by Lorna Gray
I turned quickly aside to busy myself with putting the tea things away.
“There are other men you know.”
His tone made me turn back again and I wondered if I had truly grasped his meaning. “Oh, John,” I stammered helplessly and cursed myself for being so weak. “I, er – that is to say, I don’t … Um…”
I floundered, trying desperately to cover my surprise and to find the right words.
“Don’t look so scared, Ellie!” He was laughing at me, “You should know by now to disregard anything said by a clumsy fool like me – it was only a casual comment. Oh look, here’s Jones. Well, man? Find anything?”
Jones was one of John’s grooms, he had worked at the manor for all of my adult life and was one of those timeless people of indeterminate age. His face had been weathered to a rough, creased leather by years of squinting at the sun and it was impossible to judge whether those years amounted to a lifetime or whether he was, in fact, still quite young. Presently, however, he was simply standing awkwardly in the doorway while melt-water ran from his boots to puddle on my floor, fiddling with his hat and looking embarrassed.
“Nothing, sir. No sign of him.”
“Well, Ellie,” John said, climbing to his feet. “It looks like we’ve wasted your time.”
He gave me a friendly kiss on the cheek in farewell before turning to follow his man outside. “Where next, Jones? Saltershill Barn? Good, the Colonel’s been hassling me to drop in on old Marston for weeks. At least someone will be made happy today, although, knowing my father, something will still not be quite right. Ah well, ours is not to reason why … Look after yourself, Ellie, and don’t forget that you still haven’t decided about the dance. It will be fun, you know – do you good to get out once in a while.”
The door shut behind him and I moved to the window beyond the armchair to watch as the dozen or so men drifted slowly away up the lane. They made quite a comical sight, a rag tag group of farm labourers, grooms and young boys trailing damply behind the impressive figure of John Langton. They seemed more like children, kicking harmlessly through drifts as they tugged their assortment of ill-matched dogs along behind them. And yet the road must have been empty for quite some time before the foul tension of the past minutes finally eased enough for me to be able to notice that there was a man standing in the doorway behind me.
Chapter 7
Matthew was resting a shoulder against the doorframe from the back room – where it appeared he must have been hiding all along – and his complexion was more ashen than ever.
I turned away to collect the forgotten teacup from the table. Placing it into the sink, I said; “My heart nearly stopped when I got back to find the manhunt lurking on my doorstep – thank heavens you managed to find somewhere to hide! Have you been back there all along?” I was speaking with the far too bright tone of one who had just been caught talking about someone they shouldn’t. “And would you believe that impressively I didn’t actually have to lie once … Was it Freddy that let you in?” This last was as I registered his figure out of the corner of my eye. He had stepped into the room and was now standing about three yards away, across the length of the table. I glanced over my shoulder at him and moved to the stove quickly, mouth already running on to meaningless chatter about chickens, what to prepare for lunch and even, idiotically, the weather.
“Why are you doing this?”
His question stopped me in my tracks.
I hesitated for a moment, mouth suppressed into a tight line. Then I finished filling the teapot with water from the kettle, turned to him and said acidly, “Take a guess.”
I marched into the small larder that shared its space with the dairy and brought out the sourdough I had been proving. I made all our bread; I had been lucky in the autumn and had managed to buy a few sacks of coarse flour; and although it was tough husky stuff, it had since proven itself more than a godsend when the nearest bakery was two miles away and, more often than not, half buried beneath the high drifts that regularly closed the Gloucester road.
He waited silently while I wasted time kneading the loaf into life and then thrust it into the oven. The gas lit on the second attempt. Then I took two fresh cups down from the shelf and poured the tea. It was just unfortunate that I forgot yet again about the broken handle.
I gave a scalded yelp and there was a crash as the teapot fell onto the worktop. It instantly began spreading thick brown liquid everywhere and with a badly suppressed curse, I snatched at a dishcloth. There seemed to be gallons of the stuff, running over the worktop and towards the floor and, distractedly, I set about dabbing at the growing lake only to yelp again as Matthew’s hand appeared beside mine to join in the mopping up.
I whipped round and glared at him. He seemed taller all of a sudden and even more of a stranger than ever but then, hands up and taking a conciliatory step backwards to reclaim his place by the table, he suddenly decided to speak. His eyes were on the floor as he said in a harmlessly conversational tone, “So what’s his beef? He’s taking this search a little personally, isn’t he?”
It took a moment for me to realise who he was talking about. Those eyes lifted and their expression belied the mild pitch to his voice.
“You do realise that he wants you, don’t you? He plans to win you, and I suspect he figures that playing the hero and getting me locked away is his best chance at success.”
Then, leaving me stung and searching for a sneering retort, he went to the door and reached my father’s heavy black woollen coat down from a hook. “May I borrow this?”
I gaped at him, floundering at this sudden change of tack. “What? Why? Where are you going? You can’t just leave!” I cast an anxious glance through the far window to check that the road was still clear. It was.
He didn’t reply and, feeling like a complete fool, I hastily trotted after him to the kitchen door.
