The Shrouded Path

by Sarah Ward

  Mina slid the photo between the pages of her diary. She flicked through the rest of the album but found no more featuring teenage girls. She did, however, find a picture of her mother sitting at a desk, a standard school photo of the time. Hilary’s girlish curls hung down from a side parting but her mouth bore traces of lipstick. Possibly the pale frosted variety her mother wore in the mid-seventies, an old-fashioned colour that she had refused to update. Hilary’s eyes were large and unknowing. If not beautiful, she had a freshness of innocence.

  Mina removed this photo from its hinges and checked to see if anything was written on the back. Nothing. She slid it into her diary to join the first and put the book into her rucksack. The rest of the album consisted of family photos and holiday snaps. Mina checked to see if she could recognise any locations. One looked like it had been taken on Bampton High Street, as the form of the buildings was familiar. There was nothing recognisable as Cold Eaton.

  Only as she turned the page did Mina spot a picture of her mother that made her go cold. Hilary was about nineteen, posing in front of a dark stone building. Her mother had written ‘Leeds 1961’ onto the page beneath the photo. It was a picture of Hilary at university staring unsmiling into the camera, her hand clasping the side of her flared skirt.

  There were a few years between the first image and the second but the innocence had gone to be replaced by a dark knowledge in her young eyes. Mina shut the album and leant back against the sofa, thinking. What had happened in the intervening years?

  29

  Camilla watched as John hit the final nail into the wooden board he’d fixed across the window. The larder was plunged into gloom, illuminated only by a faint light from a bare bulb speckled with flies, and the smell of cinnamon and pickling vinegar pervaded the space. John was a reassuring presence. Tall like her brother but more solid. Unlike Sadler, he was also good at practical tasks.

  ‘Will it be secure?’

  Her husband slotted his fingers over the top of the panel and pulled. It buckled and then held. ‘It’ll do for the minute. What did the window guy say?’

  ‘I gave him the measurements over the phone and he thinks he’s got something in stock that will fit. He’s coming out tomorrow morning to try it.’

  John was carefully placing the tools back into his case. ‘It’ll be all right until then. They won’t get through that panel without making an almighty row. Just tell the neighbours to keep an eye on things. Do they know Ginnie’s in hospital?’

  ‘I don’t think so, otherwise they’d have put out the bin for her. Suppose whoever tried to break in comes back, though? Mum’s due to be discharged tomorrow. What if we come back and find they’ve managed to get back in?’

  John shut the case and looked at her. ‘Are you all right? You’re not normally like this. Remember when we were burgled? You called the police and started peeling potatoes for the tea.’

  ‘It’s not my house, though, is it, and, oh I don’t know, maybe I got more of a shock than I realised when she was admitted. I’m suddenly aware of how vulnerable she is.’

  John put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. ‘Look, if you’re worried, why don’t you stay here? Leave the porch light on. You don’t go to bed until late so they’ll know someone is here. Tomorrow the window will be fixed, and make sure it’s one with a lock on.’

  ‘Really? Are you okay with that? Putting the kids to bed and so on.’

  His face took on an expression of mock hurt. ‘Thanks a lot. I have done it before, you know.’

  ‘Had Ben started school then?’

  ‘All right, all right. It’s been a few years. Seriously, it’ll be fine.’ He raised his voice. ‘Hey guys, fancy a pizza and a boys’ night in with your dad?’

  Ben came charging through the kitchen door. ‘Oh yeah, with dough balls.’

  Samuel followed him, looking concerned. ‘What about Mum?’

  ‘I need to stay here and get a few things together before your nan gets home.’

  ‘I can stay with you.’

  Touched, Camilla shook her head. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll be fine. It’s nothing to do with the window. There are a few things I want to get sorted before Nana leaves hospital. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to pick you up from school. Your dad will take you in the morning.’

  ‘We can have dough balls,’ said Ben jumping up towards his brother.

