The Affacombe Affair

by Elizabeth Lemarchand

  John Ainsworth, red round the eyes with exhaustion, pulled up a chair for her.

  ‘Come and join the party,’ he said. ‘Among other things we’re worried stiff about that fool Earwaker. Murch has obviously passed on the whole history of the family bust-up to Dart, who’s been asking me endless questions about Fred’s work, and what have you. It looks as though they think Sister may have been the person who blew the gaff to Ethel, and that Fred’s an obvious suspect. Let’s face it: if they can prove it was Sister, things don’t look too healthy for him. We’ve simply got to get Ethel back in case they start hounding him and he does a bunk, or something equally mad. I absolutely refuse to believe that he’s a murderer.’

  ‘The point is,’ Simon Fairhall took up, ‘we all think you’re about the only person with a hope of persuading Ethel that Fred really is in a spot, Olivia. Jane and I went to see her last week to try and smooth things over, but it was like talking to a brick wall. And Faith and John can’t very well leave here at the moment.’

  ‘You mean you want me to go in to Highcastle tonight?’ Olivia was unable to keep a note of dismay out of her voice. Increasingly uneasy about Barbara Winship and possible repercussions affecting David and Julian, she had already decided to go straight to Crossways on leaving the school. She realized with discomfiture that the others were looking at her.

  Faith burst out unhappily. ‘I know you’re simply worn out after all you’ve done for us today! We seem to be living in some ghastly nightmare —’

  ‘I’m not in the least tired,’ Olivia said hastily. ‘It’s just that I’m not at all hopeful of pulling it off. I’ve dropped in a note asking Fred to come down and do various jobs in the garden since Ethel went, and he’s just ignored it, knowing quite well that I should tackle him about the whole business. But I agree that we ought to try and get her back, and of course I’ll go.’

  After the Fairhalls had hurried off to Evensong, she waited to ask John how the parents were reacting.

  ‘I’ve managed to contact all but four by phone,’ he said wearily. ‘God, I never want to make another call as long as I live. They’re taking it quite calmly on the whole. Worried, of course, but reassured by hearing that the police are posting a man here. Only two are coming straight over to take their boys home.’

  ‘Their boys won’t thank them,’ replied Olivia. ‘The two in the East Wing are absolutely agog. How do children manage to nose out things in the way they do? Anyway, it’s very reassuring about the parents, and I’m awfully glad. I suppose there’s no hope that it will turn out to have been an accident after all? There can’t have been a proper post mortem yet, surely?’

  ‘Dart was cagey, but apparently she was dead before she went into the water, and had been coshed on the side of the head.’

  ‘She was last seen about four o’clock, wasn’t she?’ asked Olivia, in an attempt to reassure herself.

  ‘Quarter to, or a minute after. Tonkin and Maria are prepared to swear that’s when she came into the kitchen and collected her tray.’

  ‘I hadn’t realized it was as early as that.’ Olivia felt chilled.

  A few minutes later she parked outside the gate of Crossways, and walked quietly up the drive. An empty police car was drawn up at the front door.

  I suppose they came straight on here, she thought, wondering how long her mission to Highcastle would take her as she quietly withdrew.

  Ethel Earwaker herself opened the door of her mother’s council house.

  ‘Why, it’s Mrs Strode!’ she exclaimed.

  Olivia looked at her steadily.

  ‘Will you come and sit in my car for a few minutes, Ethel?’ she asked, and without waiting for an answer turned and led the way down the path. To her relief Ethel followed, if inauspiciously, slumping down into the passenger’s seat and maintaining an obstinate silence. Olivia decided on shock tactics.

  ‘I’ve come to tell you about Fred,’ she said. ‘The police will probably arrest him tomorrow.’

  ‘Why, whatever’s ’e done?’ gasped Ethel, slewing round.

  ‘The charge would be murder,’ replied Olivia bluntly. ‘Sister Roach was killed and thrown over the Monk’s Leap yesterday afternoon. It was Sister who told you about Fred and the German girl, wasn’t it?’

  ‘The letter wurn’t signed, but I said all along ’twas ’er as wrote it, the dirty bitch, but Fred, ’e never —’ She burst into sobs which Olivia made no attempt to check. Presently she fumbled for the door handle, saying that she’d have Tommy and their things ready inside of ten minutes, if Mrs Strode could wait.

