The Plans Of Posey Bobbin

By SV Macdonald

Posey Bobbin lives on the money she makes from fortune-telling, selling herbal remedies and blackmail. Now she is on the lookout for a new victim. Taking a job as a live-in housekeeper for widower Jake Somerton is the first step.

However, Posey has to contend with Jake's niece, who recognises her as the threat she is, and a handsome and secretive man who is not all he seems, and who sees her plans for Jake as the ticket to restoring his family's fortune.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzi Macdonald
• Release date: Nov 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310202568

Book preview

The Plans of Posey Bobbin

(previously published as The Life and Loves of Posey Bobbin)

By SV Macdonald

(previously writing as Suzi Macdonald)

Smashwords 4th Edition (revised)

Copyright © 2013 Suzi Macdonald

All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction and therefore any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

CHAPTER 1

The sudden storm howled through the street, bending trees and snapping branches with vengeful glee, as if she had conjured it. As if she could.

Halfway down the street the young woman stopped and peered at the number on a gate. A soaked and shivering cat cowered in what little shelter it afforded. She took a step closer and it spat at her, claws outstretched and eyes wild. She smiled, shrugged and kept walking.

About a hundred yards further on a house stood by itself at the edge of a wood. There was no number on the gate, but a varnished slab of wood on the wall read 'Beechwood'. She nodded with satisfaction and walked up the path. The rain ran in rivulets from her coat, and she tried to shake it off in the meagre shelter of the door.

She had hardly touched the bell when the door was opened by a buxom, well-dressed woman in her forties who favoured her with a practised smile. 'You must be Posey? Such a pretty name.'

Posey held out her hand. 'And you must be Mrs Douglas?' She managed a smile in return.

The other woman nodded. She clasped Posey’s hand briefly. Her grip was cool and dry. 'Come in and take off your coat - you're soaked through!'

She led Posey through a bright hall, where she hung up her coat, and then into a dining room separated from the kitchen at the far side by a long breakfast bar. Facing the door was a set of tall glass doors, looking out over the garden to the woods beyond. Posey imagined that the view would be beautiful in summer, but today it was bleak, with rain lashing the glass and blurring the outside world. It made her cold just to look at it. She took a deep breath and brought her attention back to the room. It was dominated by a gleaming oak table resting on an island of soft, cream-coloured carpet. Mrs Douglas waved Posey towards a chair.

'Would you like a cup of tea?'

Posey shook her head, her lips twitching into a brief smile. She took a pair of thick-rimmed glasses from her bag and slipped them on self-consciously.

Mrs Douglas nodded. 'Right, let’s get on with it, shall we?' She cleared her throat and her voice took on a more formal tone. 'As you know, the position is as companion and housekeeper to my uncle...' She looked more closely at Posey and her brow creased a little. 'You look younger than I expected,' she said.

Posey smiled. 'I get that a lot. But you have my age on my application.' She indicated the familiar piece of paper on top of the small pile.

Mrs Douglas glanced at it, then back at Posey. 'You certainly don’t look thirty-five.'

'I hope people still say that about me in ten years’ time!' Posey risked a joke. To her relief Mrs Douglas smiled, but there was something in her eyes... Posey tried to stay calm while Mrs Douglas examined her thin, almost fragile body and her short black hair.

'You look a bit like my late aunt,' she said eventually. 'Except for the glasses. She was much younger than my uncle. And of course, she was very good-looking.'

Posey bit back her natural retort and managed to look contrite. Satisfied that she had put Posey in her place, Mrs Douglas sat up in her chair and continued. 'So, tell me about your last position, and why you left.'

Posey knew she was well rehearsed, so she spoke with confidence, describing the old lady who had taken her in as a companion when she was just fifteen, after the death of her parents. 'I looked after her until she passed away six months ago, she concluded. 'I think you have her daughter’s details and the reference she gave me?' She gestured to the paperwork with a sad little smile.

Mrs Douglas shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 'Yes, I have it here...' She rustled the papers in front of her and produced a hand-written letter, which she pretended to read. Posey smiled modestly. She was very pleased with the letter.

There was silence for a moment as Mrs Douglas pursed her lips and weighed up her options. Then she made up her mind. 'Well, you are the best candidate, and your reference is good. I’ll take you on for a month as a trial and we’ll see how it goes. You’ll have your own room, of course, which will be reflected in your salary, and one day off per week.' She looked expectantly at Posey.

'Thank you, Mrs Douglas,' Posey said warmly, looking as grateful as she could.

'I’ll be here for the first two weeks, so we’ll see how you get on. Then I’ll go home and leave you to it. But I’ll still pop in every day.'

'That sounds perfect,' Posey lied. She managed a smile.

Mrs Douglas nodded. 'Good. Now I suppose you'd better meet my uncle.'

Posey followed her across the bright hall to a doorway under the stairs. Inside, the room was made cosy by several table lamps, despite the huge TV mounted on the wall. On an armchair directly in front of the TV, totally engrossed, was a slim man dressed neatly in a polo shirt and jeans. Mrs Douglas closed the door firmly behind them, and he turned at the sound.

