by Nicola Upson
‘Such as?’
‘Such as making the most of your chances and standing on your own two feet. I don’t think she meant that as a criticism, although she’d have been justified—let’s face it, I live entirely on a monthly allowance which is almost offensively generous. But she was just being honest. I suppose that’s what got her killed, is it?’
‘Quite possibly. We don’t know yet, but we will find out and what you’ve just told me helps.’
‘Does it?’ she asked. ‘Well, I’m glad, because it doesn’t help me. You know, sometimes it feels as though every bright thing in this world is snuffed out as soon as it begins to flourish.’ She looked directly at him for the first time, and he was struck by how vulnerable she seemed. ‘Most of us suspect that, but we spend our time trying to convince ourselves otherwise; in your job, you must know it to be true. I don’t know how you do it.’
He was tempted to tell her that neither did he, but such an admission was hardly appropriate. Instead, he stood up to go. ‘I’m sorry about what’s happened,’ he said quietly. ‘To Marjorie, and to Elizabeth.’
She raised her glass sadly, and he left her to it. ‘Looks like Miss Bannerman was right, then,’ Fallowfield said when he was back in the foyer. ‘Marjorie found out too much for her own good. Do you want to postpone Miss Size and go straight back to the Yard to see Baker?’
Penrose thought about it. ‘No, she’ll have a tight schedule and it’ll take Waddingham and Merrifield a while to get over to Campbell Road and back. We’ll stick to what we said, but don’t hang about.’
He was on his way out the door when Fallowfield called him back. ‘I’ve just remembered, Sir—it’s something Miss Tey said.’ Penrose looked at him curiously. ‘It was the other day,’ Fallowfield continued guiltily, trying to ignore his inspector’s raised eyebrow. ‘I bumped into her and she happened to say that she was interested in Sach and Walters—so we had a chat about it.’
‘Oh yes? You never mentioned it, Bill.’
‘No, Sir—you were too busy. Anyway, I might be wrong, but I’m sure she said that one of the women who gave evidence at the trial was called Edwards.’
‘Edwards? As in Maria Baker’s family?’ Penrose was suddenly serious.
‘Yes. This Edwards woman lived in the house. It was her evidence that sealed Sach’s fate, apparently. You’ve just got time to talk to Miss Tey if she’s here,’ Fallowfield added, trying not to look too smug. ‘She might not be Miss bloody Marple, Sir, but she’s got a lot of notes.’
Penrose smiled, and went to reception to ask where he might find Josephine.
Chapter Ten
I sat in the car coming home this afternoon and wanted you so much that I stopped breathing. Are your eyes blue or grey, or grey-blue? Grey, aren’t they? Perhaps I should never see you again. Perhaps it will take not one, but a hundred and one years to get over you. It’s odd, this vivid physical realisation of someone whose body one has never known, and amusing to be scunnered at every physical approach to a new person by a love months old. You are like a ghost, my dear, coming between me and every other human being, but I’ll lay you yet—in the accepted sense of the word. And London is lovelier when you are in it.
Josephine put the pages of Marta’s diary down for a moment and walked over to the window. The snow in Cavendish Square was looking a little the worse for wear now, having been trampled underfoot by a procession of excited shop workers taking full advantage of their lunch hours, but at her level it was still fresh and magical, settling peacefully on the branches of the trees and, across to her left, providing a striking contrast to one of the city’s finer bronzes. The sculpture was of a mother and child, and Josephine had found herself admiring it more on this visit than she ever had before; the stark, tender intensity of the bond between its figures resonated poignantly with the book she was writing.
For the moment, though, her work had been all but forgotten. The narrow bed was covered in a sea of blue paper, and she sat back down amongst it, curled her feet under her, and began to read again; had this been a book, she would have been fascinated by emotions so eloquently and intimately described; as it was, her confusion at being the object of them destroyed any pleasure in the writing.