  On the way home, when five-year-old Tommy Earwaker had dropped off to sleep, Olivia probed further.

  ‘Why did you think that Sister Roach had written the letter?’ she asked.

  Ethel, unusually silent since they left Highcastle, became voluble.

  ‘A real nasty snooper, she was, Mrs Strode, for all she’s dead and gone. None of us women could stick ’er. A proper creepy-crawly. You’d never ’ear ’er comin’, an’ there she’d be alongside o’ you. I told Mrs Ainsworth I wasn’t cleanin’ in the East Wing, not if she paid me double. Went pokin’ round the place o’ nights, what’s more.’

  ‘Where, Ethel?’

  ‘Out in the grounds, like, Mrs Strode. Fred seed ’er. Back last spring, ’twas, when Blake wur down with the ’flu. Fred wur worried about they greenuses, not bein’ used to ’em, an’ went up late to see everythin’ wur right, an’ saw ’er come creepin’ round the side o’ the ’ouse, flat up against the wall. She didn’t see ’im. That German slut ’adn’t come then, so Fred wurn’t after ’er,’ Ethel added realistically. ‘When ’e come ’ome I arst ’im if ’e’d called in at the Arms, when ’e told me about ’er. For a joke, like...’ Her voice broke off into a sob.

  ‘You and Fred will have lots more jokes together,’ said Olivia kindly. ‘He’s going to be in a much better position now you’ve come home. I’m sure you’ll tell him to be absolutely truthful with the police, won’t you? It’s no use trying to hide things — they always find out, and it makes them suspect you. Not that he’s anything to hide, I’m sure,’ she added, trying to sound convincing. She was finding the odd little story of Sister Roach’s nocturnal activity disturbing. It was easy to imagine Fred dwelling on what he had seen as he sat alone in his cottage during the long, solitary evenings when Ethel was in Highcastle, his suspicion and anger slowly building up.

  Back at Poldens Olivia felt too tired to face a meal and made some strong coffee to brace herself up for a call at Crossways. As she sat drinking it, she tried to visualize the situation she would find there. Nearly half-past nine. Julian would be back from London by now, poor darling. What on earth would Barbara be like after that heavy-footed Inspector’s visit? Would he have let on that she (Olivia) had admitted to seeing Barbara coming away from the Monk’s Path, and if he had, would Barbara be violently hostile? Didn’t the police usually talk about ‘information received’?

  Her thoughts reverted to the incredible fact of the murder itself. If one firmly put aside appalling and fantastic possibilities, who could have killed Sister Roach? Surely it could only have been one of these dreadful mentally-deranged creatures that seemed to crop up so often these days?

  Preparing to start off on foot, Olivia suddenly regretted having put away the car. The village street was unlighted, the drive at Crossways dark and shut in by trees. It’s absurd, she thought angrily. I’ve never been nervous in Affacombe in my life. But she walked swiftly, swinging the beam of her electric torch from side to side, and was glad to reach the front door and press the bell-push vigorously. A chorus of barking broke out, and Julian’s light step sounded in the hall. The next moment the porch light came on, and the Jack Russells tumbled out to nose round her ankles.

  Julian exclaimed with surprise and pleasure.

  ‘Only David,’ she said, kissing Olivia affectionately, ‘would have been more welcome, if that isn’t rude.’

  With the heightened perception ari
sing from tension Olivia looked at her with interest, sensing unaccustomed confidence. Something’s happened to her, she thought. Can they have been to bed?

  ‘I should have been here long ago,’ she said, pulling herself together, ‘but the most urgent thing in this dreadful business seemed to be to get Ethel Earwaker to come home. I’ll explain presently. How’s Barbara?’ she asked, in a lower tone.

  ‘Not nearly as upset as you expect — so far. Pops says she was splendid over the C.I.D. man. Do come into the drawing-room.’

  The room was empty, and in spite of the weight on her mind Olivia felt a quick thrill of pleasure at its lovely proportions, white panelling and pale green and gold. Flames flickered tranquilly on the hearth, and bronze chrysanthemums smouldered in great masses, filling the air with sharp fragrance.

