Swallow Hall Murder

by Noreen Wainwright

  Kneeling down and petting him when he’d bounded to the door on her return from the hospital had been a moment of sanity. He’d tried to lick her face, and the sound of his tail thumping on the kitchen tiles had made her smile.

  She couldn’t go running off with her dog for company. She was an adult, and so had to stay here and hear whatever it was that Julia was hinting at Apart from anything else, it was getting dark.

  “So, we had a brief…fling…for want of a better word. It was a mistake, and we’ve both regretted it because it has probably spoilt a long-standing friendship.”

  “Good grief,” said Hester. Edith worked on keeping her face expressionless.

  “Yes, we always got on pretty well in a teasing way, with maybe an underlying little spark. It’s a shame to ever try that out for real, in my view.”

  Edith’s discomfort grew; she and Julia had never discussed it, not properly. It was odd that Julia was choosing this moment to be confiding and open, with Archie lying in hospital and Hester here, too. Was there a point to it all?

  “It didn’t work out for two main reasons,” Julia was determined then. “The first was that I was in no state for it to work. My husband had died and well…I won’t go into what had happened to us in the preceding months. The second was Archie, himself. He was so troubled, Edith. Quiet, despondent at times; at others, the complete opposite as if life was for living and he’d want to sweep me off to fine hotels, theatre shows, casinos, just everywhere there were people and life. Then, he’d crash again.”

  Edith’s mind was in overdrive. Julia’s words meant that the relationship hadn’t been quite as short-lived and flash-in-the-pan as she’d always believed.

  “There were times when I felt he was going to tell me something, was on the verge of it. It didn’t happen.”

  She leaned across the coffee table and gripped Edith’s arm.

  “If Archie hasn’t had a heart attack—and thank God for that, maybe you need to have a chat with him, Edith—find out what is troubling him so much.”

  “I’ll try.” Edith was desperate to change the subject, but anything she thought of saying was wrong; too obviously an effort to change the subject or else going to lead back to the same place.

  “I’m going to have to go back to London like I said. I’m sorry, Edith about your wedding clothes shopping but I don’t suppose you’re in the mood to do it tomorrow now, at any rate.”

  Edith shook her head, the very thought of it; so trivial. Whatever was happening with Archie, even if by some miracle he was discharged, and back home by tomorrow she wasn’t going to be clothes-shopping. A tingle of fear and superstition entered her mind, and she quickly pushed it away. She and Henry would get married. After the struggle to get to this point, nothing was going to get in the way of their chance to have a life together.

  “No, I’m going to have to put that one off for the moment. There’s no hurry really. Maybe you will be coming up to Ellbeck again, Hester?”

  Hester gave a big sigh. “I don’t know. I suppose so. It hasn’t been an unalloyed pleasure, this time, has it? The body, the aunts…and Serena and I haven’t seen eye to eye.”

  Both of them kept silent. Edith wasn’t sure whether this was a precursor to more or just a throwaway remark.

  “She insists on telling everyone that she was no more than friends with Sean Bracken. That just isn’t true. She’s being so stubborn and ridiculous too if she doesn’t see that her reaction to his death—the way she’s behaving since is a complete giveaway.”

  “So you told her so?” Julia’s tone was light. The news hadn’t shocked her. She’d become cynical about relationships. Edith hoped that wouldn’t affect how things unfolded with this new man she apparently had. Not that she’d deigned to say anything about that yet to Edith. All in good time, presumably.

  “Oh, a ten-year old child could see through Serena. She might be able to fool the aunts, but they’re about the only ones who’d fall for the “good friends” nonsense. That police inspector is different, though. I can tell he suspects that Serena and Sean Bracken were lovers. I tried to tell her that it was going to backfire on her, lying through her teeth when a man has been murdered. But you might as well talk to the wall.”

  “Had it been going on a long time?” Edith asked.

  Hester shrugged.

  “As long as she’s been up here, I think. Before that, they were all friends in London before her husband died. Friends, lovers…I don’t know. Like I say, she’s a bad liar, but that hasn’t stopped her doing it…through her teeth.”