  Samuel looked unconvinced. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Mum?’

  Camilla waved her mobile at him. ‘I’ll call you before you go to bed, okay? Let you know that I’m fine.’

  ‘But in the night?’

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about, I promise.’

  As they were leaving, John kissed her. ‘Don’t worry. That window is small. I think they tried and then realised the futility of it. If you hear anything that bothers you, though, turn on all the lights and call me.’

  After her family had gone, Camilla, for something to do, took out a bottle of bleach and wiped down every surface in the kitchen and then mopped the floor. When she’d finished, she peeled off her gloves and jumped in the shower, trying to wash herself under the meagre water that spurted from the calcified head. We’ve neglected Mum, she realised. She’s so bloody independent, we’ve let her get on with things. Both of us. Me because of the kids and Francis because of his job. Mum’s got old and we’ve not realised.

  She towelled herself dry and made a note to get some descaler the following day to sort out her mother’s bathroom. She pulled out one of Ginnie’s nighties from a drawer. Made of lemon cotton embellished with broderie anglaise, it wasn’t as hideous as she had anticipated but it depressed Camilla looking in the mirror. She had her mother’s flat chest and large feet and it was a premonition of what she’d look like when she was seventy-five. She glanced at the clock. Just gone seven, hours to fill before bed, but the nightdress would do while she washed her clothes so they were clean for the following day.

  She bundled up the dirty laundry. Hardly enough for a wash so she opened Ginnie’s wicker basket and pulled out the contents. There wasn’t much. Underwear, a pair of stretchy trousers and a dark green polo neck jumper. Camilla added them to the pile, noticing that the jumper had a darker patch down one side. She picked it up and studied the stain, which had made the fabric stiffen. She went into the bathroom and put the fabric under the tap. The water ran a red hue that gradually turned pink. Camilla stared at it, trying to make sense. Had her mother fallen and hurt herself when her pacemaker began to leak? She’d not mentioned an accident or blood to Camilla. Still frowning, Camilla put everything into the machine and switched it on. Waiting for the cycle to run its course, she wandered around the house, the nightdress billowing around her. She found a cardigan of her mother’s and put it over her while she watered the plants and pulled off the brown leaves.

  She left Ginnie’s room until last. The bed was made, with a Welsh blanket completely covering the duvet and pillows underneath. Camilla slipped a hot water bottle underneath the covers to air the sheets before her mother’s return. She sat on the bed and glanced around the large room. Her mother had moved to the semi after their father’s death so the house held no memories for her children. The furniture she’d decided to keep had been cherished pieces. The tall wardrobe must have been unfashionable when it had been bought in the late sixties. History is often damning to the decade that immediately precedes it but the fifties had produced solid teak furniture that had smelt divine when she had hidden inside it during games with Francis as a child.

  Camilla went over to the wardrobe and opened it, marvelling at the small space that had seemed so cavernous to her when she was young. Her mother had always been untidy and the clothes hung in a muddle of hangers. She shut the doors and went back to the bed. As she sat down, she felt a crunch underneath the bedclothes. Camilla pulled back the covers, and revealed a pale blue envelope. The front was blank. If it had been addressed to her mother, she might have baulked at opening the envelop
e, but, curious, she lifted up the flap and pulled out the contents.

  It was a blue sheet of paper. An invitation to a tea dance at 3 p.m. on Friday, 8 June. Pale blue paper with faded old-fashioned type. Doors open at 2.45 p.m. Prize for the best boy and girl dancer. Camilla turned it over. Nothing on the back, no address. She squinted at it. Odd, why no address? Perhaps it was a regular location, so no need to put that information on the flyer. Her mother must have been going through her things. It dated back from at least the sixties, possibly before. Tea dances? It didn’t sound much like Ginnie. Political activism and the Women’s Institute but tea dances? Camilla put the paper back into the envelope.

