“But you lads mostly stay downstairs, don’t you? Smoking and drinking beer in the parlour. Don’t be afraid to tell me. We know what you all do up there. We don’t really care as long as you’re not causing trouble in the village. Like I said to our Frank, boys will be boys. So why did you go upstairs this morning?”
“Sometimes we go upstairs. It’s like a dare, because they say the house is haunted.”
“I see, lad. So who dared you to go upstairs?”
“No one. I just went up there on my own.”
As far as Bert Archer could tell, Tom was telling the truth, but there was something in the boy’s eyes. Some unnamed fear. He decided to leave it alone for a while, aware that the more he pushed, the more Tom would clam up. “Okay, so you went upstairs. Can you tell me what you found?”
“You know that. It was the dead man.”
“What time might that have been?”
“I don’t know. About half past eight, I think.”
“This morning?”
“That’s right.”
“You were up late helping your dad last night, weren’t you? The pub closed around ten thirty.”
“Yeah. So?”
“And Frank always takes at least an hour to tidy up for the night.”
“That’s about right.” Tom looked wary.
“You must have been tired when you went to bed. Then to get up that early in the morning.”
Archer leaned in. “So tell me lad. What time did you creep back out?”
“I didn’t…” Tom slumped in his chair, defeated. “It was about half past midnight. It was a dare, you see. To spend the night in the house on my own.”
“And that’s what you did?”
“Yes.”
“Who dared you?”
“I’m not ratting on a … a friend.”
“No, no, I get that, lad. You have to stick together. But er … how would they know you’d done the dare if they weren’t with you?”
“Someone was supposed to come and see this morning.”
“Someone?”
“Yes, someone. I don’t know who. One of the lads.”
“And did they come to the house and check you’d stayed there?”
“I was on my own when I found the dead man.”
It was a question that Archer had not asked, so immediately made him suspicious.
“Was he wearing his shoes when you found him?”
“I can’t remember.” Tom’s voice weakened, and whilst he had been mostly evasive with his answers, Archer knew that this was his first real lie.
“Chances are that a man dressed like that would have a nice pair of shoes or boots.” Archer rubbed his chin. “Don’t you think?”
“How would I know?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Do you think I killed him, Uncle Bert? Is that it?” asked Tom, desperately.
“No, lad.” Archer laughed softly. “Not at all. He killed himself. That’s for sure. We just need to find out who he is that’s all. But there was nothing on him. No papers, no pocket book. It could be that he travelled all the way from wherever it was to kill himself. He’s not a local. But it’s odd that he didn’t leave a note.”
“Maybe a tramp stole all his stuff,” said Tom.
“Yes, that’s good thinking, lad. A tramp probably stole it all. We’ll know more when the doctor can give us a time of death.”
Tom’s face turned beetroot red. “Can they really say exactly when he died?”
“Well, it’s not exact. Not like in the detective novels. But it’ll be near enough. So anyway, you found his body and then what?”
“Then I came running down to the village to fetch you and the doctor. I saw Miss Bradbourne on my way.”
“See, that’s what’s worrying me, Tom. You say you found the man at eight-thirty, but it was after the post office opened at nine that you saw Miss Bradbourne near the old constable’s house. I know that, because one of the ladies on Spinsters Row saw you.”
“I don’t know the exact time I found him. I haven’t got a watch. I just thought it was about that time.”
“Of course, lad. Well that’s all for now. You’ll probably have to attend the inquest in a day or two. You go and help your dad.”
Archer watched thoughtfully as Tom lumbered away to help Frank. The boy was hiding something, but whether it had anything to do with the dead man he did not know. It might have just been something illegal he and his friends had been up to. All Archer could do was keep a look out.
***
Tom went out into the yard behind the pub and took a long, deep breath. He was about to go back inside when he saw a plume of smoke coming from behind the wall at the end of the yard. The gate was open. Percy Fletcher stuck his head around the gap. “Come here,” he said.
Tom reluctantly went to him, hating himself even as he gave in to the other boy’s malevolence. Percy was not even as tall as Tom, but he was twice as wide and three times more threatening.
“What you said?” Percy caught Tom by his collar the moment he drew nearer. At the same time, Fletcher looked around to make sure no one was looking.”
“Nothing. I’ve told them nowt.”
“Good. I’m onto a nice little earner here, and you had better not ruin it for me.”
“I’ve told them nowt,” Tom repeated, his throat constricting.
“If I find out you’ve talked…” Percy drew his fist back and punched Tom full in the stomach, before sauntering off up the alleyway behind the pub.
Winded, Tom fell to a crouch, with tears streaming from his eyes.
***
Archer strolled back to the police station, via Spinster’s Row. He kept his head up, facing forward, determined not to catch the eye of any of the old biddies standing in their gardens.
He was relieved to pass Colonel Trent and see that the good fellow had his head down, gardening.
