Betsy got to her feet as Miss Doheny returned.
‘I’d better get back. Thank you for the tea, Miss Doheny.’
‘Well, I am afraid I have not much faith in Garda Flynn solving any mysteries around here. The man is quite incapable,’ Miss Doheny remarked, throwing her eyes to heaven.
Twenty people assembled for the search party including Henry and Betsy. With torches and two dogs and armed with long sticks they began the search. Old Ned Rigley gave advice about the different paths as he was one of the oldest people in the town and had the most knowledge of the woods. An early evening frost had set in. Betsy kept up aspirations to Saint Agnes as she walked. After two hours they all reassembled. It was quite a large wood but they must have covered every part of it with their torches. Every tree and bramble had been poked but there was nothing.
Then a young man let out a shout that they had found something. He held up a key with a gold-plated keyring. He shone the light on it as it was now very dark.
Betsy gasped as she instantly recognised it. It was the back-door key to Eveline.
‘It’s Mrs Ward’s key. She always carries it!’ she exclaimed.
Garda Flynn looked very concerned at this.
Betsy felt her stomach churn. It looked like Mrs Ward had gone to the woods and there the trail had gone cold. But how? She listened in disbelief as Garda Flynn thanked everyone for the search and informed them that he would need to contact his superiors and launch an official proper investigation into her disappearance if there was no sign of her. He would also contact all hospitals in the county.
Henry looked gravely unwell, listening as if in a trance.
Then Betsy thought of Sylvia. How on earth could they tell her? In her heart she had believed that they would find her before nightfall and here was Garda Flynn sounding all very different than he normally did, talking about official investigations. Please God she would turn up soon and it would all be cleared up as a misunderstanding. She could not bear to think that it could be anything else.
Back at Eveline Betsy made something to eat for Mr Ward, but it lay untouched. He remained out searching and walked all over the town of Draheen, even driving out all the roads leading out of the town, including all the small boreens. He was gone the entire night and when Betsy arrived the next morning, he was only returning. He looked like an old man and she could hardly believe it was him. He needed to shave and wash.
Somehow, she convinced him to eat a bit of soda bread and a boiled egg,
‘You need your strength so turning away food is going to help nobody,’ she scolded.
‘I need to see Sylvia, but what on earth will I tell her?’ Henry said.
‘I will visit her and there is no need to say anything yet. I’m sure Mrs Ward will turn up. There could be an explanation for all of this. You need to sleep – you will fall down with the exhaustion and the shock of it all.’
Somehow she convinced him to lie down with the promise that she would call him in an hour or two or if there was any news. Two hours passed and she could hear him back up again. She was making a pot of tea when there was a knock on the door.
It was Garda Flynn. Betsy brought him into the kitchen.
‘Any news?’ he asked abruptly.
‘None whatsoever and we are going out of our minds with worry. Mr Ward was out searching all night.’
Henry appeared beside Betsy. ‘There is no trace whatsoever, Garda.’
Garda Flynn looked at Henry then at Betsy, then back to Henry again. He cleared his throat.
‘I have checked all the hospitals in the county and she has not turned up in any of them nor do they have any unidentified patients. And I have contacted my superior about the matter. I will let you know what the next procedure is.’ His voice had a new air of importance.
‘Please find her, Garda. Please just find her,’ Betsy said in almost a whisper.
‘We will do all we can. Let me know if there is anything whatsoever that you forgot to tell me. But I have a couple of questions while I have you.’
He took out his notebook from his satchel and his pencil from behind his ear. He licked his finger and flicked to a fresh page.
‘Is it true that yourself and Mrs Ward were up at the hotel the other evening?’ he said almost accusingly to Henry.
‘Yes, we were. What has that to do with it?’ Henry asked, confused.
‘Is it true that Mrs Ward came home alone afterwards?’ he asked, staring at Henry.
‘Yes, it is. We had a disagreement. It’s not a crime to have an argument with your wife, is it?’ Henry replied sharply.
‘May I ask what it was about? This argument?’
‘I can’t see what it has to do with this. But my wife was very upset about those letters that our daughter had received and, well, she was talking about going back to London. I disagreed. There is no point in running away. That is why I showed you the letters, to see if you could find out who had sent them.’
‘The morning after this argument you were seen walking down the street after sleeping in Peter Binchy’s house. Is this true?’
‘What has this to do with it?’
‘Can you please just answer the question?’
‘Yes, I had too much to drink and slept on the settle bed at Binchys’.’
‘I see.’ Garda Flynn was writing in his notebook. He turned to Betsy. ‘Is it true that you were seen helping Mr Ward on the street the next morning, Miss Kerrigan?’
‘Yes,’ said Betsy, a feeling of dread coming over her.
‘Where were you before that?’
‘I was at my cottage and I was going to morning Mass and then I saw Mr Ward,’ Betsy said, feeling sick to her stomach.
‘Were you there when Mrs Ward came home from the hotel the previous evening?’
‘Yes, I was.’
‘So, how was she that evening?’
‘She was upset and cold – she had gone down to Rothe river.’
