The Darkest Evening

by Cleeves, Ann

  She turned and climbed the bank to the old people’s bungalows beyond Lorna Falstone’s house, and knocked on the door of Matty Fuller, the elderly retired shepherd. The light inside flashed and after a moment it was partially opened. Matty’s face appeared at the gap in the door. He seemed almost embarrassed.

  ‘Eh, lass, it’s you. You’d better come away in. Don’t mind the mess.’

  There were underpants and socks drying on the radiator. Awkwardly he cleared them into a laundry basket.

  ‘No point putting them on the line, this weather. They’d just freeze.’ He picked up the basket as if it were something to be ashamed of. ‘I’ll make us both a cup of tea. You’ll need warming up.’ And he disappeared into the kitchen, taking the offending underwear with him.

  Holly stood at the living-room window and looked out over the valley. There was a view of the village and the hills beyond. A view down to Constance Browne’s bungalow. Because of the angle of the slope, she could see over the fence and into the dead woman’s garden. Matty returned with two mugs of tea, a packet of biscuits in his cardigan pocket. ‘I’ve not put in any sugar,’ he said. ‘Most young folk don’t take it these days.’

  They sat for a moment. He opened the packet of biscuits and passed it to her.

  ‘Have you heard about Constance?’ She turned towards him so he could read her lips.

  ‘The schoolteacher? What about her?’

  ‘We found her dead in the forest last night.’ Holly paused. ‘Murdered, like Lorna.’

  There was no response. She was surprised that he seemed so little shocked or upset.

  ‘Didn’t you know her?’ Holly asked.

  ‘Oh, aye, I knew her. I couldn’t keep her away. She was one of those women who think they know what’s best for you.’ He looked up. ‘I didn’t mean she deserved to die, like, but she could be interfering. One of the women who don’t have bairns to boss about, so they boss the rest of the world.’

  ‘You think she was killed because she interfered?’

  ‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘That’s no reason to kill a woman. But she could be irritating, all the same. That confidence, you knaa, that she was always right.’

  This sounded personal. ‘Did she try to boss you about?’

  ‘She succeeded, didn’t she?’ He gave her a sad smile. ‘She was the one to persuade me I needed to move closer to the village. She kept on at me. And then when I was here, she was in every day about the old folks’ lunch club and bingo in the hall.’ He paused. ‘I told her I didn’t want company. I needed my lass Lizzie, but that’s something different. In the end, she gave up and left me alone.’

  There was a silence. Holly didn’t know what to say. She’d never met anyone with whom she could spend her life, couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be alone after a lifetime’s company.

  ‘We think Constance left home on Monday morning, maybe with her killer. You’ve got a good view of the village from here. Did you see anything unusual?’

  He thought. She could see he was taking the question seriously. ‘I sit by the window for a couple of hours every morning. A cup of tea and watch the world go by, until I feel ready to go down to the Co-op for my shopping. Watch the weather on the hills. Maybe the woman was right and I’m better here. There’d not be much to see from my old place. Monday is the art class in the hall. Constance walks there. Gets there before the rest of them.’ A quick grin. ‘So she can boss them around too.’

  ‘But not this Monday?’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Not this Monday. I wondered about that.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you notice what time she draws her curtains in the morning?’

  ‘Early,’ Matty said. ‘Six-thirty on the dot, even if it’s dark. She’s an early riser. In the summer, she’s out walking.’

  Holly thought the boss would be pleased to hear that. It was a bit of concrete information. Matty was still thinking about Holly’s original question.

  ‘A car pulled up outside her house that morning. Seven o’clock, maybe. I didn’t see Constance, though.’

  ‘What sort of car?’

  He shook his head. ‘It was still pitch black and it parked between the street lights. All I could see were the headlights and then the shape. A van or a jeep.’

  ‘You didn’t see anyone get out?’

  Another pause. ‘I think the door of her house opened. I remember a sudden light on the path. But whether someone went in or she came out, I can’t say. Not for certain.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘The car drove off,’ he said. ‘Not fast. Nothing suspicious. I thought maybe it was someone delivering to her door. A parcel. It’s that time of year.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me? Did you see the colour of the vehicle when it drove off?’ Anything to make Vera proud of me.

