There was an agonising wait, as everyone hung around to see who the victim was. The train had to stay right back, and no one was allowed to get off, whilst the track was cleared..
Finally it chugged into the station, all the passengers looking pale and wan.
“It was dreadful,” said Miss Cartwright, who had been shopping in Shrewsbury. She was held up by Colonel Trent, who had also been on the train. Another door opened and a very handsome young soldier got off. Peg did a double take.
“Tom? Tom Yeardley?”
“Hello, Miss Bradbourne.”
“Frank!” Peg called along the platform, without ceremony. “Frank, he’s here. Tom is here!”
Frank Yeardley, Constable Archer and Doctor Pearson had started their walk back along the track. When Frank heard his name, he looked up. His walk became a run when he saw his son. He bounded the platform like a man twenty years younger.
“My boy,” he cried, when he reached Tom. “My boy!” He hugged his son, then put his hand around the back of his neck, pressing Tom’s forehead against his. “Don’t ever do that to me again, you hear.” As if only just realising what Tom was wearing he stepped back. “What have you done?”
“I’ve joined the army, Dad. I need to get away, but I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye to you.”
“Oh you idiot! You didn’t have to join up. They’ve not brought conscription in yet. Why, Tom? Why? Isn’t it enough that your brother is out there? Do I have to lie awake at nights worried about you too?”
“I have to do my duty, Dad. Besides, I … I can’t stay here, not with him bothering me all the time. He won’t leave me alone, Dad. I thought if I joined the army, I’d learn to be braver.”
“Who, son? Who’s been bothering you?”
“Percy Fletcher,” said Peg, cutting in. “He’s been bullying you, hasn’t he, Tom?”
“Well he won’t be doing that anymore,” said Archer, who had caught up with Frank. Pearson was looking grim.
“What do you mean?” asked Tom.
“We’ve just found him, lad,” said Archer. “It looks very much like he threw himself onto the tracks.”
Tom’s knees almost buckled in shock. Frank had to catch him. “Well, now you don’t have to go,” said Frank.
“I can’t get out of it now, Dad. I’ve taken the King’s shilling.”
Whilst the practise of pressganging young men to join the army had long since ended, it was still accepted that once a soldier had received his first week’s pay, he was in the army and could not get out of the contract.
“Oh, son… I’ll buy you out, I’ve got some money.”
“No, Dad. I’ve got to go. I want to go. I leave tomorrow, so let’s not argue about it anymore.”
Frank and Tom left the station together, talking earnestly.
“Poor lad,” said Gerry. “More bloody cannon fodder.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Peg, thinking of her brother Freddie. Pushing way the dark thoughts, she looked at her watch. “Oh look at the time. I’d best get back for lunch. Miss Harrington? Cassie?” She turned to see that Cassie was in deep conversation with a woman dressed all in black.
“Oh, Miss Bradbourne … Peg.” Cassie turned and gave her a dazzling smile, yet there was something harsh and brittle behind it. “Would you believe my mother was on the train? Mother, I’d like to introduce you to Aunt Veronica’s step-daughter, Peg Bradbourne. Peg, this is my mother, Penelope Harrington.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” said Peg, holding out a hand. The hand offered to hers was icy cold, despite the warm day. The woman’s dark eyes were not much warmer.
“And you, Miss Bradbourne. Cassie tells me that we’re staying with you.”
“Oh,” said Cassie, looking flustered. “I only said that I’d ask if we could both stay, Mother.”
“That’s not what you said at all, Cassie,” Mrs Harrington snapped. “Really, girl, your memory is getting worse. She’s rather useless, Miss Bradbourne, but I have to put up with her, especially now I’m a poor widow.”
“You are both welcome to stay with us,” Peg said, levelly. For the first time she stopped resenting Cassie Harrington and began to feel deeply sorry for the girl.
“Then I suppose that will have to do,” said Mrs Harrington. “Come along, Cassie. Let’s not keep Miss Bradbourne waiting. It’s been bad enough waiting on the train because some selfish person decided to jump in front of it.”
As they walked from the station, with Peg having invited Gerry Sanderson to lunch, they passed The Quiet Woman. Frank and Tom were standing outside in the sunshine, both nursing a pint. It seemed to Peg that it was Frank’s way of treating his son like an adult. The scene brought a lump to her throat. She had watched Tom Yeardley grow up. Would she one day be saying prayers for him in church, along with all the other young men that the village had lost?
Frank looked up and nodded his head slightly to Peg in acknowledgement. Then he saw Penelope Harrington, and his face became quizzical. He whispered something to Tom, who also looked at Cassie’s mother. He nodded to his father, his brow furrowing in confusion. Peg was dying to know what they were saying and thinking, but Mrs Harrington forged forward, presumably remembering the village and where she was supposed to be going. She only stopped when Peg and Gerry pointed to the car in the square.
