Empty Vessels

by Marina Pascoe

  The police arrived and had a thorough look around the shop. Constable Penhaligon, himself a very young-looking policeman, was accompanied by an even younger-looking, acne-ridden youth in a smart uniform. Penhaligon asked Norman to sit down.

  ʻNow, Norman, exactly what did you see last night?ʼ

  ʻWell, I was walking past the shop, when I ʼeard glass breaking and I crossed over the street to ʼave a look, but I couldnʼt see anything inside.ʼ

  ʻSo, you didnʼt actually see anything?ʼ

  ʻWell, no.ʼ Norman sprang to his feet. ʻBut I bet I know what ʼappened. ʼE, well, or she, cos it could ʼave bin a lady, right, smashed the window, then climbed in and then crawled round beʼind the counter, see? Like this.ʼ Before anyone could say anything, Norman was on his hands and knees, scampering like a rabbit around the shop. Constable Penhaligon stifled a snort and asked Norman to stand up. ʻThank you very much, Norman. I think I get the picture. You may have heard there have been a few break-ins in the town over the last week or so.ʼ He turned to Mrs Williams.

  ʻYouʼll have to try to be vigilant, Mrs Williams. Make sure you lock up securely, and especially your living quarters.ʼ

  ʻYes, thank you, Constable, I will.ʼ Mrs Williams looked uneasy.

  The two police officers departed and Kitty and Norman continued with the clearing up. As they swept and cleaned, there was a knock on the still-locked shop door. A small round face peered through the small round hole where the glass had been.

  ʻCooeee, Kit, itʼs me.ʼ

  Kitty looked up to see Mabel Roberts, the woman who worked a few hours a week in Mrs Williams’s shop. Kitty unlocked the door and Mabel entered.

  ʻI say, Kit, whatʼs going on here? This looks exciting, ʼave I missed anything?ʼ

  Kitty explained while Mabel listened intently. Looking older than her forty-eight years and excessively overweight, Mabel lived alone in a flat on Greenbank. She was about five feet two inches and weighed about fourteen stone. She had red, curly hair and rosy cheeks – Bill Pengelly said that the latter was on account of the quantities of alcohol she regularly consumed. She had never married, but there was talk that she had suffered a broken engagement at the age of eighteen and that she had never wanted another man. Alone and miserable, she found comfort in food and alcohol. She had moved from her home town of Cardiff following the break-up of her relationship and had lived in Falmouth ever since, although never losing her Welsh accent. She was always so very kind and Kitty liked her a lot – she also felt sorry for her. Mabel had been very happy to receive an invitation to Kittyʼs wedding and was looking forward to seeing the bride on her big day. She was always to be seen outside a church whenever there was a wedding – she almost made a hobby of turning up just to see the bride. Kitty had always thought how sad this was.

  Chapter Six

  The fourteenth day of January 1922, long awaited by many, soon arrived. Today Kitty Pengelly would be marrying Eddy Rashleigh at the Parish Church in Falmouth. There was much panic in the basement flat as the family prepared for Kittyʼs big day. The bride had saved for so long to have the wedding she wanted. She had made her own dress, copied from a magazine – the latest look for 1922. Made of ivory silk, the dress was delicately embroidered with ‘E’ and ‘K’ on each sleeve. A beautiful lace veil and ivory satin shoes completed the outfit. Jack knocked on Kittyʼs bedroom door.

  ʻKitty, Ruby, the florist has brought the bouquets and the buttonholes. Come anʼ see ʼem – theyʼre some posh!ʼ

  Kitty and Ruby came out of the bedroom, both sporting hair nets with all manner of pins and clips protruding from their heads. The girls unwrapped the boxes which revealed a large tied bouquet of lilies for Kitty and a smaller one for Ruby, her bridesmaid. There were also enough buttonholes for all the guests.

  Rose came into the kitchen and looked at the flowers.

  ʻTheyʼre absolutely lovely – did they bring mine?ʼ

  Kitty opened a third box and pulled out a lily corsage.

  ʻThis is yours, Ma,ʼ she said, handing it to her mother.

  Rose took the lily and quickly dabbed her eye with her handkerchief.

  ʻIʼve never ʼad anything as nice as this – wonʼt it look lovely on me new outfit?ʼ

  ʻYou always look lovely, Ma,ʼ said Ruby giving her mother a hug.

  Rose composed herself.

