It is an ancient cottage, and yet it’s sweet and grand,
It has an old thatched roof, and it’s just a storey high,
Bonnie little cottage, you’re a picture to my eye.”’
‘I suppose that’s what you call heartfelt, and with plenty of Ts to pronounce.’
‘There are six verses,’ Harriet said. ‘You could laugh at it or you could cry. There was a hoard of gold sovereigns found in the thatch of that cottage when it was demolished.’
‘What a shame they weren’t spent in the hoarder’s lifetime,’ I said.
But Harriet’s biggest revelation was about Slater Parnaby.
‘When we called round, Mr Parnaby was so nice you wouldn’t believe it. He gave us a cup of stewed tea and digestive biscuits. He looked very scruffy and what’s that word? Morose. He said that he was on his own now and that was his punishment for having been bad to them and driven them away, Annie and George and Ruth. He said he wished he had been different, and hoped they would not think too badly of him. He didn’t blame George for leaving his job. If he had been George’s age and offered a job at a Scarborough brewery, he would have taken it.’
‘What did Ruth say?’
‘She didn’t say anything. I asked her if she thought her father had really changed. She doesn’t know. She can’t tell.’
* * *
The next days seemed so full that they merged into each other. Miss Boland was sentenced to two weeks’ imprisonment and a fine. It was strange to think of James Lofthouse and Celia Boland being the Masham Contingent in Armley Prison. James was awaiting trial at the summer assizes. Miss Boland’s short sentence allowed little time for her to be found somewhere else to live.
Mrs Sugden caught two buses to help with the packing up of Miss Boland’s belongings and the cleaning of the cottage, and stayed on. Beryl from Barleycorn House came to help in the mammoth task.
Before we began work, Elizabeth Burns completed the application form for school places for Monica and Michael. Having lived in a city all her life, she wished for a street name to make the address definite. On being told by Mick Musgrove that the track had no name, she gave it one. The full address was now Elm Cottage, Allotmentside, Masham.
I took the Burns children to the stationer’s shop and bought pencils, pens, ink, pencil cases, books and crayons. They were excited to learn that Billy the pony had a new home with the schoolteacher. It was as if Christmas had come early. I also bought two rent books, one for the Burns family and one for Celia Boland so that each could date and tick when a postal order for rent had been sent and received. There was good news, too, for Mick Musgrove. A batch of his Rhymes in Praise of Ale was ready for despatch from the printer to the stationer, where it would go on sale. Courtesy of the Lofthouses, there would be free copies for local libraries and a review copy for the Wensleydale Gazette. To a crowded room in Masham Town Hall, Mr Musgrove read a selection of verses and signed copies of his book.
On Thursday and Friday, Ruth, Harriet and Eleanor Lofthouse were driven to civic events in Leeds and Pickering where Ruth met local dignitaries. On Saturday, they were driven to Tadcaster for Ruth’s parade through the town.
I felt confident about going home on Monday and had arranged with Eleanor that Harriet would be paid a modest wage for staying on as companion to Ruth.
When the girls came back from Tadcaster, Ruth seemed subdued. I asked Harriet, was anything wrong.
Harriet sighed. ‘Ruth’s brother George is lodging in Scarborough. He will be starting work at Scarborough Brewery on Monday. Ruth is glad for him but didn’t think he would be going anywhere so soon. He is talking about finding a place where their mother can stay and that leaves Ruth feeling a little bit out of it.’
‘But she must be relieved that her mother will be safe, and Ruth enjoys all the events, doesn’t she?’
‘Oh yes, and we have a laugh, but she says there is always a fly in the ointment.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Ruth said goodbye to Mrs Musgrove. They had sat in the farmhouse kitchen for an hour or more. Ruth fed the sickly lamb they had brought in to revive in the warmth. This kitchen was the place Ruth and George were happiest, after their mother left. Mrs Musgrove had sons but no daughter and she and Ruth always had plenty to talk about. Today they talked about Mrs Musgrove’s father-in-law, Mick, who preferred to live in a hut near his allotment, saying he could take care of himself and had no intention of being a ‘burden’ to be bossed about and cossetted by his daughter-in-law. They talked of Miss Crawford who had taken down old Mr Musgrove’s rhymes. Mrs Musgrove wanted to know all about this kind woman who had met such a tragic end. When it came time for Ruth to go, Mrs Musgrove said, ‘I thought you’d be my daughter-in-law, but you’re set for another life.’