  She thought about leaving it on the bedside table but her instinct was to return the envelope to its hiding place. Her mother had made up the bed and then slipped the note under the bedclothes intending to return to it after her trip to the hospital. Making a decision, Camilla slipped the envelope back where she had found it and went to the spare bedroom to make up the bed.

  30

  ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  The detective appeared at the side of the boat as Mina was heaving her mother’s old carpetbag onto the wharf. It contained all the clean clothes she possessed along with the two photos she’d found and tucked into her diary. As the woman asked Mina questions about her mother’s death, she felt herself pale and then tremble with misery. She was seized with an overwhelming urge to throw DC Connie Childs into the dank canal. They were about the same height but Mina was easily three stones heavier than the detective. Connie had a haunted look, dark shadows ringing each eye, although she also had a raw air of authority that refused to quake in the face of Mina’s anger.

  ‘There isn’t anything to worry about at this stage. It’s routine when we have a few outstanding questions.’

  ‘Questions? What do you mean by that?’

  ‘We need to check a few things in the context of your mother’s death. You went to see her yesterday?’

  ‘At around six o’clock.’

  ‘And she was asleep?’

  ‘Yes, but her breathing was regular, which was good news. I waited a few minutes in case she woke up and then left. She was fast asleep and peaceful.’

  ‘She wasn’t always calm?’

  Mina picked up her bag, and moved towards her van. ‘Not always. If she’d been agitated, I’d have waited because when she started to shout in her sleep she woke herself up. There was no sign of that at all.’

  ‘You work as a gardener? That can’t be easy. Fitting in the jobs around hospital visits.’

  Mina frowned. ‘Most of my clients knew Mum was ill and the arrangements were that I’d turn up on the given day but the time was flexible. It was hard in the summer as I had so much work but it’d been easier recently.’

  ‘That’s tough. There’s only you, no other family?’

  ‘Just me. I have friends who are supportive, though.’

  The detective smiled slightly. ‘Did your mother ever talk about alternative medication? Perhaps adding to the conventional treatment she was getting.’

  Mina stared at Connie. ‘Mum? She put her trust completely in the doctors. She wasn’t into complementary medicine. She called it snake oil.’

  ‘So she wouldn’t have asked you or someone else to augment her treatment?’

  ‘Me? What are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m just asking you a question.’

  ‘Why? Detectives don’t normally visit grieving relatives. What’s the matter?’

  Connie took a deep breath. ‘We’ve noticed a slight anomaly with the drip by your mother’s bed and we’re checking it out. It’s probably nothing to worry about but we need to check. Did you notice it at all during your last visit?’

  ‘The drip? I was always careful when sitting near her in case I accidentally knocked it. I wouldn’t have gone near the thing.’

  The detective let out a long sigh. ‘I’m sorry, I know these questions must be painful for you. One more thing, was your mother worried or agitated about anything in particular before she died?’

  Mina hesitated. ‘In terms of her illness she knew her time was limited and she was as fatalistic as you can be about these things. She had, however, become ill in the last few days. She’d started to be very anxious and thought someone was in her room. They were hallucinations but frightening for her.’

  ‘Is this normal? With the treatment she’d been given?’

  ‘I don’t know. What’s normal? The hospital was concerned and so was I. We didn’t know what was causing it.’

  Connie’s dark eyes were on her and Mina felt the urge to spill out the story of Valerie. My mother was obsessed with a girl from the past who she thought she’d killed. That would give the detective something to think about, but surely she owed it to Hilary to keep the confession secret for the moment. I can’t, she thought, I can’t share this just yet. First, I want the chance to figure out what happened myself.

  ‘Your mother didn’t express concern about anyone in particular?’

  Mina shook her head. ‘No. Mum didn’t mention anyone at all.’

