Hawke's Tor

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by Thompson, E. V.


  ‘I’ll make it as soon as I can … and hopefully bring you news on what we will have learned about the shawl.’

  Reminding Zillah of her dead father effectively dampened the passion that had been aroused in her and the moment had gone, leaving them both with a feeling of confused embarrassment.

  ‘I’d better be getting back to Gassick now but come and see me there … soon.’

  His promise followed her as she rode away and before she passed from his view she turned and waved.

  It was a somewhat bemused but light-hearted man who slowly returned along the lane to the Hawkes’ home.

  With the others, Verity watched him as he ambled towards them, deep in thought and she said, ‘Whether or not either of them realize it, those two are very much in love … Zillah for the very first time I should think. I am not at all certain I am doing the right thing by taking her away.’

  ‘You are doing exactly the right thing,’ Amos replied, ‘There can be no future for them the way things are. The chief constable would never agree to allow Tom to marry a gypsy girl. You’ve given her an opportunity that seldom comes the way of a girl in her situation. When she succeeds, as I believe she will, and becomes a fully recognized artist instead of an orphaned gypsy, the chief constable will think differently. If their love proves strong enough to survive the parting and the change in Zillah’s circumstances they could have a very happy future together.’

  Chapter 33

  AMOS AND TOM set off on horseback from the Bodmin police headquarters soon after dawn the following morning, excited at the thought that this could be the day when they arrested the murderer of Karensa Morgan, baby Albert and Jed Smith.

  There had been little opportunity to discuss the full significance of Zillah’s information the previous day because after lunch, during which, by mutual consent, the murder case was not discussed, Verity needed to catch a train in order to return to Plymouth. Amos had suggested that Tom should deliver her to the Bodmin Road railway station in the wagonette and after returning the vehicle, take the opportunity to have an early night in order that they might set off together at first light and cross the moor to the Berriow Bridge home of George and Martha Kendall. They would be able to discuss their tactics along the way.

  Once clear of the county town the two men were riding side by side when Amos said, ‘Zillah is a very observant young girl; if this business of the shawl leads us to the killer I think she should receive some recognition for her part in it.’

  ‘I’m not at all certain she would want that,’ Tom replied. ‘Helping the police won’t make her very popular with the gypsies and if it turns out that George Kendall is our man it means he must have been given a false alibi by the miners he was working with. Any action we decide to take against them for aiding and abetting him would certainly result in a backlash against her by the mining community. The knowledge she has helped bring her father’s killer to justice will be enough for her … much as I believe she deserves something more.’

  After thinking about what he said, Amos agreed. ‘You’re probably right and you know her better than I do.’ Giving Tom a searching look, he added, ‘How well do you know her, Tom?’

  ‘Not nearly as well as I would like to, although time could rectify that if I can get to see her occasionally when she has moved down west with this artist friend of Verity, but of course that will only happen if things work out and the friend offers tuition to her.’

  ‘Do you think things could become really serious between the two of you … even as far as marriage?’

  ‘It has crossed my mind but I haven’t said anything to her yet, why do you ask?’

  ‘Because if you and Zillah do reach that stage once she’s taken up painting seriously, I could arrange for you to be promoted and sent down that way so you would be able to see more of each other.’

  ‘That’s a very generous offer, Amos, and I appreciate it, but first let’s see what comes of Verity’s recommendation to her friend. Right now I suppose we need to work out what we’re going to do when we reach Berriow Bridge. Do you think George Kendall will turn out to be our killer?’

  ‘It seems highly likely, Tom. Zillah is absolutely certain the Kendall baby is being wrapped in the shawl she made for baby Albert, so unless Kendall has a very good story about how he came by it, he’s not long for this world.’

  George Kendall did have a good story and it was to be a frustrating day for the two policemen.

  Kendall was in the house with his family when they reached Berriow Bridge and at first he showed deep resentment at their intrusion into his home. However, resentment turned to dismay when told by Amos there was reason to believe he was involved in the murder of Kerensa Morgan and the others.’

  ‘We’ve already been through all this,’ he protested, ‘and I’ve proved I was working a thousand feet below grass when she was murdered. The men I was working with told you so.’

