Murders in the Blitz

by Julia Underwood

  ‘Stan! Stan!’ she was shrieking, ‘Someone’s done in Stan!’

  Oh, no, thought Eve as she rushed up to the group, not a child.

  A woman in a bright cotton frock was holding up the head of the boy on the ground.

  ‘Oh, please help, Miss Duncan,’ she said. ‘This poor little boy is very ill.’

  Eve recognised the woman as Lady Passmore. The tone of her voice and the agony on her face meant that Eve hadn’t realised immediately who it was.

  ‘Whatever’s happened?’ said Eve, falling to her knees on the grass beside them.

  Little Stan was barely recognisable. His normally pale complexion had blanched to the colour of marble, with every sign of life drawn from it. His brown freckles stood out sharply against his skin in a bizarre parody of health. Eve saw with relief that the child was still breathing in spite of his pallor and the evidence of vomiting all over his school shirt. His lips were blue and encircled with white froth, and when she felt for his pulse it was very slow.

  ‘Go and get the doctor, Albert,’ she said, ‘he should be in his surgery. Tell him I think Stan’s been poisoned.’ She looked round at the other children. ‘Go home all of you, quickly. Tell Aunty Grace what’s happened. Don’t look so worried, I’ll make sure that Stan is all right. We’ll take care of him.’ She desperately hoped that she was right.

  Reluctantly, the children set off up the hill, slowly at first, but then they began to run. Lady Passmore cradled Stan in her arms until the doctor came. Eve was surprised at the woman’s compassion, she clearly felt pain at the danger Stan was in.

  Eve took the opportunity to look around. On the ground close to where the boy lay, there was a small punnet which still held some raspberries, but mingled with the innocent fruit were a few pink berries that must have been plucked from the yew tree. Stan, who loved raspberries, wouldn’t have known the difference. Oh God, Eve thought, taxine poisoning. She had heard about this from Grace, as one of the farmer’s horses had died recently after grazing on a yew tree. Did this mean that Stan was going to die?

  *

  Soon Doctor Russell was hurrying towards them with his medical bag. He took one look at Stan and confirmed what Eve had been thinking; taxine poisoning. Eve showed him the punnet with yew berries and raspberries in it.

  ‘I don’t think Stan took those off the tree,’ she said. ‘Someone mixed them with the raspberries and gave them to him.’

  ‘Are you saying someone did this deliberately? I can’t believe it,’ Doctor Russell said.

  Lady Passmore looked equally shocked. ‘No, surely not. Who would do such a thing to a defenceless little boy?’

  Eve had been thinking the same thing.

  Doctor Russell took charge and wrapped Stan in a blanket from his car. He drove, with Eve holding the child in her arms, to the cottage hospital outside Highston.

  ‘I think he’s going to be all right,’ the doctor said on the way. ‘He’s vomited up some intact berries and as long as he hasn’t chewed them there’s no reason why he shouldn’t recover. It’s the pips that are poisonous, as well as the leaves and wood, of course. If you chew several pips then you don’t have much chance of survival. I think Stan may be lucky. But we need to get his stomach pumped out to be sure. You and I seem to be fated to meet in dramatic circumstances, Miss Duncan.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry, Doctor, I appear to attract disaster, and twice in one day too. I can hardly believe it.’

  As soon as Stan was tucked up in a bed and in the care of the hospital, Eve returned to Little Barrington in the doctor’s car. He was very considerate and took her to Grace’s door.

  ‘I think you should take a rest now, Miss Duncan, you’ve had a trying day.’

  ‘Thank you so much, doctor,’ she said as she prepared to go into the house. ‘Do you really think Stan will be all right?’

  ‘I’m almost sure of it. He’s in good hands now. I expect you’ll want to talk to him as soon as he comes round; find out who gave him that fruit?’

  ‘Yes, I would. Please let me know.’

  By now Grace was standing on the doorstep drying her hands on a tea towel with an expression of extreme anxiety on her face. The women watched the doctor drive away.