'This is Miss Bobbin,' Mrs Douglas explained loudly. 'She’s going to be your housekeeper.'

He frowned. 'I’m not deaf, Hettie,' he complained. He looked Posey up and down. 'And I don’t need to be looked after.' He turned back to the TV.

Mrs Douglas sighed. 'He can be a bit difficult.' She led the way back into the hall. 'So, can you start next week?' she asked. 'Perhaps move in on Sunday and be ready to start on Monday?'

Posey considered for a moment, but then she smiled. 'That would be perfect.'

Mrs Douglas nodded and looked satisfied. 'Then I’ll expect you around six?' It was a statement rather than a question, and Posey began to understand what the next two weeks would be like. However, she smiled again and nodded. Mrs Douglas returned her coat, and saw her to the door.

Out in the street again, Posey allowed herself a deep sigh of relief. The wind still buffeted her, and the rain still battered against her umbrella, but she hardly noticed. She was in!

CHAPTER 2

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, and Posey woke early, alone, and with a sense of purpose. She allowed herself a moment to luxuriate in the comfort of her warm, wide bed, while her mind ran on the list of things she had to do that day - before she left for Beechwood. She shivered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Her mind bubbled with thoughts of Mrs Douglas and her new charge and potential scenarios, both likely and unlikely bubbled through her mind and made her restless. Before long she gave up her attempts to relax and got out of bed.

She dressed for comfort in a loose cotton skirt and woollen sweater and went downstairs to the kitchen. Her black cat was watching sparrows from the windowsill, but when he saw Posey he jumped down and hurried towards her. She crouched and picked him up, stroking her face against his soft, dense fur. He purred and lifted a paw up to her cheek, patting it delicately.

'Time for breakfast,' she said, putting him down on the counter. He sat beside the breadboard, intently watching as she made scrambled eggs. They ate them hot from the pan, the cat gracefully accepting his share of the eggs from her fingers.

Her eyes wandered to the pin board on the kitchen wall. It was covered with newspaper cuttings and scraps of paper scribbled closely with her untidy writing. It was the result of months of planning, and all of her hopes for the future rested on how well she had covered every eventuality. The largest cutting, in the middle of the board and the focus for all the other scraps, was a yellowing photograph of a man and a woman at the opening of an art gallery. The picture was perhaps a year old, and despite some differences the man in the photograph was still recognisable as the man she had met a few days before. Posey got up and studied the woman closely, as she had a hundred times in the last few months. Then she glanced at the mirror on the opposite wall, checking again that she had everything right. She was as thin as the fashionable woman in the photograph, but her breasts were larger – she had made sure of that, it had taken the last of her reserves – and her natural colouring was more striking. But she had practiced her make-up a hundred times and she was confident that they looked very similar, if not actually the same.

'We could be twins, perhaps,' she murmured.

There was an indefinably sound behind her, and she turned. The cat had disappeared and a slender young man stood in its place. She took a step towards him, and he held out his arms for her.

'You’re too thin, my love,' he said, pulling her close.

She smiled at him, and dropped a quick kiss on his lips. 'I promise I’ll get back to normal when I come home. I have to look like her all the time I’m there, and you know I can’t do that by magic! Now, be good and help me pack.'

He sighed theatrically and let her go. 'Do you have all the potions you need, Posey?'

'I do,' she reassured him. She turned and looked directly into his eyes. 'It won't take longer than six months, Paulo. Six months, that’s all. I've told all my clients that I'm going away, and Mrs Simpson is just next door, she thinks she's looking after the cat; and in case she sees you I've told her you'll be looking after the garden.'

He sighed. He wandered over to the corner table, running his fingers gently over the velvet cloth that covered her crystal ball. 'I'm so fed up hiding, Posey.'

'I know. But that's why I'm doing this, remember! We’ve planned it perfectly, I’m sure. He's the one. And he seems nice - it'll be OK. And anyway, he'll be the last. Then we can get on with our lives. No more secrets.'

He held her eyes for a few moments, and then his mouth curled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. 'It's almost time for you to go. Come home on your days off, OK?'

He turned his back and disappeared into the garden, and her smile faded.

Her last action before she left the kitchen was to sweep her hand over the pin board, pulling down all the pieces of paper and crumpling them into the stove, where she left them to burn out.

She hauled a suitcase on to her bed, and packed a carefully chosen selection of clothes. Then she wandered into the back garden to clear her head. This was her favourite place in the world. It was completely concealed on all sides by a high, unkempt and impenetrable hedge, interwoven with wild roses and clematis. In surprising contrast, a large part of the garden itself was divided up into even plots with raised beds, each lined and marked out, but mostly empty now, towards the end of the year. Some hardy plants still made a show, and Posey leaned down to touch them, whispering encouragement as she passed.

Right at the back of the garden, a small patch had been allowed to run wild. Here Posey stopped her rambling walk, and contemplated the earth for some time. She might have whispered some words under her breath; but if so, there was no-one near enough, or if near enough then unable, to hear them. She turned back to the house.