Ruth felt sad. She would have liked this life, but perhaps not for long. ‘How is Adam?’ she asked.
‘Well enough. The lass he’s courting is a farmer’s daughter. I expect we’ll get on, but not like you and me.’
They looked out of the window and saw that the darkening sky threatened rain. Ruth left soon after. She wanted to avoid seeing Adam. It was better this way.
The sheep in the field came to watch Ruth pass. She kept to the edge of the fields until she left the farmland behind and set out across the common towards home. She had not walked more than a few hundred yards when she saw the old man. Straightaway, she knew he was lying in wait, and that he was up to something. He waved. She felt a shakiness inside. He had played a part too well when he saw her with Harriet. He had been all friendliness and false regret. He even apologised for scaring them on Saturday night and for snatching her playing cards, acting the part of the repentant father who had done his best but now knew it was not good enough.
Either Harriet was taken in by him, or she was just as good at pretending as Ruth. They did not speak of him when they got back to Oak Cottage.
Now Ruth forced herself to hide a creeping feeling stronger than uneasiness. ‘What brings you up here, Dad?’
‘Just walking, thinking of the past, wishing I could turn the clock back.’
Ruth thought of the swimming costume that he had cut in two. That was what he threatened to do to their mother all those years ago. He would chop her in two. He would cut her into tiny pieces and feed her to the birds on the moors.
Slater Parnaby did not fool his daughter, but she might fool him. ‘It’s too late to change the past,’ she said. ‘You had plenty of chances.’
‘Never too late if you have money. Do you remember?’ He waved to the spot where the cottages had been, where they had searched for gold coins. Ruth saw the oak tree and the remains of the wall. In her mind’s eye she saw George, crying as he raked his fingers through the grass. She saw herself collecting buttercups and heard the old man’s praise that at least she collected something that was the right colour. She despised herself for having been pleased by his praise, now understanding that he praised her so that George would be humiliated.
‘We were looking in the wrong place,’ the old man said.
‘What was the right place, Dad?’
‘Come with me and I’ll show you. You were on the right track all along when you wanted to go down the cellar and your mother said no.’
Ruth felt a creeping horror as she remembered. She was being clever, the clever girl, the brave girl. You could demolish a cottage, but you could not demolish what was underneath.
She thought of the article about the kidnapping of the American film stars’ child and she understood that was the old man’s way of telling her of his plan.
He made a grab for her hand, and then smiled, his eyes gleaming with what he meant to look like affection. ‘We can be friends, can’t we? Everyone can turn over a new leaf.’ He was not good at a wheedling tone, but he tried. ‘You were the one who seriously looked for gold coins. Your mother and George had no faith. You did. We’re alike. We want a better hand than life dealt us. We’re the ones who will go places.’
Ruth said, ‘They’ll be sending out a search party if I don’t get back soon.’
‘You trust me, don’t you?’ the old man wheedled again. ‘You’re too precious to come to harm.’
‘Dad.’
‘Ruth?’
‘This is a stupid idea. Let me go now.’
‘I’m glad you have the sense not to struggle. You wouldn’t win a contest if you were covered in bruises, and there will be a big prize for the Northern Brewery Queen.’
There was still a distance between here and the demolished cottage that Mrs Shackleton had not seen because it wasn’t there. Between here and the oak tree, and the hidden trapdoor, she must take her chance because now it came back to her. This was the place he said he would bury their mother. As the thought came, the old man pulled a teacloth from his pocket. She knew that smell. A boy in her commerce class who knew chemistry and read shocker comics said that chloroform did not work like writers said it did. It would take ever so long, but the old man’s arm was tightly round her and the cloth was on her face. She held her breath until he loosened his grasp and then threw the cloth across the ground.
