by Ellis, Kate
When I reach my bedroom – how good it is to call it mine rather than ours – I pick up the books from the bedside table. Then temptation overwhelms me and I go to the wardrobe. Sergeant Teague never found my hiding place and the memory makes me smile. I smile a lot these days.
I remove my shoes from the base of the wardrobe and place them neatly on the rug. I can see the knot in the wood and I hook my finger into it and lift. The board comes up easily and I lean over to see the precious chocolate box, the container of my happiness.
Then my heart skips a beat because the box has gone.
Chapter 34
Albert’s fingers kept touching the letter in his pocket, yearning to read it again but resisting the temptation. The little one was thriving under the care of his nursemaid. The date fitted perfectly and the child was a boy. But was it his boy?
He checked his pocket watch. He’d been intending to pay Sir William Cartwright an unannounced visit, but he’d been sidetracked by Mrs Bell’s request.
He had been sent to Wenfield to find the truth about Henry Billinge MP and he knew he shouldn’t allow anything to deflect him from his purpose, however strong the temptation. He was intrigued by the nameless man at the Devil’s Dancers but Billinge had to be his priority, and that meant another interview with Sir William.
His route back from the vicarage to the police station took him past the gates of Tarnhey Court and as he turned left through the gates, he rehearsed the questions he needed to ask.
It was Mrs Banks who answered the door with a welcoming smile.
‘Inspector, come in. You’re in luck. Sir William’s at home. I’ll let him know you’re here.’ Mrs Banks had obviously taken a liking to him. It was often good to have friends below stairs.
Five minutes later he was shown into Sir William’s study. It was hard to read the man’s expression, but if he was irritated at another visit from the man from Scotland Yard he was hiding it well.
‘What can I do for you, Inspector?’
‘I take it you’ve had no word from Mr Billinge?’
‘Sadly not. Although it came as a great relief that he wasn’t the unfortunate man in that cave. You’ve no idea who he was?’
‘We’re still making enquiries, sir,’ he said, unwilling to admit they were no nearer identifying the mysterious naked corpse than they had been on the day he was found. Contacting forces within a hundred-mile radius about missing persons had, as yet, produced no results. Albert had ordered the search to be expanded further afield.
‘Strange business,’ said Sir William. He seemed tense, Albert thought. As though the identity of the mystery man was bothering him more than the fate of his missing parliamentary colleague.
‘Mrs Billinge confirmed once and for all that the man in the cave wasn’t her husband, which means he’s still a missing person.’
‘I’ve told you everything I know, Inspector. Henry went out for a walk and didn’t come back. Simple as that.’
‘Last time I was here I asked whether you knew anybody called Clara.’
‘And I told you I didn’t.’ There was a warning note in his voice. Don’t enquire any further.
But Albert carried on. ‘Mrs Billinge told me she once had a maid called Clara. She also said she suspected this maid was having an affair with her husband.’
Sir William shifted nervously in his seat. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with me.’
‘You were arguing over somebody called Clara on the night before Billinge disappeared. And Mrs Billinge overheard her husband speaking on the telephone to somebody called William and Clara’s name was mentioned. Were you the William he was talking to?’
‘Certainly not. Now if you’ll excuse me, Inspector, I have work to do.’
Albert was certain the man was lying to him. Sir William knew who Clara was all right, and if he was lying about that it was possible he knew where Billinge was and was choosing to cover for him for some reason. Albert had met plenty of ‘gentlemen of honour’ in the course of his work, but there hadn’t been many he’d been inclined to trust.
‘I understand Mr Billinge left his things here.’
‘Mrs Banks put them in the box room. Sergeant Teague had a look through them when we first reported Henry missing, so …’
‘I’d like to see them for myself.’
Sir William rolled his eyes impatiently. ‘Very well. I’ll ring for Mrs Banks.’
Sir William had abandoned politeness now and it was clear he was keen to get rid of the interfering policeman.
