The bath grew cool. Reluctantly, I pulled the plug.
As the water glugged away, I snuggled into my dressing gown and made my way back to my room. There, I brushed my hair into shape and thought about what I might do next. I must see Alma and find out whether the prodigal daughter had returned.
Being first to the bathroom and first into the dining room gave a promising start to the day. I was early to breakfast. A young waiter brought my tea and took the order. I feasted on bacon, sausage, egg and fried bread. The freed prisoner ate a hearty breakfast.
When I returned to my room, a different chambermaid was dusting the dresser. She offered to come back later.
‘Hilda not here today?’ I asked.
‘She wanted a change. She’s on the third floor today, madam. Is there anything I can do?’
‘No, it’s all right. I just wondered.’
Looking out of the window at a gloomy sky, I took the precaution of picking up my raincoat, as well as my satchel. I thought about the chambermaid’s words. Could Hilda’s reason for wanting a change be connected to unwillingness to see me? If so, there must be a reason. I decided to find out. Instead of going down the stairs to leave the hotel, I climbed up – two more flights.
Hilda was pushing a linen trolley along the corridor. She jumped when I said her name and turned to look at me with eyes not exactly wild but certainly startled.
‘Good morning, Hilda.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Shackleton.’
‘I’d like a word, please.’
‘I’m a bit busy.’ She picked up clean towels.
‘It’ll be a quick word. Here or…?’
She looked about. There was no one on the corridor. She opened a door to the nearest room. ‘What is it?’
‘You’re avoiding me and I want to know why.’
She hugged the towels to her chest. ‘Mam said I’d get meself into trouble talking to you.’
‘That must mean you have something to say.’
‘Well I have, but I haven’t to say it. Mam said.’
‘Then I’ll call on your mother.’
‘No!’ She carried the towels into the room. ‘Me mam would fillet me even though I told her you’re a detective and you’re Mrs Turner’s friend and won’t get us in bother.’
I followed her into the room. ‘How do you know I’m a detective?’
‘Felicity told me. And then this morning, the porter said you’d been out investigating all night with police, so you might know already.’
‘Know what?’
‘Mam thinks nobody knows.’ She replaced the towels.
‘If it’s something important, the police will find out.’
‘That’s what I said. But let them find out, don’t tell them.’
‘I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best, for Felicity’s sake and yours.’
She put the dirty towels on the lower shelf of the trolley. ‘Mr Philips had a boat up at Sandsend. He promised it to Brendan when he finally swallowed the anchor, but who’d believe that?’
‘Swallowed the anchor?’
‘You know, when he died. Anyhow, boat’s gone.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I worked it out. Last night, after Mam walked you across bridge, she was gone for ages. Her shawl was still damp this morning. So I guessed. She told me to stop guessing and keep quiet. I said if she didn’t tell me, I’d go look.’
‘And?’
‘It looks as if Doram’s there because someone has put a broken rowing boat in its place, covered with tarpaulin, to disguise that it’s gone.’
A crashing noise from outside drew Hilda to the window, which had been left open to air the room. She turned to me. ‘Mrs Shackleton, it’s the police, searching bins.’
This room was at the back of the hotel and from the window we could see the yard. A uniformed policeman had emptied a bin and was sifting through the rubbish.
Marcus had wasted no time in setting the local constables to work.
Standing side by side, Hilda and I watched the search.
Hilda turned to me. ‘Milkman told housekeeper that police are searching along back of Skinner Street, every yard and midden. That’ll be mucky work. You don’t think about police having to do such a thing.’
‘No I suppose you don’t, usually.’
‘What do you think they’re looking for?’
They would be looking for a murder weapon, but that seemed too harsh an answer. I said, ‘I suppose they’re looking for clues.’
A constable called out to another and pointed to something. I took binoculars from my satchel.
Carefully, using a pair of tongs, the first constable picked up something that he had tipped from the bin onto the ground.
I raised my binoculars and began to adjust the focus.
The second constable held open a hessian bag. The constable with the tongs accidentally let slip his prize and then picked it up again but too quickly for me to see with the unfocused binoculars.
Hilda had good eyesight. ‘They’ve found a hammer. Looks like a toffee hammer.’
Nineteen
‘Don’t look now but it’s the coastguard.’
Felicity looked. The boat was coming directly towards them. ‘Why would they be interested in us?’
Brendan stood. He did not make much of a movement but as Felicity watched him, he seemed to plant his feet so firmly on the deck that they might push through the boards and dangle in the water. ‘What did you do with the money belt?’
‘On my waist.’
‘And the wrapping?’
‘In the money bag. What are you worrying about? We haven’t done anything.’
‘If they ask, we’re going to Elgin, to visit your family.’
‘Well we are – to visit my dad.’
‘What if they know who he is and what he does?’
‘Then they’ll know more than I do.’ Felicity thought of her mother’s way of dealing with difficult situations. She would simply say, ‘The planets are out of alignment,’ and give a shrug, as if that prevented her knowing night from day or one end of a broom from the other.
Brendan drained his cup. ‘They won’t search you.’
