Edith squashed the prickle of irritation. Soft-living had cushioned Julia to some things. “Simple, Jules. Money. If all your prospects and all the money you have are tied up with staying there, well, that’s what you’d do, isn’t it? Stick it out?”
Julia’s frown was intense, as though she was trying to puzzle something out. “Mmm, I suppose…”
“Before you even say it, Julia, what would women like that do? Any education they would have had would be minimal and wouldn’t consist of anything that might help them to earn a living. If you think about it, women from that class are even more trapped than some girl from a family where it’s a given that she’ll have to go out to work. Girls in those circumstances learn a trade or skill because they have to. That reminds me. You know Vera Bishop who works for my aunt?”
Julia nodded and tilted her cup to one side in a sudden nervous movement. “Sister of Davey, who saved young Daisy’s life?”
“Yes,” Edith let a moment of silence pass as they both thought of the terrifying series of events which had led to the death of Julia’s husband, Giles, and the ordeal of his daughter.
“A friend of hers, Ivy Moss, works in the house. Lives in, she and the cook. According to Vera, she’s looking for another job. It’s unbearable there. I didn’t say this to Hester. But, if that happens, it can only make a bad situation worse. Hester has a good job, though. She can’t stay here forever trying to sort them out. She works as a secretary for a member of parliament, so presumably she’ll soon have to go back to work.” At Julia’s raised eyebrows, she smiled. “I know. It’s quite a jump from nursing. But, she loves it and fair dues to her for getting so far. It’s usually a job that’s given to a man.”
“I rest my case,” said Edith. “Things are improving for us women. So, if I arrange an afternoon tea at my house. I’ll make sure Archie is out of the way.”
Julia shot her a look which she ignored. “You’ll come?”
Her friend’s smile warmed the room. “Of course. Tea, cake and gossip with old friends. Irresistible.”
Something had changed for Julia. It was obvious when you knew someone for as long as they’d known each other. Ah well, if she had a hidden suitor, she wouldn’t be the only one who had someone causing that little glow inside that made the world a kinder place.
Edith had wasted too much time agonising about whether anyone could replace Alastair and then, there had been that ridiculous fantasy she’d built up about Matthew Taylor. Heat spread from her face down onto her neck.
Could it even be possible to actually embarrass yourself? She smiled at her foolishness. A real, flesh and blood man awaited her now.
Chapter Three
Sergeant Bill Brown clenched his fists and tightened the muscles in his shoulders. Fight or flight mechanism. He’d read about that. He was in a situation of danger, and his body was preparing to react. His mouth was dry and as for his heart... It could have given the drum section of a marching band a run for its money.
The problem was that he couldn’t now reveal himself. He was stuck in a room, little more than a dusty cupboard, at the back of the inspector’s office and had no choice but to listen as his boss was berated by some unknown woman. The worse part of it—probably -—was the inspector was unaware of his proximity. Brown had been searching for a file Inspector Greene had been badgering him about for weeks—some minor point he wanted to clear up about a local ne’er-do-well’s previous poaching career.
Time and time again, Brown had forgotten about it, and he feeling virtuous, had taken the opportunity of his boss’ temporary absence to have a good search. In fact, he’d had a flash of memory about it being in the basement store just as he heard the sound of the Inspector’s return. At the very moment he prepared to make his triumphant appearance and announce his brainwave, there came the sound of someone else with the inspector. A woman, an angry woman.
“It’s no use, Albert. No use you washing your hands of her and skulking around here morning, noon and night pretending you’re so busy and flaming important you can walk away from your responsibilities. God knows, you have a lot to answer for. I don’t know how you can just… Oh, Albert Greene, you make me that angry, you really do…”
The woman’s rising tones held fury, and Brown’s heart raced so fast he thought he might faint. At least that would save him from hearing any more of a clearly painful and private conversation. More diatribe than conversation, to be honest.
What was he to do? Cough? Call out or keep his mouth shut as his instincts called on him to do. It was too late now to come out into the room and pretend he hadn’t heard anything.