“Good morning, Colonel,” he said, as he passed by. The Colonel looked up and nodded curtly. “Nice day,” Archer offered.
Some sound emitted from the Colonel’s throat, which could either have been a yes or a no. Archer was not sure.
“Oh, Constable Archer,” said Miss Cartwright, opening her gate and stepping out into the lane. “I really need to speak to you.”
“I’m in rather a hurry,” said Archer.
“But it is important, you see. About the dead man.”
To the left of Archer, the Colonel muttered something about nosey women and threw his rake down, retreating to his house. He stopped by his front door to take off his muddy boots. Archer noticed that they had holes in the bottom. Poor old soul, thought Archer. A man of the Colonel’s courage reduced to such penury was a sad sight to see.
“What about the dead man, Miss Cartwright?”
“I did try to tell Miss Bradbourne this morning. That girl is always in such a hurry to go nowhere. Not like her sister, Miss Sheila Bradbourne. She is a real lady. Poor Miss Bradbourne will never marry, of course, but her sister will do well with young Norman.”
“What has Miss Bradbourne’s spinster status to do with the dead man?” asked Archer.
“Why nothing? Though my own status has much to do with him.”
“Did you kill him, Miss Cartwright?”
“Oh the very thought,” she twittered. “Of course not, even if he did pass me over for a younger lady with money. Of course, when a man is twenty … ten … years older than a woman, no one minds, but if a woman is older than a man, people talk. I did not mind, but he did. Strange though. I did not expect him to return to Midchester.”
“Who, Miss Cartwright?”
“I saw him pass my house yesterday and as soon as I heard about the dead man up at his old house, I knew it was him.”
“Who?”
“Surely you must remember him. It was Doctor Arthur Harrington.”
Chapter Four
Peg sliced the spade through the earth, working out all her anger and frustration on the fi
elds alongside Bedlington Hall. With Sheila working at the school, and Mary in her own class, there was no one she could talk to about Veronica and the strange man.
She wanted to know who he was and what his appearance meant. Mostly she was angry that Veronica had not even waited a year after William Bradbourne’s death before finding someone else. It was all very well understanding about Miss Cartwright’s sister-in-law finding a new husband, but this was different. This was her father and she would not have his memory slighted in such a way. The man was probably rich, and that’s why Veronica had latched onto him. Peg put no store by the admiring looks her step-mother gave the man. She had looked at Peg’s father that way, and yet only a few months after his death, she was with another man.
“Got a letter for you, Miss Bradbourne,” said a voice from the gate leading into the field. Peg straightened up and saw the postman, Abe Potter. “From your brother, I reckon. I was on my way down the house but I reckoned you might want to read it in your break.”
“Thank you, Abe,” said Peg, going to the gate. “I need cheering up.”
“I hope it’s good news then,” said Abe.
“Why? Is there any reason it shouldn’t be?” Peg held out her hand for the letter. A cloud seemed to roll over the sun. “It is a letter, is it not? Not a telegram?”
“Ay, it’s a letter. Not that a few telegrams haven’t gone out this morning.”
“Really? Who to?”
“The Simpsons. Their lad Barney has copped it. Only their Len is left now and he’ll be old enough to go soon. And the Fletchers. Their son Teddy died. They’ve only got Percy left. I’m glad my Herbie is not old enough go, and that our Maggie is a girl and still in her cradle. Otherwise we’d have no children left in Midchester at all.”
“Thanks Abe, you’re a real Job’s comforter, do you know that?” Peg snatched the letter from him.
“Now, Miss Bradbourne, don’t take on so. You did ask me.”
“Yes, I suppose I did. Remind me not to ask you next time.” Peg smiled sadly. She patted him on the shoulder in her usual abrupt way. “It’ll all be over before Herbie is old enough, I’m sure of it. And I can’t imagine them ever letting women fight on the front line. I wish they would. I’d give the Kaiser what for.”
“I bet you would, Miss. Good morning to you.”
“Morning, Abe.”
Peg put the letter in her pocket until lunchtime. When noon came, she sat down on a fallen tree stump and first opened up her jam sandwich and a bottle of stout. Then as she munched her sandwich, she read the letter from her brother, Freddie.
Dear Peggy-lou,
I hope you’re well, dearest. It’s pretty much hell here, as always, but as I can’t tell you where here is, I won’t bore you with the details. We’ve lost quite a few of the lads, some from Midchester, but you probably know that by now. It’s that chaotic here, you probably find out their identities before I do.
What you probably won’t know yet is that Teddy Fletcher deserted. When they found him, I tried to speak up for him. Said the lad was afraid, like we all were. It’s bloody awful here. But they shot him anyway. Rum job, really. Has to be done, otherwise discipline would fall apart. But, still. Not good. We’re not allowed to say it out loud. Queen and country and all that, you know. Feel like taking off myself sometimes, but I decided that if I was going to get shot I might as well take out a few of the hun while I was at it.