  ‘They did,’ Amos agreed, ‘and if they lied for you they too will be in serious trouble.’

  ‘They didn’t lie,’ Martha Kendall broke into the conversation. ‘The wives of two of ’em will confirm that. They were working as bal maidens when their men came up to surface in the morning; they told me George was with them.’

  ‘I believe you’ve just had a baby boy,’ Tom said. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Out the back, in his cradle.’

  ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘Why?’ Martha wanted to know.

  ‘I’ll tell you that after we’ve seen him. Will you go and fetch him, please?’

  Suddenly fearful, she said, ‘You’re not going to take him away? George is behaving much better since the baby was born, he’s always wanted a son….’

  ‘We’d just like to see him,’ Amos declared, sympathetically. ‘There’s no question of anyone taking him from you and if you prefer you needn’t bring him here, Sergeant Churchyard will go with you to look at him.’

  While Tom was out of the room with Martha, George Kendall demanded, ‘What’s this all about. What has the baby got to do with anything?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Ah! Here they are now, that didn’t take very long.’

  As he was speaking Tom re-entered the room with Martha. She was carrying a very sleepy baby … and Tom was holding a shawl.

  Nodding at Amos, Tom said, ‘It’s definitely the one, see…?’ He held it up to the light from the window but it took Amos a few moments to make out the initials ‘AM’ cleverly worked into the crocheted pattern of the shawl.

  ‘It certainly is.’ Addressing Martha, Amos asked, ‘Where did you get the shawl, Mrs Kendall?’

  Puzzled, she replied, ‘George brought it home the day after the baby was born. Why do you want to know, it’s not stolen or anything, is it? Whatever else George might have done I know he’d never steal anything, not from anyone.’

  Instead of replying, Amos turned to her husband. ‘Is that right, you brought this shawl home for the baby.’

  ‘Yes, but what’s this all about? Like Martha told you, I never pinched it, or anything.’

  Holding the shawl up to show him, Amos said, ‘This is the shawl that was wrapped around Albert Morgan when his mother was murdered and he went missing. In fact, if you look at it closely there seem to be a couple of stains on it that might well have been bloodstains until someone did their best to wash them off.’

  His mouth dropping open in astonishment, George Kendall looked at the two policemen in disbelief. ‘But that can’t be. It just can’t!’

  Amos’s response was to say, ‘George Kendall, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Kerensa Morgan, Albert Morgan and of Jed Smith … handcuff him, Tom.’

  ‘I know nothing about their murders … I swear it!’ George Kendall protested. ‘If you’re arresting me because of the shawl, I’ll tell you where I got it. It was given to me by Alfie Kittow, landlord of the Ring o’ Bells!’

  Accompanied by a still-handcuffed George Kendall, Amos and Tom walked
their horses uphill from Berriow Bridge to North Hill village, little more than a half-mile away, the shawl which had prompted the arrest of Kendall tucked safely in Tom’s saddle-bag.

  As they approached the village, Kendall held his handcuff-linked wrists out and said, ‘Do you have to take me into the Ring o’ Bells like this? I’ve only been allowed back in there since the baby’s been born, anyone who sees me is going to think I’ve gone back to my old ways again.’

  ‘If you’re telling us the truth you’ll be able to put them right,’ Amos replied, ‘but the Ring o’ Bells might not have a landlord after we’ve heard what he has to say about the shawl.’

  ‘You’d better hope he doesn’t deny all knowledge of it,’ Tom commented grimly. ‘If he does, the chances are that you’ll have had your last drink in this world.’

  The thought of such an eventuality proved sufficient to keep Kendall silent for the remainder of the walk to the public house and, as it happened, the premises were not yet open for business.

  Alfie Kittow had not been out of his bed for very long and he was in the tap-room, where a strong smell of beer and stale tobacco lingered from the previous evening’s activities. The slate floor had been newly cleaned and dried and the landlord was spreading fresh sawdust about the room.

  He looked up from his task with an expression of annoyance on his face which changed to a forced smile of welcome when he saw Amos. It turned to astonishment when George Kendall followed, his handcuffed hands held out before him.

  ‘What’s going on … what’s Kendall been up to now, and why bring him in here?’