  ‘It’s all right, Grace. The doctor thinks Stan will be fine.’ She reached up and put a comforting arm around her sister’s shoulders.

  They went inside and reassured the children and Hugh, who was back from school and trying to stop the children’s fear from overflowing into hysterics. Then they ate an early supper, the quietest meal that Eve had experienced since coming to the village, and afterwards the children went, hushed and subdued, to bed.

  Grace, Hugh and Eve sat up for a while and talked about the day’s events beside the fire in the sitting room until, tired out with speculation, they climbed the stairs to bed. Eve’s mind was still in turmoil and it was a long time before sleep took hold of her exhausted body. She was more convinced than ever that Persephone’s death, Vera’s stabbing and now little Stan’s poisoning, were all connected in some way. What terrible person could have done these evil things in such a quiet and peaceful country village?

  Chapter Twelve

  After a restless night; at least on the part of the adults, the household was up early the following morning. Hugh waited until the children were ready and accompanied them to school himself. Albert, Stan’s elder brother, seemed disinclined to go to school at all, but Hugh persuaded him that Stan was well looked after in the hospital and would be home soon. In truth the adults weren’t sure how Stan was getting on and they didn’t want Albert to go to the hospital if things were bad. Hugh had already sent a telegram to the boys’ parents in London to tell them what had happened. Eve knew that the arrival of the telegraph boy alone would terrify them; but they had to be told the news.

  Grace left immediately after breakfast on the bus to Highston as she wanted to see Stan as soon as possible. Eve stayed behind for a while and cleared up the breakfast and took a later bus into Highston.

  ‘Give Stan my love, Grace. Don’t ask him any questions for now. Tell him I’ll want to talk to him later,’ Eve said before her sister left. There were questions she should have asked, but she forgot all about them.

  Later, Eve’s bus drew up in Highston’s market square. She felt free to pursue her investigation and prove the link that she was convinced existed between the murders. Fear plagued her as she climbed the wide steps of the Victorian Town Hall and her breath came fast. She’d decided to confront Fred Gardiner in his office. After all, even if he was dangerous he was hardly likely to attack her in his place of work with lots of people around. There was no need for her to be afraid. She pulled back her shoulders and prepared to enter the building.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Mr. Fred Gardiner, please,’ she said when she was asked her business at the reception deskhoused in a glass-panelled booth.

  ‘Do you have an appointment, madam?’

  Eve was perfectly prepared to lie to get in, but as she wasn’t at all sure which department Fred worked in she’d find it difficult to think up a plausible story.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. I’m a friend from his home – Little Barrington. It’s very important.’ Eve smiled her brightest, most enticing smile and the woman in the booth, after looking inclined to refuse her request, changed her mind.

  ‘First floor, Miss, second door on the right.’

  Eve didn’t need telling twice and dived up the wide staircase leading to the upper floors. She nearly knocked into a couple of people on their way down, but, after a brief apology, she continued upwards. She stood for a breathless moment outside the door marked with the words ‘Clerk of Works’, whatever that meant. She knocked and a female voice asked her to come in.

  The office on the other side of the door stretched across the entire width of the first floor at the front of the Town Hall. Five tall windows looking out onto the street filled the room with light. Several desks in the centre of the room were occupied with t
ypists pounding at their machines. Every desk carried heaps of files and papers; this was obviously a very busy department. A girl got up from a desk nearer the door and approached Eve.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, please. I’ve come to see Mr Gardiner, I believe he works here.’

  ‘Can you tell me what it’s about?’

  ‘It’s a personal matter,’ said Eve.

  The young woman indicated that Eve should follow and then walked towards an office at one side of the room. “F.A.Gardiner” proclaimed the sign painted on the frosted glass panel in neat gothic script. The girl opened the door and stuck her head inside.

  ‘Someone to see you, Mr Gardiner, a Miss...’

  She turned back towards Eve who supplied her name: ‘Duncan.’

  Eve heard Fred’s voice from within. ‘Show her in. Show her in.’

