Frozen Charlotte

by Priscilla Masters

  ‘Don’t know that neither. I’ve never seen him around the town.’

  ‘No.’ She frowned. This was not proving informative at all. ‘He is,’ she commented, ‘an enigma.’

  ‘He is that,’ Jericho agreed.

  ‘Is he married, do you know?’

  Her assistant shrugged. ‘Don’t know that neither, Mrs Gunn.’ He was unsuspicious – so far. Best retreat before his curiosity went into overdrive.

  ‘Now then, what sandwiches will you be wanting for lunch?’

  ‘Oh, Jericho,’ she said laughing. ‘Do you ever think of anything but food?’

  He considered the question literally, as was his way, his face impassive. ‘As your assistant, ma’am,’ he said severely, ‘I have to consider your wellbeing at all times. Part of that duty is to make sure you have proper meals at decent intervals.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Well, at least Dr Sullivan seems very happy and contented these days.’

  ‘I’ve heard two things there,’ Jericho said, his eyes bright with the gossip.

  And in spite of herself Martha didn’t stop him.

  ‘Divorce and Alcoholics Anonymous,’ Jericho announced, touching the side of his nose significantly. ‘Transformed him, so I’ve heard.’

  ‘He does look and appear better,’ Martha said cautiously. ‘But divorce and AA? Where on earth do you get all your titbits from?’

  ‘Here and there,’ Jericho said, deliberately mysterious.

  It was time to end this conversation and get on with some real work. ‘Can you get me Mrs Acantha Palk on the telephone, please, Jericho,’ she said. ‘She’s a solicitor connected to the Sedgewick case. Also a friend of the dead woman.’

  It didn’t take Jericho long to track her down. He was practised at his work of Coroner’s Officer. Less than four minutes later Martha found herself addressing the deep and formidable voice of Mrs Acantha Palk.

  ‘What can I do for you, coroner?’ Clearly Mrs Palk was in polite mode. Coroners and solicitors do not always have the happiest of relationships.

  ‘I wonder if you would mind dropping by my office some time,’ Martha said casually. ‘As you can probably guess it’s connected with the death of your…’ She hesitated. ‘Friend and client, Mrs Alice Sedgewick.’

  ‘Can you tell me why?’ Acantha Palk’s voice was guarded.

  ‘I’d rather speak to you face-to-face, if you wouldn’t mind.’ Martha waited a second or two before adding, ‘At three o’clock, this afternoon?’

  Acantha Palk must know she did not really have much choice. ‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said, notes of resentment and resignation making her voice sound sulky. ‘At your office?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Martha said.

  Alex, in the meantime, was chewing over Martha’s words. For all they seemed to him to be leading him round and round the mulberry bush, or worse, in the wrong direction, he had watched her arrive at correct solutions too many times to dismiss her thoughts out of hand. To that end he caught up with WPC Delia Shaw in the corridor. ‘Have you got a minute?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She followed him into his office.

  ‘Shut the door, would you?’ She did as he asked and faced him, her eyes questioning.

  Alex dived in. ‘The coroner, Mrs Gunn, has suggested that the Isaacs have some criminal activity to hide. Did you get that impression?’

  Slowly Delia Shaw nodded. ‘I did, sir.’

  Randall frowned. ‘But in what connection?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with the case, sir,’ she said. ‘They seemed perfectly at ease when I questioned them about the house, the baby, that sort of stuff. No…’ She thought for a minute, recalling the exchange of tense glances as she had looked round the elderly Mrs Isaac’s converted ‘sickroom’. ‘It was more when I asked them about old Mrs Isaac, sir. And her money. I just got the feeling that there was something there, something they didn’t want me to probe into. It was just an impression, sir,’ she added quickly, ‘but having been quite happy for me to visit them and question them about the dead child, they were very relieved to see me go.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Alex said grimly, ‘impressions direct us towards the facts. Unfortunately sometimes it isn’t logic but instinct which solves cases, Shaw. And then we have to search for hard evidence which will stand up in court to support our thesis.’ He smiled at her. ‘Thank you. Was there anything else that struck you?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘OK, you can go.’ He paused for a minute then added, just as she reached the door, ‘Have you thought any more about going into plain clothes?’