‘I hope not. Should I throw the postcard overboard?’ But even as she spoke she saw that one of the two men on the coastguard boat had his binoculars out and was looking at them.
The vessel came closer, close enough to see the men’s faces and the familiar uniform.
‘It might be about something else,’ Brendan said. ‘Some warning.’
The boat came close. Felicity watched Brendan tilt his head and give the coastguard officer his winning smile. One of the officers stayed at the wheel of their boat. The other politely asked permission to board, although they all knew no one could stop him.
He was a slight man with sandy hair and a neat beard. He climbed on with the ease of someone stepping across a low threshold. ‘Hello. So who have we here on the Doram and which of you is captain?’
A joker. And he didn’t talk like them. He was from somewhere else entirely, somewhere south, friendly enough but not smiling.
‘I’m Brendan Webb, and this is Felicity.’
Felicity stayed where she was. She preferred to be still when the boat swayed. Brendan had not said her surname.
The officer gave an interested nod. ‘Out of Whitby?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Are you any relation to the late Captain Webb?’
‘He was my father.’
‘Then I’m glad to meet you. You’re a long way from Whitby, Mr Webb.’
‘Aye, suppose we are.’
‘Are you the owner?’
‘No. That would be Mr Philips of Sandsend. He let us take a jaunt in the Doram in return for doing her up.’
Felicity noticed that the coastguard officer perked up. Perhaps he liked the idea of a boat being done up, and taken to sea. ‘And what brings you north, Mr Webb?’
Brendan looked at me. ‘Felicity here�
��’
She could tell the truth or she could tell a lie. Her tongue could not decide. If she gave the wrong answer and the coastguard officer asked another question, she might be tripped up, get Brendan into trouble, her dad into trouble and who knew what else. The money belt felt tight and bulky. It must show beneath her cardigan.
‘Felicity?’ the officer looked at her.
‘I helped to paint the boat.’
That wasn’t what he wanted to know.
‘Are you a Webb too?’
‘No. I’m Felicity Turner.’
‘We’re engaged to be married,’ Brendan said quickly.
The officer smiled. ‘Well congratulations, Mr Webb and Miss Turner. And where are you going?’
‘To Holy Island,’ Felicity said quickly. ‘I went there when I was little and I wanted Brendan to see it.’
Brendan warmed to the story. He spoke slowly, as if it had never occurred to him to tell about this longing to see the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. ‘We’ve taken time off to do it. My cousin has taken over from me on pleasure boat from Whitby to Scarborough.’
‘What age are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘And you, miss?’
‘Sixteen.’ She could not leave it at that. She felt obliged to give herself a boost to show this man that she knew what was what and wouldn’t stand for being turned back. ‘I’ve been working two years. I’m a waitress at Botham’s.’
‘Mind if I take a look round?’
Brendan waved his arm to take in the whole boat.
The officer looked around, touching the coiled ropes with the toe of his boot, walking from bow to stern. He then made a bee line for the false bulkhead, slid the vertical partition away and shone his torch. They had taken off their life jackets when the sun came out. The officer took them from the bulkhead. ‘You should put them on.’
‘We had them on, but we got warm.’
‘August is an unpredictable month. Think about stopping overnight at Holy Island. There’s a storm brewing.’
He tipped his cap to Felicity and climbed back into his own boat.
When he had gone, Brendan turned to Felicity. ‘Why didn’t you tell him truth about where we’re going?’
‘I was going to. But I watched his eyes when you said your name, and I watched his eyes when he learned mine. Webb, a captain. Turner, a pirate?’
‘You’re imagining it. That officer’s not a local man.’
‘There are some names he’s made it his business to know.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Crickly, Mr Cricklethorpe, he said that coastguard men are clever. He’s right. That’s why Crickly must be clever himself. He put the packet in the bulkhead, and a money belt so that I’d wear it.’
Crickly usually paid in sovereigns. It was all making some kind of sense now. She remembered from a long time ago, seeing a box with gold sovereigns and trying to count them but there were too many.
Twenty
Sunday morning church bells rang out as I walked down Brunswick Street towards Amen Corner. A woman in black, walking just a little way ahead of me, stumbled and gave a small cry. She had twisted her foot on a loose paving stone and her shoe came off. She sat down on the low wall of the church.
I stopped beside her. ‘Are you all right?’
She paused for a moment before answering, and put her shoe back on. ‘I’m all right. Just clumsy.’ She stared at her feet and then rose unsteadily.
She was pale and looked more upset than anyone would be after a stumble. She returned my gaze, but blankly, without recognition. I recognised her but said nothing. She was the assistant from Dowzells newsagents who yesterday smiled and was bright and cheerful. This morning, she looked ready to drop.
‘May I help you? Would you like to take my arm?’
For a moment I thought she would, but then she shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. I’ll be late.’
She hurried towards the church doors.
Poor woman. I hadn’t given her a second thought since buying postcards and toffee from her. Now I realised that she must have taken the death of her neighbour very hard. How shocking it must be to have a murder take place in the premises next door.