It was decided for him in the next three seconds when an avalanche of buff-coloured files cascaded from the high shelf with a deep thud. He closed his eyes and awaited his fate.
There was a short silence.
“Sergeant.”
Brown pushed the door between the cupboard and the office. He opened his mouth to try some redundant explanation and shut it again. When the inspector had calmed down and could look at the matter differently, perhaps. At the moment to say anything would only make things worse.
The woman seated across the desk from Inspector Greene and facing Brown had an agitated expression on her face—as well she might. Brown swallowed and stared at the inspector who had stood up and turned around.
Brown thought he must look like a cross between a goldfish and a frog, so he blinked hard and closed his mouth. He opened it again to speak. What could he say? Not a thing that wasn’t going to make a bad situation worse. “I can’t find that poaching file, Inspector. Do you want me to go down to the basement files? Look there? I think that’s where it is.”
Greene looked at him and nodded. The inspector’s face looked a curious colour. It had become a sort of blotchy white and lilac, and for a few seconds, Brown was distracted from his own predicament. Wasn’t Greene the very age, shape, and temperament of a man who dropped down with a heart attack?
He was ten minutes down in the basement, looking briefly through the monumental pile of buff files, loathe to even touch any of the dusty things when he heard the heavy footsteps.
He closed his eyes and offered up a short prayer. Why, he wasn’t really sure. He had done no wrong. But, even that thought rang hollow in his brain. It was a sad fact that there were occasions in this life where your intention didn’t make a blind bit of difference to the outcome.
“I don’t like you lurking about ear-wigging, lad.”
It was a strange thing, but Brown had a fleeting thought that the inspector’s heart wasn’t in the admonishment. What an odd thing to think. He ventured a look at Inspector Greene. Thank God, the man’s colour had improved, though he still looked drawn.
“I honestly didn’t intend to… erm…ear-wig, sir. There was nothing I could do at the moment when I realised…”
Greene just looked at him to the point where it became very uncomfortable. “I know,” he said. “Anything you heard, you don’t repeat, outside of this station. Do you understand?”
Brown swallowed back the feeling of being offended. Maybe the boss didn’t mean to imply anything, more likely he was just embarrassed. “Of course not,” he said.
He had to fill in minor court reports, something that normally bored him to tears, but for once, it helped to put his head down and get back to it. Of course, he was curious, but for now, he wouldn’t even think about the snatch of conversation he’d heard. Sometimes the inspector had the ability to read his mind.
After about ten minutes, of heavy silence, a call was put through. Again, Inspector Greene had left the office. Brown had risked a quick look as his boss went out. The inspector looked dreadful; his features tight and full of shadows and hollows that looked all wrong in a big man.
Who had that woman been and why was she so angry? She’d said something about responsibility. The shadowy cloud that darkened Inspector Greene’s countenance at times related to his wife. Beyond that half-instinctive knowledge, Brown knew nothing.
&nb
sp; The voice on the telephone was assured and what his mother didn’t like him referring to as posh. “I’m calling from Swallow Hall, three miles outside Ellbeck, near the hamlet of Upper Beck. I’m staying with my relatives, and we’ve found the dead body of a man.”
Brown’s every sense sharpened. The receiver hurt his ear as he clamped it close, and he smelled the dusty Bakelite. “Are you sure the man is dead?”
“I’m sure…no pulse and he’s got a nasty head injury…am I speaking to the inspector?” Her voice was shaky, now.
“No, this is Sergeant Brown. The inspector has stepped out for a minute.” That was one reason why Brown needed to get all this right. The way the inspector was today, he’d be in no mood for any omissions.
He asked and wrote down any pertinent points he could think of and assured her they would be with her soon. She had already called for the ambulance.
. * *
Within fifteen minutes, they were well on their way to Swallow Hall, and the inspector was uncharacteristically talkative.
“Plenty of money where we’re going now, Swallow Hall, but plenty of misery to go with it. Old man Turner died, leaving a widow woman with a family of four...she doted on the boy and treated the girls like dirt. They all turned out odd, and if one of them isn’t behind this, well…trust me, lad, one of them will have finally snapped.”