  When she entered Fred’s cluttered office, he stood up, appearing very pleased to see her.

  ‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said. ‘Do take a seat. How delightful. I could do with something like this to brighten up an otherwise dull morning.’ His wide smile lit up his face.

  Eve remained serious as she sat down in the chair opposite his desk, noticing as she did so a photograph of his boys and one of Doris displayed there. Surely a man so fond of his wife and children couldn’t be guilty of the terrible things she was about to accuse him of. Fred had sat down in his big chair again and was regarding her, the bright smile dying on his lips and starting to be replaced by a look of bewilderment.

  ‘What is it, Eve? You look worried. Is it something I’ve done? There hasn’t been another disaster in the village?’

  ‘Fred,’ she began, ‘we haven’t known each other long, only met a few times really. You’ve never been anything but friendly and kind to me, and I may have got this all completely wrong...’ Eve stopped herself, she was beginning to ramble and she sounded almost apologetic. This was no way to confront the man; she needed to be more direct. She started again. ‘Fred. And don’t lie to me now. What happened to your first wife?’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘Just that. What happened to your first wife? There’s no record of her death anywhere in Highston or Little Barrington and I know she’s been dead at least a year. It’s as if she just disappeared into thin air. Vera knew and wanted to ask you about it. Did you kill your wife so that you could marry Doris, Fred? Is she the body we found in the woods?’

  Fred’s normally florid face drained of colour and he leaned back into his chair, aghast.

  ‘Are you mad?’ he said in a voice that had risen to a new register; high-pitched and squeaky. His expression was one of horror and righteous indignation. ‘Are you really accusing me of murder? And does that include Vera Gossard and that poor little boy too?’

  Eve was shocked at the man’s reaction. It was beginning to look as if she’d got the whole thing horribly wrong; as if she’d jumped in with both feet and was about to drown. But the evidence all pointed his way: the missing wife, the funny looks Vera had given him, accusing Stan of stealing raspberries, the pretty new wife and a baby on the way. What better reason to get rid of a spouse he was tired of; it had been done before. And he’d been in the shop when Emily was there and left with plenty of time to get to the cottage and stab Vera while she was chatting to Agnes Forbes. And he could easily have given Stan the fruit later in the afternoon.

  Eve stared glumly at Fred as he struggled to regain his composure, trying her best to look as if she was sure of her ground. He appeared to consider what Eve had said for a few seconds and then slumped back in his chair with a sigh.

  ‘You know, it’s almost funny. I know you’re keen on solving mysteries after your police work back in London, but this is madness, Eve. I can categorically assure you that I had nothing whatever to do with those murders. I would never do such a thing. Surely you can see that.’

  Embarrassed, Eve stood and began to gather her things together, anxious to make as quick and dignified exit as she could. She’d made a dreadful mistake. Oh God. How awful! What a mess she’d made of things; she should have talked to Grace first. How stupid she had been.

  ‘Wait, Eve. Don’t go. You can’t go away thinking whatever it is you think. You must let me explain. No-one in the village talks about my wife’s death. They were all too saddened and concerned for me because she was very well-loved. Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Eve did as she was told under Fred’s surprisingly benevolent and sympathetic gaze. She sat down in the chair, but couldn’t look Fred in the eye.

  ‘Elsie fell ill in 1936,’ he began. ‘For a long time we didn’t know what was the matter with her. She had a cough that wouldn’t go away and lost a lot of weight; seemed to get weaker every day. The following year, with things no better, she was diagnosed with tuberculosis. The doctor sent her off to a special sanatorium twenty miles away, as much to protect the boys as for Elsie’s sake. TB is a horrible, inexorable disease and there’s not much to be done to cure it. All they can do is keep the patients comfortable for as long as possible, and that can be a long time as the passage of the malady is slow. For nearly two years Elsie was a resident in the sanatorium and in that final spring of 1939, her condition rapidly slipped downhill. The doctors told me there was nothing more they could do for her and she hadn’t long to live. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I cashed in all our savings to take her to a TB centre in the mountains in Switzerland where they’d had good results. The boys went to stay with my parents. I hired a private nurse, Doris, to come with us to Switzerland and she cared for Elsie like a sister until the day she died in August of that year. If you think about it for a moment you’ll realise what happened next. Europe was in turmoil and War was about to be declared. Doris and I had to get back to England as quickly as possible. There was no question of bringing Elsie home with us and she was buried on that beautiful mountainside. And that, Eve, is why there is no record of her death here in England.’

