At Five Lane Ends, a little crowd stood to watch them go by. Ruth waved. Caesar and Cleopatra kept on trotting.
At each pub, Phil ‘took a drink’ as invited. After he had supped five pints in five pubs he began to speak kindly about Finch.
‘He’d do anything for anyone would Joe. Give you the shirt off his back he would.’ From these sudden switches between being extremely morose and then making up for it by joshing them, Harriet realised he was drunk. ‘Watch yerselves as we round this bend, girls. I don’t want to have to fish you out of a ditch.’
When he became seriously drunk, Phil nodded off, leaving the horses to find their own way.
Harriet took Phil’s set of reins.
When the horses stopped, Phil would wake, without realising he had been asleep, make his deliveries and be pretend-jolly about it.
It was just after dinnertime when they arrived in Bedale, half past one by the town clock, Phil now wide awake. They stopped in the main street. Ruth waved to the crowds.
Phil jumped down. He encircled a great kilderkin in his arms. Hugging it to himself, he pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared into a hotel.
A policeman as round as the big barrel came smiling towards them. ‘I’m to drive you to Bedale Hall, ladies. Please come with me.’
Suddenly Ruth looked as though she had been slapped in the chops. Her mouth opened. No words came. And then she said, ‘We must stay on the dray to the end of the main street. I have to wave to … to people.’
‘We don’t want you to be late for lunch, miss,’ the policeman said. ‘You can wave from the car.’
‘It’s not the same, and Mr Jopling will wonder where we’ve gone.’
‘That’s all right, miss. Mr Jopling has been informed. You are late, you see, and there’s a gathering for you.’
Harriet knew she must speak up. But how do you contradict a policeman who weighs twenty stones and is determined to make off with you? And who are these people who can’t keep the dinner warm for half an hour?
Ruth’s regal stance wavered. Whatever switch was inside her, she couldn’t find it.
Here goes, Harriet told herself. Here’s a test for a good companion. What was that word Auntie Kate came up with whenever life became tricky? Compromise.
‘Officer, I’m Harriet Armstrong, Ruth’s official companion for her appearances. May we compromise on this?’ She had never said the word aloud before. ‘You can see from here how people are gathered along the street, waiting. At the end of the main street, we shall be pleased to get into your police car.’
She looked at Ruth, who nodded.
Harriet held her breath.
Annoyingly, the constable looked as if he might laugh.
‘Very well, Miss Armstrong. I’m sure that will be satisfactory.’
He’s glad, Harriet thought. I bet he’s been ragged enough about this job of escorting a queen. She could not be sure whether her own words had done the trick, or that Ruth looked suddenly hopeless and close to tears.
Harriet would always remember the ride through Bedale. The street was lined with well-wishers. A light rain fell. Shopkeepers and assistants stood in doorways. Almost at the end of the street, a woman who reminded Harriet of a wild and wounded creature stood outside the bakery. As they came close, she stepped forward, waving a small white hanky.
Ruth called, ‘Stop the horses!’
Ruth climbed from the dray, not noticing that she caught her heel and tore the hem of her cloak, and opened her arms to the wisp of a woman. They hugged each other and kissed. Harriet thought she heard Ruth say, “You’ve come outside”.’
Harriet was so proud when Ruth pointed her out, saying, ‘This is my companion, Harriet. Everything is going to be all right.’
The woman glanced at Harriet and gave a small smile. Harriet reached out to give Ruth a hand up. Ruth seemed to have forgotten that they were late. There was a dip in the road and the dray jolted. Harriet’s innards scrunched up and sent waves of something like panic through her body. Except it wasn’t panic. It was that flash that comes with knowing something in an instant, something that your body tells you.
That woman is Ruth’s mother.
* * *
That night, the darkness in the bedroom was total, so much so that Harriet thought this was what it must have been like before God said, Let there be light.