  ‘I know it’s awful of me,’ Julian was saying, as they stood facing the fire, ‘but life’s so marvellous at the moment that I don’t seem able to take it in. About poor Sister Roach, I mean. Of course I’m sorry and all that —’

  ‘Ju, you must. That man who was here. He’ll come back tomorrow. He’ll arrest me.’

  Barbara’s whisper, harsh and sibilant, made them both spin round aghast. She was standing just inside the doorway, very still, her eyes fearful and fixed on Julian. Her long housecoat of pale grey swept to the ground, and in a brief moment of fantasy Olivia saw her as a classic symbol of doom. Then, without apparent arrival, Hugh Winship was at her side, poised to intervene.

  ‘They’ll try me at the Highcastle Assizes —’

  ‘Rubbish, Babs. Never heard such tommy rot in m’life. You’re overwrought.’

  His words dispelled the general paralysis. Firmly seizing Barbara’s arm he led her towards the sofa. Julian ran forward to arrange the cushions. Olivia sat down on the nearest chair, instinctively husbanding her strength for an imminent crisis.

  ‘Olivia,’ Barbara said, still in a whisper, ‘you’ve been up there. When did they last see her?’

  ‘At a quarter to four, or a minute later,’ Olivia replied calmly.

  Over Barbara’s face came the expression of one who has arrived at the end of the road, to find it a cul-de-sac.

  ‘I didn’t kill her,’ she said wildly. ‘Oh, yes, she was blackmailing me. It’s no good trying to hide it any more. That policeman’s bound to find out. But I didn’t kill her. I swear I didn’t.’

  There was an appalled silence. Olivia felt herself go cold from the shock of the sudden illumination. Hugh Winship stood staring at his wife with a stunned expression. After what seemed an eternity Julian, with an oddly determined look on her face, dropped on to her knees and took Barbara’s hand.

  ‘Not to worry, Mummy,’ she said firmly. ‘You see, I’ve known since yesterday that you aren’t my real mother.’

  Every vestige of colour drained slowly away from Barbara Winship’s face.

  ‘It was in the ambulance,’ she said, and would have slipped to the floor if they had not caught and held her.

  They had regrouped. Barbara lay on the sofa which had been drawn nearer to the fire. Hugh occupied a low chair at her side, his left arm resting lightly round her shoulders. In his right hand was a glass containing brandy, from which she took an occasional sip. A faint colour had crept back into her cheeks. Olivia and Julian sat together on the opposite side of the hearth, with the dogs curled up asleep at their feet. On Julian’s lap was the faded photograph of a young naval officer, and the face looking out of it might have been her own. She was talking, pausing between sentences, a small furrow of a frown suggesting concentration and gravity rather than anxiety.

  ‘Sir Arthur Pridcott is my trustee,’ she explained to Olivia. ‘My grandfather left the letter and photograph with him, to be given to me when I married, or on my twenty-fifth birthday. No one else knows what is in the letter. I feel I don’t want to show it to anyone except David, but as things have turned out I’m going to say briefly what was in it.’ She paused again, as if selecting her material. ‘It worried Grandfather,’ she went on, ‘that I was so absolutely unlike the Wrey family, and yours too, Mummy. We — we needn’t go into what he sometimes wondered, need we? Then quite by chance, just before Daddy came on the scene, he read something in a newspaper about a case in which one baby had been substituted for another, and it made him think about Cousin Ruth and her baby. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, and after a bit he went to a top firm of private detectives in London. It took them ages, but in the end they got hold of this photograph.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tax me with it? I knew quite well that he disliked me and didn’t trust me.’ Barbara’s voice quivered. Hugh Winship’s arm tightened round her shoulders, and he put the glass of brandy to her lips.

  ‘He explains that in his letter,’ Julian said gently. ‘He was a proud old boy, wasn’t he? He couldn’t face letting the whole world know about it. And he had got very fond of me, hadn’t he? My real father had gone down with his ship on an Arctic convoy, and I’d no near relations left. Grandfather hadn’t, either, and wanted to leave me his money. So he jumped at an excuse to adopt me when you married Daddy, so that I had at any rate a legal relationship with him.’

  Hugh Winship glanced up quickly, with an expression of relief.

  ‘But how did that damned woman get on to it?’ he demanded.

  Suddenly and unexpectedly Julian burst into tears.