As I crossed Bagdale, I wondered how far the ripples would spread from yesterday’s tragic incident. But I had someone closer to consider. Alma had suffered the double blow of Felicity’s disappearance and Jack Philips’s death.
Even on a sunny morning, waves of ancient damp and historic anxieties swirled to greet me as I entered Bagdale Hall. What stories and secrets the walls of this building might tell. Perhaps entering Alma’s orbit made me superstitious. As I climbed the creaking stairs, I touched the solid banister for luck and reassurance. Alma was on the landing. One glance at her told me that Felicity had not returned. Pale and exhausted, she was wearing a green and yellow woolly hat topped with a pom-pom.
‘I was at the window and saw you coming.’
I followed her into the room. She led me to the window seat. ‘I can’t keep away from the window. I’ve been watching the police come and go. I’ve never seen so many.’
The room was pleasantly warm, and the window open.
I sat down. ‘Have you reported Felicity missing?’
‘What good would it do? She said she’d send a postcard. I must be patient and wait for it.’
‘I’m asking because I did report her missing, but really it ought to come from you, from her mother.’
‘Well then I will, if you think that’s best. I don’t know any more.’
‘Alma, why are you wearing a woolly hat? Do you have earache?’
She sighed and removed the hat.
‘It’s Felicity’s. I knitted it for her. I thought putting it on might help me to know where she is.’
She looked wretched and must have felt utterly desperate to believe that a tea-cosy hat might help her find Felicity. ‘And has it helped?’
‘No.’ She placed the hat on her knee and patted it. ‘This morning I went to the early service. The parson led prayers for Jack Philips. He didn’t say so right out but everyone knew his death was foul play. You didn’t tell me that.’
‘I told you that Sergeant Garvin asked me not to breathe a word.’
‘You did.’
‘Have you made any enquiries about Felicity, Alma?’
‘Last night I went to the Spa ballroom and talked to some of her friends, pretending I’d just called in to hear the music. Nobody had seen her, and they seemed surprised that she and Brendan weren’t there. She must have kept quiet about her plans.’
‘You didn’t go up to the abbey last night then, only Mr Cricklethorpe said you might.’
‘No. I sometimes go up there but last night I was trying to find where Felicity had gone, either from her friends or from the spirits.’
‘Any luck?’ Now was not the moment to tell her that I had her strange habits to thank for the fact that I spent the night in a cell.
‘Mrs Webb turned up at the pepper pot. She told me you’d called and were looking for me. Mrs Webb is as upset as I am. She told me something quite extraordinary.’
‘What?’
‘I can hardly bring myself to say it, not yet. It concerns Brendan’s parentage.’
‘Don’t ask me to guess.’
‘Do, please guess, because I never would have.’
‘Then it must be someone close to you, your husband Walter, or Mr Cricklethorpe, or Jack Philips.’
‘Yes.’
‘Which one?’
‘Not Walter, thank goodness. He’s done enough damage. Not Crickly, that wouldn’t be his way of going on.’
‘Jack then.’
She made a mitten of the hat, putting her hands in it. ‘Mrs Webb says they’ve gone off in Jack’s boat, the Doram.’
We watched as a family of late-comers hurried towards the church whose bells had stopped pealing.
‘Between you and Mrs Webb, did you come up with any ideas as to where
Felicity may have gone?’
‘I think you may be right, when you mentioned her father. Some little hint came to me in the pepper pot last night but it’s not something I could go on. I don’t know whether to go back and see if I can find out more. I can’t concentrate here, too tired to think.’
‘What was this little hint?’
‘Something came through automatic writing. Walter Turner intervened, giving me a warning, and there was a warning for him too – about visitors, one with red hair. That could be Brendan.’
Though having no experience of automatic writing, I encouraged her to continue. Some of the thoughts she dragged from her own subconscious may turn out to be useful. But Alma does not always stay on a single topic long. She had hopped onto another thought.
‘I keep thinking about Jack, how kind he was. Felicity bats her eyelashes as well as the next girl. If she handed him the watch-guard and said she was acting for me, he would have accepted it and come to the aid of the penurious party, i.e. my good self.’
‘Wherever Felicity is, at least she has money.’
‘If she has gone to find her father, how could she have made Brendan Webb steal a boat?’
‘The things we do for love, Alma. You married Turner, Brendan does Felicity’s bidding.’
‘Surely they’re not sailing to Madeira?’
‘Going by the postcards, he must have left Madeira ages ago.’
‘Then where? She’s on the programme of the concert that follows the Mission bazaar. Well she won’t be back for that, will she? It’s today. And how can we even think of bazaars and concerts with poor Jack dead? And what kind of future does she have if she constantly lets people down and thinks only of her own mad schemes?’
Alma made fists of her hands. ‘I want to shake her till her teeth drop out for doing this to me. I know she only had me, but I’ve done my best. Wouldn’t you think she would have at least taken her hat? She pretended to like it. I know she always took it off the minute she turned the corner.’ She scrunched up the hat. ‘How could I be so blind as to have no idea what she was planning?’
Death at the Seaside Page 14