I am very happy. Last night, I dreamt that we kissed. This is the first time I have dreamed of you. I have not allowed my imaginings to run riot; I have taken nothing from you in my thoughts. But last night, just after I went to sleep, you were there. You moved towards me and I knew, surprisingly, that you would kiss me. I lay looking at you and you took my face in your hands and kissed me. And then I awoke and heard the clock strike in the darkness. This morning, I know more about you than all your books and spoken words have taught me, and if you ask how one dreamed kiss could have shown me this, I cannot answer.
A knock at the door pulled her sharply back from Marta’s world, and she looked up impatiently. ‘Come in,’ she said, and then: ‘Archie! What on earth are you doing here? Why didn’t you telephone?’
‘Don’t take this personally, but I didn’t really come here to see you.’
‘No?’ She smiled at him, and started to gather up the pages. ‘Well, you certainly know how to humble a girl.’
‘Sorry, but I’m here to work and there are a couple of things that you might be able to help me with. Is this a bad time?’
‘Of course not. I was just reading a letter from a friend.’
‘Obviously one you haven’t seen for a while.’
She looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. It just looks like there’s a lot of news to catch up on.’ He looked curiously at her. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. I wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.’ As she looked around for the envelope, he picked it up from the floor and handed it to her. ‘It’s been a bit of a morning. Shall we go downstairs and have some coffee? You probably don’t want to be surrounded by this mess.’
‘I don’t mind if you don’t.’ He pointed to the desk, which was covered in her notes for the new book. ‘It’s actually this mess that interests me. I need some information about the Sach and Walters case.’
‘Do you?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Why? What’s happened?’
Briefly, Archie summarised the events of the morning for her. ‘Good God, how awful,’ she said when he’d finished. ‘How are Ronnie and Lettice?’
‘Shaken and devastated, but refusing to admit quite how badly it’s affected them. They’re moving in downstairs as we speak.’
‘In here?’
‘Yes. Obviously the workroom’s out of bounds so they’ve talked Celia Bannerman into letting them prepare for the gala on the premises.’
‘I’m surprised it’s still going ahead.’
‘Well, the first thought was to cancel it, but I think they feel they owe it to Marjorie. There was much talk about keeping up the morale of the rest of the staff, but the same applies to them. At least if they’re working, they won’t dwell on it too much.’
‘I suppose so. I’ll go down and see them in a minute. But first tell me what you need to know.’ She picked up a sheaf of papers from the desk. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. I’ve been living with these people, and I know there’s only thirty years between us, but it seemed so much longer. They felt so safe, so …’
‘So dead?’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s exactly what I mean. You really think Marjorie’s mother might be the Edwards who lived with the Sachs?’
‘It seems too big a coincidence otherwise. Tell me what you know about her.’
‘I’ve got all the notes from the newspaper reports of the case, but it’s probably quickest if you read this,’ she said, removing the most recent chapter from the rest of the manuscript. ‘Everything she tells the police in there is taken directly from the evidence she gave at the trial. I’ve moved it forward to bring her into the story earlier, but it’s pretty much verbatim. You’ll see how crucial her statement was to Sach’s conviction.�
��
Archie took the pages and read through them carefully. ‘This implies that Edwards and Jacob Sach were already having an affair before Amelia was arrested.’
‘Yes, but I don’t know if that’s true,’ she admitted. ‘All I will say is that the more I read about it, the more convinced I am that she’s the linchpin of what went on. At best, she knew what was happening and turned a blind eye; at worst, she was involved and got away with it by providing the evidence for a conviction.’
‘But you’re not saying that Amelia Sach was completely innocent, and Edwards and Jacob Sach conspired to get her out of the way?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, although it has crossed my mind. No, I just think that a lot of people were doing what she was doing, and punishment for baby farming was a lottery, depending on which judge tried your case, whether or not you were allowed a decent defence, and who was around to stab you in the back. Sach and Walters were convicted on the basis of one child’s death, but no one bothered to look into what happened to all the other babies who passed through; on the other hand, some of their contemporaries escaped the gallows because the babies they farmed were abandoned rather than killed—but those children would have died, too, if they hadn’t been found so quickly, so where do you draw the line?’