  Her eyes lit up. ‘I’d love to, sir,’ she said.

  Alex sat in his office and pondered the WPC’s observations of the Isaac family. He would be happy to ask the Birmingham police to investigate them, but he couldn’t see how whatever they found would help solve his case. He eyed the phone, tempted to pick it up and dial the coroner’s office. He wondered whether Martha had made contact with Acantha Palk yet.

  She had.

  In fact at that very moment Martha Gunn was sitting right opposite her.

  She had had a shock when Jericho had ushered the solicitor in. So tall, deep voiced, such an overbearing presence.

  ‘Mrs Palk,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming. Do sit down.’

  Acantha Palk looked enquiringly at her. ‘Mrs Gunn,’ she said formally, making no attempt to keep the irritation out of her voice.

  Martha put her chin on her hand and stared straight at the solicitor. ‘What did you do with the note?’ she asked politely.

  As Martha had expected Acantha Palk looked affronted. ‘What note?’ she asked angrily. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  Martha didn’t explain. She simply kept her eyes on Acantha Palk’s large frame and repeated her question in exactly the same tone. ‘What have you done with the note?’

  Acantha Palk glared at her and pressed her lips together. ‘You’ve been told that there wasn’t one,’ she said eventually.

  ‘I know what I’ve been told.’

  The two women faced each other. It was a battle of character.

  ‘You were first on the scene,’ Martha said, ‘and Alice Sedgewick was your friend. You might think you are protecting her reputation. Again, I ask you. Where is the note? What have you done with it?’ She held on to the woman’s gaze. ‘I do hope you haven’t destroyed it.’ She waited. But Acantha Palk was a tough nut to crack. She simply stared back, her face displaying little emotion except anger.

  ‘OK,’ Martha said slowly. ‘Let me ask you another question. Did you ring your friend, Alice, the night before she killed herself?’

  Acantha Palk leaned forward and barked at her, ‘I assume you have access to police records?’

  Martha dipped her head.

  ‘Then you will know that I did ring Alice. Aaron had asked me to keep an eye on her while he was away. He was worried about her.’ Her dark eyes met Martha’s fearlessly as she continued. ‘However unless that telephone was bugged you have absolutely no idea what I said to Alice.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Martha agreed, not dropping her eyes, ‘though I can guess. You told her about the bones being found in Bayston Hill, didn’t you?’

  Acantha Palk pressed her lips together tighter and looked furious, finally spitting out, ‘Pure conjecture.’

  Martha continued calmly, ‘Unless you have something even more sinister to hide, Mrs Palk, than suppressing evidence I suggest that you…’ She rolled her eyes theatrically towards the ceiling. ‘What is that lovely and appropriate Americanism? Ah yes. “Come clean” with me.’ She was finding it hard to conceal her enjoyment at this small drama.

  Mrs Palk interlocked her fingers. ‘Coroner,’ she said, ‘I am a solicitor. This is a serious allegation. I know-’

  Martha interrupted impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, your rights. We all have rights. Alice wrote that note to speak for her after her death. That is her right. It is what she wanted to be heard. As coroner I have t
he right to know why that poor woman killed herself. The baby sparked something off, didn’t it?’

  Acantha Palk was hardly breathing as she absorbed Martha’s words. ‘It was explained in the note, wasn’t it? You were supposed to be her very best friend, Mrs Palk. Practically the only friend she had.’ She fixed her gaze on the woman. ‘That was why she addressed the note to you, wasn’t it?’

  Acantha Palk was beginning to visibly wilt and Martha ploughed on mercilessly. ‘I suggest if you have the letter with you, you hand it over now. And if you do not have it you arrange for it to be delivered to me at the earliest possible opportunity.’ She paused. Acantha’s eyes were practically boiling with rage. ‘As you are a solicitor, Mrs Palk, you probably know that it is an offence to suppress any information which is pertinent to an unexpected, unexplained. suspicious death. My powers and my position demand that you put this information into my hand as soon as possible or I shall have to accuse you of concealment and inform the police.’