  ‘We’ve just been to Kendall’s home, Alfie, to locate a shawl we’d been told his baby was being wrapped in … That’s it Sergeant Churchyard is holding.’ He indicated Tom who had been the third man through the tap-room doorway, ‘Have you ever seen it before?’

  ‘Not that I can recall,’ came the reply.

  It caused Amos to look sharply at Kendall who appeared stunned by the landlord’s denial. After a couple of failed attempts at speech, the miner cried, ‘You must remember, Alfie. You gave me the shawl along with other baby clothes when Martha had our baby boy … You have to remember!’

  ‘Oh, was it among them? I remember giving you a bundle of baby clothes but I honestly don’t remember what was in it.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t remember?’ This from Amos. ‘I think you’d better remember, and quickly if you don’t want to share Kendall’s handcuffs and join him in a cell in Bodmin police station.’

  ‘Why? All I did was give him a bundle of baby clothes because I thought him and Martha could do with them, having another baby in the family, I didn’t know what was there. But what’s so special with the shawl anyway, was it stolen from someone important?’

  ‘You admit to giving him a bundle of baby clothes, yet expect us to believe you had no idea what was in it?’ Amos was sceptical.

  ‘It’s the sort of thing we do here in the village. If you have something you don’t want and there’s someone in need of it, you give it to them. But what’s so special about this shawl?’

  As the two policemen exchanged glances, George Kendall blurted out, ‘For God’s sake tell them, Alfie! It’s the shawl Kerensa’s baby was wrapped up in when she was murdered and he went missing.’

  The blood drained from Kittow’s unshaven face and he felt for the table behind him for support. ‘I swear I didn’t know that! How could I? I was given the bundle of clothes for Florrie’s baby – our baby – but I knew she wouldn’t want second-hand clothes for him so I took them with good grace and when George and Martha’s baby was born I thought they would do for them.’

  Amos felt inclined to believe the inn-keeper, but he asked, ‘So where did the clothes come from? Who gave them to you?’

  ‘They came from old Bessie Harris, the midwife. She’s always being given baby clothes and passes them on to them who she feels is most in need of them. Me and Florrie have never been in need of anyone’s charity, but Bessie thought she was doing us a good turn and it would have been churlish to refuse them, so I took them and passed them on to George and Martha …’ Breathlessly, he added, ‘Thank the Lord I’ve agreed a sale for the Ring o’ Bells, the sooner I leave this place the happier I’ll be!’

  Chapter 34

  OUTSIDE THE RING o’ Bells, Amos and Tom talked as they led their horses through North Hill village, heading towards the home of Bessie Harris. George Kendall had been released and, still badly shaken, was having a relieved drink with Alfie Kittow before returning home.

  ‘This case has never been a straightforward one,’ Tom commented, ‘and it’s certainly not getting any easier! Even finding baby Albert’s shawl seems to be taking us round in circles and bringing all our original suspects back into the picture. With the sort of luck we’re having we’ll probably get to Bessie Harris’s and find the shawl was left on her doorstep, or something! We’ll soon run out of suspects – unless our murderer turns out to be Bessie herself!’

  ‘I don’t think she has either the build or the agility to kill anyone, especially a man like Jed Smith who was a man in his prime … but unless I’m mistaken this is Bessie Harris coming towards us now.’ He nodded to where the midwife was walking along the village street towards them.

  ‘That’s a relief, at least,’ Tom said. ‘I was dreading having to go inside that house again, it reeks of those cats of hers.’

  ‘It looks as though she’s carrying some baby clothes with her now,’ Amos observed. ‘We’ll wait here for her.’

  When the local midwife reached the two policemen she would have passed on with no more than a nod of her head as greeting but Amos said, ‘We’re lucky to have met with you, Bessie, we were on our way to speak to you … but are you on your way to help someone give birth?’

  ‘No, I brought a baby son into the world yesterday for a young girl who got married only a fortnight since. She was so excited about getting wed she’s lucky the baby wasn’t born in the church during the wedding … but having the baby’s taken some of the shine off it all for her. She had a hard time during her labour and things aren’t likely to get any better either. Her husband’s a ne’erdo-well who’s not much older than she is and they’ve not got two pennies to rub together between ’em.’