It was a rhetorical question, but it echoed what Celia Bannerman had said about the police’s attitude to the crime. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘This really helps, and I’ll let you know how I get on. In the meantime, do you know a housemaid called Lucy Peters?’
‘I’ve met a girl called Lucy here a couple of times—I don’t know her second name. What’s she got to do with it? Don’t tell me—she’s Walters’s long-lost niece. It would be just like you to come up with a complete set of living, breathing people and leave me grubbing around in old newsprint.’
He laughed. ‘No, nothing like that—at least I don’t think so. She was a friend of Marjorie Baker’s.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘What is it?’
‘She was up here the other night. She said she’d brought a vase up, but she was reading something I’d written about Sach and Walters, and she was crying. She left before I could ask her what was wrong. In hindsight, I probably wasn’t very kind to her—I was cross because I found her reading my work.’
‘Do you know exactly what she was reading?’ Archie asked.
‘This, I think.’ She sifted through the pages and gave him another chapter. ‘You don’t think she had anything to do with the murder, do you?’
‘No, not really. But I’m hoping she might be able to tell me if Marjorie was up to something that could have got her killed.’ He read what he’d been given, and then said: ‘Of course, if Marjorie had found out the Baker-Sach connection and confided in Lucy, that would explain why this was so upsetting. Can I borrow it?’ She nodded and he stood up to go. ‘I’d better make a move. I need to phone the information about Edwards through to the station, and then I’ve got an appointment at Holloway. Sorry this has been such a hit-and-run visit.’
‘Don’t worry, I understand.’ She thought for a moment, and then said: ‘Would it be inappropriate for me to ask for a lift to Holloway?’
‘Of course not, but why do you want to go there?’
‘Celia told Mary Size what I was doing and she left me an invitation to look round the prison with one of her officers. I’d need to phone to make sure it’s convenient, but the note said to come at any time and just to let her know. To be honest, I’m dreading it, but it seems rude not to go. It might not be quite so daunting if I turn up with Scotland Yard.’
‘That’s fine. I’ll phone Miss Size for you now while you get ready.’
‘Oh, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,’ Josephine said, picking up her coat and gloves. ‘What do you wear to look round a prison, anyway?’
She saw him cast a glance at the gardenia as they left, but he said nothing and she followed him down the stairs. When they reached reception, she saw that the Motleys had already made their presence felt: for the time being, the elegant, ordered atmosphere of the Cowdray Club’s foyer had given way under the strain of rolls and rolls of fabric, half-made clothes on hangers and a bizarre collection of sewing machines and bric-a-brac. It was a shame that Miss Timpson wasn’t on duty, she thought; the look on her face would have been priceless.
‘I’ll go and make the calls,’ Archie said, grimacing at the chaos. ‘See you back here in a minute.’
She found the girls in a spacious room leading off the foyer which was usually used for private meetings. ‘I take back everything I said about this place being deathly dull,’ Ronnie said, dropping the bale she was carrying and coming over to give Josephine a hug. ‘The first thing we heard about when we got here was the fight in the foyer, and we half-wondered if we’d have to slap each other as some sort of induction ritual.’
‘What fight? What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Oh, Geraldine Ashby and the Bannerman woman decided to recreate the Battle of Bosworth in the foyer. The lunchtime queues were getting a bit restless, apparently, so they staged a distraction all of their own.’
‘She’s exaggerating,’ said Lettice, ‘but there was a bit of bother. Geraldine slapped Celia because of something she said, and it was all very public.’
‘Yes, the skeletons are all so firmly out of the closet that we’ll probably end up dressing them for the gala as well,’ Ronnie added cynically, hauling another tailor’s dummy in from the foyer. ‘And if that was lunch, I think I’ll book myself in for dinner now. Which is the best table?’
