‘I expect all girls of her age keep secrets from their parents.’
‘Well I never did. But then of course, I didn’t have parents. They died when I was three. I was brought up by an old-fashioned aunt who packed me off to that dreadful school.’
Poor Alma had put up with more than most and braved the storms. I wished she didn’t make me feel so impatient.
‘Perhaps Turner and I deserved each other. He pretended to be a single man. I pretended to be a girl with loving parents.’
‘Alma, let’s try and think where Felicity has gone. This boat, the Doram, would it be suitable for a long voyage?’
‘According to Mrs Webb it’s bigger than your average coble but not for going to Madeira.’
‘We’ve ruled out Madeira.’
‘That’s where his countess has a place, in the hills. It sticks in my memory and it sticks in my craw.’
She stretched her arms. ‘I’ve been awake half the night, Kate, and going round in circles. When you told me Jack was dead, I thought it must be a heart attack. You were so evasive.’
‘I had no choice.’
She stood and walked about the room, twisting a scrap of her gown round and round. ‘It’s almost as if there’s been a curse.’ For several minutes she paced the room, not speaking. She perched on the bed. ‘I can’t bear it, Kate. Jack befriended us both, me and Felicity. Not many men of his sort would do that. In fact, I began to think… was that so foolish?’
‘Of course not.’
‘He was fond of me. He didn’t ever come to the pepper pot of course but sometimes I thought he purposely bumped into me and he would chat, ask how we were.’
‘And you were fond of him.’
‘I’m still young, have kept myself well, have wide interests. I did a Tarot reading for myself and that was most definite. In matters of the heart I have something to look forward to in relation to a man who is close to me.’ She sighed and took out her hanky. ‘Fool, fool, fool.’
‘No.’
‘And heartless fool to be thinking of my dashed hopes when the man lies dead. But this is the third disappointment for me. There was a widower from Scarborough, but entirely under his mother’s thumb, and then a retired captain from Saltburn that came to nothing.’
For a moment we sat in silence. I tried not to think about the mouse-ridden kitchen. ‘Shall I make a cup of tea?’
She shook her head.
‘I went looking for you last night, up by the abbey. Sergeant Garvin thought I was signalling to smugglers. I spent the night in a cell.’
‘Never!’
‘That’s what I would have thought – never, but yes. Sergeant Garvin suspects there’s something going on. Last night, when I called here with Hilda, I’m sure that Mr Cricklethorpe was moving barrels or bottles in the yard.’
She hugged her arms around herself. ‘I’m so sorry to have brought this on you, Kate, a night in the cells and everything. I don’t know anything about whisky.’
‘Who said it was whisky?’
‘Well whatever it was.’ She stood and began to walk about the room. ‘I am thinking the unthinkable. If I speak my thoughts, will you tell me they are ridiculous?’
‘What are your thoughts?’
‘Children never want their parents to be in love. Felicity always blamed me for her father’s absence. Sometimes she talked about him returning to us, coming home she would say. If she had some inkling that Mr Philips’s care for me might lead me to marry him, if that proved possible, she would be upset, upset beyond all reason.’
‘You think Felicity may have wanted to harm him?’
‘She would not do anything terrible. But Brendan…’
‘What about Brendan?’
‘What if Brendan found out that Jack was his father and while Jack lived in luxury, Mrs Webb struggled and took in lodgers. It might be enough to send him into a rage.’
‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Alma. There’ll be an explanation.’
‘Do you think so? Oh, Kate, I feel lost in a fog.’
‘Fog clears. This will too. Tell me more about the automatic writing.’
Alma closed her eyes. ‘It was a warning from Turner. We used to communicate our thoughts to each other, when we first met, when he was my hypnotist.’
‘Last night, tell me what came through from him when you were in the pepper pot.’
She frowned. ‘He said… what were the words?… “Philips doesn’t want you for yourself. He wants our daughter.” But that can’t have been right, can it?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. Not unless Philips knew that befriending Felicity was a way of being friends with Brendan.’
