She caught sight of Miss Doheny’s new girl walking up the street. She looked very upset as if she was crying. Betsy wished she had time to stop and talk with her. The poor child was possibly traumatised by working for Miss Doheny. She made a note to try to get to know the young girl and befriend her – there was a sadness about her, she seemed lost.
The kitchen was warming up now as the bread and sausage rolls were baking. She had a light soup on too and she had made a sponge cake that she knew Mrs Ward was partial to. Hopefully she could tempt her with something, or she would end up sick too. She gathered some trimmings of fat for the cat and went out to the garden to feed her. She was surprised that she was not sitting on the windowsill as she usually was looking for her breakfast.
In the garden, she was taken aback to see Henry sitting with his head in his hands as if he had been crying. She pretended not to notice as it would only be an embarrassment for him.
‘Good morning, Mr Ward, I thought you were out – the gate is opened outside.’
Henry looked surprised. ‘I wasn’t out. Violet must have gone out for a walk. I wish she would at least tell me that she is going.’
‘Well, it’s going to bucket down soon, so she will come back when she sees the clouds. I will make some tea.’
She went back in and wrapped her fresh loaf in a clean tea towel to soften the crust and laid the sausage rolls on a rack to cool.
She had lots to do. She would make a stew for later and then give the drawing room and the guest room a bit of a dusting. She really wanted to rush to the hospital to see Sylvia, but the nuns were strict and would not let her in. She would go later and bring her up some of her dolls. She would buy some glue and try and put poor Petite Suzanne back together.
Henry came in and had some tea and some sausage rolls and then retreated to his study. The rain, as she had predicted, began to pound down. Mrs Ward must have taken shelter. Betsy lit the fire in the drawing room as sometimes Mrs Ward would retreat there to write, although she had not written any of her play in quite a while. A telegram had arrived from a large theatre in London looking to possibly perform her next play. But Mrs Ward had barely looked at it and Betsy had noticed Henry was made very agitated by its arrival.
Another hour passed with no sign of Mrs Ward. She would be soaked and end up with a chest infection – she had told her she was prone to them.
Betsy gently knocked on Mr Ward’s study door.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Ward, but would you take the car out and look for Mrs Ward? The rain is so heavy she may not be able to return. She possibly went up towards the woods. I checked and her wool coat is gone, and it’s certainly not any good for keeping out the rain.’
Henry came out and took his coat from the stand and his hat.
‘I’ll go. She is forever in those woods. It was hardly a morning for it.’
‘It was brighter earlier, but I can’t see it letting up any time soon,’ Betsy replied.
He left immediately but after an hour he returned alone. He told Betsy that he had driven up the town and over to the entrance to the woods, got out and went along the usual paths Violet favoured, calling her name, but there was no sign of her.
‘Is there anywhere else she could be?’ he asked.
Betsy shook her head. ‘Unless she popped in to see the doctor’s wife or Father Quill. I will pop over and see – there is a bit of a break in the rain. She would not be allowed into the hospital this early and she hardly walked that far.’
‘I can drive over,’ Henry suggested.
‘I will be as quick walking. I’ll run now before the next heavy shower.’ She grabbed her coat, hat and umbrella.
She walked down the main street and discreetly looked in the windows of shops. There was no house except the doctor’s house that Mrs Ward would be in – it shamed her to think so few had made her welcome. But the doctor’s wife Heather was a bit worldlier than most and had been a good friend since she arrived. She was an Englishwoman who was known to go to Dublin and stay for a week and bring home half the clothes from up there. She was Protestant like her husband and sang with a kind of operatic voice at all the services. The doctor’s wife had been very friendly and intrigued by Mrs Ward, constantly admiring her fashion tastes and fancy clothes. Yes, she had possibly gone there – she would just knock on the door and ask. But the doctor’s secretary answered the door – Mrs Wilson, a very severe woman who always looked like she was doing something very important. Mrs Wilson informed her that the doctor’s wife was on a shopping trip to Dublin. She raised her eyes to heaven as she said this.
