Nothing about the house prepared me for the miraculous view through the kitchen window. The wall enclosing the garden was constructed of those tiny dark red bricks favoured by the Elizabethans. A tree near the solid wooden arched gate shimmered with delicate apple blossom. Earthenware pots of herbs cast shadows across the path. Aunt Freda must have loved this patch of earth. Someone had gone on tending it in the months since her death. I felt a stab of sorrow that she was not here to see the phlox, snapdragons, Canterbury bells, sweet peas and carnations. In between the flowers were vegetable patches, marked out with string and with flutters of paper to discourage birds. The crooked garden shed had been patched and mended over the years.
I opened the door and stepped out. On the garden bench under the window lay a new skipping rope and a couple of tennis balls.
By the time I went back inside, Lucian had made a pot of tea and he and Harriet had settled themselves at the table. He presented her with a sixpenny compass and encouraged her to take it with her when we went for walks. They went into the garden and he showed her how to use it while his cup of tea went cold.
‘Who’s the gardener, Lucian?’ I asked when they came back inside.
‘I am, for the time being.’
‘I didn’t know you were a keen gardener.’
‘You didn’t ask.’
‘You’re a man of hidden talents.’
‘Well of course, and talking of that, I’ve stupidly promised to help set up our photographic society exhibition in Settle Town Hall tomorrow, before we fixed our dates. I can cancel it if you want to do something special.’
‘No, you stick to your plans. Harriet and I will do a little exploring on our own.’
‘Come in to Settle if you have time. You should take a look, since you’ll have a couple of photographs on display.’
‘Oh good! I didn’t know whether my entries would pass muster.’
‘Stop fishing for compliments! You know very well they would.’
Harriet looked from one to the other of us. Was she making mental notes of how we got on, to report back to her mother?
She bit into her egg and cress sandwich. ‘Is that skipping rope for me?’
Lucian frowned. ‘What skipping rope?’
‘The new one someone must have bought for me, along with the tennis balls and compass.’
‘Oh that skipping rope.’ Lucian pushed the cake stand towards her. There were iced buns, vanilla slices and currant cake. ‘I suppose you won’t believe me if I say it was left by the fairy of the Dale.’
Harriet groaned. ‘I’m too old for that sort of remark!’
‘Excuse me!’
When Harriet had gone out to explore, Lucian showed me round the house.
The front bedroom was spacious, decorated with fading William Morris patterned wallpaper. Aunt Freda must have had a mixture of tastes, traditional and modern. The oak bedroom suite, dressing table, wardrobe and tall boy in the front bedroom looked the kind of thing a couple might buy, or be bought, for their wedding. Their wedding in 1860. I wondered about Aunt Freda, and whether taking care of Lucian had been a reason why she never married. From what he had told me, she was thirty-four years old when she started to care for him when he was six. She was sixty-four when she died last year.
Against one wall was a big brass bed covered with a white candlewick spread.
Lucian threw open the wardrobe and grumbled. ‘I’m sorry, Kate. All her clothes are still here. I asked Mrs Holroyd whether she would take them for some of the women in the village. They’re all good quality and clean.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll manage.’
He tutted as he opened a drawer. ‘Mrs Holroyd saw to the cleaning of the house, and she brought in provisions but she hasn’t moved Aunt Freda’s belongings.’
Lucian lifted out a coat from the wardrobe and began to fold it. ‘I’ll bring up the washing basket, and find a couple of suitcases. If you wouldn’t mind emptying the dresser drawers…’
‘Harriet and I will sort it out.’ I smiled. ‘I’m guessing that’s partly why I’m here, to help you decide what to do about the house.’
‘Yes.’ He continued to fold the clothes, pausing over a long tweed coat lined in mustard-coloured silk.
‘Lucian, we don’t have to do this now. Leave it and show me the rest of the house.’ This would be something Harriet and I could do, when it rained.
We went onto the landing.
‘This was my room.’ Lucian opened the door to the back bedroom that was refurbished, and would be Harriet’s. The smoothly plastered walls and ceiling had been painted palest primrose and were quite bare. It was the kind of room a person might imagine putting her stamp on.