The body hadn’t been moved; two women stood guard alongside him. Brown sensed the tension between the pair of them despite the grim sight before them. He thought the younger woman was the person who’d spoken to him on the telephone. She clutched a beige raincoat around her shoulders and had some sort of fisherman’s hat on her head.
The older woman was well-built and clad in a long coat that looked like a man’s. She held a pink umbrella over herself, the garish colour an ugly note in the sombre scene. Brown shook his head at his own stupidity. What a random thought to have.
The inspector held the back of his hand to the man’s neck. Then he turned to the women. “There’s a telephone I can use in the house? We need to get the pathologist and a police photographer out here. Sergeant Brown, here, will stay with the deceased to make sure nothing in the area is disturbed.”
The older of the two began talking. Elizabeth Turner, she’d introduced herself as. “It’s nothing to do with my family, my good man, and we don’t want my elderly mother upset…”
“Let me deal with this, Aunt Elizabeth.”
Brown heard the authority in the younger woman’s voice and maybe it was what the inspector had said about them, but he also thought she might be covering up, shutting the aunt up before she said too much.
* * *
“You’re as pale as death, Ivy. Here, sit down. I’ll give you a brandy. No, it won’t choke you. Sit down. What do you say has happened?”
Sylvia Casey moved to the cupboard over the sink, all the time glancing at Ivy.
“A body found on the grounds, in that patch behind the veg garden. It could have been me, Sylvia, or you, going out to cut a bit of spring greens.” She looked into the thick-cut glass holding the brandy; the smell of it hit her between the eyes, making them water.
She sipped; it burnt her tongue and her throat and warmed a path right down through her. She sipped again and knew that if she ever tasted brandy again, it would remind her of this moment.
“It’s this place, Sylvia. For two pins, I’d walk out, and you should do the same. I sometimes think there’s evil in the house. It looks as if it’s out of the Hammer horror films and now a man is murdered, his throat cut, I wouldn’t be surprised...”
She sipped again at the brandy and looked up at Sylvia, startled when she felt the cook’s hand on her shoulder, giving it a shake.
“Stop now, Ivy. You’re giving in to yourself, getting hysterics. There’s nothing really wrong with the house, you know. Them that’s in it…well, they’re all kept in a bad situation by that old dragon, and if it’s made them turn peculiar, then it’s hardly surprising.”
“Yes, but, Sylvia, a body, here at Swallow Hall. Don’t try to tell me that it’s a coincidence. One of them will have had something to do with it.”
“Not necessarily.”
Sylvia moved away from her friend and went to the stove. “They’ll be wanting tea. For once I’ll take it up, and I’ll make out that you aren’t well with the shock. We don’t want Miss Elizabeth getting a whiff of spirits off you and using that as an excuse to start on you again.”
Chapter Four
“That young man has nothing to do with me. He did not have permission to be on these grounds, and if he came to a sticky end…well, then…he shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Of course, I can’t speak for other people in the house, my sisters or anyone else.” Elizabeth Turner sat with her feet apart, brown, heavy brogues, grass-stained, ugly. Her hair was in some sort of bob with a heavy, uneven fringe. Everything in her appearance was making a statement, and it wasn’t, “let me fade into the background.”
“Well, stop doing it then,” her sister broke in. It was Kate, mother of the younger woman, Serena, who nobody had seen since the discovery of the body.
Brown looked at the inspector who was sitting and letting the Turner family take the floor or at least, the vocal Elizabeth.
They sat or perched in the semi-circle of chairs in the high-ceilinged drawing room. There was a lot of deep green in the walls and carpet, and with the watery light shimmering through the tall windows and bouncing off the highly polished furniture, the effect was nearly aquatic. Brown gave a little shake of the head, the colour almost mesmerised him. He needed to get over his finer feelings about his environment and pay attention to what was going on around him.
The door opened slowly, and Brown’s heart gave a little lurch.