  Indicating the bundle she was carrying, she added, ‘I’ve got a few baby things here that’ll no doubt come in handy for her.’

  ‘Where do you get the baby clothes from, Bessie?’ The question came from Tom.

  Bessie shrugged, ‘From anyone who has them to spare. Sometimes a baby will have outgrown them, other times a baby won’t have survived. That’s where the best clothes come from, a mother doesn’t want to keep a reminder of whatever’s happened to her baby.’

  ‘Was that what happened with the clothes you gave Alfie Kittow? Did they come from someone who had lost a baby?’

  For a moment Bessie frowned, then her expression cleared and, addressing Tom, she said, ‘Of course, you were in Wiltshire recently and word went around that you’d seen Florrie’s baby. It took me by surprise, I can tell you. I was as sure as anyone can be that she was never expecting in the first place! It just goes to show, some women think they’re pregnant when they’re not, while others don’t know they’re expecting right up to the time the baby’s born! You can’t take anything for granted when it comes to having a baby … but how do you know I gave Alfie some clothes for Florrie’s baby? You can’t have seen ’em when you saw her in Wiltshire because I didn’t give ’em to Alfie until a week ago, or it might even have been less than that?’

  Choosing to ignore her question, Amos asked, ‘Can you recall giving him a shawl, Bessie, a very nice crocheted shawl that looked as though it might have been quality?’

  ‘Yes, I can, it was a beautiful shawl … but why are you interested in it, it’s not stolen, surely?’

  ‘No, nothing like that, it’s just that the shawl has come to our attention during the course of an investigation and it needs
to be looked into. Can you remember where it came from?’

  ‘I remember very well because I’ve seen one or two like it before. They’re made by the gypsy girl who’s the daughter of poor Jed Smith. They are quality, so much so she could make a good living selling them to gentry and they’d be passed down through their families, no doubt about it.’

  ‘This particular shawl we’re talking about, Bessie, can you remember where you got it from?’ Amos drew her back to the question he wanted answered.

  ‘Yes, I remember very well, it came from Jowan Hodge … though what he was doing with it I don’t know. He and that Gospel-spouting wife of his have never had children and are not likely to have any now in spite of all the money he’s made lately. Mind you, it’s probably just as well, Evangeline Hodge would have religioned any baby to death long before it ever grew up! But I mustn’t speak ill of her, she and Jowan will have left us soon. I saw him setting off in a cart full of their belongings and he told me there was only one more load to go. She’s already over there, although she’ll be back with him come Sunday because she’s taking a meeting for the last time at the new Bible Christian chapel, down at Middlewood, along the road a way from Berriow bridge, then they’ll both be off for good.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ Tom asked Amos as Bessie walked away from them, leaving them standing in the middle of the village’s only road. ‘Do we get a warrant and go to Exmoor to arrest Jowan Hodge?’

  ‘I’m getting a bit frustrated with arresting people then having to let them go again, Tom, and Jowan Hodge has the strongest alibi of all our suspects for the time of the murder. He also has enough money to pay some clever lawyer to find any holes in our case against him. We’d need to make this absolutely watertight before taking out a warrant to arrest a man outside the county … if indeed Jowan Hodge is our man. If we were forced to release him again we’d be a laughing stock, something I don’t doubt Colonel Trethewy would be delighted with. Nevertheless, we do have to speak to Hodge about the shawl and arrest him if we’re satisfied he’s our man. We know where he and his wife will be on Sunday so we’ll let her take the service at Middlewood Chapel, then tackle him when the service is over. In the meantime, we’ll try to tie up any loose ends, and I thought of one when we were questioning Alfie Kittow today. Zillah has verbally identified the shawl to our satisfaction, but if Hodge gets a lawyer to challenge our case when we take him before a magistrate to commit him for trial, we’ll need to produce a written statement from her. I’ll get back to Bodmin now and tell the chief constable what’s happening, but you go to Trelyn, collect some writing paper from Sergeant Dreadon, then go to Gassick Farm and get a written statement from Zillah before coming back to Bodmin. I don’t suppose that will prove to be a hardship for you.’

 

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