“No one is accusing you of murder, Colonel Trent. It is without doubt that Doctor Harrington took his own life. But his boots were missing, and suddenly you have a new pair. Only the other day I noticed there were holes in your gardening boots.”
“Which is a very good reason for my buying a new pair, would you not say?”
“Colonel Trent, the boots you are wearing are very expensive. Now…” Archer lowered his eyes respectfully, “I know you are not a rich man. Plus … well, they’re American made.”
“Do we not have importers and exporters of goods in Britain?” the Colonel asked, his face reddening.
“We do, in which case those boots would cost even more. Now there are no charges against you, Colonel and nor will there be. You bought them in good faith. I just need to know where you got them. You said something about the pub and how I wouldn’t call it respectable if I knew. If I knew what? Are you suggesting that Frank Yeardley sold them to you?”
“I most certainly am not. Mr Yeardley may not be my type of person, but I gather he is an honest man.” Whatever failings Colonel Trent might have, he could not be anything but honest about a fellow human being.
“His son then?”
“It’s more the company he keeps,” said the Colonel. “You say I am not to be charged.”
“There will be no charge, though we will have to take the boots as evidence.”
The colonel let out a big sigh. “It was young Fletcher. Percy, I think they call him. He sold them to me. I didn’t realise they were from a dead man. I didn’t ask. I suppose I didn’t want to know. But if you say they’re Harrington’s then they must be.”
“So Percy didn’t tell you how he came by them?”
“No. As I said, I didn’t ask. Well one doesn’t, does one? And now I suppose I shall have to just mend my old pair.”
Constable Archer looked at the old colonel, his warm eyes full of sympathy. “Actually, I have a pair that was given to me as part of my uniform but they were a size too big. I’d be happy to let you have them if they’re the right size.”
“I’m a size ten…” The Colonel remembered his pride, adding. “I don’t need charity.”
“Of course not, and I wouldn’t offer it. I’ll bring them over and you pay me when you’re ready. It doesn’t have to be this week.” He had no such boots either, but there were some at the station left behind by the younger constables who had enlisted. At least they would be put to good use. Someone had to look after the men who came back from the wars to an ungrateful country. If the current war ever came to an end there would be even more of them scraping a living, but Archer would worry about that when the time came.
When he left Colonel Trent’s house, he went to the pub, looking for Tom Yeardley.
“He’s not here,” said Frank, when Archer reached the pub. Peg and Gerry Sanderson were in there, having a drink. “He went off out this morning and I haven’t seen him since. I don’t know what’s happening with that boy, honestly I don’t, Bert.”
“Have you seen Percy Fletcher then, Frank? He’s the one I really need to see.”
“Why, what’s he been up to?”
“Selling stolen boots to Colonel Trent. They belonged to Doctor Harrington.”
“That’s a rum business, isn’t it? Fancy the doctor coming back after all these years. I’m glad my Milly wasn’t here to see him. It would have cut her up something rotten.”
“Why’s that then?”
“Well you know that my Milly and her sister, Tilly, used to come up from down south for the strawberry picking?”
“Yes.”
“Tilly and the doctor had a fling. She was a bit of a lass, was Tilly. Not like my Milly. She already had a kid.”
“Milly?”
Frank rolled his eyes. “No, Tilly. She had a little girl, Helen, by some bloke she met down south. Used to drag the poor little thing around everywhere. More often than not, Milly ended up looking after Helen. She loved that little girl. Then when Harrington finished with Tilly – they had a row, right here in the middle of the street – she went off, taking Helen with her. It was a couple of years before you moved from Hereford and married our Adeline.”
“That explains why I don’t remember it.”
“Broke Milly’s heart, it did,” said Frank, as he wiped the bar over with a damp cloth. “She said she ought to have been that child’s mother. She had one letter from Tilly, saying she’d found work in Portsmouth, but that was it. Anyway, the next summer, when Milly came back up for the strawberry picking, we got married and she stayed here until … well you know. She was the best woman in the world, my Milly. Worth two of that bloody sister of hers.”
“Was Tilly the only one Harrington ran around with?”
“No, Bert. He was said to have women all over the place. He even tried wooing Miss Cartwright till he realised she was poor as a church mouse. Mind you, it brought a happy blush to the old woman’s cheeks. It’s a wonder Miss Penelope had owt to do with him, but he was a handsome sort, and she had money from her uncle. That was a strange thing. The uncle left Veronica Bradbourne out of his will completely. They say there was something funny about it. You know, that he had an ‘interest’ in Penelope. The dodgy uncle type of interest, but she was no oil painting. Veronica got the looks, but Penelope got the money. There was something a bit wanting about that girl.”
“Penelope Harrington?”
“Yeah. She was nice enough, but prone to madness. Rumour had it that the doctor didn’t like leaving her alone with the child. It ran in the family, by all accounts. Insanity.”