‘The river?’ said the garda, looking up from his notebook and looking intently at her. ‘Why the river?’
‘Well, she liked the river. She would sometimes go there.’ A dreadful possibility had sprung into her mind but she lowered her head so Mr Ward could not see her expression.
‘Mr Ward, was this a normal thing in this house?’
‘What do you mean?’ Henry asked.
‘I am simply asking if it was normal procedure for both of you to go out, have a row in public and then for your wife to walk home alone and for you to remain in a pub and become intoxicated and not be able to get home?’
‘Garda Flynn, what kind of questioning is this? This has nothing to do with Mrs Ward not coming home,’ Betsy said, alarmed.
‘I would advise you to be careful what you say, Miss Kerrigan, and to tell me the truth. If you are covering anything up it is better to tell us now because the truth will be revealed.’
‘My wife is missing! Can you please try and find her and stop this farce?’ Henry shouted.
‘I am conducting no farce, Mr Ward, and I would ask you to come up to the station in the afternoon as my superiors will certainly want to talk to you.’
With that, Garda Flynn turned on his heel and left.
CHAPTER 18
‘My God, that gobshite thinks I have had something to do with all this!’ Henry exclaimed. He could barely think straight. He held his head in his hands, trying to make some sense of what was happening.
He had searched their bedroom in case there were any clues as to her whereabouts, going through letters, her dressing table, her coats. He had searched the guest room and her writing bureau. He had sent a telegram to London to some of their friends, asking them to contact him if there was any news of her, he had contacted their friends in Dublin. But nothing. Nobody but Miss Doheny had laid eyes on her.
He could see that Betsy was barely keeping it together. He knew she cared deeply for Sylvia and for Violet. They had formed an almost sisterly relationship. Betsy was busy trying to keep some n
ormality in the home. But there was nothing normal about what was happening.
Not so long ago they had arrived in Eveline to make a good life here. Instead of that, it was a living nightmare.
He went in search of Betsy. She was in the kitchen trying to glue back Sylvia’s doll’s arm and piece by tiny piece glue her broken face.
‘She loves this doll so much. She keeps asking me to bring her in I can’t bear to tell her what happened. She has no recollection of it happening. That is the only good thing.’
‘Betsy, did Violet say anything to you that I should know about, anything at all you need to tell me?’
Betsy shook her head, fighting back the tears.
‘There is no more to tell than you know already.’ Her voice high-pitched. ‘Only that she was tormented with the fact that she wanted to move lock, stock and barrel back to London and I got the impression that she was intent on going. But she was out of her mind with worry over Sylvia, and there is no way she would have left. I have a terrible fear about what has happened to her. I cannot believe she would leave even for a day without Sylvia – sure the Matron has had a hard job keeping her out of the hospital.’
‘I need to know Sylvia is alright – will you go up and reassure her that all is well? There is no sense worrying the child yet. God knows it will set her back. I need to go back out and look for Violet but where will I look? She is not in the woods and I don’t believe she left to go on a trip as her handbag is here. The fact her key was found is terrifying me. Please, God, don’t let something bad have happened to my wife, I don’t think I could bear it. I just don’t know what to think. Part of me thinks something terrible has happened and another part of me is wondering has she run away. I just hope we are not too late when we find her. I am going out to look though I don’t even know where else to look.’
‘Mr Ward . . .’ She didn’t want to voice her fear. ‘Have you searched along by the river?’
‘No! I should have thought of that. I never checked there.’ A dark shadow seemed to pass over his face. ‘I’ll go there now.’
***
Three hours later, Henry was walking back to his car after following the river for miles. All in vain.
During that time, the conversations that he had with Violet over the past week or two had kept going around and around in his head. Could there be something he was missing? He thought of the letters – if only they had not arrived this would never have happened. Garda Flynn had hardly reacted when he showed them to him.
‘Some prankster, better to ignore them,’ he had advised, much to Henry’s annoyance.
‘It’s hard to say that to a young impressionable girl,’ Henry said. ‘Whoever is sending them has made sure that they get into her hands.’
He was just getting into the car when Garda Flynn arrived, his face red from riding his bicycle. He put the bicycle up against a tree and walked towards the car, stopping to hitch up his trousers.
Henry remained sitting inside.
The garda produced his notebook and pencil, then looking up from his notes he took on an air of pure importance.
‘My superiors are here, and they want to speak with you. You must come straight away to the station, Mr Ward.’
‘Are they organising another search party?’ Henry asked.
‘Yes, but they want to talk to you immediately. It is of the utmost importance that you come now. They are waiting for you.’
‘I thought they would be organising a search for Violet – why do they want me?’ Henry said, eyeballing Garda Flynn.
‘My superiors want to see you immediately – that is all the information I can give you at this point,’ Garda Flynn repeated, a layer of sweat forming on his brow.
‘Very well, I will go there now.’