Mrs Banks led him to the box room, where he opened Henry Billinge’s two leather suitcases. He lifted out the clothes and placed them on a nearby trunk. Then he turned to the housekeeper who was standing behind him, watching.
‘Are these all the clothes he brought with him?’
‘I don’t know. As I said, he did his own unpacking. Before the war, a valet would have seen to it, but …’
‘From the photographs I’ve seen of him, he doesn’t have a beard.’
‘No.’
‘What happened to his razor?’
‘Isn’t it there?’
Albert didn’t answer. He’d seen enough and he wanted to get away from Tarnhey Court and its memories. Besides, he needed an antidote to the artificial respectability of the Cartwrights; he longed to be among straightforward working people again, and where better to find them than at Gem Mill where Bert Pretting had worked as senior clerk.
Chapter 35
The mill stood at the other end of the village and although Albert knew that Teague and his underlings had already spoken to Pretting’s work colleagues he wanted to meet them for himself. He’d always prided himself on being able to tell when people were lying to him. His instincts had gone badly wrong in that very village back in 1919, but he chose to think of that as an aberration. Back then he’d been blinded by love.
On his way to the mill he passed the doctor’s house, just as a middle-aged woman was entering the open front door, probably a patient. He carried on walking, passing the side street where Bert Pretting had lived. It was lined with stone-built terraced houses, larger than the average Wenfield homes and respectable with small front gardens beneath the bay windows. It seemed that Pretting had been doing well for himself.
As he neared the mill, the houses he passed were built of the same stone but they were smaller, more cramped, with front doors that led straight onto the street. Gem Mill itself lay at the end of a cobbled roadway wide enough to accommodate the lorries that took goods to and fro. When Albert turned the corner he saw the mill’s vast many-windowed facade with a tall chimney at one end, belching smoke up into the clean Derbyshire air. Even from outside he could hear the rhythmic clatter of looms and when he entered the door marked ‘Office’ in gold lettering they could still be heard, distant and muffled. He supposed the people who worked there day in, day out became used to it. Perhaps in the end they didn’t even notice.
The clerks’ office was painted in dull green and brown with a pair of windows that gave a view over a cobbled courtyard. Albert counted eight desks in all, arranged in rows of four and all occupied – apart from one at the front of the room. The men working there were all smartly dressed and ranged in age from their twenties to verging on retirement. He could hear the sound of typing from behind a door in the corner which bore the words ‘A. Jones, Manager’ in gold on a wooden plaque. The clack-clack of the keys echoed the noise of the looms he’d heard on the way in.
The clerks, busy with their work, didn’t raise their heads as he made for the manager’s office and opened the door after giving a perfunctory knock.
The secretary who sat at a wide desk in the small outer office looked perfectly serene. She was a smart, slim young woman whose clothes looked as though they’d been freshly pressed that morning. Her brown hair was styled in a neat bob and her fashionably short skirt looked rather out of place in those utilitarian surroundings.
As he entered the office she removed the letter she’
d been typing from between the typewriter rollers, along with its carbon copies. When Albert had introduced himself, she stood and asked if he’d like a cup of tea. Albert thanked her. This was better treatment than he’d received at Tarnhey Court.
She tapped on her boss’s door and as soon as she’d announced the visitor, Albert was invited to step into the oak-panelled inner sanctum. The manager, Arthur Jones, was a tall red-faced man with receding hair. He looked uneasy and Albert wondered whether Pretting’s untimely death was causing him problems – or whether he had something on his conscience. When Albert explained what he wanted, the man’s expression was hard to read.
‘My staff have already been interviewed,’ he said, fingering his collar nervously. ‘How long is this going to take? There’s work to be done and we’re a man short.’
‘I promise I won’t keep your staff any longer than necessary,’ Albert replied. ‘I’d like to speak to your secretary first, if I may.’ He’d read the statements of Pretting’s work colleagues but he hadn’t noticed one from a woman.