  ‘I’m sure it was all my fault,’ she sobbed, struggling to control herself. ‘It was when I got stung by a wasp at the Ainsworths’ party, and she took me up to the surgery to put something on it. I was trying to be friendly, and when she said she’d come from Midstead I nattered on about having been born there on the day of the Baedeker raid, and how your cousin and her baby had been killed. Oh, Mummy!’

  ‘Ju, darling, don’t. As if you’ve got anything in the world to reproach yourself with.’

  ‘But it was that, wasn’t it?’ persisted Julian through her tears.

  ‘Well, yes, it was. She was quite young in 1942, waiting to go for her proper hospital training, and just helping generally at the nursing home. She didn’t remember me at all, and told me that she hadn’t recognized me, but she had helped to wash and dress my baby after it was born, and remembered that the top joint of one of the fingers of its left hand was missing, and that we had both survived. You can understand how the nurses who weren’t killed must have talked about the raid and the casualties. Darling, please don’t cry. It was so terribly wrong of me. I think the absolute horror of the home being hit must have unhinged me for a time, and afterwards I was too terrified to admit what I’d done.’

  ‘No need to dig it all up. Put it behind you for good and all, poor little girl,’ murmured Hugh Winship soothingly.

  ‘But they can send me to prison anyway, for saying Ju’s my child. I let her be registered as Richard Wrey’s and mine —’

  Julian dried her eyes.

  ‘David knows all about this,’ she said, ‘and of course the legal aspect interested him. He told me that the Registrar-General could take proceedings if it ever came out, but he didn’t see why it should, especially as I was legally adopted by Grandfather, which scotches any claim to the money by some long-lost Wrey relation.’

  ‘But suppose the police find out that she was blackmailing me? That’s what frightens me so?’

  ‘I can reassure you there,’ said Olivia, resolutely suppressing her feelings of near-panic at Barbara’s disclosures. ‘David once told me that the police can’t insist on people telling them what they are being blackmailed about.’

  ‘Mummy,’ said Julian suddenly, ‘I’m sorry if it distresses you to talk about it, but I want to know exactly what happened at the time. Then we need never think about it anymore. It doesn’t make one scrap of difference to David and me, but I’d like to know —’

  Barbara cut short Hugh’s protest.

  ‘I’d much rather you all did know. I’ve longed and longed to share the awful weight of it over the years, and the feeling of a
lways playing a part has been so ghastly.’

  John Wrey’s reaction to the death of his adored only son had been a violent possessiveness towards his unborn grandchild. Brushing aside the suggestion that Barbara should return to her parents for her confinement, he arranged for her to go to an expensive nursing home in the small town of Midstead, not far from where he lived, and scheduled as a ‘safe’ area. It was fantastic, he declared even to consider the vulnerable northern industrial town where Barbara’s father was a parish priest.

  As Olivia listened, she began to understand Barbara’s early background: the big, bleak vicarage in the drab town, and the cramping shortage of money from which she had escaped to join the W.R.A.F. and meet and marry Richard Wrey, a rich man’s son. A young widow, her alternatives to falling in with John Wrey’s wishes were a return to her parents, or a struggle to rear her child in penurious independence. She had accepted both the nursing home and all her father-in-law’s plans for her future.

  Owing to the uncertainties of wartime travel and the difficulty of leaving a delicate husband, it was decided that Barbara’s mother should not come south until after the baby was born. Ruth Maitland, a cousin and the wife of a naval officer, was expecting her first child at the same time, and Barbara, already in receipt of a generous allowance from her father-in-law, offered to help with the fees of the Midstead nursing home so that they could be together. Here, in the small hours of a spring morning, Ruth gave birth to Julian. Barbara’s labour had already started, and her baby, also a girl, was born on the following afternoon.

  ‘It was absolute heaven just lying peacefully in bed when it was all over,’ Barbara said abstractedly, her eyes unseeing. ‘I drowsed, too tired to worry about John Wrey being angry because it wasn’t a boy. I didn’t bother a scrap when the siren went: it so often did when the German planes were going to bomb Midland industrial towns, or South Wales. Then without the slightest warning the whole world just fell to pieces. I can’t explain what it was like. The noise was solid. The ceiling and the walls seemed to be heeling over and the dust — I was coughing and choking...’