  “But, why the secrecy, Hester?” Edith couldn’t understand it. “Neither of them was married.”

  “I really don’t know that. The only things I can come up with are that they were already involved with each other before Stevie died…but, even that.” She picked her glass up and tilted it, staring into the ruby claret.

  “I’ve thought about it so much. Serena is very intense. This is mean of me to say, but maybe she followed him up here, pursued him.”

  “But couldn’t get him to the altar?” Julia interjected.

  “Something like that, maybe. I suppose there may have been a religious question too. He’d have been Catholic, wouldn’t he…?”

  The telephone rang, jangling Edith’s nerves, bringing her back to her problems. Archie.

  “We should go, Edie. You’ll have a lot to see to.”

  She had. There were arrangements to make about the surgery; she’d need to ring the hospital again too. But just at the moment, it was important that they should hang on for a while.

  “No, don’t rush off. I’ll be back in a minute. Stay for a little longer if you can.”

  It was Aunt Alicia and anger at herself distracted Edith. What had she been thinking, not to ring their aunt the minute she’d got back from the hospital? Of course news from the village had reached her aunt’s house by now.

  “I’m so sorry, Aunt Alicia. I should have rung straightaway. The main thing is that Archie’s condition is stable. Thankfully, he hasn’t had a heart attack. They are doing some tests and keeping him in overnight.”

  “The thing is, we’ve had a few telephone calls…someone told someone else that he was taken away to hospital looking very ill, gravely ill. Are you sure you’re telling me everything, dear?”

  Oh goodness. Poor Aunt Alicia. Suddenly she sounded her age.

  “I promise, Aunt Alicia. It looked worse than it was. They did an ECG—a tracing of the heart rhythms, and it was normal. It wouldn’t have been if he’d had a heart attack. It was such a relief. I will ring the hospital about nine when the night shift has taken over and had their report, and I will ring you then.

  I’ll come out tomorrow to see you. I’m hoping that maybe we’ll be able to fetch him home, but one way or another, I’ll get out to see you.”

  Her aunt seemed to be reassured, but the guilt was still niggling. How could she have forgotten to tell her aunt? And to let her hear it in such a way? And how could people be so thoughtless, and stupid, as to ring up an elderly person and worry her like that?

  Chapter Fifteen

  The resemblance between the dead man and his two siblings was instantly apparent. It wasn’t just the hair colour; the brother, Eamon, in particular, had the same narrow face; fine features. The sister had been crying, her eyes slightly bloodshot and her face pale. She was younger; dressed in a green boucle short jacket with fur at the collar and a straight, dark-coloured skirt. They both had the same spare build as their brother.

  “This is my sister, Helen.” They shook hands and Greene beckoned the waiter to come to their table. A word with the manager had secured them seats in the private residents’ bar. He ordered tea.

  Brown studied Eamon Bracken, wondering how the Irishman had felt about this brother who’d left Ireland, and his family, and stayed on in Yorkshire. Why had he looked for a safe, solitary existence in Yorkshire, when, by all accounts, Ireland was full of such rural places? Possibly, it was about the di
stance.

  “This has hit us all very hard, especially my parents. I think it’s worse because he was coming home.”

  “Mom was so pleased,” Helen’s voice was beautiful, melodious, the accent, slight but noticeable to Brown’s ears.

  Her brother spoke again. “We’d given up on him ever coming back. He came over for the odd holiday, but that was all…”

  Greene said, “How did you all feel about him joining the army? The British Army?”

  There was a pause, and just at that minute, the waiter approached, pushing a tea trolley, a tea-towel draped over his white shirt sleeve; hair Brilliantine-slicked back, soft-footed.

  It was an awkward moment, while the waiter fiddled about with cup and saucers. A drink in the lounge bar would have been easier.

