force me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Vera kept her distance. "I'm not stupid," she muttered. "I've still got my marbles."
"It's ringing," said Wolfie, pressing the mobile to Nancy's mouth.
She heard it click through to voicemail. Jesus wept! Did the bastard ever answer his sodding phone? Ah, well! "Mark!" she said peremptorily. "Get your arse up here, mate. Mrs. Dawson's frightening Wolfie, and I can't get her to go away." She bared her teeth at the old woman. "Yes, by force if necessary. She seems to be caught in a mental loop that makes her forget she's supposed to be downstairs with you and James. I'll tell her now." She switched off. "Colonel Lockyer-Fox wants you in the drawing room immediately, Mrs. Dawson. Mr. Ankerton says he's angry that you're not there already."
The old woman tittered. "He's always angry… got a bad temper has the Colonel. Just like my Bob. But don't you worry, they all get their comeuppance in the end." She moved to the bedside table and picked up a book that Mark was reading. "Do you like Mr. Ankerton, miss?"
Nancy lowered her foot, but didn't answer.
"You shouldn't. He's stolen your mother's money… your uncle's, too. And all because your grandma was so taken with him… fawned all over him every time he came to the house… called him Mandrake and flirted with him like a silly little girl. She'd have left it all to him if she hadn't died."
It was a fluent piece of speech and Nancy wondered how demented she really was. "That's nonsense, Mrs. Dawson. Mrs. Lockyer-Fox changed her will months before she died, and the main beneficiary was her husband. It was in the newspapers."
Contradiction seemed to upset her. She looked lost for a moment, as if something she relied on had been knocked away. "I know what I know."
"Then you don't know very much. Now, will you please leave this room?"
"You can't tell me what to do. This isn't your house." She dropped the book onto the bed. "You're like the Colonel and the missus… Do this… do that. You're a servant, Vera. Don't go poking your nose in where it isn't wanted. I've been a drudge and a slave all my life-" she stamped her foot-"not for much longer, though, not if my boy has his way. Is that why you've come? To take the house from your ma and your uncle Leo?"
Nancy wondered who "her boy" was and how she'd guessed who Nancy was when James had made a point of introducing her only as a friend of Mark's. "You're confusing me with someone else, Mrs. Dawson. My mother lives in Herefordshire and I don't have an uncle. The only reason I'm here is because I'm a friend of Mr. Ankerton's."
The woman wagged a gnarled finger. "I know who you are. I was here when you were born. You're Lizzie's little bastard."
It was an echo of what Fox had called her, and Nancy felt the flesh creep on the back of her neck. "We're going downstairs," she told Wolfie abruptly. "Hop off, and give me a tug out of the chair. Okay?"
He shifted slightly as if he were going to do it, but Vera scuttled toward the door, slamming it closed, and he shrank back against Nancy again. "He's not yours to take," she hissed. "Be a good girl, now, and give him to his gran. His daddy's waiting for him."
Oh Christ! She felt Wolfie's arms slide around her neck in a strangulation hold. "It's okay, sweetheart," she told him urgently. "Trust me, Wolfie. I said I'd look after you and I will… but you must give me room to breathe." She took a lungful of air as his arms relaxed and raised her boot again. "Don't tempt me, Mrs. Dawson. I'll kick the shit out of you the minute you come within range. Do you have enough marbles left to understand that, you senile old bitch?"
"You're like the missus. Think you can say what you like to poor old Vera."
Nancy lowered her foot again and exerted all her strength to move forward in the chair. "Poor old Vera, my arse," she snapped. "What did you do to Wolfie? Why is he so frightened of you?"
'Taught him some manners when he was a little'un." A strange little smile hovered on her lips. "He had pretty little brown curls then, just like his daddy."
"I didn't! I didn't!" cried Wolfie hysterically, clinging to Nancy. "I ain't never had brown hair. My mum said I'se always like this."
Vera's mouth started working furiously. "Don't you disobey your gran. You do as you're told. Vera knows what's what. Vera's still got her marbles."
"She ain't my gran," Wolfie whispered urgently to Nancy. "I ain't never seen her before… I'se only scared of nasty people… 'n' she's nasty 'coz her smiley lines are upside down."
Nancy examined the old woman's face. Wolfie was right, she thought in surprise. Every line turned downward, as if resentment had dragged trenches in the skin. "It's okay," she soothed, "I'm not going to let her take you." She raised her voice. "You're very confused, Mrs. Dawson. This isn't your grandson."
The old woman smacked her lips. "I know what's what."
No, you don't, you stupid bitch… you're round the fucking twist… "Then tell me your grandson's name. Tell me your son's name."
It was computer overload. "You're just like her… but I have rights… though you wouldn't think it the way I'm treated. Do this… do that… Who cares about poor old Vera except her darling boy? You put your feet up, Ma, he says. I'll see you right." She pointed an angry finger at Nancy. "But look what precious Lizzie did. She was a whore and a thief… and everything forgiven and forgotten because she was a Lockyer-Fox. What about Vera's baby? Was he forgiven? No." She turned her hands into fists and smacked them impotently against each other. "What about Vera? Was she forgiven? Oh, no! Bob had to know Vera was a thief. Is that right?"
Even if Nancy had known what she was talking about, she recognized that there was nothing to be gained by agreeing. Far better to keep her off balance by taunting her than show an ounce of sympathy for her problems, whatever they were. At least while she talked, she was keeping her distance. "You really are senile," she said contemptuously. "Why should a thief be forgiven? You should be in prison along with your murderous son-assuming Fox is your son, which I doubt, as you can't even give me his name."
"He didn't murder her," she hissed, "never touched her. Didn't need to when she brought it on herself with her vicious tongue… accusing me of ruining her daughter. More like her daughter ruined my boy… that's nearer the truth… taking him to bed and making him think she cared. Lizzie was the whore, everyone knew that… but it was Vera was treated like one."
Nancy ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth. "I am the complex product of my circumstances… not the predictable, linear result of an accidental coupling twenty-eight years ago." Dear God! How absurdly arrogant that statement seemed now. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said flatly, steeling herself to make another move forward.
"Oh, yes, you do." A sly intelligence gleamed in the old eyes. "It frightens you, doesn't it? It frightened the missus. It's one thing to go looking for Lizzie's little bastard… not so much fun to find Fox's. That wouldn't do at all. She tried to push past me to tell the Colonel… but my boy wouldn't have it. You go inside, Ma, he said, and leave her to me." She patted her pocket and set some keys jangling. "That's what stopped her heart. I saw it in her face. She didn't think Vera would lock her out. Oh, no! Not when she'd shown Vera so much kindness.