Hawke's Tor

by Thompson, E. V.

  After a quick check inside the wagon she returned to the doorway, her concern heightened. ‘He’s not here, and hasn’t been home. I really am worried about him now.’

  ‘I can see that, Zillah,’ Tom spoke with genuine sympathy, ‘but you told me that whenever he went away for any length of time he would always let you know when he expected to be back here. What made him behave differently this time?’

  ‘That’s what’s so worrying. I don’t believe he intended being away for very long.’

  ‘Didn’t he say anything to you before he went?’

  Zillah hesitated for a moment before replying with a non-informative, ‘No.’

  Not prepared to accept such a brief and unsatisfactory reply, Tom said, ‘I’m not happy about leaving you here alone with a killer at large and your father away from home, Zillah. I doubt very much if it’s what he would want, either. Is there anywhere you could stay until he returns? If there is I am quite willing to take you there.’

  Once again voicing the suspicions she had about his motives for being helpful towards her, Zillah said, ‘Why should you be so concerned? You’d never even met me before today.’

  ‘I’m concerned because you find yourself in a situation you can do nothing about for yourself. The chances are that I won’t be able to do very much, either, but I can try and – if necessary – can call on a great many resources to help find your father.’

  ‘All right, so you might be able to be of some help to me – but why should you want to be? As far as you and all the other muskerros – policemen – are concerned I’m only a Romany chi, a no-account gypsy girl, good for only one thing – but you’ll not be getting that from me, so why bother?’

  As amused as he was embarrassed, Tom replied, ‘I know policemen are not liked by your people, Zillah, and it’s a feeling reciprocated by many constables – perhaps with some justification on both sides – but when I was sworn in as a policeman I took an oath that I’d carry out my duties “without favour or affection, malice or ill-will”. I took that oath seriously and it means I behave the same way towards gypsies and non-gypsies, whether they are young women or cantankerous old men.’

  Suddenly smiling, he added, ‘Mind you, it’s an oath that’s easier to remember when you’re dealing with a pretty girl rather than with a crusty old man – even if there’s no reward at the end of it.’

  Zillah looked at Tom for a long time without making any comment and he knew she was trying to make up her mind whether or not she could trust him. Then, reaching a decision, she asked, ‘Just how do you think you might be able to help when I have no idea where he went when he left our wagon?’

  ‘First, I need you to tell me everything you know about the circumstances in which he left the wagon. Do you have any idea what time it was – and did he say nothing at all about where he was going?’

  Zillah suddenly appeared ill-at-ease. Aware she was reluctant to be frank and open with him Tom decided to take a chance and tell her what he already knew about her father.

  ‘If you want me to help you find your father you need to be honest and tell me all you can about the time you last saw him. I think I know why you’re reluctant to say anything that might get him into trouble, but I already know he finds homes for unwanted babies. I’m also told the babies go to homes where they are wanted and as a result can look forward to a much happier life than they would otherwise have had.’

  ‘Who told you this?’ she demanded.

  ‘That doesn’t matter, Zillah and it’s nothing that either I or my superintendent are going to make our business. I am only mentioning it so you don’t feel you need to hold anything back from me. If we are going to find your father I must know everything about his disappearance. I would also like you to give me a full description of him, remembering I have never met him.’

  Hesitating for only a moment, Zillah said, ‘I can do better than that. I can show you a photograph and also a drawing I made of him – which I think is more of a likeness than the photograph. Both were done about two years ago when we were still on Sharptor. A man came around with a camera taking pictures of the mines and miners living around the Minions workings and said he’d like to take pictures of Dado and me. He gave us two pictures of us together. I’ll fetch them for you.’

  Hurriedly climbing the six ladder-steps curving up to the gypsy wagon, Zillah emerged moments later carrying a silver frame which held a photograph of her smiling as she stood beside an expressionless man with a thick tangle of uncombed black hair.