“Matthew!” I cried in exasperation, putting a hand on his arm.
He turned then and the contrived air of concentrated detachment dropped from his face. He covered my hand with his and gave me a very small lopsided smile; “I’m sorry, I really don’t have a good way of showing my gratitude, do I? This risk you’re taking on my behalf is rapidly proving very thankless indeed, isn’t it…”
I gaped at him mutely, thrown just as much off-balance by this sudden concession as by his accusation. He smiled at my expression and then continued in a voice that was utterly surprising in its gentleness.
“Don’t worry, my dear, I’m not too keen on making you contribute to a hanging either. It’s just that I’m damned if I’m going to sit about all day while men like him are trying to make it certain. While I’m caught in this hateful net, I can’t even begin to combat … I mean, how can I hope to…?” He stopped, bit back whatever he was going to say and then added instead, “I’d have to be mad to pass up this opportunity; I really do have to go and have a poke about while those fools are busily looking the other way. And you never know, I may actually find something.”
I desperately tried to piece together a more coherent argument than no, no, no! while he gingerly eased his arm into the sleeve. But before I could say a word or even work out where he was going, he lifted his hand in a brief touch to my cheek, turned away and vanished yet again through the kitchen door.
Chapter 8
I suppose it shouldn’t have been a surprise given the way the morning had gone so far when the crunch of ice under foot betrayed the approach of more people and along puffed a plain-clothed inspector, four uniformed policemen and Colonel Langton. Thankfully the days of my childhood when I had been rendered wide-eyed and speechless by that man’s formidable presence were over and I was able to greet him reasonably calmly, although I could see Beechnut watching anxiously from her field and I was glad that I had at least managed to turn her out before they had arrived.
The Colonel was still a fearsomely disapproving sort of person; even as an old man he stood very straight and tall and frowned down his long
nose at me as if I were that same little scruffy farm-girl that had stared owlishly at him from behind Mother’s skirts. It seemed to me that his presence in the village was something akin to that of an eccentric monarch. He certainly was rather apt to sending the villagers scuttling off to do his bidding based on little more than flimsy whim and a great deal of deference which may not have been entirely deserved, and now he was striding towards me through the thin misting rain with an air of assumed authority which left the policeman to trot along in his wake like an eager puppy.
The pony next to me eyed him warily, no doubt suspecting that this person would be without a titbit. I was standing in the shelter of a stable door with the pony’s front hoof resting over my thigh as I carefully rasped the excess growth away, like filing a fingernail, to leave it balanced and comfortable in anticipation of the coming weekend’s work. I trimmed all my horses’ feet; the ponies had no need of shoes with their hardy little hooves, and of the two horses on my yard, the old hunter was retired, and my mare would never have allowed the blacksmith near her but thankfully did well enough with my careful trimming.
“Now then, Miss Phillips.” The Colonel’s voice barked as he came to a smart halt before me. “We’ve come to look for that fellow Croft. Not seen him, have you?”
The grey-haired policeman coughed politely and stepped around the straight-backed barrier of the Colonel. “Good morning Miss – Phillips, is it? – I am Inspector Woods. These are Constables Downe, Smith, Thorne and Fleece.” He waved a hand vaguely along the assembled line. “I was wondering if I might ask you to let my men take a look around?”
I set the pony’s foot back down on the ground and straightened. The Inspector was rather short with that middle-aged spread running on into what my father would have politely called “well-covered” and his eyebrows were remarkably bushy, almost as if he cultivated them. But as I met his unobtrusive gaze for the first time, I was startled to realise that instead of finding the expected bland obedience hidden beneath, there was something infinitely more subtle lurking within those deep-set grey eyes. He was smiling at me gently and I came to the sudden terrifying realisation that he was anything but harmless.
“Good morning, Inspector. You’re welcome, of course, but you’re a little late, aren’t you?”
“Late, Miss Phillips?”
“Mr Langton and his men have already been here to look around for you.”
“Have they indeed?” There was the barest flicker of irritation which was quickly suppressed. “You won’t mind if my men take another look, will you?”
“Not at all, Inspector, go right ahead.”
Never one to stand around quietly, the Colonel stepped forwards again, his head stuck forwards on a thick neck as he fixed me with a beady eye. “Listen here, Missy, we want to know if you’ve seen him. My son says that you dallied about with Croft once and so he might come here. You can’t hide him, you know, we’ll have him in the end and it’ll be all the worse for you.”
The Inspector looked a little uncomfortable at this speech but I answered calmly enough, “You’re about the fourth person now to remind me of my youthful dalliance, as you put it, and it is starting to get a little wearing. Believe it or not I am not in the habit of harbouring murderers.”
“There’s no use lying, my girl. We know what you’re about.”
Close to, the Colonel really was a very unpleasant man with little bits of spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth. His face was veined with the signs of his fluctuating temper and all of a sudden I knew that I had never quite done his son justice before. With a father such as this, it was incredible that John was so sane.
I spoke coldly. “Nor am I in the habit of lying to the police.”