  He turned to her. ‘I’m sorry. I just didn’t take much notice.’

  Holly was about to go when she had another thought. ‘You can see Lorna’s house from here, and you’re up early, looking out. We’re interested in Saturday morning. The day after she died, but it was before the news got out, before the forensic guys could get to her house. I don’t suppose you saw anyone go in?’

  He sat back in his chair. ‘Someone was there, but I didn’t see anyone go to the door.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Holly tried not to sound too excited. She didn’t want to spook him, or for him to elaborate on the facts to please her.

  ‘There was a light downstairs. Early. That was unusual, so I noticed. The bairn was a good sleeper and young people don’t get up so early as us old folk. I hoped there was nothing wrong, that the lad wasn’t ill.’ Matty stopped abruptly. ‘But Lorna was already dead by then, wasn’t she? They found her body at Brockburn the night before.’

  Holly nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He sounded distraught. ‘I should have remembered last time you were here. I’m a foolish old man. I didn’t think.’

  ‘Really,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about it. You’re telling me now. Do you think somebody had let themselves in before you were up, if you didn’t see anyone come in from the street?’

  Matty shook his head, definite. ‘I was up before the light. Here, looking out over the village. I would have seen.’ He paused. ‘But there’s a lonnen at the back. Someone could have gone in that way.’

  The way Josh Heslop always went to visit Lorna with nobody seeing.

  ‘Did Lorna have a laptop in the house?’ Holly asked.

  ‘Oh, aye. The young are always online, aren’t they? Once she got me a train ticket on it, so I could visit my nephew down in York.’

  And now it’s disappeared. So we were right. The murderer went in the morning after they killed her to cover their tracks.

  Holly sat for a moment in her car outside Brockburn, planning her conversation with Harriet. Part of her admired the woman, her style and her confidence. Her pragmatism. Because after all, Harriet was allowing Mark to transform the place. She’d married into the Stanhope clan, expecting a life of privilege and comfort, and now she was coming to terms with the possibility of a very different life, of sharing this place with strangers. Holly thought she’d have an empathy with Harriet which Vera would never manage. Vera’s father had been cast out by the family, or had turned his back on them. But still it wouldn’t be easy, talking to the woman about her late husband’s affairs.

  Juliet opened the door to the house before Holly rang the bell. She was wearing outdoor clothes and had car keys in her hand. ‘I’ve just heard about Connie. Isn’t it dreadful?’ But despite the words she seemed distracted, unfocused. ‘Look, I’m just on my way into Kirkhill. Can it wait until later?’

  ‘I was hoping to speak to Mrs Stanhope.’

  ‘Oh!’ A moment of surprise. ‘Yes, Mother’s there.’ She raised her voice. ‘Mummy, there’s a detective here to speak to you.’

  Juliet ran off down the grand steps to the drive. Holly was left standing awkwardly in the hall,
not sure whether she should wait for Harriet to appear, or wander on in to find her.

  At last, there was a voice. ‘Well, do you want to talk to me or not?’

  Holly followed the sound and arrived into a small sitting room, with a view of the formal garden. There was a coal fire, and two armchairs pulled up very close to it. Harriet was sitting in one, almost hidden from view. She turned, but didn’t get to her feet. ‘Come on in and shut the door. This place is all draughts.’

  Holly did as she was told. Harriet nodded towards the empty chair. ‘Is this about Constance? Poor woman. Have you got the killer yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Holly paused. ‘Do you have any idea why anyone would have wanted to kill her?’

  Harriet seemed to consider. ‘I found her a little irritating – she was one of those rather self-righteous women with a heightened belief in their own moral superiority – but I can’t believe she would have driven anyone to murder. I suppose it must be related to Lorna Falstone’s death.’

  ‘Did you know that your husband was having an affair with Lorna’s mother? At the time, I mean.’ Holly tried to keep her voice sympathetic, despite the bluntness of the question.