‘Miss Reynolds has only just got back from visiting her sister in Yorkshire. She was away when … the tragedy occurred, so I’m sure she won’t be able to tell you anything.’
‘Even so, I’d like a quick word.’ He looked the man in the eye and said, ‘You gave a statement yourself.’
‘Yes, but I couldn’t tell Sergeant Teague very much. I know nothing of what Pretting got up to outside working hours.’
‘You were at home on the night of his murder, I understand.’
The manager was sweating now, perspiration beading on his forehead. ‘Er, yes. With my wife. I’d prefer it if she wasn’t bothered. Her health is rather delicate.’
‘I’m sure there’ll be no need to disturb her.’ Albert suddenly changed the subject. ‘You were invited to dinner at Tarnhey Court while Henry Billinge, the MP, was staying there.’
‘Yes, indeed. I heard Mr Billinge is missing, but I can’t help you, I’m afraid. I barely said two words to the man.’
‘What was your impression of Mr Billinge?’
‘A civilised man. He talked a lot to the ladies.’
‘Did you sense any bad feeling between him and any of the other guests?’
‘Absolutely not.’
Albert decided to let the matter rest for the time being, even though he suspected Jones wasn’t telling the whole truth.
He was allowed to use a small side office, which proved to be little more than a storeroom. But there was a desk in there and two chairs, so it was adequate. He stood up as Miss Reynolds entered with the promised cup of tea, which she placed in front of him with a professional smile. Her confident manner led Albert to suspect she would soon outgrow the mill and go on to better things.
‘You must hear a lot of gossip in your job,’ Albert began.
‘That’s true, Inspector,’ she said as she sat down, crossing her legs neatly.
‘You weren’t interviewed with the others?’
‘I wasn’t in Wenfield at the time, so the sergeant didn’t think it necessary.’
Albert didn’t comment on Teague’s decision. It didn’t matter to him that she had been absent at the time of the murder; there were things he wanted to know and he reckoned there was little that went on in that office that escaped her notice.
‘You must know the clerks quite well.’
‘Some of them better than others.’
‘The young, single ones?’
She blushed. ‘There are a couple who keep asking me to the cinema.’
‘They must have served in the war?’
She nodded. ‘I did my bit too. I nursed in a big house near Altrincham. I might have carried on, but my father passed away, so I had to come back to Wenfield to look after Mother,’ she said matter-of-factly, seemingly without resentment at the curtailment of her ambitions. ‘I was only eighteen. Saw things that no young girl should see. You were injured yourself, Inspector.’
Albert didn’t reply. He had no wish to revisit the subject he found so painful. ‘Miss Reynolds—’
‘My friends call me Janet,’ she said, looking him in the eye.
‘Janet. How well did you know Bert Pretting?’
She smoothed her hair, playing for time as though she wanted to consider her words carefully. ‘He wasn’t someone you could avoid. He was senior clerk, but he liked to be one of the boys, if you know what I mean. I can take care of myself – I don’t stand any nonsense. But sometimes Bert Pretting …’
‘He made advances?’
‘He was a married man, Inspector. And even if he wasn’t, he was hardly my type. Thought he was God’s gift to women – only I’m sure the Almighty has better taste than that. Bert Pretting used to make remarks, rub up against me. I slapped his face once,’ she said with a hint of triumph. ‘He wasn’t so forward after that.’
‘His colleagues seemed to like him.’
She shook her head. ‘I suppose that’s what they said. Don’t speak ill of the dead and all that. But the truth is he was a bully. There’s a boy in the office who came back from the war suffering badly with his nerves. Bert used to tease him and get the others to laugh along with him.’
‘Did you ever meet his wife?’
‘No, but I imagine she’s a mouse of a woman. Pretting’s type always need somebody to pick on, don’t you think? I felt sorry for her, to tell you the truth.’
