‘Then how can I refuse?’ He grinned. ‘I’ll do it right away.’
‘So James was Patrick’s father!’ she said to herself as the priest went off to find the necessary documents. ‘So who is this Sarah?’
Chapter Twenty-Two
After an enjoyable meal in Hull, Lorraine returned to Thirklewood Hall and did not visit the bar area. It was almost nine o’clock and all she wanted was a hot bath and an early night. She did peep into Pemberton’s office, wanting to impart her news to him, but on finding it deserted, decided she would tell him tomorrow morning.
Next morning, Sunday, she found him at breakfast, sitting alone at one of the corner tables with his muesli and orange juice.
‘May I?’ she asked, pointing to an empty chair and producing one of her beautiful smiles.
‘I looked for you last night.’ He indicated she should join him at the table. ‘I checked at reception — they said you’d returned late and had gone to your room. I didn’t want to disturb you.’
‘I appreciate that.’ She did not use the word ‘sir’. ‘I was pretty shattered when I got in and didn’t feel like socialising. It’s a mighty long drive across those Wolds to Hull, but aren’t the roads quiet!’
‘Driving’s a genuine delight over there — it’s like motoring in the past. But I guessed you’d be tired. There are times I need space. It’s nice to be alone sometimes.’
‘But not now?’
‘No, this morning I welcome your company. But enough of all this small talk! How did it go yesterday? Did you track down the elusive Patrick?’
‘I did, and guess what?’
‘What?’
‘James Hartley was his father. He’s named on the Baptismal certificate. I’ve got a copy.’
‘James? Good God!’ Mark could guess what was coming next. All along, he’d had his own suspicions about the parentage of Patrick. ‘And his mother? Who’s she?’
‘I think you know,’ she said. ‘I think you had a bloody good idea, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so determined to track down Patrick’s ancestry, would you?’
‘Sarah?’ he asked, his knowing smile revealing his own early conclusion.
She nodded. ‘That’s the name on the certificate. I wasn’t quite sure which Sarah until I had a look at the file.’
‘It wouldn’t be James’s own mother, if that’s what you were thinking at the start! Now that really would be tainted behaviour! It’s got to be the younger one, Luke’s daughter,’ he said softly. ‘The family would regard it as incest, even though uncle and niece are not forbidden categories in English law. But what a shocking discovery for a father to make. That his own brother had fathered a child by his daughter…’
‘Enough to make the father kill the seducer, sir?’
‘I very much suspect so.’ Mark tried to envisage the anger that the rigid Luke Hartley must have felt when the discovery was made. First, there would be the realisation that his daughter was pregnant, then the awful knowledge that James was the father…
‘When do you think Luke learnt the truth?’ she asked.
‘I can only guess. I think it would have followed the baptism. I think family members would have been there, young Sarah most certainly was, as well as Sophie and Thomas, and their respective spouses.’
‘With Sophie awaiting the adoption of the child?’
‘I don’t think the adoption would have been finalised by then — I reckon Sophie might have put forward the idea of adoption because, as we know, she was unable to have children of her own. So she and probably her husband and even her brother Thomas would have gone along to support the girl. But imagine their horror when they saw that Sarah had named her uncle as the father — she actually recorded his name on the baptismal certificate. That was a secret they could not contain.’
‘But the way it was done, sir, it looks normal. Anyone outside the family who read the entry would have no idea of the near-incestuous relationship. The names of the parents look like those of any normal mother and father.’
‘But the family knew all right. I think either Thomas or Sophie must have written to tell Luke and I think that’s when Luke sent the telegram to James to bring James home. I think the original idea might have been a confrontation with James; he’d have to face the family before going to France. They might have been threatening him with banishment from the family home, but over the intervening period, Luke worked himself up into a rage and shot his brother. I think he planned the cover-up very carefully. I think he told the police that James was suicidal when in fact he was not, and I think he hoped it would look like suicide, the reason being given as a reluctance to go to the Somme. But James wasn’t like that, he was quite prepared to go to France. I reckon Inspector Dawson soon realised that Luke was the killer but was never able to secure the necessary proof. Certainly, there wasn’t enough to have him brought back from Canada — Luke had made a good escape. I doubt if the police knew of Sarah’s pregnancy; that would have been a very well-kept family secret.’