  ʻCome on now, you two, timeʼs marching on – I want one of you to do a nice hairstyle for me – nothing too modern, mind, just really nice for the brideʼs mother.ʼ

  Another hour passed and soon everyone was ready. Bill and Jack looked very smart in dark suits, Rose in a blue woollen dress with blue hat and shoes, Ruby in a cream silk and lace dress, and Kitty in her wedding gown. Bill nudged Rose.

  ʻGo on – give it to ʼer now.ʼ

  Rose pulled an envelope from her handbag and gave it to Kitty.

  ʻWe want you to ʼave this and we ʼope it ʼelps you set up yer new ʼome.ʼ

  Kitty opened the envelope and pulled out some notes. She looked at her parents.

  ʻTwenty pounds,ʼ Bill said, ʻand we ʼope youʼll put it to good use – prʼaps buy something nice for your new place.ʼ

  Kitty burst into tears.

  ʻI canʼt let you do this, itʼs too much.ʼ

  ʻJust put it in yer bag and enjoy spending it,ʼ Rose replied. ʻWe saved it for this day and weʼll do the same for Ruby.ʼ

  ʻWhenever that might be,ʼ Jack replied, ʻweʼll all be dead by then.’ He ducked as Rubyʼs handbag came flying across the room in his direction.

  The sound of cars outside caused the Pengellys to run to the window.

  ʻThe cars are ʼere – theyʼre ʼere,ʼ screamed Ruby. ʻCome on, come on, theyʼre waiting.

  Jack ran out into the courtyard and stared at the two cars.

  ʻTheyʼre Armstrong Siddeleys, Da,’ he shouted in to his father. ‘Theyʼre really swanky.ʼ

  Rose, Jack, and Ruby left in the first car followed shortly by Bill and Kitty. Bill squeezed his daughterʼs arm.

  ʻYou all right, love?ʼ

  ʻIʼm just fine, Da – not long now, eh?ʼ

  Anyone watching outside an hour later would have seen a very happy couple indeed emerging from the parish church. There was much laughter and cheering, and Mabel Roberts was cheering the loudest. She ran up to Kitty outside the church, where she stood arm-in-arm with her new husband.

  ʻKit, can I give you this – Iʼd really like you to have it. I had it for when I got married but youʼre the nicest person I know, so please take it.ʼ She handed Kitty a small coin which looked like a sixpence but was a token. On one side read:

  Now you are married

  On the reverse:

  Love, Good Luck and Happiness Always.

  Kitty hugged Mabel, knowing how the older woman must be feeling right now and what a selfless gesture this was. Mabel kissed her on the cheek and, blushing, kissed Eddy too.

  ʻI hope youʼll both be so happy – I know you will.ʼ She retreated into the crowd.

  Kitty, Eddy, and their guests enjoyed a wonderful reception at the Bank House Hotel and the couple left for a three-day honeymoon in Porthcurno. The Pengelly house would seem strange without Kitty.

  At the police station in Berkeley Vale, Bartlett was exasperated. Boase brought him a cup of tea and perched himself on the edge of his superiorʼs desk while he drank it.

  ʻIʼve been thinking, sir,ʼ Boase began, ʻdo you think Lady Hatton might know anything about the murder? Do you think she knew about Maude Mockett? Claude Bennett told us that Lord Hatton said his wife must never know about anything, but maybe she did know something – maybe she knows something now. Frank Wilson has mysteriously disappeared, but I canʼt believe those Hatton twins are so innocent – can you, sir?ʼ

  ʻI donʼt like them or trust them one bit, Boase. You know that. That Rupert – he can barely stand up and breathe at the same time. I suppose it wouldnʼt hurt to see Lady Cordelia Hatton – just to get a bit of background. Come on – no time like the present
, and Iʼve got no better suggestions. Iʼm getting too old for this game, Boase.ʼ

  The two men called at Penvale Manor and were shown into Lady Hattonʼs drawing room. She was alone.

  ʻGood morning, gentlemen – can I offer you a drink? Tea, perhaps?ʼ

  ʻNo thank you, Lady Hatton, we wonʼt stay long.ʼ

  Lady Cordelia Hatton was a tall and slender woman, approaching eighty years old, with silver-grey hair and protruding teeth. She wore very expensive clothes and jewellery, including a gold watch which was suspended from her neck by a gold chain.

  Bartlett sat in the armchair motioned to by the hostess, Boase in another.

  ʻCould you tell me, Lady Hatton, what happened to Maude Mockett?ʼ

  ʻWho is Maude Mockett?ʼ she replied.

  ʻShe was a servant working for you some twenty-five years ago, surely you remember her?ʼ Bartlett didnʼt believe that Lady Hatton had forgotten.

