Murder in the Afternoon: A Kate Shackleton Mystery

by Frances Brody

  ‘It’s … you know … Kate, do something or I shall be so embarrassed.’

  I knocked loudly on the door. When the constable unlocked it, I said, in the same voice I would use to report an unexploded bomb, ‘Where is the nearest ladies’ convenience?’ I could see from his face that he did not know. No one had asked him such a question before.

  ‘I can find out,’ he said thoughtfully.

  ‘This is an urgent female matter,’ I whispered so as not to embarrass the female in question. ‘I shall vouch for Mrs Armstrong’s return.’

  With that I grabbed Mary Jane’s hand and raced along the corridor and down the stairs.

  ‘Where are we going? Are we running away?’

  ‘We’re not running away. We’re looking for a lavatory.’

  We hurried along the corridor, down a flight of stairs.

  It was a gent’s lavatory and it stunk but had the advantage of being unoccupied. I kept my back to the door.

  ‘What is it?’ Mary Jane asked. ‘Is it to do with Bob Conroy?’

  ‘No.’ Though I know you probably feel you made the wrong choice and wish you’d married him. ‘Mary Jane, it wasn’t that. It was the expression on your face when you saw him. You suddenly looked younger, and I thought where have I seen that face before?’

  There was little light in the room, yet the striking similarity would not go away.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘You told me that it was because of the two children you wouldn’t leave Great Applewick. That puzzled me, because you didn’t mean Harriet and Austin. You let me think you meant the two little ones in the chapel graveyard. But that wasn’t true. It was the other two children who kept you here. The boys, the Ledger boys.’

  She took a shuddering breath. ‘How … what made you …?’

  ‘The portrait that hangs in the Ledgers’ drawing room. The likeness is there. So obvious. That’s why the Ledgers wanted you out of the way, in case someone guessed, perhaps even the boys themselves. Children always think they don’t really belong to the family they are born into. Those Ledger boys, they’re yours aren’t they?’

  ‘I swore to never …. You’re guessing.’

  ‘Mary Jane, your life may be at stake. I’m on your side, perhaps the only one who truly is on your side.’

  ‘Bob …’

  Footsteps approached along the corridor. I put a finger to my lips. The footsteps continued. When the footsteps had passed, I said, ‘Tell me I’m right.’

  ‘I … I … Oh Kate, I can’t.’

  ‘Trust me. I’m your sister, the one you didn’t want to lose. Well, you’ve got me back. Now tell me.’

  ‘Mrs Ledger couldn’t have children. She … We went on holiday together, the three of us. The mistress was called away because her mother was sick. It was just the colonel and me, and somehow … He fell in love with me Kate, he truly did. Mrs Ledger was very understanding, said she would keep the child and no one need know.’

  ‘And that happened twice?’

  I tried to keep the disbelief from my voice that Mary Jane could have been so naïve. The colonel wanted an heir and a spare and not succeeding with his wealthy landowning wife, the two of them had contrived to deal with the situation in a more subtle and effective way. They must have been disappointed when Mary Jane did not take the money and leave the area. Mrs Ledger’s tale regarding wanting Mary Jane to marry Bob Conroy and stay on the farm was a lie. Ethan the stonemason was the man most likely to move on. Ethan the troublesome stonemason was always the favoured choice of someone to take a troublesome maid off their hands. But perhaps Ethan the stonemason had found out.

  ‘Did Ethan know about the Ledger children?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Nobody knew, except the doctor and nurse, and they were well paid to keep quiet. The nurse has a house in Ilkley, rent free for life.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you think Miss Trimble might have guessed?’

  Because if she did, I thought, it may have cost her life.

  Voices called to each other, that the women had vanished. Marcus ordered someone to go outside and search.

  I whispered again, ‘Could Miss Trimble have guessed? Think!’

  ‘There was a day, a Sunday, when the Ledgers came with the boys to church and the little one began to cry. I jumped up from my seat and I was about to go to him. I didn’t mean to, it just happened. Ethan wasn’t with me. I was in the aisle, hurrying towards their pew and Miss Trimble gave me such a look, just as Bob came and took my arm and led me outside, and I pretended I’d felt faint.’