She looked suddenly alert. ‘That must have been it. But did I allow myself to be misled by Jack? When I thanked him for taking me and Felicity to tea, he said it was his pleasure. Wouldn’t that be a turn of phrase that might give any woman hope?’
If she were looking for hope, then no doubt it would. Sometimes it is best to agree and that was what I did.
‘What do I do now, Kate?’
‘Tell the police that Felicity is missing. Give them the pawn ticket.’
‘Must I?’
‘Mr Philips will have entered the transaction in his ledger. It will look odd if you don’t say anything about it.’
The sound of footsteps on the landing drew a sigh from Alma. There was tap-tap on the door. Alma recognised the knock.
She whispered, ‘I can’t be doing with him just now, Kate.’
I went to open the door, to see what Cricklethorpe wanted.
He stood there in quite normal clothes today, dark trousers, white shirt, plain tie. He held a tray with a pot of tea, two cups, a boiled egg and slices of toast.
‘Good morning, Mrs Shackleton. I thought you would have had your breakfast but know Mrs Turner has not.’
‘That’s kind.’ I took the tray from him and placed it on the table for Alma. ‘Come on, Alma, this is just what you need. You must eat.’
She sighed and came across to the table.
Cricklethorpe had come into the room behind me. ‘Dire news from the town, old girl,’ he said to Alma. ‘I know you were out earlier, so must have heard but what a shock about Jack Philips, eh? People were coming out of church in a state of utter bewilderment.’
‘Yes.’ Alma spoke in a whisper as if she had no more energy left.
Cricklethorpe walked across and patted her on the back. ‘Eat your egg, keep your strength up.’
He left.
That was kind. I warmed towards him.
‘Sit with me, Kate. He’s brought an extra cup.’
She poured two cups of tea.
I took it. ‘Your Mr Cricklethorpe may be a smuggler, but he is a kind smuggler.’
She cracked her egg. It was done to perfection. ‘You were right about the contraband,’ she said quietly. ‘I think the sergeant suspects. But people have to live.’
Did people have to live? That was true, up to a point – the point at which they died; the point at which they were murdered.
‘Kate, did Cricklethorpe encourage Felicity to be gone, out of the way, and then kill Jack?’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘To keep us here.’
‘Because…?’
‘I don’t know. He’s very fond of us both, in his funny way. And we help keep the place going. No one else would live here. Local people avoid the hall because of the ghosts.’
‘Try not to worry, Alma. Let the police investigate. The man from Scotland Yard has arrived and he is good.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I saw him coming from the railway station.’
‘I mean how do you know he’s good?’
‘Well I got to know him over the years.’
Alma ate her boiled egg and toasted soldiers. She began to look a little better. I once worked with a matron who swore that there was no substitute for a soft boiled egg when it came to treating invalids or a person in shock. Perhaps
she was right.
We heard footsteps on the landing.
No sooner had Alma wiped the yolk from her chin with a lace hanky than there was a tap on the door.
Alma called, ‘Come in!’
‘Good morning, ladies.’ Sergeant Garvin stepped in first, followed by Marcus. ‘This is Chief Inspector Charles from Scotland Yard, Mrs Turner and her friend Mrs Shackleton.’
The sergeant, or was I imagining it, blushed when he looked at me. Perhaps he had recently had to account to Marcus for having detained me overnight.
I answered first, ‘Good morning.’
Marcus came over to us. ‘I just wanted to say, Mrs Turner, that we will do everything we can to locate your daughter. Mrs Shackleton has told me how worried you are.’
‘Yes,’ Alma said weakly. She was looking at him with undisguised admiration. It was clear that she thought him impressive. He was certainly good-looking, and at his most courteous.
Marcus continued, ‘The sergeant will talk to you, but do rest assured that we will link the search for your daughter to our main and very tragic enquiry and will keep you informed.’