  Eve dashed the threatening tears from her eyes.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry, Fred. I had no idea. I should have asked Grace, I suppose she knows all about this.’

  ‘Yes, of course she does. But as I said, no-one talks about it as they don’t want to upset me. When I got back, Doris helped me with the children as their nanny, she was a rock. I was in no state to be a proper father for a while – and then, over a year later, I married her. Doris is a wonderful girl. I love her and we’re happy, but she isn’t Elsie. Sometimes I’m reminded of my loss and I get a bit down in the dumps, but it soon passes.’

  That must be what happened at the pub that night, thought Eve. He must have been thinking about Elsie and Vera knew it. She’d probably been fond of Fred’s first wife and knew how much she was missed and felt sorry for him. Oh, what a fool I’ve been, Eve thought, and now I’ve still got a murderer to find.

  Fred stood and came round to Eve’s side of the desk and touched her on the shoulder.

  ‘Come on, buck up,’ he said. ‘It’s not that bad. I’ll forgive you, you little eager beaver. How could you think I could be a murderer, you silly girl? I thought we were friends. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink, you look as if you need one.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  After a double gin and orange at the Duke of Clarence and more grovelling apologies, Eve parted from Fred on good terms. She couldn’t help thinking it was more than she deserved after her foolishness. Why on earth hadn’t she asked Grace? She’d had plenty of opportunity to talk to her about it. She shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and waded in with both feet like that. Now she felt a complete fool and was lucky she wasn’t in trouble; Fred was perfectly entitled to give her a really hard time. Luckily his generosity of spirit meant that he forgave her for her foolhardiness.

  There was still another line of enquiry she could follow. But first of all she had to go and see Stan and find out if there was anything he could tell her; if he knew who it was that had given him
the berries.

  Eve decided that it would be quicker to walk from the centre of Highston to the hospital; it was only about a mile. She’d seen the rambling building from the windows of the bus on the way into town. As the day was still fine she didn’t find the walk too arduous. This month of country living had certainly made her fitter than she’d been in London, where the extent of her walking was a quick dash round Shepherds Bush Green with Jake or to the market. The clean air here, unpolluted by broken buildings, escaping gas from fractured mains and the overwhelming scent of decay, made her feel more alive than she had in years.

  When she arrived at the hospital she followed the signs to the children’s ward. She was surprised to discover that there was no guard of any kind in position to watch over Stan. Did no-one realise that the child had had an attempt made on his life by someone who was almost certainly the murderer of two people? But when she entered the ward Eve realised that the sister in charge, a dragon of a woman wearing an elaborately starched headdress resembling a ship in full sail, would be sufficient to keep away the most determined of criminals.

  ‘And who are you, may I ask?’ she boomed at Eve in tones of stern reproach when she asked to see Stan.

  ‘I’m his aunty,’ Eve stated with confidence. Well, it was close enough to the truth for now.

  ‘Hmm. Another “aunty” came to see him this morning, but she’s gone. Stanley is still sleeping,’ said the dragon. ‘We’ve given him a dose of chloral as we thought it best to keep him quiet until the poison wears off. He’ll have a horrid sore throat after the stomach pump, so he’s better off asleep.’

  Sister said all this as she led Eve to Stan’s bed. Eve almost smiled as she regarded the normally cheeky little tyke, reduced to a motionless angel with a halo of curls around his head. His colour had improved and was now a shade more creamy than the pristine white sheets that pinned him to the bed. Sister smoothed the already immaculate covers over his slight body, making sure no errant limb could escape their confines.