‘What about the conspiracy theory you had?’
‘I don’t think the family was plotting murder. I think they might have gathered on that threshing day, a day when it was normal for them to assemble without anyone wondering why, and I think their purpose was to discuss the future of the child and to arrange a long-term family cover-up. I think that’s why Thomas came — it might even have been the real motive behind the telegram.’
‘Maybe the others did not come to the farm that day?’
‘Perhaps you’re right. It might be that when Luke sent the telegram, he had no intention of killing James; his purpose was to get James home by one way or another, at least for that one night, to confront him with Sarah’s condition. Perhaps James never knew she was pregnant. She’d have gone away to the convent while he was doing his training, but his mother never mentioned that in her letters. And James never showed any particular interest in Sarah when he was away. Do you think Thomas revealed the secret of Patrick’s father that day, the day of James’s death? Over lunch perhaps? And if so, it’s not surprising that Luke responded in that violent way. Once he’d done the evil deed, I think the family realised it was Luke who had killed James — the adult members, that is. I don’t think Sarah ever knew her father had killed James, not even when she was an adult woman.’
Lorraine sat in silence, listening to Pemberton’s theories, and found herself in agreement.
He went on, ‘Whatever the outcome of that meeting, I reckon the family would have agreed to Patrick being adopted by Sophie, which is what happened — and which is why Sophie kept in touch with Luke’s family when they went to Canada. Remember they wrote to say Patrick had made his first Holy Communion.’
‘Can we prove any of this, sir?’
‘I doubt it. The evidence is a bit thin. Most certainly it is too slight for modern requirements — I couldn’t see the Crown Prosecution Service authorising prosecution on such meagre evidence if this was a modern case.’
‘But there could have been a prosecution if all this had been known at the time?’
‘Very possibly. The courts took a different attitude in those times. In a modern investigation, though, we’d have better scientific evidence. In this old case, circumstantial evidence is all we have; the murder weapon has been found, by the way, and we’ve linked it with the bullet that was in the old file. The revolver was among James’s belongings which his mother had kept. I think Luke hid it there, so it would never be found until long after his death and long after the murder was forgotten. I reckon old Caleb decided to destroy the family bible and all references to Luke. Caleb might have banished Luke to Canada — certainly, it was a risky thing to do, to cross the Atlantic during the German submarine campaign, and that alone smacks of a forced voyage. The outcome, of course, was that Luke effectively became a non-person. Caleb probably thought that out of sight is out of mind. But the old man could have had no idea that records would be retained in old newspapers and elsewhere. I’l
l bet he never gave that a thought. He would have gone about his exclusion of Luke in the belief that future generations would never know of his existence.’
‘He must have been a fairly simple chap.’
‘Simple, but not stupid. Unsophisticated, perhaps. But it was a forlorn hope, even though it has taken three-quarters of a century for the truth to emerge. But the clues were there even for a modern generation — George, the next brother, did not have the Caleb name, so purists would realise he was not the eldest. They should have realised that there was another brother somewhere.’
‘Like Patrick, sir,’ she said. ‘Is that why he was not given a Caleb name?’
‘I never thought of that! Of course, he was the eldest son of James, wasn’t he, so he should have been called Caleb too. But without that name, he might never be associated with the family…to all intents and purposes, he’d be an adopted child of unknown parentage!’
‘Until a nosy detective with time on his hands begins to start delving! So what do you make of that curious verse, Mark?’