  “You were saying, Inspector, about my brother joining the British Army, fighting for king and country…More than 200,000 Irishmen fought in the war with 35,000 casualties. So, it wasn’t unusual. What might have been unusual is that Sean wasn’t driven like many more, by poverty. He didn’t need to join up for that reason.” He shrugged.

  “I don’t really know why he did what he did. It was a long time ago—we were youngsters. I don’t even know how much thought he actually put into it. There’s plenty back at home now who are scandalised by it—Irishmen helping the English when there was a fight for freedom going on at home.”

  This was making Brown confused. He didn’t know about Irish politics beyond a vague recognition that there had been a big debate about home rule and that there had been some form of rebellion in Dublin; dealt with pretty brutally, if his memory served him. He’d have been far too young to remember, so he must just have picked up snippets of information somewhere, maybe at school.

  “Would you agree with that view?”

  The man shot back, indignation and suspicion flaring. “Don’t try and put words in my mouth or thoughts into my head, Inspector. I was quoting, telling you what some people in Ireland think, twenty years after the events.”

  “Fair enough, and I wasn’t really trying to put words in your mouth.”

  Brown kept his eyes on his cup. The red hair was meant to denote a fiery temperament, or was that just a myth? Greene had overstepped the mark a little, though. This man’s own political views were beside the point, and it hadn’t been a wise move to put Bracken’s back up within minutes of meeting him. Sometimes, lately, there was something … it was like the inspector was losing his touch. That was an uncomfortable thought. It was temporary, probably, all going back to that woman and the snatch of angry conversation he’d overheard.

  “Calm down, Eamon.”

  The sister’s tone was soft, but there was the hint of a warning there, and her right hand was clamped around the strap of her handbag.

  “Fair enough. We’re here to discuss our brother, though, Inspector, not fall into any traps set by English policemen. At the time of the rebellion, it was a small act, a local Dublin thing with no a great amount of national interest. It was 1916 too, those who enlisted were at the Somme by then. So, there wasn’t exactly a clash. Sean never came back after the end of the war as I say. He was gone for good.”

  “There was the poetry, though,” said Helen, in that enchanting voice.

  Brown glanced at her hand. There was a slim wedding ring on the appropriate finger, of a lovely colour he thought was called rose-gold.

  “That’s what made Mom and Dad proud, not his service or the medal he got, but the fact that he’d had his poetry published. You’ve even taught, it, haven’t you, Eamon?”

  Her brother frowned.

  “Again, that’s a delicate one. Not much is taught about the war in our schools, much like your children probably don’t hear much about Ireland’s fight for freedom, or the struggles of Scotland or Wales…or, or India, for that matter.”

  True. But they were in danger of getting bogged down in defensiveness and politics, here.

  He glanced at Inspector Greene. At that second, the inspector looked straight at him, and there was a shaft of awkwardness between them, something heavy and unsaid.

  “There’s no dispute with anyone, family or friend, that you know of, back in Wicklow?”

  Eamon shook his head, almost angrily. “It’s not my place to tell you men how to do your jobs. But, if you spend your time looking into the dim and distant past of Sean’s life back in Wicklow you really will be barking up the wrong tree.”

  “He’s right,” Helen broke in. “It’s all water under the bridge…Sean’s life has been in England since the war. Mom and Dad are still alive, so there’s been no falling out over wills or property or anything like that…”

  “Your brother never married?”

  She shook her head, said nothing—it must be obvious the policemen already knew the answer to that one.

  “Was there a woman in his life, as far as either of you knew.”

  “Sean wouldn’t have dreamt of telling us, Inspector,” Eamon’s tone was exasperated.

  “Look, he’d gone, settled in another country. He was gone before the rest of us settled, got married, had children. You lose that sort of closeness when you have your own children…”

  “I wouldn’t say we weren’t a close family, Eamon.” Helen sounded hurt.

  “I’m not saying that exactly. Oh, you know what l mean.”

  He looked at the two men, conspiratorial. “He was our brother…we cared about him…of course. But, the…day-to-day stuff, the bread and butter stuff, if you like. You need to live close together for that sort of thing. He’d send us a Christmas card, and since Mom and Dad had the telephone put in, he’d telephone on a Friday night…”

  Then, from out of nowhere, tears spurted from his eyes and he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.