Having a bathroom at all in a house this old was a bonus, and it was very nicely kept, with a geyser over the bath for hot water.
‘It’s all gas.’ Lucian turned on the geyser, to demonstrate that it worked. ‘Eventually, I’ll have electricity laid on.’ He indicated stairs to the loft. ‘You can look up there at your leisure. It’s a bit of a mess but there is the old bed up there, for emergencies. And there’s the usual cellar with the cold press and stocked with food, thanks to the good efforts of Mrs Holroyd.’
‘You’ve thought of everything, Lucian. Thank you!’
‘What do you think to the house?’
‘It’s a good solid house, and I love the garden. This must have been a splendid place to grow up.’
‘Yes it was, and I had the privilege of going to the local school until the age of eleven, far better than being packed off as a boarder. My aunt was very good to me.’
‘What are your plans for the place?’
He hesitated, and there was just the slightest of blushes. ‘I’m thinking of keeping it on. The room at the front might make a good consulting room.’
‘As well as your cottage in Embsay?’
‘That’s rented and the practice doesn’t keep me busy, Kate. There’s no doctor here in Langcliffe or in Stainforth. I’ve been helping old Dr McKinley in Settle. He plans to retire soon and I could have a practice in both Settle and Langcliffe and make this my home.’ His hand brushed mine, but he held back from saying what I knew he was thinking: ‘Our home.’ Instead, he said, ‘The loft would make a decent space for a housekeeper, even one as particular as your Mrs Sugden.’
‘Well, it’s a lovely house.’
‘I think you said that already.’
‘I need gloves.’ I went back into the main bedroom, to take a pair of gloves from my case, having worn motoring gloves for the journey.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound as if I’m making assumptions.’ He waited on the landing while I searched for my gloves. ‘I wouldn’t necessarily turn the parlour into a consulting room. There’s a cottage next door that’s a little ramshackle but might be converted, if I can tempt the occupants to move elsewhere in the village. It’s all a little up in the air.’ He watched me draw on my gloves.
‘I’m happy for you, Lucian. It’s always good to make a change.’
‘It wasn’t a great wrench to leave your investigations then?’
‘Not at all. We have a fraud case and a dognapping in hand. Jim Sykes and Mrs Sugden are more than capable of minding the business while I’m away. Now come on. I want to keep an eye on Harriet and it’s too fine a day to be cooped up.’
As we walked down the stairs, there was a knock on the door.
Lucian went to answer.
When I reached the hall, he was saying, ‘Yes of course. My bag is in the car. You may as well jump in and you can show me the way.’
He turned to me. ‘Terrible timing, Kate. I’m so sorry. I have to go to see a patient in upper Settle.’
‘Then off you go! Harriet and I will manage perfectly.’
We exchanged a quick kiss, and I followed him to the gateway and then walked to the corner. From there, I spotted Harriet on the village green. She was watching the dancing. Lucian started the motor. As he climbed into the car, he called to
me. ‘Ah, here comes Bradley Wigglesworth. I told him you were coming.’ He waved in the direction of a man who was strolling up the road. ‘He’s an old friend of Aunt Freda’s.’
Mr Wigglesworth came to a halt as the car moved away. When it drew level with him, he and Lucian raised an arm in mutual salute. Making no haste, the old gentleman continued his walk towards the cottage. As he drew close, he smiled cheerfully, showing a row of small teeth in a pleasant moon-like face. He raised his hat revealing grey hair with streaks of the original ginger, cut as short as a well-kept bowling green.
‘Mrs Shackleton I presume?’
‘Correct, Mr Wigglesworth.’
‘Sorry to land on you the instant you arrive, but May Day you know, May Day, a good excuse to come here. Lucian had to scoot off did he?’
‘Yes. A patient needs him. The man in the car is the relative I think.’
He nodded, as if knowing all about it, which perhaps he did.
I wanted to go across to Harriet who just at that moment looked rather forlorn. Yet here was this man, only an inch or two taller than I, rocking on his heels, clutching a brown paper carrier bag with string handles, obviously waiting to be invited in.