‘Can you think of anybody who’d want him dead?’
She considered the question for a few seconds before replying. ‘Anybody he pushed too far. Like I said, Bert Pretting had a vicious side. Maybe his wife, if the worm finally turned.’
‘It was a knife in an alley rather than a domestic murder. He was drinking with some of his colleagues, but they have people who can vouch for them after they’d left the pub. They say he hadn’t been arguing with anybody in the Cartwright Arms that night.’
‘That might be true but, in my opinion, he was the kind of man who made enemies. He could be smooth – charming even, when he wanted to be. He certainly had Mr Jones fooled. That’s how he got his promotion. I saw through him, though there were others who didn’t.’
Albert thanked her and told her she could return to her duties. Her honesty had been more useful than she’d probably imagined. As she left he asked her to send in the rest of the clerks one by one. But they just repeated what they’d said in their statements. All except one.
The last clerk to enter the room was called George Yelland and he was the youngest in the office – a thin, pale lad who looked no older than a schoolboy. And yet Albert could see something else in him – old eyes that had witnessed unimaginable horrors. Even if his body hadn’t been damaged, the same couldn’t be said of his mind. His hands shook slightly and plucked restlessly at his trousers when he sat down.
‘You know why I’m here,’ said Albert gently.
‘Bert Pretting. You want to know who killed him.’ The words came out in a rush.
‘You saw action. So did I. I know what you went through.’
The young man had been avoiding Albert’s gaze, but now he looked up, sensing he was in the presence of a sympathetic soul. ‘Some don’t. If they weren’t there, they can’t imagine.’
‘Bert Pretting?’
‘He had a cushy time in some training camp down south. Said he was on the Somme, but I knew different. He didn’t like that.’
‘He used to tease you.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It must have made you angry – after everything you’ve been through.’
‘He used to copy me, make his hands shake like mine. The others laughed.’
‘Probably because they were afraid that if they didn’t he’d start picking on them. That’s how bullies operate, George. Did you ever go to the Cartwright Arms with your colleagues?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t drink much these days and my mother doesn’t like me going out at night and leaving her. She’s a widow and,
since my sister got married, she’s on her own.’
‘She must have been relieved when you came back from the front alive.’
George gave a small smile and nodded.
‘Where were you the night Bert Pretting was stabbed?’
‘I was at home. I told Sergeant Teague.’
‘So you did. Is it true?’
The young man didn’t answer. And Albert noticed that the hands that had been shaking before were now perfectly still.
Chapter 36
Sergeant Teague looked like a cat who’d caught a particularly large and juicy rat. The smug expression on his face as Albert walked through the door of the police station suggested that either he’d caught Bert Pretting’s killer or he’d just inherited a fortune from a distant relative.
Teague lifted the flap in the front desk to admit the inspector, waiting until Albert had removed his hat and coat before he spoke.
‘I’ve had a visit from the Prettings’ maid. If we can talk in private, sir … in your office.’
Albert bowed to the inevitable and led the way, his mind still on the interviews he’d conducted at the mill.
‘Well, Teague, what is it?’ Albert said as he took a seat, leaving the sergeant standing.
‘You know I told you about all that money we found locked away in Pretting’s bureau?’
‘There’s no evidence he didn’t come by it legally, is there?’
Teague’s face turned red. ‘Not at the moment, sir. But we’ve had a stroke of luck.’ Teague’s eyes glowed with untold news. ‘I reckoned that if Pretting had secrets, something he wanted to hide from his wife, he’d keep them well hidden ’cause she was at home all day with plenty of time on her hands to nose around. I thought he might have had a fancy woman. He had a bit of a reputation, did Bert Pretting.’
‘You’ve found proof he was involved with a woman?’
Teague’s grin widened. ‘That’s where the luck comes in. The Prettings’ maid – Betty, her name is – came to see me while you were out. She told me it was the other way round.’