‘Thank you, Chief Inspector.’
‘It will mean that we need to look round the premises but we will keep disturbance to a minimum.’
What did he hope to find, I wondered.
Marcus gave me a quick look that gave nothing away. He nodded to both of us. ‘Mrs Turner, I’ll leave you with Sergeant Garvin. Good day.’
With that, he was gone, having given me the strong hint that he wanted the sergeant to speak to Alma alone.
Sergeant Garvin walked across the room, picking up a straight-back chair and bringing it with him to sit near Alma. ‘Mrs Turner, I believe you have heard the sad news about Mr Philips.’
‘Yes.’
‘Because his was a sudden death, it must be looked into. We have additional officers here to investigate, but I have permission to speak to you myself, if that is all right?’
‘I’d rather speak to you than some stranger, Sergeant Garvin.’
Anyone who knew Alma less well than I did would not have noticed her disappointment that the chief inspector had left.
‘Good. And I would rather speak to you, Mrs Turner.’ He turned to me. ‘Mrs Shackleton…’
For a moment, Alma looked as if she might ask me to stay, but I moved quickly. ‘Of course.’ I went to the door. ‘Alma, I’ll find Mr Cricklethorpe, and I’ll be here if you need me.’
I needed to ask shifty Mr Cricklethorpe some questions.
Twenty-One
Alma watched Kate leave the room. Fearing some terrible news, she wanted to call her back. ‘Sergeant Garvin, are you really here about Mr Philips?’
‘Is there some other reason why I would be here, Mrs Turner?’
‘No… only…’
He waited.
‘… only I thought – this feeling of dread came over me, that you’ve already found Felicity, that something bad has happened to her and your Scotland Yard man didn’t want to tell me.’
‘You’ve no reason to think that. But I wish you’d told me yourself that Felicity is missing.’
‘Yes, Kate, Mrs Shackleton said I should tell you, and give you this.’ She went to the mantelpiece and picked up the note and pawn ticket. It made her feel ashamed that her daughter had run off. The nice little note did not change the way it must look.
‘How upsetting for you,’ the sergeant said, sounding not at all like a policeman. ‘When did you last see Felicity?’
Alma was glad that Kate had already asked her this and that she could now give a correct answer. ‘It was Thursday, after she finished at Botham’s.’
Sergeant Garvin went to the sideboard. He picked up the framed photograph of Felicity, taken last year by the harbour. ‘The last time I saw the two of you together you were out at Saltwick gathering fossils, last Eastertime I think.’
‘Yes.’
‘When did you find the note?’
‘Yesterday afternoon. It was in her room.’
‘So, you didn’t miss her on Friday night or Saturday morning?’
‘No. She doesn’t come home for tea on a Friday. She has something at work and goes to the pictures. I wash my hair on Friday night and go to bed early. We don’t always see each other first thing Saturday.’
He took a blue linen bag from his pocket and put the note and pawn ticket inside. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll ask you for some details. We’ll find her, just see if we don’t.’ He glanced at the glass-fronted cabinet where they kept the fossils she and Felicity had collected. ‘You have a fine collection, Mrs Turner.’ He immediately cleared his throat as though to erase a comment that may have come involuntarily, like a belch.
Alma looked at the shells and fossils. It seemed suddenly impossible to her that the little girl with such curiosity for stones and shells, fearless in the face of waves and once so little as to be dwarfed by a swooping seagull, had deserted her and might be anywhere, lost, in danger. ‘It’s Felicity’s collection. She wrote the labels. You might think that’s a leaf but it’s a reptile footprint.’
Sergeant Garvin walked over to the cabinet. ‘So it is. Does she have a favourite?’
Alma joined him. She pointed to the second shelf. ‘The starfish, that’s her favourite. There’s only one we can’t identify.’
‘Which one?’
‘The little mound – that beige-coloured one with the dark markings.’