‘I am so very happy to make your acquaintance. Freda had hoped to meet you herself you know.’
‘She knew about me?’
‘She did, she did.’ He gave a nervous and somewhat pained laugh as if to hide embarrassment. ‘Lucian spoke of you, spoke highly of you. She had great hopes.’
‘Oh?’ Great hopes of what, I wondered. Seeing Lucian settled, I supposed.
‘There was something Freda wanted you to see you know, something, well this as a matter of fact.’
He looked down at his carrier bag, swinging it a little, towards me and away.
‘What is it?’
‘You’ll see. If I may?’
He indicated the front door.
I could hardly refuse. ‘My niece is with me,’ I said, hating the apologetic tone in my voice. ‘She is on the green. I don’t want to leave her alone.’
‘Of course you don’t. I’ll be very quick, simply want to hand this into your safe keeping, and I have brought a tonic for your niece, the girl who is recovering from diphtheria. Lucian may have told you my trade.’
‘I’m sorry. He may have done…’
‘I’m an apothecary, well the apothecary, in Settle, opposite the Market Place.’ In the hallway, he took a shoebox from his paper carrier bag and handed it to me. ‘It’s Freda’s papers, you know, the papers regarding the trial.’
‘What trial?’
‘The murder trial.’ A sudden dismay turned the corners of his mouth and widened his eyes. ‘Lucian did not mention it?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, then I am sorry to spring it on you like this, but Freda was most particular that you, being in your line of work, would be the person she had waited for.’ He folded his carrier bag carefully and put it in an inside pocket. ‘Perhaps I should say no more about it, at least not yet.’
I stared at the box, and then lifted the lid to see papers, newspaper cuttings, letters, typed sheets. It took a great deal of restraint on my part not to tell him that I was here on holiday and would rather not look. Lucian had spared me this information, perhaps with good reason.
Mr Wigglesworth saw my hesitation and moved as if to retrieve the precious shoebox. That decided me.
‘I’ll take it through now, for later.’
That sounded idiotic, the kind of thing one might say if presented with a stale seed cake.
‘Yes, yes, you do that. I see that you are anxious to join your niece.’ He took a dark bottle from his inside pocket. ‘This tonic is my own recipe. It will buck her up no end.’
‘That’s very kind.’
He followed me into the parlour, sighing as he opened the door of a corner cupboard. ‘In there, eh?’
I placed the shoebox in the cupboard. He put the bottle of tonic on top of the cupboard and turned to leave.
‘You say there was a murder trial?’ I asked, walking towards the door, pausing until he followed me back into the hall. ‘Who was murdered?’
‘The alehouse keeper at the White Hart.’
We stepped outside into the sunshine, along the path and back to the gate which we had left open. The brass band had moved on.
He closed the gate behind us. ‘You see that house, with the lamp on the wall?’ He indicated a building across the square, about thirty yards away.
‘Yes.’
‘That was the White Hart. Mr Trevelyan had it closed down as a public house after the murder, though the out-sales continued under the new owner, for a time at any rate. It’s privately occupied now.’ He turned back to Lilac Cottage and looked up. ‘Freda saw the murder, from her bedroom window.’ He pointed to the front bedroom.
I followed his gaze. It was the room that would be mine for the next fortnight. I continued towards the green, wanting to catch up with Harriet. Mr Wigglesworth kept pace.
‘Freda gave evidence at the trial. It was a constant sorrow to her that the wrong man was convicted and hanged.’
‘How dreadful!’
‘Yes. Young chap called Flaherty, a Dubliner who worked at the Hoffman Kiln. He was caught with the knife in his hand and said he had withdrawn it. Freda backed him up. She swore she saw a different man do the deed and run away, but she wasn’t believed.’
‘Why not?’
‘She asked herself that until the day she died.’ Mr Wigglesworth paused at the corner. ‘Take a good look, there’s no one paying attention to us, all too caught up with their own enjoyment.’
So they were. The Morris men began a new dance. A crowd gathered round. I lost sight of Harriet as Mr Wigglesworth warmed to his theme, saying, ‘You wouldn’t know now that was once the alehouse.’