‘I am sure we will need to send a special car to carry home the shopping alone. Is that all you’re here for? I must go – I have a room full of patients to attend to.’
Just then the doctor came out of his surgery and when he saw Betsy he came over and enquired about Sylvia. He said he would drop up to the hospital the following day to see how she was doing.
That left the priest. Betsy bit her lip as she stood and considered that possibility. She did not like to say to Mrs Ward that people were beginning to talk about her great friendship with Father Quill. Mrs Ward had enough on her plate without hearing more gossip. Yes, she should check there.
At the priest’s house she met Mrs Masterson his housekeeper who told her that the priest was out on calls. She was a good woman who had lost her husband when she was only married a year. She had become the housekeeper for Father Cummins and remained on for Father Quill.
‘You look worried, Betsy – when did you last see her?’
‘Well, I arrived earlier this morning and she had already gone out for a walk – she was gone before Mr Ward was up too. We presumed she had taken to the woods – she loves the woods and often goes there – but the rain was so bad Mr Ward went to look for her there. He couldn’t find her. Maybe she is back and I am just making a fuss – she might have taken shelter in the woods till the rain passed and not heard Mr Ward when he called for her.’
‘Look, why don’t you go back and check if she has come back – she may just have wanted some time alone. Father Quill is due back soon and is heading out to the hospital to relieve Father Keogh – if she is there, I will tell him to let her know that you are worried. And, of course, we’ll contact you or Mr Ward at Eveline.’
‘She has never walked all the way to the hospital in the rain, surely?’
‘It’s a worrying time and you are good to be concerned but she is most probably, as I said, just having a bit of time on her own,’ the woman said gently. ‘She may be back home by now.’
Betsy hurried back to Eveline, hoping Violet might be there tucking into some food but there was no sign of her.
Henry then drove up to the hospital and asked the nun at reception. But no, she had not been there either. It was heading for midday now and she had been possibly gone from seven. Henry began to drive around and Betsy walked up and down the town again. Miss Doheny might know. She hated having to tell her anything but she would just have to go in and ask her.
‘I see Mr Ward driving up and down the main street with a strange look on his face and looking all around the place?’ Miss Doheny remarked.
Her new girl was washing the windows, as if in a trance.
‘Make sure they are spotless and for goodness’ sake put a bit of elbow-grease into it!’ Miss Doheny scolded. ‘Honestly, I do not know what has got into her today – she is away with the fairies. Caught her outside crying and sobbing. It’s just not working out – I will have to get in contact with my cousin and arrange to send her back.’
‘She does look very pale,’ Betsy noted.
‘Well, it’s not from work,’ Miss Doheny said in a tone of annoyance. ‘So, what is Mr Ward driving around like a mad thing for?’
‘Perhaps he is testing the car out in case it needs anything fixed. Was Mrs Ward with him, I wonder, or maybe you saw her on the street perhaps?’ Betsy asked casually.
But Miss Doheny’s ears were pricked for any morse
l of news.
‘Indeed, I did not. I saw her out this morning before Mass. She was walking up towards the woods. She was certainly not in Mass. She goes walking in them woods instead of praying. You were not at Mass yourself this morning, Betsy?’
‘No, I had errands to run. I will take six of those lovely fresh eggs, please, Miss Doheny.’ She thought she’d better buy something, or it would raise Miss Doheny’s suspicions even more, but her heart was thumping. Maybe Mrs Ward had fallen in the woods and hurt herself. She grabbed the eggs and walked down the street back to the house.
Mr Ward had just arrived in.
‘Miss Doheny saw her go up the town towards the woods before early Mass,’ Betsy said. ‘She could be in the woods having fallen – maybe unconscious, God forbid – and you did not see her. We need to drive up here again and look for her, sir.’
‘Let’s go,’ he said, looking distraught.