  There was a moment of silence, then an outburst of scorn. ‘Of course I did. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘It must have been very hurtful.’

  ‘Oh, please! Now you’re sounding just like Constance. I take it you’re not married.’ A brief pause to check that her assumption was correct. ‘Well, of course not and neither was she. So how could either of you understand? Crispin and I had a perfectly satisfactory marriage. An arrangement. He would only have broken the terms of the agreement if he’d caused embarrassment to me and my daughter.’

  ‘Did he ever do that?’

  There was another moment of stony silence. ‘He came close to it,’ Harriet said at last, ‘with the Falstone woman.’

  ‘Because she had his child?’

  ‘Because he allowed that rumour to develop and grow, to sour our reputation in the community here and with the rest of the county.’ Harriet stood up. ‘It gave people the right to pity me. And in my opinion, there is nothing more degrading than pity.’

  Holly got to her feet too. She didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Now, if that’s all, officer, I’m sure you can see yourself out.’ Harriet stared out of the window so she wouldn’t have to watch Holly go.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  VERA SAT IN HER OFFICE AND brooded. About an elderly, educated woman who filled her life with good works and trips to the theatre. About a young lass who’d stopped eating to bring some order to her existence. About her own strange family, landed gentry, who, despite being lords of all they surveyed, seemed fraught, anxious and not at all at ease with themselves. About a young boy named Thomas, who was growing up without parents. It was the child who filled her thoughts in the end.

  The phone call jolted her back to the present, to the small overheated room.

  ‘Ma’am, there’s a woman on the line for you. Her name’s Bolitho. She says you’ll want to speak to her.’

  It took Vera a moment to realize who the woman might be. Of course, it was Juliet. She’d taken her husband’s name. Vera wondered about that. Didn’t most women hang on to their own, these days? Would Vera herself be the last remaining Stanhope?

  Juliet sounded nervous. But then she usually did. ‘Do you think we could meet up? I’ve found something which might be helpful.’

  ‘Of course, pet.’ Vera thought she always treated the woman as if she were a shy child, who needed reassurance. ‘I’ll come over to Brockburn, shall I?’ She was glad of an excuse to leave the police station and to breathe a bit of fresh air.

  ‘No!’ The reply came quickly. ‘I don’t want to put you out. I can come to you.’

  So, you don’t want the rest of the Brockburn mafia to know that we’re meeting.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Vera said. ‘I’ve got to be in Kirkhill anyway. Why don’t we meet there? Gloria’s caff. It’s usually quiet at this time of day and if there are people around, we can go for a stroll.’

  Juliet was there before her, sitting in the back, close to the counter. Nobody walking past in the street would be able to see her, but the windows were so steamed with condensation that she was invisible anyway. Vera joined her, and Gloria brought coffee, then made herself scarce in the kitchen. They were the only customers.

  ‘What’s all this about then?’ The same motherly tone.

  Juliet looked up at her and for the first time, Vera wondered if she was being played here. There was something calculating in the woman’s glance. Something steely. Perhaps Juliet wasn’t the shy innocent she pretended to be. ‘This is rather awkward.’

  ‘More than awkward,’ Vera said, ‘for Lorna and Constance. You did know that we found Constance last night in the forest? She’d been murdered too.’

  Juliet nodded. ‘So dreadful.’

  ‘Now, why the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Why couldn’t we meet at Brockburn?’

  ‘You’ll understand when you see this.’ Juliet put her phone on the table, tapped the screen and enlarged the photograph so Vera could read the print.

  It was a very brief letter addressed to My dear wife, and was obviously from Crispin Stanhope to Harriet. The language was stilted and formal. This was intended for possible public consumption. The apology was brief. Perhaps Crispin had been more fulsome in person, though Vera suspected not. This was an entitled man, who had easily found justification for his hurtful behaviour.

  My dear wife

  This is to inform you that Lorna Falstone, the daughter of Gillian Falstone, is entitled to some claim on me and my estate. In the event of my death, I ask that you ensure she is provided for in a manner commensurate with that status. Out of respect for you and to save our family from possible embarrassment, I have not made a legal arrangement through our lawyers, but out of respect for me, I trust that you will follow my wishes.