And then Ruth, who was nearest the window, drew back the curtain. Harriet saw that the sky was full of stars, hundreds of stars, just in that pane of window, without counting any others.
Harriet wanted to know something. She would not be able to sleep until she knew. What was the best way to ask? Did you go all around the houses, talking about your own mother, or did you ask straight out? Was it a cheek to want to know? Yes. Would Ruth want to tell? Probably not.
‘Ruth.’
‘What?’
‘Can I ask you something?’
‘If you like.’
‘In Bedale, when we went along the main street, and got near the end, and that lady waved to you and reached out, by the bakery, and you got down—’
‘What about her?’
‘Is she your mother?’
Ruth did not answer for a long time. She drew back the other curtain, revealing more stars. ‘What if she is?’
‘I just wondered.’
‘We’re going to be together again, the three of us, Mam, me and George.’
‘When?’
‘Soon. That was our plan, George’s and mine, since she left. George was always going to be dad’s apprentice, then he would finish his apprenticeship and get a job somewhere else. I would find work, earn money. Mam never spends anything. She has an escape fund. It used to seem like a dream.’
Harriet heard a distant owl and, shortly after, the bark of a fox.
They were both still awake.
‘The trouble is, he knows,’ Ruth said.
They had lain without speaking so long that it took Harriet a moment to grasp that Ruth was talking about her father and mother. ‘Your dad knows your mam is at the bakery?’
‘I’m not sure. But he knows we see her.’
‘Who told him?’
‘He’s crafty. He talks to people when it suits him. Someone must have seen us in Bedale. Mam passed me a note today. She saw dad walking along the street, looking about.’
‘That doesn’t mean he knows.’
‘It does. She has an instinct. In her note, she said that Joe will take her somewhere safe. She doesn’t know that Joe is dead.’
Harriet thought about this. ‘You couldn’t tell her there and then, just on the street. If you like, I’ll go back with you.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. She might think—’
‘What?’
‘Oh nothing. I’m going to try and sleep now.’
Harriet guessed what Mrs Parnaby might think. That Mr Parnaby had killed Joe Finch.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Someone was up. I could hear a scraping noise downstairs, the ashpan being emptied. All went quiet. The back door opened. Either Ruth or Harriet must have had a bad dream to wake so early. I looked at the clock and went back to sleep.
It was an hour later when Harriet brought me a cup of tea. I propped myself up on pillows. ‘Couldn’t you sleep, Harriet?’
‘I’ve something to tell you, when you’re properly awake.’
‘I’m awake.’
‘I’ll tell you when you come down.’
Not that she was rushing me, but she took my dressing gown from the hook behind the door and put it on the bed, saying, ‘I’ll do you a slice of toast.’
When I had finished my tea, I brushed my hair, and went downstairs. Harriet was sitting by the fire, a slice of bread on a too-short toasting fork. Her right hand had turned pink from the heat. ‘There must be a better fork than that.’
Harriet switched hands. ‘If there is, I can’t find it.’
‘Well I won’t rattle about looking. We might wake Ruth. I heard
you earlier, when you were laying the fire.’
‘That’s because your room is at this end. Ruth is still asleep. I knew you’d wake.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘I just knew.’ She turned the bread round on the fork.
‘One side will do.’
‘No. I’ll do it properly.’
Whatever it was she wanted to say was taking some working up to. She toasted another slice while I buttered the first.
As we ate our toast, she told me about Ruth’s mother who had been living in Bedale, working in a bakery, living in the kitchen, never going out, except into the yard. Ruth had told Harriet it was a miracle that their mother had let George take her to the pictures on Saturday, to see Pathé News, and it was another miracle that their mother had come out onto the main street to watch the procession and wave her hanky, adding, ‘She can’t go out.’
‘Is someone keeping her there?’ I asked.
‘Ruth said she just can’t. I don’t understand why. Mrs Parnaby, her name is Annie, came out of the shop door to watch the procession. Ruth said that must have been very hard for her.’