Anyway, enough of the misery here. How are you? Sheila told me that Veronica wants to sell the house to pay off some debts. If you can persuade her to wait till I get home on leave, we might be able to sort something out. Can’t do much from here really. You know how it is. But anyway, don’t worry, Pet. If anything happens to me, I’ve made sure you, Sheila and Mary will be alright. Not rich, but I’ve put enough by for you just in case. My friends say I might marry, but that’s only because they don’t know me like you do. I thought about it. Find a nice girl and settle down. But I’d be lying to her and myself, wouldn’t I? Odd how I can say things to you that I can’t say to Sheila.
You haven’t told her that other stuff have you? No, of course you haven’t. Sorry, Pet. A man gets to thinking things here. About what people might find out about him when he’s dead. And if people knew the truth, well it wouldn’t matter how heroic I was, would it? They’d just know that one thing about me and forget all the rest. Not that I plan any heroics. I’m just hanging on and hoping not to get shot, just like every other poor bugger here.
I seem to have got a bit morose, old girl. What else did I have to tell you? Oh yes, Lieutenant Gerald Sanderson. He’s from Devon. Or is it Dorset? I forget now. One of the D’s down south where we’ve got extended family. He was injured last week – poor bloke shot in the leg - and he’s on his way to Bedlington Hall to stay at the military hospital. He owns the place, so that’s a bit of a coincidence. It was entailed to him when Great Aunt Bedlington died. He’s the son of her step-daughter. You know, the one with the insane husband. I’m not sure if that makes him related to us or not (being the son of Great Aunt’s stepdaughter, not his old pa being insane ha ha!) But he is sort of related so I told him you’d look in on him. He’s a nice chap. So go and say hello if you can.
I have to go now, Peggy-Lou. I miss talking to you properly, but one day I’ll get some leave and we can talk away to our heart’s content, just like we used to.
Your loving brother
Freddie
Peg read the letter through several times, as she always did when Freddie’s letters arrived. He seldom said anything about the situation where he was, so she spent a lot of time reading between the lines. His forced cheerfulness was not lost on her, and neither were his fears about what people might find out about him when he died.
She kissed the letter. “They’ll never hear it from me, dearest.”
Able to come and go from the farm as she pleased, Peg decided to take the afternoon off and walk over to Bedlington Hall to meet Gerald Sanderson. If Freddie liked him, she was sure to. It was at the back of her mind, he might be able to help them with their problem. Not that she intended to go cap in hand. Great Aunt Bedlington had always helped her mother and father, sending game and other consumables to the house, and inviting them to dinner several nights a week. It went a long way to helping with the housekeeping of a country doctor and his wife. If Gerald Sanderson only allowed her to have the odd partridge and some vegetables from the hall gardens, it would cut down on her food bill.
Although the farm was alongside Bedlington Hall, it was by no means a simple trek through the fields. High hedges barred the direct route. Peg suspected it was because some Lord Midchester in the past did not want to have to watch the serfs make his money for him. She was forced to walk via the narrow country lanes, back through Midchester and up to the house main entrance from behind the churchyard and village hall. The house had been turned into a military hospital only a few months before.
Because it was a reasonable day, some of the men sat outside. They were flanked by pretty nurses and cheerful orderlies.
When she reached the main door, Doctor Pearson was just coming out to his car. “We must stop meeting this way,” he said.
“Have you been doing your rounds?” asked Peg, before mentally kicking herself. Of course he had. Why else would he be up at the military hospital?
“Yes, I have. What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for my cousin, Gerald Sanderson.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve just seen him. I didn’t realise you were related. He’s not taking visitors at the moment.”
“Why not? Is he very badly hurt?” Peg had seen some of the soldiers who had been in explosions.
“Not physically – a bit of shrapnel here and there and a bullet to the shoulder – but psychologically he’s a mess like many of the young men. He’s had a tough time of it. He was on his way home with one injury and then their transport crashed, killing everyone else. He’s the only one who made it.”
“How awfu
l,” said Peg, instantly feeling guilty about wanting to sponge off a man who had been through so much. “Perhaps I’d better go away and come back another day. What happened about the man Tom found this morning? Was it definitely suicide?”
“As far as I can tell. I’ll be doing the post mortem later, but I was needed here first. Why? Do you suspect something else?”
“I don’t know. Tom acted strange, that’s all. I don’t think he killed the man, but I think he knew more than he let on.”
“Yes, Constable Archer thinks the same. These youngsters always get an idea that if they say something, the world will collapse. Generally it turns out to be nothing at all. Anyway, I’d best get on.”
“Yes, I suppose I should too.” Peg glanced up at the Hall just in time to see a man standing in one of the upper windows, looking in her direction. He was very handsome, with fair hair and blue eyes. He smiled at Peg and it was as if the sun became a little brighter.
The Doctor's Daughter (The Peg Bradbourne Mysteries Book One) Page 3