  I apologize for any distress this might cause.

  Yours,

  Crispin Stanhope

  The letter had been printed but the signature was handwritten.

  ‘Where did you find this?’

  ‘In an envelope in my mother’s room.’

  ‘You knew all along that Lorna was Crispin’s daughter, your half-sister?’

  ‘I still don’t know,’ Juliet said, ‘but yes, I suspected. I suspected that something like this might exist. My father was kind to the people he cared about, but he ignored the rest of the world. I couldn’t believe that he would pay for Lorna’s treatment out of an altruistic benevolence.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’ Vera tried to contain her impatience. What was it with these people, who thought that the rule of law didn’t apply to them?

  ‘I didn’t think it could be relevant. I thought you’d find Lorna’s murderer quickly and none of this would have to come out.’ Juliet paused. ‘I still don’t think it could be relevant. What reason could any of us have for killing Lorna? There’s nothing legal in this. My father left it to my mother’s discretion to provide for Lorna. Her death changes nothing.’

  ‘If it came out that Harriet had ignored your father’s wishes, it might change the way your neighbours, all these people who treat you as superior beings, look at you.’

  Vera wondered why Harriet had hung on to the letter. Was it guilt or a kind of superstition that had stopped her from destroying it?

  ‘You won’t go public on this?’ Juliet sounded alarmed. ‘That’s why I came to you. You’re family after all.’

  Vera didn’t answer that directly, but still she spoke:

  ‘Lorna might have decided to go public. She was building a new life for herself. If she knew what Crispin intended, she might have put pressure on Harriet to comply with his wishes.’

  Especially if she was in danger of losing her man. A payout from the Brockburn estate might have persuaded him to stay.

  Vera thought she wouldn’t sink so low as
to bribe a bloke to stay with her, but then she wasn’t sure she’d ever been in love. People in love, it seemed, had no pride.

  ‘How could Lorna have known?’ Juliet was sounding seriously scared now.

  ‘Perhaps your father told her,’ Vera said. ‘We know that Crispin paid the bills of the private hospital. And an elderly man visited her once. Perhaps that was him, wanting to make his peace. To tell her that she’d be cared for even after his death.’ There was a moment of silence. ‘You do know,’ Vera went on, ‘that we’ll have to ask Harriet about this.’

  ‘Oh, God, no! She’ll realize that I went into her room. Nobody else could have told you about the letter.’

  ‘You’d better warn her then. Tell her what you did. It’d be better coming from you.’ Vera couldn’t understand Juliet. Did she really think a police officer could keep this information quiet in the middle of a murder investigation? ‘I’ll give you until six this evening. I’ll be round at Brockburn then to speak to Harriet.’

  ‘But you’re family!’ This time it came out as a scream.

  Another silence while the accusation hit home, then Vera spoke very quietly:

  ‘But I’m not really, am I, pet? Only when it suits you. And even if I were, I’ll always be a cop first.’ She stood up and held both empty mugs in one hand. Gloria appeared miraculously from the kitchen and took them. Juliet remained where she was and watched Vera stamp out into the street.

  Vera walked. It was what she did when she needed to think. She walked and when she stopped walking, she ate. The cold snap seemed to be lasting. It was late morning now but there was still frost on the ground and ice on the river. She followed the path along the bank, passed the school on the slight rise in the land where Constance Browne had taught for her career. The playground was empty, but there was a light on in the classroom. Suddenly, there floated over the clear air the sound of children’s voices, singing a carol. ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’.

  She was thinking that this valley, surrounded by hills on one side and the forest on the other, was its own complete world. There were rich people and the self-satisfied middle classes and the poor sods who did most of the work. Though Vera hadn’t met many of those: the cleaners, the care workers who wiped old people’s bums. The farmers – Neil Heslop and Robert Falstone – grafted, but they went home at night to a comfortable home. The domestic work at Brockburn was done by Dorothy Felling, who could hardly be described as downtrodden. Vera decided these musings were bonkers and would lead her nowhere.