He seemed eager that I should picture the event. ‘Rufus Holroyd, the alehouse keeper, wasn’t a big chap but he had been a boxer and could handle himself. Flaherty was younger but the worse for drink. According to Freda, who heard a bit of a commotion, Holroyd manhandled Flaherty round to the kerb and gave him a good shove. Holroyd was on his way back inside when a big fellow appeared, tapped him on the shoulder and knifed him. Freda didn’t see the actual knifing, just how close the man came, and that Holroyd dropped to the ground. The man then disappeared around the other corner. Flaherty was struggling to his feet and cried out. He went to Holroyd and the worst thing he did was withdraw the knife, so it had his fingerprints on it.’ He touched my elbow. ‘Better keep walking. If we dawdle too long someone may guess that I’m giving you chapter and verse on what’s become unmentionable in this village.’
I was glad to keep walking, especially as I once more spotted Harriet, and she me. We waved to each other.
She was my reason for being here. I did not want to hear from Mr Wigglesworth about a long-ago murder any more than I felt ready to respond to Lucian’s sudden haste regarding our future.
Mr Wigglesworth had slowed his steps. It would be impolite to stride off, and unkind to ignore his distress when he spoke about his friend.
‘You were very fond of Freda?’
He nodded. ‘She was my oldest friend.’
In spite of my impatience, there was something quite touching in his words. Freda had never married, perhaps due to circumstances or fierce independence, but I knew from Mr Wigglesworth’s manner and his voice that it was not for want of opportunity.
‘I had a bit of a hand in the events myself, Mrs Shackleton.’
‘How so?’
‘Being apothecary in Settle, Licentiate of the London Apothecaries’ Society, I was sent for. We had an absence of doctors in 1916. When I arrived at the White Hart, Rufus Holroyd was dead. He had been carried inside. His wife said he died in her arms, but I doubt he lasted that long.’
‘How dreadful. But I’m sorry, you must excuse me. There’s my niece.’ He suddenly looked like a lost boy. ‘Come and say hello to Harriet.’
He cou
ghed. ‘Yes, yes, thank you. But just let me say, you see I’ve screwed up my courage to speak to you about this. Freda hoped you would take an interest in the case, because of your occupation. She hoped you might look for the truth of what really happened.’
Three
Harriet was already on the village green when she saw Dr Simonson drive away. Auntie Kate was just about to come across when an old man called to her. The two of them went inside, but not for long. Harriet kept an eye out until she saw them leave the house. The old man was slowing Auntie Kate down.
The two of them walked towards the maypole where Harriet had been watching little kids playing about, grabbing ribbons and jigging even though their dance had ended. Going to meet her auntie, Harriet had to step sharply to avoid a little lad who’d thrown himself on the ground pretending to have been choked by ribbons, clutching his throat and laughing, and then other boys flinging themselves on top of him.
Grown-ups stood about chatting, ignoring the children.
She was so proud of her Auntie Kate who looked the tops in her silk and cashmere turquoise dress and coat, with a hat that shouldn’t match but somehow did. People turned to look as she walked across the green. The old chap with her looked like someone who would feel obliged to hand out sweets or compliments but when he spoke, he was just very friendly and said he hoped Harriet would not mind but he knew that the Trevelyans of Threlfall Hall were keen to meet them.
‘They have a daughter of your age, Harriet.’ He led them in a beeline towards a man, a woman and a vicar on the far side of the green.
Auntie Kate already knew the Trevelyans. Dr Simonson had introduced them at a New Year dance they attended in Skipton. The dance was to raise funds for the hospital. Mr and Mrs Trevelyan were patrons.
Harriet did not want to meet them, but saw that she had no choice. They looked pleasant enough, Mr and Mrs Trevelyan, both plump and fair and pink. Harriet understood from their talk that they owned farms nearby, and land that hadn’t already been nabbed long ago by some duke or other.
When it turned out that the daughter of her age had gone home, Harriet sidled away. She looked about her. Was there anyone here worth talking to? Several soppy-looking girls wore white dresses and garlands of flowers on their bonces. Well, let them get on with being soppy and garlanded.
A Death in the Dales Page 2