‘Tainted. An odd word to use. I don’t think it was lightly used, Lorraine. I reckon someone knew of the goings-on at the farm. Sarah was a teaser, you know. She had a reputation for chasing the men — Millicent Roe told me that. I see a Sarah who was rather advanced for her years and I suppose it’s not surprising, in a remote place like that, that she was made pregnant by her uncle. The gossips must have had a field day — they’d know the girl had been put out of circulation for a while. Village women were not stupid or blind.’
‘You mean the village women would have sensed there was an illicit pregnancy?’
‘I’ll bet they did. Somebody outside the farm must have known what was going on, hence that peculiar verse.’
‘Women do sense these things, I suppose,’ Lorraine acknowledged. ‘Perhaps they saw signs of pregnancy in Sarah, although girls did wear loose-fitting dresses, didn’t they? They — or Sarah herself — would be able to conceal the pregnancy for quite a long time.’
‘Perhaps, at first, they believed she’d been caught by one of the local Romeos. Remember, such a union between an uncle and a child niece would be tantamount to incest in their view, and that does taint any family.’
‘I suppose he would be regarded as tainted after that kind of behaviour,’ she said. ‘It was a strong Catholic district. So they might be right in singing about James going to hell.’
‘Indeed, and the brother mentioned in the verse? Well, I’m sure that was Luke. Remember the verse didn’t say he’d gone to hell, it said he’d gone ‘as well’ — and so he had. He’d gone to Canada. It’s typical of the kind of verse sung in rural areas at that time, especially when there was a murder in the vicinity. I think the people of the area would have known Luke was the killer, even though it was never openly proved.’
‘The younger Hartleys were probably teased unmercifully with the song.’
‘I doubt if they knew its full meaning,’ he said. ‘George knew of it but had no idea of its underlying message. You know, Lorraine, I never knew anything about my grandfather’s brothers or sisters, and he had lots. And they weren’t trying to hide anything.’
‘Me too,’ smiled Lorraine. ‘I know my aunts and uncles, but not my great aunts and great uncles, and their offspring. If those offspring turned up now, they’d be like strangers.’
‘So we know how Vice-President Hartley will feel when he learns what we have discovered. Poor man.’
‘So, what do we do now?’ she asked.
‘I must tell the Chief Constable of our finding and of what I think was the course of events in September 1916. I know he wants me to write it all up for the Foreign Office.’
‘There can never be a prosecution, though?’
‘No, of course not, but I think we can close the file now. I reckon we can name the killer without fear of reprisal, so we can record this old crime as “detected” — it’ll all help the crime figures! I’m told our leaders would like to use it to persuade Vice-President Hartley not to be so critical of the United Kingdom’s overseas and Northern Ireland policies.’
‘He’s in for a shock, isn’t he?’ smiled Lorraine.
‘Well, he wanted to find his roots and we’ve done it for him. Operation Roots has been a huge success. He should be pleased.’
‘Pleased? To learn that an aunt was a victim of a near-incestuous relationship and that his grandfather murdered his own brother who’d fathered a child by his niece? There’s no way I’d be pleased to discover all that about my precious family!’
‘I’m glad I don’t have to tell him,’ said Mark. ‘Well, after breakfast, I must go and inform the others.’
‘Make a full and detailed report, Mark,’ said the Chief Constable over the telephone. ‘Just as if you were presenting the case for consideration by the DPP and the CPS. With recommendations. I will hand a copy to the Foreign Office for them to pass, with our compliments, to Mr Vice-President Hartley. I know they want to do this; they are absolutely delighted at the way you have produced this background and feel sure it will help Anglo-American relations.’
‘That’s one way of putting it!’ laughed Mark Pemberton. ‘I would like to tell George Hartley of the final outcome, sir, I owe it to him, and then we can resume enquiries into the Muriel Brown murder. It’s still unresolved.’