‘God, I think that might be all my fault,’ Josephine said, and both sisters turned to look quizzically at her. ‘It’s too long a story to go into now, but I’ll tell you later if you’re still here. I’ve got to go out, but I’m so sorry about what’s happened—you must be devastated.’
‘Yes, only we could organise the best entertainment three days before the actual event,’ Ronnie said bitterly, and Josephine saw Lettice glance anxiously across at her sister; as Archie had said, neither of them seemed particularly willing to acknowledge the shock of what had happened, and there was something frenetic and desperate about Ronnie’s movements, as though she were afraid that standing still for too long would force her to confront her grief.
She was about to say something, but was interrupted by a voice from the door. ‘Excuse me, I’m Lillian Wyles.’ Josephine looked up to see an attractive woman dressed in a Motley smock standing hesitantly outside the room. ‘I think you’re expecting me.’
‘Good God, is that what policewomen look like?’ Ronnie muttered. ‘No wonder Archie’s so keen on welcoming them into the force.’
Lettice hit her hard on the shoulder. ‘You’re not supposed to say anything,’ she scolded, and gave her sister a shove. ‘Go and make her welcome.’
‘What was all that about?’ Josephine asked, as Ronnie went over to greet the new arrival.
Lettice looked round as if she expected to find peepholes in the oak panelling. ‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she whispered loudly, ‘but that girl’s one of Archie’s. He’s brought her here to work for us undercover so she can keep an eye on the goings-on.’ They were quiet for a moment as each of them looked Miss Wyles up and down. ‘Ronnie’s right, though,’ Lettice admitted eventually. ‘I can see why he chose her. You’d never guess, would you?’
‘No,’ said Josephine, glancing again at the woman’s wavy nut-brown hair and perfectly made-up face. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’
‘Listen—now I’ve got you on your own for a minute, are you all right?’ Lettice asked. ‘I was worried about you last night.’
‘I’m fine, but you’re obviously not. You’re both trying far too hard to be normal, and that’s ridiculous—what’s happened to you today isn’t remotely normal.’
‘Oh, we’re all right. Ronnie’s worse, I think—I take what’s happened as a tragedy, and she takes it as a personal affront. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she finds the culprit before that policewoman’s
stitched her first hem.’
While they were talking, Archie came back from making his calls and Josephine watched as Ronnie did a mock introduction between the two police officers. The woman said something which she couldn’t quite catch but which made Archie laugh warmly, and then he beckoned Josephine and Lettice over.
‘Where would you like me to start?’ Lillian Wyles asked when the remaining introductions were over.
‘You can help us set up first,’ Lettice said. ‘We’ll worry about the sewing later.’
‘Oh, that’ll be fine. My grandmother was a dresser at the Lyceum—I was practically brought up on a Singer.’
‘Bloody marvellous!’ Ronnie said, pinching Archie’s cheek. ‘You’ll be lucky to get this one back by the time we’ve finished with her.’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ Archie said, winking at his colleague. ‘We’d better go.’
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Ronnie asked, pointing accusingly at Josephine. ‘You’re supposed to be having a fitting around now.’
‘Sorry, it’ll have to wait,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an appointment with some blue serge. Can I come and find you later?’
Lettice nodded. ‘Of course you can. You won’t want to rush it—I think you’ll find we’ve surpassed ourselves.’
‘Is it a surprise, then?’ Wyles asked innocently, and Lettice whispered something in her ear. ‘Oh, you’ll look fabulous.’
‘Yes,’ said Josephine pleasantly, ignoring Ronnie’s smirk. ‘I’m sure I will.’
‘Putting double agents into the Cowdray Club is a bit extreme, isn’t it?’ she said when they were in the car. ‘It’s more like something out of John Buchan than an English police investigation.’
Archie smiled, and his obvious amusement at her irritation did nothing to improve Josephine’s mood. ‘You sound just like Bill,’ he said. ‘Actually, he went as far as suggesting that you might be up for the job. I suppose you’re right—it is much more English to allow an amateur to track down a murderer, but I think I’ll stick with WPC Wyles for now.’