  ‘It is a very good photograph,’ Tom said, although he was looking at the image of Zillah rather than her father. ‘May I take it with me?’

  ‘No but there’s another behind it in the frame. You can have that as long as you take good care of it – and I want it back. Dado didn’t like it very much because it has him scowling but, in all honesty, it’s an expression that comes more naturally to him than a smile!’

  Handing him a small sheet of paper, from a number held in a cardboard file, she added, ‘Here’s a drawing I did of him, you can take that too.’

  It was a good pencil sketch and Tom was impressed by the skill it showed … as did the other sketches in the file, but he much preferred the photograph which included Zillah. He thought she looked radiant and was about to tell her so, but stopped himself in time. He was satisfied she had accepted he intended helping her to find her father, but realized she was still unsure about his motives.

  ‘If you look after them you can take all the sketches, they’ll be safer kept together in the file but remember, I want them back.’

  With the photograph and sketches carefully sandwiched between two pieces of linen-covered pasteboard and secured with a length of ribbon, Tom placed it in the saddle-bag of the horse, commenting on the fact that the pasteboard file had once protected a book of poetry.

  ‘Yes, it’s my favourite reading,’ Zillah said. ‘I’ve read the book so often that the cover became worn – as you can see – and Dado rebound it with pigskin. He’s very clever with things like that.’

  ‘Isn’t it unusual for a girl living a gypsy life to be reading poetry?’

  Zillah shrugged, ‘Perhaps, but one of the women in the camp at Sharptor had been teaching at a school before marrying a gypsy. She and my mother were friends and I was taught by her. It was she who gave me the poetry book, among others. I think she must have been a very good teacher because when we moved here I went to school at North Hill for a while, but found I knew more than the teacher, so I left!’

  Tom was impressed, but he had other things on his mind. He was aware that he was very attracted to Zillah, but there was the nagging suspicion that the absence of Jed Smith was somehow tied in with the murder of Kerensa Morgan and the disappearance of baby Albert. He hoped it was not true for Zillah’s sake, but there were a number of questions that needed to be asked before he left the gypsy girl and Slippery Hill.

  Chapter 14

  ON THE WAY from Slippery Hill Tom met up with the man who delivered letters to the area and learned that he had delivered letters to the Ring o’ Bells landlord postmarked Laverstock, Wiltshire. It was a name he would pass on to Verity.

  The nurse had spent less time than expected at the village school. Only two of the girl pupils came even remotely close to the standards expected of Florence Nightingale’s nurses and neither was interested in taking up such a career. One was already unofficially engaged to the son of a farmer and the other’s ambition was also directed towards an early marriage and a life of domesticity in the area where she had been brought up.

  It was disappointing, but Verity was not particularly surprised. Florence Nightingale set extremely high standards and only girls with a burning ambition to nurse were likely to succeed in meeting them.

  However, the day had not been a waste of time for the two policemen. Tom had found an address for Alfie Kittow’s wife and Amos was delighted that his sergeant had also struck up an acquaintanceship with Jed Smith’s daughter. He was deeply
suspicious of the fact that the gypsy had not been seen since the night of Kerensa Morgan’s murder and the mysterious disappearance of her baby.

  ‘I agree it looks bad for him,’ Tom said, ‘but it sounds as though Jed Smith was asleep in his wagon at the time we believe Kerensa was murdered. Zillah said they were woken up in the early hours of the morning by someone who persuaded her father to go off with him. Unfortunately, she never saw the man and has no idea who he was.’

  ‘Do you believe her story?’

  ‘Yes, I do. She is basically an honest and straightforward girl.’

  ‘She is also very talented … and extremely pretty!’ This from Verity who had untied the ribbon around the photographs and sketches of Zillah and her father, handed over by Tom from his saddle-bag. ‘Where did she learn to sketch like this?’