“Her daughter seems sane enough,” Peg piped up. She had been listening avidly to the conversation.
“Did you actually just say something nice about Cassie Harrington?” Gerry teased.
“I was about to add ‘in a dumb American’ way,” Peg said, waspishly. “But no, she’s not dumb. In fact, I think she’s probably rather clever. She’s certainly wrapped Gerry and Doctor Pearson around her little finger with her little girl lost act.”
“If you see your Tom, tell him I’d like a word please, Frank,” said Archer, grinning. He bid Peg and Gerry good day.
“Aren’t you going to tell him about the brooch?” Gerry muttered to Peg, as Frank went about his business behind the bar.
“No, he’ll only want to put it in evidence, and I think Mary should have it. Anyway, it serves him right for giving me what for about keeping evidence to myself.”
Peg finished her bottle of stout and returned home. Sheila, Mary and Cassie Harrington were in the sitting room, taking afternoon tea. “Mary, darling,” said Peg. “I found something for you today. Something of Veronica’s I thought you might like to have.”
She took the lapis lazuli brooch out of her pocket and gave it to her little sister. Mary frowned.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?”
Before Mary could answer, Cassie Harrington managed to drop her tea cup, breaking it in two.
Chapter Nine
Cassie looked up at the old doctor’s surgery. Despite the heat from the midday sun, she was shivering inside. The house was somehow strange and familiar. It had been her home, and yet she felt no affinity with it. She had thought that once she arrived in Midchester, the past would open up to her, helping to clear up some of the confused memories and dreams that she had experienced since moving to America.
She did not want to go inside, feeling that she had no real right to be there, so she walked around the garden, which had become overgrown through lack of care. The effect was rather attractive, with wildflowers swaying in the gentle breeze.
Around the back was the outhouse that often appeared in her dreams, but the roof had fallen in, and looking through the window, she could see that the old sofa was more frayed and busted than it had been when she and her little friend had hidden there. She could still hear Helen’s voice, talking about how one could not trust adults, even when they were being nice to you. It was a harsh lesson Cassie had l
earned, to the point that leaving for boarding school was one of the happiest moments of her life. Yet there had been kindness back then, in Midchester. She could not remember it clearly, but it was there. A warm smile and a soft hand, soothing her. The vague memory brought tears to her eyes.
She was startled out of her reverie by a voice saying, ‘Hello there.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” said Doctor Pearson. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was visiting a lady on Spinsters Row when I saw you walking past. It occurred to me that perhaps you should not be up here alone.”
“I am able to take care of myself, Doctor Pearson.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to intrude.” He turned to go.
“Please, don’t go. I apologise. It’s just that seeing the old place has rattled me. I’m glad you’re here as I wanted to go inside, but I did not want to be alone.”
“Are you sure that’s wise? This place holds only sadness for you now, surely.”
“I’m not sure what it holds. I barely recognise it as the place I used to live.”
“You were very young at the time.”
“Yes, that’s true. Would you come inside with me? I’d like to see where…” Her voice tailed off.
“If you’re certain,” said Pearson. “I wouldn’t want to upset you. You seem sad enough as it is.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes, I’m sure. I think.”
They walked back around to the front of the house, due to the French windows and back door being impassable, because of the foliage that had grown up around them. Ivy completely covered the back of the house.
“Nature always takes back in the end,” Pearson said.
“Yes, I suppose it does,” said Cassie, with a wan smile.
“What’s it like in America? I’ve always fancied going there.”
“New York is a wonderful city,” said Cassie. “It’s growing all the time. Buildings so high you think you could reach God if you went right to the top of them. Central Park is beautiful at this time of year.”
“You miss it?”
“Yes, I do. It’s my home and for the most part I’ve been happy there.”
“For the most part?”
“Mother can be … changeable.”
“Tell me about it. My own mother is a bit of a harridan. When is your mother coming to Midchester?”
“I don’t know. She isn’t keen to come back here at all. I think she and Father had problems here, and that’s why they left. She says it wasn’t a happy place for her. Father …” She paused. “Oh I don’t suppose it matters what I tell you now that he’s dead. Father had a wandering eye.”
“I see.”
“I think they left Midchester because he had an affair. I imagine in a small place like this, it’s hard to hide. I don’t know if he was always faithful to mother in New York, but it’s a big place, so maybe he got better at hiding it.”
They reached the front door, and Andrew pushed it open. It scraped on the floor, damp having swelled the wood.
“So what do you remember?” he asked.
Cassie stood in the hallway, looking up at the rickety staircase, then to the drawing room on one side and the dining room on the other. Another gap, where there used to be a door, led into the kitchen. She could see the remnants of an old stove through the door. Yet another door, behind the staircase, was shut tight. “I think that was the surgery,” she said. She moved to the drawing room. “That’s right. There’s another door leading from it there. I remember that. I remember father checking my tonsils. Ha…” She did not laugh so much as emit a small sound of triumph. “I had forgotten that, but yes, I suffered with tonsillitis. And Mother brought me …” She faltered and laughed. “No, she wouldn’t have brought me, would she? We’d already be here. How silly of me.”