  I nodded.

  ‘You better use one of those smelly lavatories, Mary Jane. It’ll probably be a while before you can go again. I’ll hold this door.’

  Moments later, we stepped into the corridor. The constable who had tailed us covered his embarrassment with bombast. ‘You shouldn’t have run so far ahead of me. I went walking on. I didn’t imagine you would have entered a gentlemen’s convenience. There’s a search going on.’

  ‘Sorry. It was an emergency. We couldn’t see the ladies’ convenience.’

  We trailed in silence behind him. When we returned to the interview room, the constable opened the door for Mary Jane, but barred my way.

  She gave me a brave smile and raised her hand.

  Marcus’s familiar footsteps came up the stairs. I had never seen him out of breath before. ‘You gave me a fright.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Back in his vomit-coloured office I reported on what he knew very well, having listened from the other side of the wall.

  ‘She was not surprised to see Mr Turnbull, the quarry foreman. He’s a violent man who dislikes Ethan. She thinks you may suspect him. Raymond Turnbull, she says her cottage would go to him – it’s a tied house and he marries on Saturday and needs a roof – but that he wouldn’t have harmed Ethan.’

  ‘Thank you, Kate.’

  ‘And Bob Conroy …’

  ‘We weren’t expecting him.’

  ‘Mary Jane thinks he still has a soft spot for her. He wanted to marry her before Ethan pushed him out.’

  ‘I don’t think he need concern us. He has an alibi for Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘That’s very convenient.’

  ‘A watertight alibi with two impeccable individuals.’

  ‘Was one of these impeccable individuals Colonel Ledger?’

  ‘You won’t expect me to confirm or deny that.’

  ‘Conroy has sold the farm to the colonel.’

  ‘That wouldn’t have a bearing on the case.’

  ‘There’s something going on, Marcus, and it makes me think that this solicitor, the Ledgers’ solicitor, isn’t going to look out for Mary Jane’s interests.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  I did not tell him. If there was dirt to be uncovered then I would have to do some shovelling. ‘Marcus, I did as you asked. I observed Mary Jane, I told you her reactions. Let me ask you something in return.’ I came as close to him as if we were about to make love, looking into his eyes, almost touching his body with mine. ‘You needn’t say yes or no, but if I am right, just let me know in some other way, a nod …’

  ‘Or a wink,’ he said half jokingly, scratching his neck under the stiff collar, not knowing what I was about to ask.

  ‘Or a wink. Someone reported on Ethan’s political activities, meetings he attended, people he met. Someone said how the vote went when a strike was called. The guess would be that information came from a member of the quarrymen’s union, but I think it came from Bob Conroy. Bob and Ethan went to the same political meetings. Ethan spent his spare time helping on the farm. He confided in Bob. And Bob betrayed him. Am I right?’

  Marcus discovered an itch on his face and scratched the side of his nose. He lowered his head. ‘You wouldn’t expect me to confirm or deny that.’

  He had confirmed it.

  We stood a tissue paper apart. For a moment, I thought he wo
uld step back, or embrace me, but he did neither. I held my ground and waited.

  ‘I’ll tell you this much, Kate, Conroy is distraught over Armstrong’s death. Utterly distraught.’

  ‘I can hear the thirty pieces of silver clinking as he flings them into the gutter.’

  ‘He was acting from the best of motives, to save Ethan from himself, and from exploitation by men who do not have the good of our country at heart.’

  He caught my hand as I turned to go. ‘I’m booked into the Red Lion, but if you’d like me to come to you tonight …’

  ‘Best not come to me, Marcus. But thanks for telling me where to find you.’ I should have left it at that but I had to say it. ‘Miss Trimble was poisoned because of something she knew. Bob Conroy was in the village that afternoon, supposedly posting letters to comrades. He was in the churchyard when I came from the vicarage. He’d spoken to Miss Trimble on Sunday and was going to make a donation to the church.’

  ‘There were no suspicious circumstances surrounding Miss Trimble’s death.’

  ‘Country doctors never want suspicious circumstances. How many unexplained deaths are passed off that way because it’s easier for all concerned?’