  ‘I should imagine she taught herself. She is a bright girl – but very defensive about her background. Her mother was not a gypsy, but came from a remote farm in the heart of Bodmin Moor. She died some years ago, although Zillah’s grandmother still lives there. That’s where she was coming from when I met her, she had been to see whether her father had been there … and, yes, she is a very pretty young girl. For that reason alone I’m worried about her being on her own in that gypsy wagon; it’s in a very remote place and there is a killer on the loose….’

  Tom left the sentence unfinished but the others were aware of his meaning.

  ‘Well, we’ll do what little we can about finding her father,’ Amos said, ‘but we’ll need to be careful what we disclose about it. Colonel Trethewy would have an apoplectic fit if he thought we were concerned about a missing gypsy – especially with a murder hunt going on. If he had his way they would all disappear … permanently. The best idea might be to circulate a notice that we are trying to locate the whereabouts of Jed Smith, without giving a reason. Should Colonel Trethewy hear about it we can always say we feel Smith might have some information that could help us with our enquiries.’

  ‘What will you do about this gypsy girl in the meantime?’ Verity asked. ‘I agree with Tom that she is far too young and pretty to be left on her own.’

  ‘She is,’ Tom declared, ‘but I’ve already suggested she should stay with her grandmother at her farmhouse on the moor, leaving a message in their wagon to tell her father where she is, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She intends staying at Slippery Hill until his return. That’s the way she feels at the moment, anyway.’

  ‘If he returns,’ Amos pointed out, grimly. ‘Despite what the girl has said there is always the possibility Jed Smith is involved in the murder of Kerensa Morgan and the disappearance of her baby. If so he’ll either not return at all, or end up on the scaffold if he does. Then his daughter will have to find somewhere else to live.’

  ‘That’s all sheer speculation,’ Tom said, impatiently. ‘Let’s try to find him first. In the meantime I’d like your permission check on Zillah whenever I come this way.’

  Tom did not see Verity’s raised eyebrow, but Amos did. Nevertheless, he said, ‘Of course, and if Jed Smith does return we’ll need to have words with him. Now, I don’t suppose you have had time to check on either George Kendall or Jowan Hodge, so if Verity will excuse us for a short while we will do that now.’

  ‘Of course,’ Verity said, ‘While you are doing that I will have a look around the church, it looks most interesting.’

  The first house the two policemen visited was the home of George Kendall, ex-Trelyn gamekeeper turned miner, the married man who was known to have had a tempestuous affair with Kerensa and who had made threats against her when she met Horace Morgan and brought an end to the affair.

  Kendall’s home was only a short distance from North Hill village and unlike the other cottages in the riverside hamlet his house had a garden that was unkempt and overgrown. When the two policemen reached the door it was opened to them by a thin, tired woman who looked as though she was weighed down by the cares of the world. She was also heavily pregnant.

  In answer to their question about whether her husband was at home, Martha Kendall replied, ‘No, I’m not expecting him until he’s drunk his pay away and that could be a long time. He and his mates have had a couple of good weeks and yesterday was settling day. He’ll be some landlord’s best friend until the money runs out.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where he might be drinking: I understand he’s been barred from the Ring o’Bells in North Hill.’

  ‘He’s been barred from most of the inns around here but a landlord is quick to offer forgiveness when a miner comes in with money on settling day – even him at the Ring o’ Bells. He’ll get more of my husband’s money than me and the kids will see, that’s certain.’

  ‘Do you think that’s where he might be?’

  Martha Kendall made a gesture of helplessness. ‘Your guess is as good as mine – better, probably – but if you intend arresting him then do it before he’s spent all his earnings. The kids are crying out because they’re hungry and I’ve got nothing in the house to feed them.’

  ‘Much as he might deserve it, I can’t arrest him for that,’ Amos said, regretfully. ‘I just want to ask him one or two questions that’s all, same as we’re asking many of the North Hill men. In fact you might be able to answer for him. What he was doing on Tuesday night, for instance?’