“I like your laughter,” said Pearson. “You bring real sunshine to this dull place, Miss Harrington.”
She rewarded him with a warm smile, but it did not last long. “Can we go upstairs now?”
“Miss Harrington…”
“Please, call me Cassie. I should really like to go upstairs, Doctor Pearson. It’s not as if Father is still there.”
He helped her to traverse the dangerous staircase and she went straight to the nursery. “I remember this room!” she cried. “Yes, I do. Helen and I used to sleep here.”
“Helen?”
“My little friend. And I’m afraid that’s as much as I can remember.”
She walked over to the wall where her height had been recorded. “I don’t remember this,” she said. “But it must have happened. Only I don’t know who did it.”
“Your mother or father?”
“I doubt it, Doctor Pearson…”
“Call me Andrew.”
“Andrew. I doubt it very much. I don’t remember either of my parents being that interested in me. When I came top of my class at boarding school, Father’s reaction was one of surprise and Mother asked me if I’d cheated.” She sighed. “Yet I had a feeling of being loved in this house. Earlier, just before you arrived. There was kindness and gentleness. But it can’t have been either my father or my mother. Oh, my father wasn’t particularly unkind. Indifferent is a better word. Sometimes I think he forgot I existed. But my mother…” Her eyes became downcast. “Let’s not talk about such things. Being in this place is making me melancholy. I miss something, someone, only I’m not sure what it is that I miss. Isn’t that strange?”
“We’ve a tendency to think that we were happier as children, with no cares and no worries. Sometimes that’s true.”
“I wonder why he came here to die,” she mused, taking a last walk around the nursery. “Why in this house? In this room?”
“Perhaps he was happy here,” Pearson suggested. “And that’s what you remember.”
“Perhaps.” She shivered again. “I think I’ve seen all I want to see, Andrew. Can we leave now?”
They walked back to the village in silence, with Cassie lost in thought. She had enjoyed her few days in Midchester. Sheila and Mary Bradbourne were charming, and whilst Peg could be strident, Cassie sensed no real harm in the girl. What she had really enjoyed was being without her mother. She began to think of a way she could make that state of affairs permanent.
Chapter Ten
Alexander Marshall lived in an old artisan cottage, set amongst the area’s rolling hills. A man servant, holding a boot in one hand and a brush in the other, opened the door and informed Peg and Gerry that Mr Marshall was in his studio at the bottom of the garden.
“I see that he still needs a valet cum butler, despite his socialist leanings,” Peg muttered to Gerry as they walked around to the back of the cottage.
“Rich people never really give up being rich,” Gerry said, with a note of bitterness in his voice.
“Would you give your newly inherited money away?” asked Peg.
“No chance. I’ve been broke all my life, so it’s about time I had something.”
“Really? To be honest, you don’t talk much about your life before you came here.”
“There’s the studio,” said Gerry, pointing.
As the manservant had said, the studio was at the bottom of the garden. It was a wooden hut, rather ramshackle in design. Peg felt sure that one gust of wind would blow it right down.
“Mr Marshall,” Peg called. “Are you there?”
She was not prepared for the man who opened the door. For a start, he only looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, which would make him younger than Veronica. He was also devastatingly handsome, with thick dark hair and pale blue eyes. She felt her female heart flutter a little, but decided that being attracted to two men – Gerry Sanderson and Andrew Pearson – was quite enough for one year.
“How can I help you?” he asked. He wiped his hands onto his shirt, which was already covered in paint.
“My name is Peg – Margaret – Bradbourne.”
“You’re Veronica’s stepdaughter, aren’t
you? I meant to call on her but I’ve been rather busy. Does she want a decision about the house?”
“The house? Oh… then you don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
“May we come in?” Peg said, sure that Marshall’s manservant was watching them. “To speak to you privately?”
“Of course.”
When Peg entered Marshall’s studio, it became obvious he had known Veronica. A portrait of her, wearing a flowing robe in the style of a Greek goddess, stood against one of the walls. The robe was held together with the lapis lazuli brooch that had been left at the hotel. It was as if Peg were seeing her stepmother through someone else’s eyes, for she had never really given much thought to how beautiful Veronica was. Seeing this portrait made her realise why her father had wanted Veronica around. For an ailing, elderly man she must have been quite a tonic. If Peg were honest, Veronica had also been a good wife, never failing in her duty to care for William Bradbourne, despite the fact they had both entered into a marriage of convenience. Veronica gave William youth and he, in his turn, had given her stability.
The Doctor's Daughter (The Peg Bradbourne Mysteries Book One) Page 7