Harriet told me the story. When Annie Parnaby feared for her life, Joe Finch came to her aid. He found a job for her, with a place to stay. Annie told the children the secret, that she would leave, but they would be together again. She said they would have a quiet life without her.
I was pleased that Ruth had confided in Harriet when they had known each other for such a short time. ‘How did she bring up the subject?’ I asked.
‘I brought it up. Ruth’s mother put a note in Ruth’s hand. It says that when she was taking a tray of buns into the shop, she saw Mr Parnaby on the other side of the street, looking about. She thinks someone has told him where she is.’
‘Is there nobody Ruth’s mother can trust? Someone who will help her?’
‘There was Joe Finch. Ruth believes he may have been going to take her somewhere safe, and now he’s dead.’
An alarm clock went off upstairs. This was the day of Miss Crawford’s funeral at Ripon Cathedral.
‘Should I go with Ruth to the funeral?’ Harriet asked.
‘You don’t need to. You didn’t know Miss Crawford. Just walk up with Ruth to Barleycorn House. She’ll be going with the Lofthouses and Mr Sykes.’
A log on the fire crackled. Out in the garden, the dog barked. ‘That must be the milkman,’ I said. ‘I’ve been waiting for a word with him. We could do with an extra pint.’
‘I’ll go.’ Harriet got up.
‘No, I want a word with him.’
When I went back inside, Harriet asked, ‘What did Sergeant Moon want yesterday? Was it just about the pony going to the police stables?’
‘He stayed for a cup of tea. Oh, and he looked at the map with me. I took Sergeant Dog for a walk to Roomer Common.’
Ruth came down the stairs, dressed in black, ready for Miss Crawford’s funeral. She looked pale and miserable but picked up on our conversation. ‘What did you think to common, Auntie Kate?’
I was glad to have been adopted as Ruth’s auntie. ‘It was a good walk.’
‘Did you look out for the demolished cottages I told you about?’ Ruth asked.
‘Yes, but I didn’t see them, probably on account of them having been demolished.’
‘If we go there, I’ll show you the landmark.’ She stood in front of the mirror to put on her hat. ‘Next to an oak tree, there’s a bit of wall left. The old man was always cheerful on that walk. He had us searching for gold coins. When one of the cottages was demolished, a stash of coins was found hidden in the thatch.’
‘Did you ever find any?’ Harriet asked.
‘No. The old man probably still goes up there looking.’ She went back upstairs, saying, ‘I need that black scarf. I can’t believe that I’m going to Miss Crawford’s funeral.’
Harriet said, ‘What will you do today, Auntie? You’re not doing much investigating, are you?’
‘You’d be surprised. Which reminds me, did you happen to find out anything about the children from the homeless family who came to the garden party?’
‘Michael and Monica? I didn’t ask. Why do you want to know?’
‘I hate to think of children, a family, sleeping rough.’
That was true, but I also wanted to know whether Joe continued to let them sleep in the stables, and whether they may have seen something on Saturday morning.
The one person who might know the whereabouts of the children was Mrs Finch. She regularly gave them their dinner on Sundays. It was an imposition to visit her, days after bereavement, but I would do it.
When I drove her home from Ripon Dispensary on Saturday, she had said, ‘Find out what happened.’
We were three days on and there had been no information of any kind. It was time for me to start making more enquiries about what happened to Joe Finch.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Annie knew that if it had not been for Joe, she would not be here, or on this earth. Slater would have killed her.
She took a tray of perfect small white loaves from the oven. Apart from baking, she had always done things wrong. She said yes when she should have said no. It seemed easier to agree when you had no definite opinion and others seemed so certain. She was good at baking, bad at life.
Even Joe had tired of her, it seemed. Or was he ill? Had he taken that new job and just gone?
Will you marry me? Slater had said to her, all those years ago.