  ‘What possible reason would Conroy have for killing her? Only one that I can think of and that’s because she claims to have seen a person answering Mrs Armstrong’s description by the quarry. That wouldn’t help your case at all.’

  Marcus insisted on walking me back to my car. ‘Thank you for coming, Kate. I know this must have been difficult for you.’

  He expected me to ask if I could stay until after Mary Jane’s interview and was already thinking of some polite way of refusing me. But I would not ask. I wanted to catch Sykes before he left for Great Applewick with his supply of stockings for mill girls.

  As I left the police station, a suave gentleman in a grey mohair suit and a bowler hat walked into the courtyard, a minion trotting a few steps behind, carrying a briefcase.

  We looked at each other and I guessed who he was. A solicitor employed by the Ledgers would not wear a worn tweed country suit. A solicitor employed by the Ledgers would buy his silk shirts from the top drawer and his suits from Savile Row.

  I drew myself up to my full height, and was glad to be wearing a touch of silk of my own, the coffee and cream suit had been a good choice after all. Which one of us would speak first?

  I did, because I had nothing to lose and he had nothing to gain. His fee would come from Ledger and to him this was simply another bit of business.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I believe you’re Mr Nelson, appointed by Colonel Ledger. I’m Mrs Shackleton, a friend of Mrs Armstrong.’

  He feigned surprise though I guessed he knew well enough who I was. The colonel would have briefed him thoroughly.

  ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, Mr Nelson …’

  He raised his hat. ‘Bad business,’ he said as if commenting on a rainy day spoiling play. ‘But worry not, my dear lady. I shall have Mrs Armstrong out of here in no time.’

  Stupidly, I felt myself light up at this unexpected show of support. ‘I’m glad to hear that because she wants to be home with her children.’

  He lowered his voice, not that anyone could hear, except the minion with the briefcase. ‘Of course you know the police, especially where Scotland Yard is involved. I shall probably have to bargain a little. Have her released into the care of a responsible person.’

  ‘Well, if I can …’

  ‘And of course people don’t come more responsible than Colonel Ledger. He has expressed a willingness for her to be in his care until we can clear up this … misunderstanding. I believe the children are being well cared for in the meantime.’

  He raised his hat. ‘My card, madam. Please don’t hesitate and all that.’

  He was gone.

  The minion produced a card and thrust it at me.

  Colonel and Mrs Ledger were taking no chances. Mary Jane would be incarcerated with them, until they could be sure she would be silent.

  Two

  Sykes waited by the mill gates, notebook at the ready. In his attaché case were thirty-seven pairs of stockings, individually wrapped in tissue paper. He had a list of names and a pocketful of pennies to give correct change. He felt in two minds about this caper. It was a useful cover, and a nice way to earn a little extra cash but, as he braced himself for the surge of females, indignity prickled. He felt a serious longing to be in uniform and on point duty.

  The mill doors opened and the workforce poured out. Sykes wondered where they would all fit. Great Applewick was no more than a mile across and a mile wide. Some of them must be dashing to catch a tram.

  ‘There he is!’ It was the red-haired beauty who had asked him to the pictures.

  ‘Changed your mind have you?’ she asked. ‘Tekin me out tonight?’

  ‘Sorry, love. I’m spoken for.’

  ‘Shame.’

  He laughed. ‘Catch the bouquet at tomorrow’s wedding, let some chap glimpse your stockings and he’ll ask you out for the rest of your days.’

  ‘I might just do that.’

  So tomorrow’s wedding was still on. Mrs Shackleton was right. The bridegroom at least had not been kept in custody. She had asked him to find out what he could about Bob Conroy, but he couldn’t see how he would do that. You could only go to a farmhouse once to sell stockings.

  Pockets heavy with coins, he headed for the Fleece to think over strategy while supping a pint of bitter. The only occupants of the pub were a couple of old men in the tap room, their boneyard of dominoes spread out on the table.

  One wore a Rip Van Winkle beard that must have saved him a lot of time over the years. He had nothing to say for himself but nodded a lot, a nervous palsy. The other sported a wispy moustache, eye patch, and a growth of pirate stubble.