It was on the bottom shelf. He had to bob down to take a closer look. ‘It’s a dropping. It’s dung.’
‘Oh. Felicity said that. I thought she must be wrong, that dung would, you know, deteriorate. I don’t know why.’
‘It’s not possible to know from what animal. You could make a guess at an extinct shark.’
‘Felicity doesn’t like to guess. She likes certainty.’
He straightened up. ‘That’s a good quality.’
‘But one can never be certain. Life is all guesses, when one thinks about it. People expect me to be certain when I tell their fortunes. They remember the parts that are true, or come true, and forget the rest.’
‘There’s something in that, Mrs Turner, but here we are, like two philosophers seated on the mountain, and there are matters that must be looked into. Only I will just say this, if you don’t mind…’
She waited.
‘That frog fossil, you know, it’s most unusual to find such a rare specimen. It should be kept under controlled conditions, or it will deteriorate. Believe me, it is something rather special.’
She began to cry.
He pulled out a large hanky. ‘I am so sorry, and here I was thinking it would be better for me to talk to you rather than the man from Scotland Yard.’
‘Oh it is. It is.’ She would feel embarrassed to be thought a fool and a poor specimen of a mother by that good-looking man from Scotland Yard. Sergeant Garvin knew she had only ever done her best.
He led her to the table. ‘Then let’s sit down, eh?’ They sat opposite each other. He took out his notebook. ‘Tell me about the pawn ticket.’
‘I didn’t know that Felicity was going to pawn the watch-guard.’
‘So she needed money. Do you have any inkling where she might have gone? A relative, a favourite place, a school friend?’
‘I wish I did. We went to Lindisfarne a few years ago. She loved it there.’
She ought to tell him about the automatic writing, and about Turner, but since Sergeant Garvin had previously made remarks hinting at her bigamous situation, she decided against it.
‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’ He waited. ‘Anything at all?’
‘She may have gone in a boat with Brendan Webb.’
He looked down, so that she could not read his expression. ‘What makes you think that?’
She was betraying a confidence now but felt she had no choice. ‘Mrs Webb came to see me last night in the pepper pot.’
‘What else did she tell you?’
&nb
sp; ‘That Brendan helped Jack do up the boat. And she told me something that I’d rather not say.’
‘Concerning Brendan?’
‘Yes.’
He closed his notebook. ‘His parentage?’
‘Yes.’
He moved his mouth, making a funny shape. ‘I’ve heard. It’s an open secret.’
‘Well I didn’t know.’
‘Just say it, Mrs Turner, so we both know what you are talking about.’
‘Brendan is Jack’s son.’
He nodded. ‘It’s one of those secrets people speak of behind their hands.’
‘So it’s true?’
‘I couldn’t possibly say, Mrs Turner. I’m just a simple policeman. But you know, Mr Webb was a hero at the time of the Rohilla disaster, fearless in the rescue attempts.’
‘I heard that. I heard people say what a good man he was until he lost his ship, and then took to drink. I suppose the Rohilla disaster allowed him to redeem himself, for a time.’
‘Yes.’ The sergeant stroked his face from cheek to chin as though to ease his jaw. ‘What I need to ask may sound a little intrusive, and believe me it is not meant to be, but only to help us have a clear picture of certain matters, you understand.’
She nodded, though she did not understand and wished he would get on with it.
There was a loud thumping on the stairs.
The sergeant stood. ‘It’s just some other officers, taking a look about. Excuse me. I’ll tell them about Felicity.’
He went from the room and was gone for several minutes.
When he came back, Alma asked, ‘Why are there so many of you here?’
‘We have Mr Cricklethorpe’s permission.’
‘You should have asked my permission too.’
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
‘What do you expect to find?’
‘That I’m not at liberty to say, let’s you and I have our little chat.’
‘Are you asking Mr Cricklethorpe about Felicity, or about something else?’
‘Do you think we should ask Mr Cricklethorpe about Felicity?’
Death at the Seaside Page 15