  ʻWell, the name sounds familiar, I admit. Yes, yes – do you know, I think she went away.ʼ

  ‘Yes, she certainly went away all right,ʼ muttered Boase under his breath.

  Bartlett turned to face the woman.

  ʻLady Hatton, have you heard about the murder which occurred at the end of last year in Falmouth?ʼ

  ʻYes, I did hear something about it. Terrible business. You just canʼt believe that people could be so vicious, can you?ʼ

  ʻIndeed not, Lady Hatton.ʼ Bartlett continued. ʻIt is vitally important that you tell us anything you can about Maude Mockett and her time here – a young girlʼs life could depend on us solving this murder.ʼ

  Lady Hatton looked pale.

  ʻOh dear, oh dear me. I do have something to tell you, Mr Bartlett. I feel I shouldnʼt, but if another murder happens because of me I could never forgive myself. There are two things you must know, actually. In the late spring of 1897, and shortly after Maude Mockett quickly disappeared from my employ, I was doing some charity work for the Union Workhouse. I was paying a visit to the unmarried mothers there and who should I see but Maude Mockett. Well, I was shocked, I can tell you. She was on her hands and knees scrubbing floors and, as she sat up to allow me to pass, she quickly looked at the floor again in the hope that I wouldnʼt see her. Of course, I already had – Iʼd have recognised her anywhere. I had had no idea that she was there. I asked the matronʼs permission to take her into the grounds, saying that I knew her, and permission was granted. The second thing you need to know is what Maude Mockett had to say to me next – it absolutely astounded me. She proceeded to tell me that she had been very happy working at Penvale Manor – she had come to us when her parents were killed in a house fire, shocking business – but she had got into trouble with one of my sons; she said that he had made her pregnant. I could hardly believe my ears. My boys were always so good, so honourable. She wouldnʼt say which one had done this terrible deed – Iʼm not even sure I believed her, but she was definitely with child. I was horrified. She said that my husband had arranged for her to be put in the workhouse – well, he had never said anything to me, and when I returned home, I never said anything to him; I couldnʼt. As far as I was concerned, it was never mentioned again and that was a quarter of a century ago. My husband died very recently, as you may know. Actually, now I come to think of it, Iʼve got a photograph which you may be interested to see.ʼ

  Lady Hatton walked across to a large oak bookcase and withdrew a leather photograph album. She laid the album on a table next to the window and began turning the pages.

  ʻYes, here you are, look. This is a photograph of my staff the Christmas before Maude Mockett left; she must have been with child then.ʼ

  Bartlett looked at the picture – it was the same as he already had, the one from the compact, only this one was much larger. He could see the wretched girl more clearly now – what a bad end she had come to, and all because of these over-privileged buffoons. He didnʼt tell his hostess that heʼd already seen this photograph.

  Lady Hatton closed the album.

  ʻBut why are you asking about Maude Mockett – I donʼt know where she is now.ʼ

  Bartlett felt uncomfortable but there was no going back now.

  ʻMaude Mockett died a few weeks after you met her that day.ʼ

  ʻNo!ʼ Lady Hatton looked aghast.

  ʻIʼm afraid so. She died in childbirth and, this may be hard for you, Lady Hatton, but we have fairly strong evidence to suggest that her child was the murdered woman – your grandchild.’

  Lady Hatton shook and looked on the verge of fainting. Boase ran quickly to the sideboard and poured a brandy for her. She sipped it slowly and her colour gradually returned.

  ʻOh no, I canʼt believe what youʼre telling me, Mr Bartlett. Oh! Say itʼs not true. My only grandchild, oh no.ʼ

  The old woman regained her composure.

  ʻDo you think my sons are involved with this murder? Is that why youʼre here?ʼ

  Bartlett sat next to her.

  ʻWeʼre not saying that – we came to see you for information.ʼ

  Lady Hatton stood up.

  ʻThere is something else too. At Christmas, while we were in the dining room, a horrible man, like a vagrant, burst into the room with a gun. My sons took me out of the room so I never found out what happened. I thought he would kill us all. I donʼt know if he was after money – they told me not to speak about it; I shall be in terrible trouble when they find out Iʼve told you. Do you think they knew him, Mr Bartlett? Do you think that he had something to do with the poor girlʼs murder?ʼ

  ʻI couldnʼt say at the moment, Lady Hatton. You did the right thing in telling us all this. Could you describe this man any better or tell us anything he said?ʼ

  ʻWell, no, I couldnʼt. As I said, he made me leave the room, and he had a scarf wrapped tightly across most of his face and a hat with the brim pulled down – I suppose he was quite tall, and very, very scruffy, very unkempt.ʼ

  Bartlett and Boase stood up to leave.