“Isn’t anyone going to help me?” There was a tiny quaver in the voice, but it was outweighed by the imperiousness of one who governed without question.
She was very old, but unlike any other elderly woman he knew, she was tall and well-built. She stooped slightly, and you couldn’t say that her mobility was perfect, but power emanated from her. There was a small but seismic shift in the room too—a shudder of unease. Then, as if co-ordinated by an unseen hand, they all moved to go to her.
Inspector Greene quelled them by holding up a hand. “Allow me.” Brown swallowed, his throat dry. Was this the mother? Wasn’t she supposed to be dead? He was sure he’d heard she was dead.
She must have read his mind. “You see, Inspector…as Mark Twain so well put it…rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
“Glad to see you looking so well, Mrs. Turner.” The inspector led her to a high-backed chair near the fire.
“Bring me my stick, girl.”
Mary, muttering and wittering brought an ebony-handed cane and cagily handed it to the now-seated matriarch. The word matriarch streamed into Brown’s head. She was far from the rolling-pin wielding, apron-wearing Yorkshire woman beloved of comedians, but there was no doubt she ruled this house and all those in it.
“So, someone has got himself murdered and for some reason, on my grounds? That’s what the girl, Ivy, tells me. My family doesn't tell me anything.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, maybe a bit of a challenge in there too.
“Oh, Mother. It’s difficult—we don’t want to be upsetting you. You know, with your heart.”
“Stop wittering, Mary. I’d be a funny specimen if I didn’t have a heart, wouldn’t I?” She looked up at the inspector. There were the remnants of good looks in the neat features. Her face was brown and wrinkled, but her eyes were bright, a dark colour that was either very deep blue or brown.
“What my daughter is trying to say, Inspector, is that I’m under the care of Doctor Horton for a degree of heart failure—very common in my age. I was with Pritchard, but the man is an imbecile. Horton may have the whiff of scandal about him, but I don’t mind that. At least he has a bit of spark.”
Inspector Greene’s raised his voice. “M
rs. Turner, I’m afraid I need to return to the matter at hand. We have a dead man here in the grounds. At the moment we don’t have an identity for him or know his connection with this house. But, I think there must be. I would appreciate any help with identification and to be told of any connection any of you have with anybody who fits his description.”
“You haven’t given us one yet,” the old lady piped up.
Kate cleared her throat. “Mother, you must let the inspector get on with his job. You’re hindering him.”
“Oh, be quiet, Kate,” her mother said. “I’m not hindering him at all. I’m just pointing out the flaws in his logic. Has the body been taken away?” “Yes,” said Inspector Greene. “I think, at this point, myself and the sergeant need to speak to each of you in turn.”
Mrs. Turner clicked her tongue and shook her head. All heads turned in her direction. “Something has just occurred to me, Inspector.”
“Yes?”
“It’s been bothering me ever since I first came into the room, and you helped me to my chair. Didn’t you marry one of the Moriarty girls...now let me see, funny girl, wasn’t she? I remember…”
“Mother.” At least two voices broke in.
The inspector swallowed in a juddering way, and Brown wished someone would take the old harridan away out of the room. Whatever his own curiosity about his boss, this was painful to witness.
After a second or two, Inspector Greene was back in charge. “You well know, Mrs. Turner, that we are here to talk about what appears to be a serious crime, not my private life. If I feel that you are trying to create some sort of diversion from that, I will be wondering why.”
Mrs. Turner wasn’t a whit abashed. “Oh, don’t be silly, Inspector Greene. Create a diversion, indeed. Why on earth would I want to do that? I have nothing to hide, and I doubt if any of my family have the wit to be involved in any intrigues behind my back.”
“Don’t be deceived by my age, Inspector. I have my finger on the pulse, at all times, in this house. They might not tell me things, but I have eyes and ears. Now did you want a room so you can question us all? It’s as good as a detective novel, isn’t it? Mary, take the inspector and his young sergeant into your own sitting-room…”
Swallow Hall Murder Page 2