  Brown’s heart went out to him. Poor bloke.

  Helen clumsily put an arm around her brother’s shoulder. His whole body was rigid, fighting desperately for control.

  The four of them sat in uncomfortable silence.

  “I think it is closer to here you need to be looking, Inspector.” Her accent was noticeable now.

  They were hoping to arrange for his body to be taken back to Ireland, but had no idea of the delays and formalities required by the circumstances of his death.

  “We’re not getting too far in our enquiries about Sean’s relationships with women. Your brother does seem to have kept to himself up to a point, anyway. He did frequent the pub, and he sometimes went out to dinner. There is one woman, she lives at the house, Swallow Hall, the grounds of which…it was where Sean’s body was found.”

  Helen lowered her head. While the inspector had been talking Eamon Bracken had made a big effort. He had himself under control.

  Brown licked his lips. He was always told to use his initiative; the trouble was that it wasn’t always welcome when he did. But, this point had been screaming at him for the past twenty minutes. It was hard to believe the inspector hadn’t already brought it up. Let’s hope he wasn’t keeping it to throw up at some opportune moment…here goes.

  “Your brother was going back to Ireland?” He coughed. His voice had sounded rusty, squeaky even, in his own ears. That’s what being kept under the thumb did for a person.

  He glanced at Greene who, thank God, looked interested as opposed to angry.

  “Ah, yes,” he said, “As Sergeant Brown rightly says, your brother was planning a serious change in his life. That’s probably the biggest clue we have so far.”

  “I don’t see a connection,” Helen put in, quickly.

  “It could be a coincidence. It makes no sense. Why would someone, anyone, be bothered by that?”

  “That’s what we don’t know, Miss...?”

  After a couple of seconds, she said, “Oh, it’s Quinlan, Mrs. Quinlan. But just call me Helen. It still makes no sense, though, what you’re saying.”

  “We need to find out more about his proposed move. I don’t like coincidences, and a man who was settled in one place
for years and then decides on a major change in his life, it’s a big coincidence that this should happen now.”

  Brown knew they weren’t going to get any further with Bracken’s brother and sister, and they looked exhausted. Shock, a possibly rough ferry crossing and then a trip to the police morgue. It was small wonder. They did arrange to see them again the next day.

  The inspector maintained a heavy silence for the first few miles of the return journey. What was it that was going on in his boss’s home life? You always got the impression at the moment that he was reluctant to go home.

  So deep in his own thoughts was Brown that for a moment he almost forgot that he wasn’t alone in the car.

  “Give me your impressions, Sergeant.”

  Talk about being put on the spot. “I felt they were distant from their brother, sir, as they said. They were shocked and sad, but maybe for the brother he’d been years ago, not the man he was today.”

  “I’m impressed, lad. Any inkling that they were holding back on us?”

  He wracked his brain. “I didn’t think so.” But, there had been something; a tiny something, a niggle. The harder he tried, the more the thought eluded him.

  Then, just like that, in a flash, it came back. Though, it could be something insignificant. “What did Helen Quinlan mean when she said something about being water under the bridge? Something now being water under the bridge?”

  Greene gasped. He was sure the inspector actually gasped. “Now, lad, that’s more like it. What did she mean, indeed?”

  It was a slip-up, an unguarded moment. But, they would get back to them and wouldn’t let it go. An unusual air of harmony came into the car, then Inspector Greene sighed. “Better drop me at home,” he said.

  * * *

  Edith eventually got up and succumbed to temptation. She always had a packet of cigarettes in her bedroom drawer. Most of the time, she didn’t give them a thought, but in the middle of a sleepless night, indulging in one might just help, change the looped snatches of conversation and thoughts that were disturbing her rest, like an irritating bee when you closed your eyes in the garden. Given a rolled up newspaper, there was more chance of dispatching the bee.