  ʻWell thank you, Lady Hatton, for being so helpful, and so truthful,ʼ said Bartlett. ʻIʼm sure you have nothing to worry about. Please tell us if thereʼs anything else we need to know, wonʼt you?ʼ

  ʻYes, yes, of course. Are my sons in danger from this man? Did he kill the girl? Will he come back here?ʼ

  ʻWe really donʼt know enough yet, Iʼm afraid, but please donʼt worry. Iʼm fairly sure you wonʼt see him again. Goodbye, Lady Hatton – and thank you.ʼ

  As Bartlett and Boase walked across the driveway in silence, they suddenly looked at each other.

  ʻFrank Wilson,ʼ they uttered together.

  The January weather worsened again and by the end of the month heavy snow had fallen once more. Many were struggling to keep their homes warm and the police station was absolutely freezing with ice forming on the insides of the windows.

  Bartlett walked into his office where Boase was already writing a report.

  ʻBoase, please get a fire lit in this room – ask Penhaligon to organise it.ʼ

  Bartlett stamped his feet a few times, paced the room for a minute or two, then sat in his chair clad in hat and overcoat.

  Boase fetched Penhaligon and the constable returned with the necessary items for preparing a fire. As he began laying the fire he paused to pull a gold watch from his pocket, checked the time, and replaced it.

  ʻThat looks like a very fine watch there, Penhaligon,ʼ observed Bartlett, hands deep in pockets.

  ʻThank you, sir, itʼs a birthday present from my parents.ʼ

  ʻImportant birthday?ʼ Boase enquired.

  ʻYes, sir, Iʼm twenty-one today, actually.ʼ

  Bartlett walked over to the young constable and shook his hand.

  ʻCongratulations, my boy – and hereʼs me making you lay a fire on your twenty-first birthday – Boase, go and buy some buns, weʼll have a twenty-first birthday celebration!ʼ

  Boase dutifully obeyed. Bartlett laid and lit the fire himself and within fifteen minutes flames were blazing in the fireplace and tea and buns were being
served to mark the occasion of Penhaligonʼs twenty-first birthday.

  As the celebrations continued, the desk sergeant knocked on the door and announced that a man, a farmer rather the worse for drink, was in the lobby asking to see Bartlett or Boase.

  ʻIʼll go, sir,ʼ said Boase rising to his feet, ʻyou finish your tea.ʼ

  Boase went out to meet the man. The visitorʼs odour went before him. An old man, clearly under the influence of alcohol, sat on the bench in the lobby. Boase went over to him.

  ʻGood morning, sir, Iʼm Constable Boase, what can I do for you?ʼ

  The man stood up unsteadily.

  ʻMy name is Petroc Tregenza and Iʼm from Truro. Iʼve come to Falmouth to buy an ʼorse and, since I was passing by your station, I thought youʼd like to see me.ʼ

  ʻOh? And why would I want to do that?ʼ Boase looked surprised.

  ‘I was in the market in Truro last week and I ʼappened to see your ʼandbill about that missing girl – wass ʼer name?ʼ

  ʻNorma Berryman,ʼ Boase ventured.

  ʻNorma Berryman, exactly her.ʼ

  The old farmer sank back down on the bench unable to stay up any longer.

  ʻIʼm sorry, sir – Iʼve ʼad a couple of drinks while I was waitinʼ to pick up me ʼorse …ʼ

  ʻDonʼt worry about that at all – tell me about Norma Berryman – why are you here? Have you got information?ʼ

  ʻYes, sir, I ʼave. That girl, well, I seen her photograph didnʼt I, and I says to myself, Petroc, I says, thatʼll be the exact same girl as you see every week in Truro market, in the office. There – what do ʼe make of that?ʼ

  Boase was stunned.

  ʻAre you absolutely sure about this?ʼ

  ʻYes. Itʼs ʼer.ʼ

  ʻWell thank you very much – youʼve been a great help.ʼ Boase proceeded to show the man to the door. As they stood in the doorway the man turned back to Boase.

  ʻI donʼt suppose thereʼs likely to be a reward for this information?ʼ

  ʻNot as far as I know, no,ʼ replied Boase firmly. He rushed back to the party in Bartlettʼs office to relay his news. He stuffed the last remaining bun into Penhaligonʼs hand and showed him to the door. Bartlett listened as Boase told him about the conversation he had just had.