Chapter Twelve
Lunch was a difficult affair that even Sheila and Mary’s good graces could not rescue. Peg wanted to be at the station, finding out more about Percy Fletcher and what had made him take his own life. Peg believed that Percy thought too much of himself for that. In her opinion, there was too much suicide going around. Three people in less than a fortnight? It did not make sense.
The company at lunch did not help. Mrs Harrington had a way of finding fault without actually saying anything. Unless she was speaking to Cassie.
“Your hair needs pinning,” Mrs Harrington said, just as Cassie started to eat her soup. Mrs Harrington scooped some soup onto her spoon then let it go, as if testing the consistency and finding it wanting. She sighed, impatiently. “Go and repair it now, Cassandra.”
“Yes, mother.”
Then when Cassie sat down again, looking as if she had been crying, Mrs Harrington said, “Oh, good lord girl, your nose is all shiny now. Go and put some powder on it.”
Cassie, who had shone like the sun when she first arrived in Midchester, began to fade and shrink before Peg’s eyes. Young Mary, who absorbed people’s emotions like a sponge, looked close to tears herself. Seeing the portrait of her mother had not helped. Rather than comfort Mary, it had only reminded her of her loss.
Peg remembered the height markings for baby Cassie on the nursery wall of the old doctor’s house and wondered again who had done them. It could not have been the dour woman sitting at their lunch table. She took no pride in her daughter at all. Perhaps it was Doctor Harrington, and that was why he killed himself there, but that did not fit with what Cassie had said about neither of her parents taking that much interest in her. Peg wondered if it had indeed been a nanny, or Frank’s sister-in-law, Tilly, and that had been Doctor Harrington’s connection to that room.
“Sadly she hasn’t inherited my looks,” said Mrs Harrington, when Cassie had left to powder her nose. It was clear that Mrs Harrington had once been a very attractive woman, but her lips were pursed and surrounded by tiny lines, and she had lines on her forehead, suggesting that she frowned a lot. Something about Mrs Harrington’s obvious earlier beauty made Peg wonder, but she could not put her finger on what it was. Something she had heard.
“I think Cassie is very beautiful,” said Mary. Peg wanted to hug her.
“Yes, we all think so,” said Peg, realising the irony of her saying that after resenting Cassie for so long. But it suited Peg’s contrary nature to disagree with the awful Mrs Harrington. “Don’t we, Sheila?”
“She’s a peach of a girl,” said Sheila. “Doctor Pearson thinks so.”
“Humph,” said Mrs Harrington. “She’ll be lucky if she does as well as a doctor, let alone a young man inheriting a fortune and a great hall.”
There was no answer to that, not even from Peg who should have been happy to hear it both from the point of view of Gerry and Andrew Pearson. Instead it made her sad. When Cassie returned to the room, Peg cast a sympathetic glance, but regretted it when Cassie looked as if she might cry.
The rest of luncheon was an ordeal to be got through, but somehow they managed it. Gerry made his excuses as soon as he could, returning to Bedlington Hall.
“Is there anywhere you would like to walk, for old time’s sake, Mrs Harrington?” asked Peg. Sheila and Mary had returned to the school for the afternoon session. They were in the drawing room, drinking coffee and sitting in awkward silence. Peg remembered after dinner coffee with Veronica, and it had never been this dull, even if they disagreed on things. Funny how she missed her step-mother now that she was gone. She was hit with another pang of regret for all the mistakes she had made in regard to her stepmother.
“Not really. I barely know Midchester.”
“But you grew up here, did you not?”
“Yes, of course I did, but it’s been over twenty years since I came here. I had no great love for the place, even then.”
“When is your husband’s funeral?” Peg was really asking how soon she could get rid of this dreadful woman.
“That’s something Mother and I need to sort out,” said Cassie. “So if you don’t think us rude, Peg, I think I’ll take mother to the undertakers.”
“Of course I don’t mind. If you need any help, Cassie, do ask for it.” Peg was inclined to be kinder to the girl now.
Cassie got up from her seat and then reached over and kissed Peg’s cheek. “Thank you so much,” she whispered. Peg felt the girl’s wet lashes touch her cheek.
Mother and daughter left together. Peg watched them from the window. As soon as they thought they were out of earshot, they started to talk to each other. Whatever they were saying it was very heated. Peg wished she could follow and listen, and was just considering doing so when the telephone rang.
“Hello, Miss Bradbourne?”
“Yes?”
“This is Alexander Marshall. I was just clearing out my studio and I realised that your stepmother had forgotten some things from our last session. She left the robe she was wearing.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter, Mr Marshall. I can’t see me wearing it, can you?”
She was not comforted by the sound of him scoffing. “Fair enough, but I thought your sister Mary would like the blue lapis lazuli brooch it was fixed with.”
Chapter Thirteen
Peg looked at the two brooches, side by side, and realised that whilst they looked very similar from a distance, up close one was clearly star shaped, whilst the other, which was found at the hotel in Shrewsbury, was shaped like a flower, with a lighter blue stone in the centre.