  After a short, tight-lipped pause Acantha Palk spoke. ‘How did you know?’ she asked. ‘How could you possibly have known that Alice left a note? Suicides don’t always.’

  ‘People work in certain predictable ways,’ Martha responded. ‘I did not believe that Alice Sedgewick would elect to leave this world without explaining to her family why she was doing it.’

  Acantha Palk stared.

  ‘It was addressed to you wasn’t it?’

  Acantha Palk nodded.

  ‘Do you have it with you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘At home.’

  ‘Did you tell Mr Sedgewick that his wife had, in fact, left a suicide note?’

  Acantha Palk nodded. ‘It was he who told me to destroy it.’

  ‘Aaah,’ Martha said.

  The vaguest, faintest smile crossed Acantha Palk’s face. ‘Much as it would have been more convenient and better for everybody if the note was burnt, as a solicitor, it went against the grain to destroy evidence.’

  ‘Alice Sedgewick is dead,’ Martha said, leaning forward. ‘These were her last words. It was her explanation, sent to you because she trusted you. You could not betray that trust. You could not deny your friend this last, plaintive voice, could you? Or her relatives the satisfaction of knowing why?’

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘Then would you mind?’

  Half an hour later Martha had read through the letter. And part of the story unfolded.

  Dear Canthie,

  By the time you read this I will be dead but I had to set the slate right by you. I want you to speak to Gregory, to explain. He has been such a devoted son, loving and caring as much as he could when his father was so – well – difficult. As you know Aaron is the stronger of us two and can be a little… just a little, overbearing.

  My behaviour must have seemed inexplicable to you as perhaps other things might have struck you in the past. But you have said nothing. Ten years ago, I unexpectedly found that I was pregnant. I was very confused. Gregory and Rosie were grown up. I had not expected to have another child so late in life. I was in my forties. Then as I made certain that I was not mistaken I was thrilled. Absolutely ecstatic, if you want to know. It seemed like a gift. A great gift. From above. I had loved being a mother and missed my children, in particular when Gregory left home. I hated the boarding-school years. This child, I vowed, I would keep close to me. But Aaron put all sorts of objections in my way. He worried the child would be deformed. You know how he likes things his way and hates what he sees as imperfections. In fact he was livid that I was pregnant. At first he accused me of being simply careless but as I got more excited about the child he started accusing me firstly of having deliberately tried to get pregnant and then that it was not his child but a lover’s. Acantha, I never had a lover. It was undoubtedly his child. But he would not accept it. He insisted. Absolutely insisted that I have an abortion. I tried everything to persuade him that it was our child, pointed out how close he was, in particular, to Rosie and that this could perhaps be a second daughter but he became violent and said, quite cruelly, that it might be another son. I am so sorry and guilty now. When I went to the doctor and said I did not want this child, I was lying. Since then I have lived with the consequences of that lie. That child has stayed in my mind ever since. I called her Poppy. Every day I hear her cry. I see her face. I nurse her. I play with her. Aaron thought if we moved house it would make me forget. But I made a room for her in the new place and Aaron finally lost his temper. He made an appointment for me to see a psychiatrist and told him I was mad. I wanted to tell Dr Richmond but Aaron sat in with me and I could say nothing of the truth. Dr Richmond diagnosed me with depression. So I allowed myself to be drugged and treated for an illness I did not have. I was simply grieving for my lost daughter. Acantha, you must have wondered why I decorated a bedroom in children’s wallpaper. I did it for Poppy. I bought her clothes, a cot, blankets, toys.

  When I found the baby in the attic I believed it was her, that somehow she had not been aborted but had lived and died – somewhere. I took the old blanket away from her. I nursed her. I wrapped her in a new blanket and took her back to the hospital so she would not haunt me any more. But I was wrong. She has. She has not left me. Poppy is still here with me and now we must go together. Please explain to Gregory. Tell him I will miss my visits to him. Thank him for the happiness he has given me. Thank you, dear friend, for all you’ve done. Give my love to my family. Tell Aaron I am with Poppy. One last wish: I wish to be cremated and my ashes scattered somewhere near the hospital. I believe they have a garden there for such purposes. Goodbye, my darling. I am happy.