In the woods, they walked the path Violet normally took, calling her name all the way. Betsy knew all the paths well and had often talked to Mrs Ward about them, so she knew which ones she frequented and they tried those first. But there was no sign of her.
They took the path to the holy well and eventually arrived at Suaimhneas Graveyard where in desperation they decided to split up and search separately following less frequented paths.
Eventually they met again at the graveyard.
‘Surely she wouldn’t have left the paths for any reason, alone as she was?’ Henry said.
‘If she did and collapsed somewhere among the trees and bushes, we’ll never find her, sir,’ said Betsy.
‘Not without a properly organised search,’ said Henry. ‘We need to return to Eveline – perhaps we’ll find her there. If not, we’ll have to organise a search party.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Betsy, her voice trembling.
They were about to leave when Betsy spotted it: a green silk scarf that had fallen into a puddle. Mrs Ward’s scarf. She picked it up and then she saw it. Fresh blood was spattered on the underside of it.
‘Is it Violet’s scarf?’ Henry asked in horror.
‘Yes, it is. Mrs Ward bought it on her last trip to London.’ Betsy was in tears.
‘We must keep searching, Betsy – she must be hurt and could not get home.’
They set out again, moving more slowly the better to view everywhere they could, calling her name till their voices were hoarse.
Fear began to engulf Betsy. She sensed a strange atmosphere in the woods.
‘We’d better return,’ said Henry. ‘I must inform the gardaí.’
‘Leave me at the church, sir. I am going in to say a prayer and light some candles. She might even be there.’
‘Unlikely,’ Henry said, tight-lipped.
‘Please God let her just turn up back at Eveline – maybe she’s already there – maybe she had a bit of a fall and someone found her and has taken her home. Please God let her be at Eveline.’
CHAPTER 17
Betsy had lit candles, prayed and gone back to Eveline in hope and fear. But there was no sign of Violet. Henry had left her a message saying he had phoned the hospital again and the presbytery – to no avail. He was now going to the Garda Station.
Betsy went upstairs and checked the bedrooms. Everything looked normal. Nothing was out of place. But she noticed something significant – Mrs Ward’s handbag was lying on a chair. She hadn’t taken that so it was extremely unlikely she would have gone to the hospital or anywhere far afield. Or indeed to the shops – though perhaps she might have taken some cash in her coat pocket? But her walking shoes were gone. Everything pointed to the fact she had gone out for a short walk.
An idea suddenly came to her. She could be in O’Hara’s Hotel. Even if she had no handbag and no money, someone could have invited her to go in for a drink or a meal or just to talk. But how could she have stayed so long there? Nevertheless Betsy went out again and hurried along to O’Hara’s Hotel. But, no, Violet had not been there that day.
Deflated, she emerged and walked aimlessly along the street.
Suddenly she was confronted by Miss Doheny outside her shop.
‘What is the matter with you, Betsy? You’re like a woman losing her marbles. You’re making a show of yourself, walking around looking like death. What’s going on?’
‘It’s Mrs Ward, she never came home,’ Betsy blurted out.
‘What do you mean, she never came home?’ Miss Doheny asked, eyebrows arched, eyes widening.
Betsy was glad to talk to someone, even if it was Miss Doheny – she was going out of her mind with worry.
‘Remember you saw her this morning? Well, it seemed like she was going for an early morning walk, she tends to do that. She is forever walking about the woods and she possibly wanted to get out of the house. But she never came back. Myself and Mr Ward have walked all over the woods and I found her silk scarf with a bit of blood splattered on it but nothing else.’ She had no idea why she was telling Miss Doheny, but she was so worried about Mrs Ward that she didn’t care if there was more gossip. ‘She’s not at the hospital either.’
Miss Doheny beckoned her to come into the shop.
‘I am closing up now anyway. Come on in and I will make a cup of tea for you. You look like you need one.’