She looked at the clock. It was too soon for Mary and Sheila to return from the school, but she needed to ask them if Veronica did own both brooches. Somehow she doubted it, as her stepmother had been something of a slave to fashion, within her limited means, and it was unlikely she would own two of the same item, even if they were slightly different shapes.
But what did it mean if one of the brooches was not Veronica’s? Very little as far as Peg could work out. She left Mary’s room, where the brooch had been amongst the little girl’s box of treasures, and went to Veronica’s. Uncertain what she was looking for, she went through Veronica’s own horde of treasures, which were in the bottom drawer of her dressing table. Dance cards; post cards; letters from Cassie; flowers pressed between pages of a book of love poetry that had been a present from a beau called Ronald in 1899 and some grainy photographs of two young girls just into their teens, both dressed in white with a flower pinned on their chest. Veronica and Penelope Hardwick. Veronica had been very beautiful, even from a young age, with luxurious curls, whereas Penelope, who was several years older, had been plain, with lank fair hair. But there had also been sweetness in the dreamy half-smile that played on her lips. What had changed that sweetness into the hard-faced woman who gave birth to Cassie?
Peg looked at the photograph more closely, as if it would give her the answer, but the quality was not good, and it was hard to see either woman in the two girls. No, that was not strictly true. Veronica had matured, but still had that recognisable beauty. The answer was there, just out of Peg’s reach, but she could not quite grasp it and just when she thought she had worked it out, the telephone in the hall rang.
She ran downstairs, just catching it in time.
“Miss Bradbourne?”
“Yes? Is that you, Frank?”
“It is, lass. Have you seen Bert Archer since he was at the station? I need to speak to him, but he’s nowhere around. It’s our Tom, Miss Bradbourne. I’m frightened… I …”
Peg heard a dull thump and a groan. “Frank? Frank? Mr Yeardley?”
With an icy finger of dread running down her spine, Peg flew out of the house and ran all the way to The Quiet Woman, stopping to knock on Doctor Pearson’s door as she did.
“What is it, Miss Bradbourne?” When Pearson answered the door, he had a napkin in his shirt, as if he were taking a late lunch.
“Something’s happened to Frank Yeardley. Come quickly.”
As Peg was not the sort of girl to have wild fancies, Pearson did not need telling twice. He grabbed his jacket and followed her.
The pub was closed up at the front, but that was not unusual. Frank only opened all day on market days.
Peg ran around to the back door, which was slightly ajar. “Frank,” she called, as she entered. Feeling a little foolish, she wondered if she had overreacted. Frank might have just dropped the telephone. But her instincts told her otherwise. The sound she had heard was one of pain.
They found him in the back hallway of the living quarters, lying on the floor, with the phone swinging from its cord. Peg put it back on the cradle, whilst Pearson tended to Frank.
“Is he…” Peg swallowed hard, trying not to cry.
“He’s alive,” said Pearson. “But he’s been hit on the head. There may be a fracture. We’ll get him up to Bedlington Hall. It’s nearer than the cottage hospital and I don’t want to risk him having a brain bleed. Where is Tom?”
“I don’t know,” Peg replied. “But Frank said something about being worried about him.” She paused, hardly able to bring herself to say it, but she had to ask. “Doctor Pearson, is there any chance that Percy Fletcher’s death wasn’t suicide?”
“Are you saying that you think Tom pushed him onto the tracks?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. Tom isn’t here now, is he?”
“Let’s sort Frank out, and then we’ll worry about that. He may well be able to tell us himself. Telephone Bedlington Hall and ask them to send an ambulance down, immediately. The chief physician there owes me a few favours.”
They waited for the ambulance, and as they did, Peg had a look around. A picture on the hallway wall showed two young women. Peg recognised one of the girls as Frank’s wife, Milly. Milly and Tilly Blake had been very much alike. More so than Veronica and Penelope…
Pearson went with Frank in the ambulance, but Peg had to walk up to Bedlington Hall. It took her about twenty minutes to get there. When she did, she saw Pearson outside, in deep conversation with Constable Archer.
“You’re here,” she said, accusingly. “Frank was looking for you.”
“I’m afraid I’ve been rather busy, Miss Bradbourne.”
“Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I … “ Peg stopped as the door to Bedlington Hall opened and two police officers came out, with Gerry Sanderson between them. His face was grim and defeated.
“What’s going on?” she
asked. “Gerry, what’s happening?”
“I’m sorry to tell you, Miss Bradbourne that the man you know as Gerry Sanderson has been arrested,” Archer said.
“But he couldn’t be the killer. He couldn’t be…” Peg felt the world around her collapse, along with all her silly little dreams.
“Mr Harry Carter,” said Archer, in official tones. “You are under arrest…”
***
They let her in to see him later that night, after the police had questioned her for hours.
“We’re just holding him until the military arrive, Miss,” Archer told her. “Then they’ll deal with him.” He opened the cell door. “You have a visitor, Mr Carter.”
“Hello, Peg,” said Gerry.
The Doctor's Daughter (The Peg Bradbourne Mysteries Book One) Page 9