  Martha looked up. ‘You couldn’t have suppressed this,’ she said. ‘Not her last words to her son. Her dying wishes.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t, did I?’

  There was no remorse coming from Mrs Palk. She was on the defensive. Martha leaned forward. ‘I shall put this letter in the hands of the police,’ she said. ‘It’s up to them whether they charge you. It will find its way to Gregory Sedgewick. I think,’ she said, fingering the sheet of paper, ‘that it’s one of the most poignant notes I’ve ever read.’

  SIXTEEN

  As soon as Acantha Palk had left, Martha rang Alex Randall. ‘I have something for you,’ she said, deliberately not telling him what it was. ‘I was wondering whether to bring it over.’ She looked out of her window. The winter sunshine had set the snow sparkling. She felt a yearning to be out there, in the brightness and the cold.

  ‘Does it help us with our case?’

  ‘I think it might.’

  ‘What is it?’

  She laughed. ‘Don’t deny me my moment of drama, Alex,’ she said. ‘You’ll find out in fifteen minutes.’

  Alex was in his office when she arrived. Without a word she handed him the note. He read it through and she watched his expression change from pity to sorrow, through grief, finally landing at anger. He looked up. ‘Are you going to tell me where you got this from?’

  ‘Have a guess,’ she teased.

  He steepled his fingers together and met her eyes. ‘Mrs Palk,’ he suggested.

  She nodded.

  ‘And I would think,’ he added, ‘that it was probably Aaron Sedgewick who asked her to-’

  ‘Destroy it,’ she finished for him. ‘He wouldn’t think of anyone but himself. He would have read it through and realized that it accused him, threw him in a bad light. So…’

  Alex glanced down at the sheet of paper. ‘I can see why.’

  ‘You might see why, Alex, but I take a very dim view of this.’

  ‘But Mrs Palk didn’t destroy it, did she?’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ she said. ‘She would have. But she didn’t. And I wonder why not. Out of loyalty to her friend, a sense of justice? Or I just wonder. It put her in a very powerful position over Aaron Sedgewick.’ She looked at Alex. ‘She might even have intended to blackmail him.’

  ‘You, Martha Gunn,�
�� Alex said, his lips twitching, ‘have a very nasty mind.’

  She was unabashed. ‘So I believe. And in this job it has developed. But this does answer all your questions about Alice Sedgewick and her state of mind when she took the infant to the hospital.’

  ‘It certainly does,’ he said. Then paused. ‘I hate to put a dampener on this, Martha,’ he said, ‘but while it does explain all about Mrs Sedgewick, her state of mind, the attitude of her family, the pink blanket, the name Poppy, the fact that she returned to the hospital where she had “lost” her baby, it still doesn’t tell us anything about the identity of the dead child or how it came to be concealed in the attic of number 41 The Mount for somewhere between five and ten years. We know it can’t have been the baby that Alice lost. There never was any possibility that the newborn infant was Alice’s child. Not poor old Alice. With this letter we know that her pregnancy was terminated, something she was cruelly coerced into from which she never recovered. Certainly not her mental health.’ He stopped speaking, his face frozen and serious. ‘Is it possible that Alice abducted a substitute child which subsequently died?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Martha agreed, ‘given her mental state. However I don’t really think that’s what happened.’

  Alex was tempted to ask her again what was her verdict on the affair. What did she think had happened? Instead he forced himself to ask questions with more factual answers. ‘How did Acantha Palk appear to feel about her friend’s plight?’

  ‘Oddly enough I don’t really know,’ Martha said, frowning. ‘I don’t even know whether this was a surprise to her or she already knew that Alice had had a pregnancy terminated. Strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He was silent for a moment then murmured, almost to himself, ‘So where does that leave us with this case? Whose was the baby?’ He searched her face, as though he would find the answer there.

  Martha returned Alex’s long hard stare with one of her own. ‘You already know the answer in your heart, don’t you,’ she asked softly.

  He laughed. ‘Do I? I don’t think so.’