‘Fair enough. Take it easy, though, don’t wear yourself out. I wanted this to be a holiday for you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And let me have your report tomorrow, by noon. I’m meeting our Foreign Office contact at two. I want to give him the file. It’s needed for the Vice-President’s arrival later in the day. You’ll have to drive it over to me, it’s urgent.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mark Pemberton.
Next day, Monday, 11th July, the Chief Constable rang Pemberton.
‘Mark, the file has been handed over and the Vice-President has read it. He thanks us for our work in producing the document. You have saved him a lot of time-consuming research, but he still intends to visit his ancestors’ graves, his cousins at Pike Hill Farm and those in Hull.’
‘So I can expect him to arrive at Thirklewood Hall later today?’
‘You can,’ said Moore. ‘And he has some information for you, he says.’
‘Really, sir?’
‘He has told the Foreign Office that Luke died in 1958 without admitting any murder, but he did enter a monastery in 1953, a year after his wife’s death. He gave all his money, which was a considerable amount, to Sarah’s Foundation. Apparently, they specialise in coping with sexually abused children.’
‘Conscience money, perhaps?’
‘Well, I’ll let you make your own judgement. He’s also got a letter which came to light — that’s what set him searching into his own roots. It was left by his Aunt Sarah when she died; she was, by then, Mrs WJ Swinburne. She died in 1991, aged eighty-eight.’
‘In the USA?’
‘Yes, in Connecticut. After her death, her family found a sealed note among her belongings. It was addressed to the head of the family — and in her family, that was Caleb Hodgson Hartley. He opened the letter and it contained a confession, Mark. From Sarah. She said that when she was a little girl, she had falsely accused her Uncle James of violating her. She’d even named him as the father of her child on her child’s baptismal certificate. She did it out of spite, to get her own back on him. But the letter said James had never touched her. As a maturing girl, she was not a virgin, she’d attracted lots of admirers, but she’d often tried to seduce her uncle. He was the one man who always rejected her advances. She was determined to make him suffer for that…’
‘The little minx!’ cried Pemberton. Moore continued. ‘The Vice-President said that when she was a young girl, she had never realised the serious consequences of her behaviour. She married but was never able to have any more children and had spent years trying to make atonement for her actions; she established and ran a home for abused girls and boys and bec
ame a pillar of her neighbourhood. The letter, which could be opened only after her death, said the father of her son was an apprentice farrier who used to call and see her at Pike Hill Farm. He was called Eric Hall.’
‘The farrier’s son!’ sighed Pemberton. ‘He joined up with her uncle James but was killed at the River Aisne on 28th May 1918, when the entire 4th and 5th Battalions of the Green Howards perished. His body was never found. She had learned this from her Aunt Sophie. Vice-President Hartley said that one of his reasons for coming to Yorkshire was to find out what happened to the Uncle James to whom she referred. His aides learned from Hull that James had been shot in the war and that he was buried at Wolversdale…’
‘The scheming little bitch!’ cried Mark Pemberton. ‘So James died unnecessarily… God help us! Hell certainly hath no fury…’
‘Forget it, Mark, it’s not your problem,’ said Charles Moore. ‘It’s the Vice-President’s now. What’s done is done, the past must be forgotten. He’ll be with you soon and I’m sure he’ll want to discuss your findings in person. But in the meantime, there’s some proper work to do. We have learned, through international intelligence, that the Iranians have discovered the whereabouts of Hartley while he’s in the UK. They’ve organised a hit team to get him. It could spell trouble. The SPG will explain it all, and it means there may be a genuine threat to your Vice-President Hartley. So it’s time to do some real work, Detective Superintendent Pemberton!’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mark.
Suspect
Nicholas Rhea
Chapter One
‘You’re happier these days, Mark, and it shows.’ The Chief Constable’s smile was warm and friendly. ‘You’re more at ease, more relaxed.’
Detective Superintendent Mark Pemberton, seated on a chair before his boss’s desk, sipped a black coffee. ‘Yes, I am, sir, thank you.’
Family Ties (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 1) Page 22