He had left the trap door open. ‘Don’t make me fling you down there. As soon as Lofthouse pays the ransom, you’ll be free, and I’ll be gone. All I want is my lump sum. A hundred pounds is nowt to a man like Lofthouse.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
I was reading the Sunday paper when a heavy and continuous knocking on the cottage door set the window frame rattling. Our dog barked obligingly but stayed in the back garden.
Slater Parnaby was in manic mood, eyes wild, jaw clenched. He held his arms stiffly by his sides, but bounced and tottered, unable to keep still.
‘I threw her Yorkshire pudding on the fireback.’
When someone flings words in your face, it takes a moment to translate angry speech into common sense. I knew he must mean Ruth. Yorkshire pudding on the fireback hinted at a missed Sunday dinner.
‘Ruth isn’t here, Mr Parnaby.’
‘Then where is she?’
I stepped aside and opened the door wide. ‘You’d better come in. She can’t be far away.’
Harriet, having heard the commotion, came downstairs. ‘Harriet, Mr Parnaby was expecting Ruth for her Sunday dinner. Did she say anything to you about where she was going?’
‘After church, she went up to the farm with Mrs Musgrove.’
‘Regretting her foolishness. She’ll never find a better lad than Adam Musgrove.’ Parnaby’s breath grew more rapid. His face turned red. ‘Why didn’t you go with her? You’re the companion.’
‘Ruth and Mrs Musgrove like to talk.’
‘You’re lying. She’d be back by now.’
‘Go up to the Musgroves then. She might be still there.’
‘And she might not!’ He knew that Miss Boland was no longer living next door, but he went out, vaulted the fence and began to bang on the door of Elm Cottage.
I spoke quietly to Harriet. ‘I’ll keep him talking. Go to his house, let yourself in. Look for any sign of his having made and thrown away a dinner. Then go to Mrs Finch and Mrs Jopling. Ask if they have seen Ruth.’
I looked out, watching her go. When a surprised John Burns answered Miss Boland’s door, Parnaby asked his question. After a reply from Burns that I could not hear, Parnaby vaulted back. ‘Vagrants! They didn’t let the fire go out and they’re in there. Some people have life handed to them on a plate. They don’t care two hoots where my lass is.’
Either he was a good actor, or genuinely concerned. I poured him a cup of tea.
He looked round for Harriet. ‘Where’s that lass of yours gone?’
‘To the vicarage. There was some charity meeting Ruth might have attended. These things run on.’
He eyed the sugar lumps, spooned several into his cup and pocketed a handful. ‘I didn’t like her coming here, not one little bit.’
‘You made that clear, Mr Parnaby. She is eighteen.’
‘She’s eighteen, not twenty-one. She should be under my roof.’
As he drank his tea, he talked about hearing a noise in the dead of night.
‘When?’
‘Last night. What if someone came in with that chloroform stuff you hear about and they intended to snatch her?’
‘But as you say, she wasn’t there. She was here.’
‘They wouldn’t know that would they?’
‘Did you catch sight of an intruder?’
‘I was half asleep.’
‘Was your door locked when you went to bed?’
He snorted. ‘I only ever locked it to keep George out when he’d been prancing about at town hall dances and not in by ten o’clock. I don’t need to lock it now he’s slung his hook.’
‘Was there a smell of chloroform?’
‘No, and I would have known, no matter how faint.’
I kept Parnaby talking, to give Harriet time to look round his house. It would be just like him to come here with an invented story, solely for the purpose of snooping. ‘Perhaps Ruth called to see a friend on the way back. You’ll know the names of her friends and where they live?’
He did not, claiming that she was a home sort of girl, never made a big fuss of friends, not in other people’s pockets all the time, like some people. ‘She wouldn’t let me down about summat like Sunday dinner. I tell you she’s missing. She’s not one for just going off.’ His worry now seemed genuine. ‘It’s one thing a lad slinging his hook because he’s taken the huff, and because he’s ungrateful for everything that was done for him, but not my lass, not a pretty lass, and one who’s been in the papers for all to see. She wouldn’t do it. I’ve never stood in her way. I never stood in her way of coming here.’