  ‘Tuesday night … you mean the night Kerensa Morgan was murdered? He went out to work on night shift and as far as I know that’s where he was. The other men on his pare would be able to tell you for certain, but if he hadn’t turned up they’d have sent someone round here to fetch him. They’d found a rich lode and when miners do that they’re like terriers with a rat; they wouldn’t think of leaving it alone until it was worked out. He’d have been there with them, for certain. In fact I should be more of a suspect than him; no one could be happier than me at seeing that little whore dead. I believe George and me might have made things work for us if she hadn’t taken a sudden fancy to him. It’s not even that it meant anything to her … not the way it did to me and the kids, and to George too. If I’m honest I could happily have killed her for it – and would have done given half a chance, but unlike Evangeline Hodge I have nothing to fight her with.’

  Jowan Hodge was the last of their suspects and Tom said sharply, ‘What do you mean by that, Martha? What does this Evangeline Hodge have that you don’t?’

  ‘Her looks, for a start. Five girls one after another, with the next one due at any time has done for mine … and her husband loved her when they got wed. George married me because he’d got me pregnant and if the parish hadn’t got him my pa would have, God rest his soul. I wish he was alive now, he wouldn’t have stood for George treating me the way he does, he’d have murdered him long before this. But he was killed in an accident up at Wheal Notter soon after my eldest was born and by the time another three months had passed my mother had joined him….’

  Almost angrily Martha Kendall brushed away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. Making a perceptible effort to pull herself together, she said briskly, ‘But that’s all in the past, I’m not a silly young girl any longer, I have a family to look after – and George is still my husband. I married him for better or worse, although I’ve seen little enough of the better side of him.’

  ‘Have you no idea at all where he might be, Martha?’

  ‘None … although, the last I heard, the Cheesewring Inn up at Minions was the only one he hadn’t been banned from, so you might be lucky and find him there.’

  Before leaving the cottage, Amos gave Martha Kendall a florin, ‘to buy something for the children to eat’. When she protested that despite her situation she had not resorted to accepting charity, Amos said he would retrieve it from her husband – when they found him!

  Once outside, Amos said to Tom, ‘We know George Kendall is reputed to be violent when he’s been drinking so we won’t take any chances. I can think of a man who would be able to handle him. Ride back to Bodmin and find Harvey, then the two of
you go in search of Kendall. Try the Cheesewring Inn first. If he turns violent when you question him – as he most certainly will – arrest him and take him to the lock-up at Trelyn. If he has any money left on him take it and give it to his wife. Sergeant Dreadon can release him once he’s sober, but he’s to warn him that if he tries to take his anger out on his wife he’ll be arrested and taken before a magistrate to face three months in gaol.’

  Harvey Halloran was the Cornwall constabulary’s sergeant major. A long time friend of Amos, he had served with him in the Royal Marines during the Crimean War. Brought up in a London slum, he had been a bare-fist boxing champion in his younger days and was still a formidable fighter when a situation called for such skills. Amos was confident he had the ability to successfully deal with George Kendall, whether the violent miner was drunk or sober.

  ‘Couldn’t we charge Kendall anyway?’ Tom asked, hopefully.

  Amos shook his head, ‘He’d only be given a fine and I’d rather Martha had his money than the court. When you’ve found Harvey take a horse from headquarters for him and get after Kendall before he’s spent out. I’ll go and collect Verity now. She can either remain in the church for a while longer, or come with me to find Jowan Hodge. I doubt whether he’ll have very much to say about Kerensa Morgan or baby Albert so she’ll be able to wait with the pony and trap while I interview him … that’s if he’s back home yet.’

  Chapter 15

  HARVEY HALLORAN WAS drilling a group of new recruits to the Cornwall Constabulary when Tom found him and the force’s sergeant major welcomed the interruption with some relief. The latest additions to the force were mainly farmhands and general labourers, most of whom seemed unaware of the difference between left and right and had no concept of co-ordinated movement with their fellow recruits. The thought of performing a task that promised some excitement appealed to him.