The afternoon was wearing on, and she had to get to her new job by six. At the thought of her new employer, Posey’s face darkened for a moment. She was used to being her own mistress. But then, what was two weeks, after all? She had been through worse.

She entered the cottage through the kitchen door and locked it behind her. Her black cat lifted his elegant head and decided to give up his comfortable bed to come to her. She waited with amusement while he yawned and stretched before he came to her side. Then she crouched beside him and whispered to him at length in a low, measured voice. His wide yellow eyes never left her face. When she had finished, he rubbed his head briefly against her hand, and vanished through the cat flap in the door without a backward glance.

In her bedroom Posey changed into her neat skirt and shirt, and carefully put in the tinted contact lenses that toned down her eyes.

She gave her room a final sweeping glance. Everything was tidy. Everything was in its place. A stab of hunger reminded her that she had eaten nothing since the scrambled eggs. She steeled herself to ignore the demands of her body, just as she had done for the past six months. It takes willpower to drop three dress sizes in such a short time, and this Posey had in abundance. She pulled on a close-fitting woollen hat and was ready to go. She triple-locked the front door, and hid the keys deep in her bag, then she set off to catch a train and two buses to her new home, dragging the suitcase behind her.

CHAPTER 3

Posey arrived at the house with ten minutes to spare. Mrs Douglas was already watching at the window, and it amused Posey to see her head bob down when Posey opened the gate. She appeared at the door before Posey had even rung the bell.

'Hello, Posey! Glad to see you’re so punctual. Come inside,' she said. Posey allowed herself to be ushered into the hall.

'Let me remind you where things are.' Mrs Douglas opened the first door on the left. 'This is the cloakroom.'

Posey peered inside. Shoes were arranged neatly in plastic boxes. Coats were hung up on pegs, and umbrellas were stacked in a customised holder. Even the floor was spotless. Posey approved. She hung up her coat and hat, and followed Mrs Douglas into the next room.

'This is the formal sitting room,' said Mrs Douglas. The room held a squishy leather sofa and an assortment of small tables. There was a desk next to the picture window, home to a neat laptop, and a sideboard against the wall. On the walls hung several abstract paintings, all apparently by the same artist. Posey recognised the style from her research.

'It’s a beautiful room,' Posey said, meaning it.

Mrs Douglas smiled with satisfaction. 'I do most of it myself, but a local woman comes in four times a week to help out. Mrs Black. Of course, we won’t need her now you’re here. You've seen the rest of downstairs, so we'll go up.'

She led Posey up the wooden staircase, leaving her to manhandle her suitcase as best she could, even though there was a stair lift. The upper landing was covered with a thick, moss green carpet, and five identical doors punctuated the pale green walls, with a window opposite the stairs.

'Now, I’m in the guest room,' Mrs Douglas indicated the first room on the right, 'and Uncle Jacob is next to me. This is his exercise room, on the left, then the main bathroom. This is you.' She flung open the third door on the left with a slight flourish and Posey followed her inside. First impressions were good. Although the room was painted a soft pink, her least favourite colour, it was nicely proportioned and Posey thought it would do very well. Even with the rosebud curtains. A surprise was the en-suite bathroom, hidden behind the door. Although it was tiny, only big enough for a shower, Posey felt her good luck.

'Best that you don’t have to share a bathroom, hmm?'

Posey glanced at Mrs Douglas from the corner of her eye, wondering if she might have underestimated the woman. She made a mental note to study her more closely.

'Right, let’s get back downstairs and introduce you properly to Uncle Jacob. We’ll be all right if we catch him before the Antiques Roadshow.'

Posey sighed softly. She would have preferred some time to herself, if only to freshen up, but she dutifully followed Mrs Douglas back downstairs and into the TV room.

Uncle Jacob was still sitting in his armchair, and Posey had a sudden sense of déjà vu. But she plastered on a dutiful smile and took her place next to his niece, whose face had settled into what might have been a habitual expression of exasperation.

'Uncle Jacob? Do you remember Miss Bobbin?' Mrs Douglas asked in a bright tone of voice.

Without looking up, he growled, 'I’m a cripple, not an imbecile, Hettie. I remember that you hired a maid.'

Hettie Douglas drew in a sharp breath. 'Miss Bobbin is here to be your housekeeper, Uncle Jacob. She’s not your maid.'

He grunted in response. Posey took it upon herself to speak. 'Nice to meet you, Mr…?'

'Somerton,' put in Mrs Douglas.

'Nice to meet you again, Mr Somerton,' Posey said, moving into his line of vision, almost but not quite blocking the television.

Forced to notice her, Jacob Somerton looked up in irritation. Then, after a moment, his face softened and he seemed to remember his manners.

'Pleasure to meet you too, Miss Bobbin.' He held out his hand and Posey clasped it warmly. He held on to her for a moment, looking intently into her face with soft, brown eyes, and to her surprise she felt a faint warmth rise in her cheeks. Then he let go, and shook his head with a strange, yearning expression. 'You remind me of someone,' he said softly.

'Pleasant memories, I hope?' Posey said sweetly. He nodded with a wistful smile.

'Well, isn’t this nice?' broke in Mrs Douglas.