  Sykes hated dominoes, an old man’s game. There’d be time enough for that if and when he reached his dotage. But when Pirate Stubble asked him to join the game for a halfpenny, he did, as a way to pass an hour and ingratiate himself.

  They were all related to each other round here. Pirate Stubble, who picked up double six to start, was father to Turnbull, quarry foreman, grandfather to young Raymond, the pair who had dug out Ethan’s body. This had earned Pirate Stubble an extra pint or two and he was still playing on the glory. Sykes treated Rip Van Winkle and Pirate Stubble and when they asked what line he was in, Sykes owned up to buying and selling. He’d be a figure of ridicule here if he mentioned ladies’ stockings.

  Sykes turned talk to the quarry.

  ‘Do you reckon it was accidental?’ Sykes asked. ‘A landslip, a rock fall?’

  Pirate Stubble chuckled mirthlessly with the glee of the man left standing. ‘Can ’appen. Who’s to say?’

  ‘Not foul play then, as some are saying?’ Sykes prompted.

  ‘For foul play thah’d need a foul player, and ahm pointing no fingers.’ The old domino player suddenly swallowed the pickled egg he had been saving, popping it into his mouth. Sykes watched his throat to see if it would bulge like a cobra’s.

  Sykes followed his opponent’s five-two with a two-three. This could be a long night. When he looked through the hatch into the tap room and spotted the man Mrs Shackleton had described, Sykes planned his escape. That’s Bob Conroy, Sykes said to himself as he looked at the gaunt, weatherbeaten man with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. Mrs Shackleton had described him well. Conroy was already drunk.

  Sykes bided his time a little longer. He did not flee the old men’s company until the side of a mountain filled the doorway of the snug. The man wore a red neckerchief knotted at his throat, corduroy breeches, and a jacket that had once been tweed, all deeply ingrained with quarry dust. ‘Nah then, son,’ said the old man.

  Sykes made room for the man he guessed to be Josiah Turnbull, quarry foreman, and escaped in the direction of the tap room.

  He walked slowly enough to hear the old man’s
opening gambit to his son. ‘Where’s young un on his last night as a free man?’

  ‘Drinking hisself silly with his pals. They’re tekin him to every pub in Guiseley.’

  Ethan might have been with him had he lived, Sykes thought. He would have treated his former apprentice to a drink on his last night as a bachelor.

  As Sykes walked into the tap room, there was a lull in the talk. Bloody hell, they think I’m a plain-clothes copper. I’ll get no joy here.

  But Conroy was oblivious. He ordered a pint and a chaser. The landlord said, ‘Sit down, Bob. I’ll send it across.’ He nodded to the old waiter.

  ‘No, I’ll stand where I allus stand.’ Conroy fumbled for his brass and spilled coins onto the counter. The landlord counted the coins and shrugged, in no mood to tell the unsteady Conroy that he had underpaid.

  Forgetting that he intended to stand where he always stood, Conroy turned and blindly made for the corner by the fire where people shoved along to make space. Men on either side spoke to him, but he said nothing, as though not hearing or seeing anyone or anything bar the flames chasing up the chimney back.

  Sykes watched through the mirror that covered the wall behind the bar.

  Space was made on the table for the waiter to place Conroy’s pint and chaser. Conroy picked up the pint and gulped, smacking his lips.

  Through the mirror, Sykes watched Conroy down his chaser.

  Flush with the price of thirty-nine pairs of stockings, Sykes bought two whiskeys, one for himself and one he pushed to Conroy when he next approached the bar. ‘You look as if you need it.’

  Conroy stared at him, with something like recognition. He thinks I’m plain-clothes, too. He thinks I’m keeping an eye on him, but he’s not taking that ill. Mrs Shackleton was right. He’s the man that shopped Ethan to his bosses. Reported on Ethan to Special Branch. He’s a patriot. But now he wonders did he do the right thing.

  The landlord said, ‘Are you all right for getting home, Bob?’

  ‘I’m … I’m all right.’ Conroy downed his whiskey.

  Sykes drank with Conroy till the landlord called time. He was feeling none too steady himself, and remembered he had not eaten. And this dratted attaché case, making him stick out like a sore thumb.