The Colonel opened his mouth to say something else but the Inspector cut smoothly across him. “Miss Phillips, the Colonel here has been good enough to meet us at the main road and offer himself as our guide, for which we are very grateful, but would you mind just stepping over here so we can have a little private chat?”
Trying hard not to give the Colonel a childishly triumphant smile, I followed the Inspector to the corner where, in more temperate conditions, run-off from the roof would have collected into a large stone water trough. At present, of course, this was simply one great block of ice but the increasingly confident spring-like rain was drifting down into even this little sheltered corner and under its influence, a steady pattern of drips was beginning to wear immaculate hollows into the glassy surface.
The Inspector stared thoughtfully into its depths for a moment before fixing me with his intelligent eye;
“So, Miss Phillips, how well do you know this man Croft? You were romantically involved I understand? But are not now?”
“That is correct,” I replied, trying to quell my sudden nervousness. The flimsy motivation that had formed my excuse for deceiving friend and neighbour was one thing, but here the consequences of discovery would prove much worse; and cold reason told me that it was a step too far to attempt a lie to this man.
He was waiting, looking at me expectantly, and so, reluctantly, I continued, “As everybody seems to be telling you, Inspector, we were courting briefly before the war, but he called it off.”
“He did? That’s surprising.” He must have caught my startled glance because he added quickly, “I mean, surprising given that a lot of people were marrying because of the war.” He gave a discomfited cough, before getting back on track again, “Have you seen much of him since he was demobbed?”
“No. I heard that he came back just after Easter last year but we didn’t see each other. It has been eight years now; there’s no real reason to assume we would have anything to say to each other anymore.” I paused but then added, “And I gather that he had a bit of a tough time of it, so he probably just wanted some peace in which to recover.” I had been speaking quite coolly, concentrating on keeping my manner neutral and my mind clear as I said what was necessary but then, unexpectedly, I had the strange experience of realising that this last statement had the added surprise of most likely being the truth.
“A tough time, you say? How tough?”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve only heard this third hand, so to speak. He was in Normandy and then part of the push towards Germany so saw some pretty messy action I believe – although having said that, who didn’t?” I stopped, suddenly having the uncomfortable feeling that I was gabbling idiotically. I took a breath and steadied myself.
“Quite. So would you say he came back a changed man?”
I could tell where these questions were leading, “I’m sorry, Inspector; as I’ve already said, I didn’t see him when he came home so I don’t really feel I can answer that.”
“Of course, Miss Phillips, just a few more questions then. Do you remember him ever showing excessive temper or violence?”
I was suddenly acutely aware of my wrists and smiling innocently I clasped my hands behind my back. “I don’t remember anything like that, Inspector.”
“Did you know the victim?”
“Not beyond casual pleasantries. I know they both served together.”
“Yes.” Perhaps judging that this reply was a little terse, the Inspector repeated as if by rote, “Matthew Croft trained as an architect, and therefore had a rather tenuous connection to the world of structural integrity. Mr Donald took sporadic employment as a joiner. This was apparently sufficient for them to be drafted to the ranks of non-commissioned officer and sapper respectively in the engineering corps. Anything to add?”
I shook my head in a negative.
“Good. And finally, given your history with Croft, do you think you would be more or less likely to give him assistance?”
I smiled. “That is a very odd question, Inspector.”
“Humour me.”
“All right. Regardless of my history, such as it was, with Matthew Croft, I can honestly say that it does not go so far as to condone murder.”
As the interview had progressed, his m
outh had slowly transformed from a flat serious line to a gentle, amiable smile, and onwards to become a wide grandfatherly beam which was probably meant to be utterly disarming but only made me less trusting in his appearance of benevolent good humour. And when the Inspector then indicated that he had finished with me and turned away, still smiling, to rejoin the others, I could not help having the very unpleasant sensation that I had somehow said far more than I ought.
With determined optimism however, I hoped that whatever might happen later, the Inspector’s dismissal would at least mark an end to this particular invasion but clearly the Colonel had not finished with me yet. I had already noted that the cluster of waiting policemen were standing slightly aloof as if they wished to pretend that his steady flow of disdainful sniffs and muttered aspersions were nothing to do with them. He was staring at the hairy little pony with an expression of extreme distaste and when the Inspector quietly slipped past to begin querying the results of their search, the Colonel turned to intercept me with very a stern look in his eye.
“Would your father approve of the way you’re carrying on, young lady?”
“Pardon?” I stared at him blankly, completely at a loss as to how exactly my quiet life could be classed as any kind of “carrying on”.
“This.” He waved his hand airily around my yard, taking in the roughly swept cobbles between great piles of cleared snow, my farriery tools and the scruffy pony which was still standing patiently in its doorway. “I’m sure he had no idea of you carrying on the business after him. The whole place is literally falling down about your ears, or so my son says. It won’t be long before the whole place has crumbled away to nothing, my girl, and you’ll only have yourself to blame. Can’t you get a man in to do it?”
“Where do you think I’d get the money to pay for this man, Colonel?” I asked, relatively pleasantly. “Besides Freddy and I manage well enough between us.”
“Freddy? Ah, you mean the idiot.”