She wasn’t good-looking, neither was he. It was a never-ending wonder to Annie that they produced such bonny children. But Annie’s sister was pretty, so it was in the family. When first Annie and Slater met, he seemed kind and considerate. She hesitated when first he said they should marry, perhaps because of the occasional sharp word. He persisted. When Annie’s mother had that awful sickness, he came with flowers. They sat by the bed. Slater said to Annie’s mother, ‘I’ll take good care of Annie. Your daughter will be safe with me.’
Slater was a man with a trade, a man who would provide. Annie’s mother died happy. The die was cast.
When asked why he had applied for a job in Masham after working in a big city, Slater said he wanted a change.
Of course, he got his name on the rent book before the ink dried on the marriage licence.
It shamed him to have a working wife. Nor did he like Annie to stay behind after church to ‘gossip’, as he called their conversation. She must come straight home. According to him, their neighbour, Mrs Finch, was stuck-up and not worth bothering with. It was better that Annie should keep herself to herself. He kept himself to himself. People only turned against you.
It took the children, it took George, when he was so little, to say, Let’s go away, mammy, before he kills you.
She stayed, for the children, until she realised that George was right. Slater would kill her. He would hang. Her children would be orphans. She must do one good thing in her life, save that life, to live another day. She must save her children from being the little witnesses to horror and save them from trying to come between their parents, to ward off Slater’s blows.
Annie told Ruth and George that when she had gone, they must write to grandma to come. His mother would come like a shot, to have a better roof over her head. They would be cared for. The old woman knew how to put him in his place. She’d made him, she’d shaped him, she knew what he was and what he had become.
George could not understand why he and Ruth could not come with their mother. Annie told him that they would be together, but not yet.
The children came to see her, walking all the way, pretending they had gone to the woods, or out onto the moors. George became good at fixing bikes. Now, after all these years, the plan was taking shape. They were grown, George a tradesman, Ruth a wages clerk, and a queen.
But perhaps too much time had gone by. They had waited too long. Annie feared her children would grow away from her before she had time to hold them again.
O
n Monday, Annie was so thrilled to see Ruth that she forgot about Joe. When the dray moved on a few yards, Ruth and the other girl climbed down, to be given a ride in a car.
Phil did not come to say why Joe was not with them.
George stayed at Annie’s on Friday night. He told her about Ruth’s success. He told her about the loveliness of the runner-up, Miss East Riding, Bernadette Jarvis of Scarborough. On Saturday, when Annie finished the last batch of baking, George insisted she go with him to the cinema. She would see Ruth on Pathé News. Annie spent the day in dread of going outside, of leaving the yard. When she carried a tray through to the shop, her hands shook.
There was no putting George off. Annie held his arm as they walked to the cinema. They had to sit through everything twice. ‘Ruth introduced me to Bernadette,’ George said during the interval. ‘Mam, she isn’t just beautiful, she is funny and kind and congratulated Ruth and jollied along Miss West Riding who looked so disappointed.’
George had fallen in love. They had left it too late for the plan to be together. George would find a girl. If not Miss East Riding, he would find someone else who looked like her. Ruth would take her pick. She would make a good match. A well-placed man would not want a useless mother-in-law cluttering up a perfect life.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A stillness hung over the town square. The slate grey sky and the stone buildings bleached the small world of colour. Rain drizzled, stopped, drizzled again. For a brief moment, it seemed that everyone may have left town while my back was turned. It was a relief when a woman opened her door and came out carrying a shopping basket.
At first glance, all the houses looked alike, with their neat curtains, scoured steps and doors painted a standard green. Which one belonged to Mrs Finch? Where had I dropped her off after coming back from Ripon Dispensary? My feet took me to a house with a Dutch vase in the window, filled with bluebells. Someone was playing the piano. I knocked.
After a moment, Mrs Finch opened the door.
I had caught her in the middle of something. She had that preoccupied look. It took her a moment to come back into the here and now.
Murder is in the Air Page 18