Miss Doheny locked the shop door and then opened the hatch to allow Betsy through to the house. This brought them into a hall with a narrow stairs. Up the stairs to the right was a small parlour. Miss Doheny went into an adjoining room and set about making some tea. Betsy looked around at the red-velvet seats. A black-and-white photograph of a couple was on the wall. An oil heater smelled of paraffin. There was a radio on a table and some copies of The Far East. Betsy was familiar with the magazine which was run by the Missionary Society of Saint Columban. There was also a bible, a prayer book and some red wool beside it with a pair of knitting needles. A Sacred Heart lamp was lit and a rosary beads hung over a small mirror. Miss Doheny arrived in with a wooden tray bearing a china pot of tea, two china cups and saucers, milk, sugar and a small plate of fruit cake.
Miss Doheny poured the tea. Betsy took her cup and poured some milk in. She took a sip and put it back on the table.
‘But where could she have gone?’ Miss Doheny asked as she sipped her tea. ‘Has she run away?’
‘Run away? Why would she do that?’ But, even as she said it, she realised it was a possibility. Mrs Ward was so unhappy. But no, she would never leave Sylvia behind. ‘And leave her daughter? No, never. She is out of her mind with worry about her.’
‘But maybe she took herself off for the day?’ Miss Doheny said.
Betsy shook her head again. ‘With Sylvia lying ill in the hospital? No. I checked and her handbag is still in her room so, wherever she is, it must be nearby.’
Miss Doheny handed her a plate with a slice of fruitcake on it.
‘It looks lovely, but I am too worried to eat. Thanks for the tea though.’
‘So where is Mr Ward now?’
‘He has gone to the Garda Station.’ Betsy was barely holding back the tears.
There was a knock on the shop door and Miss Doheny looked out from the parlour window.
‘Well, speak of the devil! Garda Flynn is at the door. Stay there and I will see what he wants.’
Betsy could hear the conversation at the door.
‘Can I have a word, Miss Doheny?’
‘What about, Garda Flynn? But you better come in or I will be the talk of the town with a garda at my door,’ Miss Doheny said crossly. ‘Wipe your feet.’
‘It’s about Mrs Ward,’ the garda said. ‘Her husband has just been to see me. She’s missing.’
‘I know. Betsy Kerrigan is upstairs.’
‘I’ll have a word with her.’
Betsy heard footsteps on the stairs and Miss Doheny led Garda Flynn into the room.
He had beads of sweat forming on his red forehead.
‘Any news, Betsy?’ he asked.
‘No, not a sign. I have
told Miss Doheny everything.’
Garda Flynn sat down and took out his notebook from a worn brown satchel. He then took a pencil from behind his ear and dropped it on the floor. It landed beside Miss Doheny who shook her head before picking it up and handing it to him. He cleared his throat.
‘Miss Doheny, can you tell me what time you saw Mrs Violet Ward this morning and indeed if she looked in any distress?’
The garda was a very large man who barely fitted on Miss Doheny’s small chair. He looked clearly uncomfortable and out of place in the small parlour and Betsy was worried that the chair would literally crumble under his weight.
Miss Doheny was looking at the chair too and Betsy reckoned she was thinking the same thing. Poor Garda Flynn seemed to be getting larger on the chair with the scrutiny of Miss Doheny, his face was getting redder and the droplets of sweat had turned to a layer of thick sweat that was beginning to shine on his forehead.
‘I saw her walking up the street well before morning Mass – towards the woods,’ Miss Doheny said.
He wrote this down and then looked intently at her. ‘That is the last sighting of Mrs Ward and her husband is greatly concerned as this is not in her character to go off and not come home. But if that’s all you can tell me I will be off, unless there is anything else that I should know?’ He stood up, took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.
‘I assure you I know nothing that would concern you,’ Miss Doheny said, clearly cross at the assumption.
‘Very well, I will be off. You know where to find me if there is anything else. I am organising a bit of a search party in the woods, in case she went off the path and came to grief.’
With that he put his notebook away and the pencil behind his ear and bid them goodbye.
Miss Doheny escorted him down and out onto the street.
The Secret of Eveline House Page 12