I gave him a sharp pencil and the blank Stop Press from the newspaper. ‘List the places she might be.’
He wrote, Her Mother, and said, ‘Where did you whisk Annie to? I’ve a right to know.’
‘So that’s why you’re here?’
‘I’m here for Ruth. I stopped caring about Annie a long time ago.’
He wrote the names of two girls from school. ‘Jealous to death of her the pair of ’em. Oh, and there’s the church do-gooders.’
His nose gave several involuntary twitches. Either he was sniffing for his daughter, thinking we had her hidden under a bed, or I was too posh for him, and getting up his snitch.
He had left out Eleanor and William Lofthouse. At my request, he added them to the list.
‘The time to worry is if she is with none of these people, or if she is not back by suppertime.’ I spoke soothingly. ‘Young people never imagine how much worry they can cause.’
He gulped down his tea. ‘I can feel in my bones that it’s not right.’
‘Do your bones tell you where to look first?’
He glared, suspecting that I was being sarcastic. ‘Gypsies? They’ll steal a pony, they’ll steal a dog and seek the reward, they might do the same with a girl.’
He made a note, and a little doodle.
Just as I was running out of ideas, Harriet returned. ‘She’s not at the vicarage.’
I picked up Parnaby’s cap and handed it to him. ‘Let us divide the search between us. I’ll call on Mrs Lofthouse. It’s not four o’clock. Ruth probably lost track of time.’
He seemed reluctant to be dismissed, but then put on his cap. ‘I’ll go then, go off and make a fool of meself because mi own daughter doesn’t trouble to come and see me when she promised.’ He paused only to spoon the sludge of sugar from the bottom of his cup and suck it. I picked up the pencil as he moved to pocket it.
We waited until the gate clicked behind him.
Harriet said, ‘He might have made some sort of dinner. There was pile of dirty d
ishes and plates, but not a single clean plate. If he’d expected Ruth there would have been one clean plate for her dinner, wouldn’t there?’
‘You would think so.’
‘Mrs Finch and Mrs Jopling haven’t seen her—but he didn’t go ask them. Mrs Jopling told me where her two friends live.’
Chapter Fifty
Eleanor and William were in their conservatory, playing backgammon.
William looked exceedingly cheerful. ‘Won’t you join us, Kate?’
Eleanor brightened. ‘Oh, do! You’ll be a dab hand. You could take my place.’
I explained why I was here, ending with, ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Harriet has gone to see whether she is with her schoolfriends.’
After her first reaction of astonishment at the idea of Slater Parnaby cooking a Sunday dinner, Eleanor frowned. ‘Doesn’t Harriet know where she is?’
‘Ruth went to the farm with Mrs Musgrove. She must have forgotten the arrangement with her father.’
William insisted we were both fussing too much. The girl needed a life, needed to be able to see her friends without raising alarm. He wouldn’t blame her one bit for forgetting to have dinner with her father when the world was full of young admirers.
Eleanor rang for her maid. ‘And when we find her, we must keep a closer eye on her, Kate. I know this might sound over-dramatic, but we are so close to the Northern Finals. There is a decent prize for the next stage of the contest. Manchester breweries,’ she paused to allow William a withering look, ‘Manchester breweries are very much ahead of us. They have put up a prize of fifty guineas for the winner and fifty guineas towards expenses for the brewery concerned.’
This came as news to William. ‘What?! Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You didn’t want to talk about it. You’ve hoped all along it would come to nothing.’
‘I changed my mind. You know I changed my mind. But I wish I’d taken notice of the money involved. People would kill for that kind of money. There could be some Lancastrian assassin crossing the Pennines as we speak. Ruth might be a marked woman. She must be odds-on favourite. I like her and she’s the best clerk we’ve ever had.’
Murder is in the Air Page 24