  31

  Sadler spent the late afternoon walking up Chelmorton Low, keen to see the round barrows that stood on the brow of the hill. They’d been desecrated by wall builders and Iron Age enthusiasts, infamous for tampering with many of the ancient graves standing in the Peaks. Early archaeology, some called it, but Sadler would have preferred the bones of his ancient ancestors to have remained in situ. Sadler’s cottage was freezing when he returned to it. He’d switched off the heating, his mother’s parsimony continuing down the generations, and the house was icy cold. He flicked a switch and the living room gradually began to warm. His stomach rumbled and he opened a packet of digestive biscuits to stop the noise. After Connie had gone he’d cook himself a meal with something from the freezer. A steak, perhaps.

  He wondered how Matthews would take his early return to work. He’d called Llewellyn from the car and let him know he’d heard about the death. Had he imagined the note of relief in his boss’s voice? Wait and see, they’d agreed, but from Llewellyn’s tone, it didn’t sound like it would be Matthews heading up an investigation.

  An arc of light swept across his window and he saw Connie’s car pulling into the space next to his. He opened the front door and went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. He heard her footsteps approach and the sound of her shutting the door behind her.

  ‘I am glad to see you.’

  Sadler smiled into the mugs he was filling with steaming water. ‘Matthews is very competent. It doesn’t sound like you had much on.’

  ‘Well, we might do now, although, I dunno. It seems a bit of smoke and mirrors, if that makes sense.’

  ‘What’s the deceased’s name?’

  ‘Hilary Kemp’

  ‘Kemp?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ Connie took her vape out of her handbag, sucked on it and then exhaled with a groan of satisfaction.

  ‘What’s the daughter called?’

  ‘Mina. Why? Do you know her?’

  ‘I met her last week while she was working. I was going to offer her some work on Mum’s garden.’

  ‘Well, that’s not going to make any difference, is it? To be honest, I don’t think she’s even a suspect.’

  ‘I think not, Connie. Better for you to have told me now before I employed her. Anyway, that aside, you think foul play is likely?’

  Connie blew at her tea. ‘It’s possible, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened in a hospital.’

  ‘You’ve questioned staff?’

  ‘As far as we can when we don’t really know what we’re dealing with. Dahl, the new DS, and I took statements from the hospital employees who were there, but there was an early morning shift that we need to speak to.’

  ‘Probably worth waiting until the results of the PM. What did Mina say?’

  ‘She says she didn’t notice anything and that her mother definitely wouldn’t have ask
ed for any drugs on top of what she was given. She trusted her doctors with her treatment.’

  ‘So at this stage she’s a witness rather than a suspect. That’s helpful. It wouldn’t be the first time a family member has given death a helping hand.’ Sadler put his cup down, feeling the need for something stronger. ‘Do you want a glass of wine instead?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m also hungry. I can’t dunk my digestives in red wine, can I? Anyway, I’m driving.’

  ‘I can cook something and walk you back afterwards. Come and talk to me while I’m cooking.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’ She followed him into the kitchen and poured the rest of the tea down the sink. ‘Funny, though. I did get the impression she had something on her mind.’

  ‘Her mother died this morning.’

  ‘Yes, true. Thanks for that, I’m not completely thick. Look, I’m not brilliant at reading people although I do know what grief feels like. I’m getting mixed signals from Mina, which is why …’ Connie looked embarrassed. ‘I’ll be glad to have you back.’

  ‘I’m pleased I’ve been missed.’ Sadler kept his voice light. ‘Tell me about Nell Colley.’

  ‘It’s such a strange case. During our enquiries we discovered another death, a few months earlier, that she appears to have taken an interest in.’

  ‘In June?’

  Connie looked at him in surprise. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Max, her former boss, said she handed in her notice then.’ Sadler took two steaks out of the freezer and put them into the microwave to thaw. ‘Who was it who died?’

  ‘A woman called Ingrid Neale. Lived in Cold Eaton. I went up to interview the family with Dahl. She lived with her sister, Monica, and her brother-in-law.’

  ‘Did Ingrid know Nell?’