Henry had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He expected it was common enough to mistrust the husband of a missing woman. Garda Flynn was not very good at hiding his suspicions. He was already looking at Henry as the evil husband. Henry was not too concerned about Garda Flynn’s suspicions or theories. The biggest case he had solved lately was who was stealing the milk bottles on Galley Street. For days, when the residents went outside to collect their milk, it was gone. Garda Flynn had hidden in one of the resident’s kitchens with full view of the street. Over a big slice of warm soda bread and butter he spotted Seán O’Driscoll sneak the bottles away. He ran after him and tripped over George Fitzgerald’s half-blind dog and broke Eileen McCarthy’s winter roses. Eileen was not too impressed and had let him know exactly what she thought of him. So, a missing woman was sure to send him over the top.
Superintendent O’Neill was a tall thin man with very bushy eyebrows that looked like they had been cut quite bluntly. He was drinking a cup of tea and chain-smoking Woodbine cigarettes. He was picking Garda Flynn’s cat’s hairs off his plainclothes immaculately pressed dark trousers when Henry arrived in. There were some crumbs on the table from Garda Flynn’s early breakfast and he pushed them off onto the floor as if they were contaminated. He looked at Henry through slits of eyes that showed very little emotion.
‘I believe you were searching the riverbank when Garda Flynn located you. Any sign of your wife?’
Henry knew from his tone that Garda Flynn was not the only person who suspected that he had something to do with Violet’s disappearance.
‘No, nothing.’
‘In fact, Garda Flynn and colleagues already searched along the river. He wondered about the possibility of . . . eh, her taking her own life?’
‘No! Never!’ Henry was horrified. ‘With our daughter in that state in hospital? Absolutely not!’
‘I see.’ The Superintendent sat back in his chair and stared at Henry.
‘I believe your wife wanted to move back to London and you refused. We have several witnesses who have made a statement that you had threatened her at the hotel as to her plans about taking your child back.’
‘What has that evening got to do with this?’ Henry asked.
‘I am simply stating the facts, Mr Ward. You threatened your wife who left the hotel very upset, you drank almost until morning and were not seen until you were seen with your housekeeper, barely able to walk. That same morning your daughter became seriously sick. Your wife has not been seen since she went for a walk very early yesterday morning. Is that correct? She was seen by a Miss Doheny who I am told is a very reliable witness. Is this a regular thing for you, Mr Ward, not to be able to make your way home?’
‘I needed to let off a bit of steam, that’s all. There was so much going on – I was trying to get the builders into the building that I had just bought, Violet was upset over the letters that our daughter had received and, as far as I was concerned, she was having a kneejerk reaction about running back to London.’
‘But you were having none if it?’
‘Of course not. I wanted to find out where the letters had come from and try to put a stop to it. My wife loves Eveline House, she just found it harder to adjust to living in Ireland again.’
‘But you had told her that under no circumstances would you move, or indeed could she take her daughter. Have you contacted anyone in London to see if she is there?’
‘Our child is sick and she would never leave her. They have a bond that is incredible – she would never do this to her.’
‘Did you contact anyone in London, Mr Ward?’
‘Yes, I did – and Dublin. I have contacted everyone she knows.’
‘What about her family here in Ireland?’
‘They have not spoken to her in years, not since she ran away when she was seventeen.’
‘So, she has run away before?’ the Superintendent asked, his eyebrow arching.
‘She was very young then. I am telling you she would never leave her child.’
The questions continued for over an hour.
‘Look, I have answered everything that you have asked me, but my wife is out there possibly hurt and all that you seem to be doing is interrogating m
e. Either arrest me or let me go and look for my wife.’
‘You may go, but we will talk again soon.’
Henry grabbed his coat and left, banging the door.
Back at Eveline, Betsy met him at the door, looking frantic.
‘There is an outbreak of influenza in the hospital. They want us to bring her home. Either that or move her to Dublin. I have promised to look after her and let the doctor know if she has any more fits. He feels that she is a little more stable and might be safe at home, but he wants to send her to some specialist in Dublin as soon as he can arrange it. He has heard about Mrs Ward. I told him that I can look after her if you agree, the doctor will look in on her night and day, but with this influenza hitting the ward it’s better to have her home. Mr Ward, I had to tell Sylvia that Mrs Ward had to go away for a few days. I had to say something.’
‘How is she?’
‘Frail but making sense. The fits seem to have subsided. She is very anxious though.’
Henry was glad to see that Betsy had Sylvia’s room fresh and clean with new linen and a bunch of wildflowers in an earthenware jug. There was no remnant of the nightmare that had happened. She had washed all the walls and taken some of the rugs from downstairs that were bright and cheery and put them on the floors. She had found a pretty satin quilt for the bed. All Sylvia’s dolls, including Petite Suzanne with her glued-back face, were sitting on the bed waiting to greet her.
It looked a million miles away from the scene that the child had left. He had thought about moving her to the guest room but now thought better of it – the room was lovely and moving her would only serve to remind her of what had happened.
Betsy had said that the doctor had warned that she was to be watched night and day. She suggested that she would move the settle bed into Sylvia’s room.
‘I know there will be gossip about me sleeping at the house but I am past caring what they say. It’s the little one that is important.’
The Secret of Eveline House Page 13