‘I never showed much when I was carrying.’ She smiled. ‘When I produced him, my neighbour said, “By, you’re a sly one!” I told her people fussed too much. Have it and get on, that was what I said.’
‘But what about Miss Dowzell, and Mr Philips? They must have wondered what had happened to their baby.’
‘Jack Philips didn’t know there was a baby. He was in Amsterdam, training with a diamond merchant. Dora, she didn’t know she was pregnant until it came on, either that or she shut her mind to it. She had baby in bath. Her mother must have been blind not to see it coming. Perhaps she did. Afterwards, a fever set in. Parents sent Dora to a sanatorium. She was under various doctors. When she asked about her baby, first she was told she’d dreamed it. When she wouldn’t shut up, they said baby died. They brought him to me. I hadn’t weaned Ian, so I had milk. I was given money to keep quiet.’
‘And you did.’
‘By the time Jack Philips came to see me, old Mr and Mrs Dowzell had long swallowed the anchor but a secret doesn’t die at the grave. First I denied it, put Jack Philips off. But it was no use. Brendan had gravitated towards Sandsend while he was still at school, hung about, messing with boats, calling it helping. He was always up there. I tried to keep him away. Last year, he started to help Jack do up the Doram. He’d come back and tell me. There was nothing I could do, except try and keep him busy with something else.’
‘What made Jack so sure that Brendan was his child?’
‘It wasn’t just the likeness, though that was strong. It wasn’t just dates of birth, though that tied in with Dora being packed off to sanatorium. What made him sure was a gesture of Brendan’s, a mannerism. I’d thought nothing of it. He has this way of tilting his head, and then he’ll give a big smile. Jack wasn’t to be put off. He said, “That’s Dora in him. That’s how Dora smiles.”’ Mrs Webb adjusted her shawl, covering her head again. ‘To tell you truth, I resented it, resented Jack Philips and his insistence. All them years I’d looked after Brendan, long after money ran out, and now that Brendan was working age and able to tip up a wage, in stepped Jack Philips.’
‘And then what happened, Mrs Webb?’
‘Jack asked me all about it. I hadn’t known what tale Mr and Mrs Dowzell had fed to Dora and Jack. I really hadn’t. When he came back from Holland, Dora was in sanatorium. He visited her. She told him about baby and that he died. Jack felt helpless. He presented her with mourning jewellery, wanted to know where baby was buried.’
‘What a terrible lie they were told.’
She nodded. ‘And I was part of it.’
‘When did Dora Dowzell learn the truth?’
‘I couldn’t speak of it, not at first. And then six months ago, Jack and I went together to tell Dora.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing. She just cried.’
‘And Brendan?’
‘I haven’t told him yet. We were waiting for the right moment to tell him. Three weeks ago, Jack came to tell me that he and Dora were going to marry. She would give up the newsagents and they’d live at bungalow. He was having it done up.’
‘Would you tell this to the police?’
‘Why should I? What does it have to do with anyone else, except me and my kids?’
‘Miss Dowzell could be accused of murdering Jack Philips.’
‘That’s crackers. They wanted to make up for lost time. They’ve set a wedding date at St Mary’s in Sandsend.’
‘Does Brendan have any inkling about his true parentage?’
‘He always had an idea of being cuckoo in nest. I told him when he first asked me why he looked different from his brothers and sisters. I told him that he had other parents but that I was the one who wanted him. It seemed best thing to say.’
‘And now?’
‘Jack and Dora promised not to do anything rash, anything to upset me, or to make Brendan take fright.’
‘Yet Mrs Turner believed Jack was interested in her.’
‘Lots of women did. Once he said good afternoon and smiled at her, Madam Alma Turner was all over him like a bad case of ringworm. He tried to shake her off, refuse her invitations. She was very persistent. I suppose Jack found out my Brendan was friends with Felicity Turner, and Jack didn’t want a queer pitch.’
‘I wonder why Jack and Dora kept their plans secret?’
She sighed. ‘They were about to try again. Perhaps they didn’t dare tempt fate by making too much of it.’
‘If what you say is correct, someone found out and put a stop to it, but who?’
‘I’ve said enough. I’ve said too much already.’
Thirty-Seven
Sykes was waiting for me on the bench that gave a wide view of the sea, the West Cliff, the church and ruined abbey. I sat down beside him.
Enforced inactivity and sea air had turned him philosophical. He looked towards the estuary. ‘I’ve never known a seaside with two piers. It’s a bit like our situation. There’s the estuary between the piers, like the big gap between what we know and what we need to know.’
‘The gap narrows, Mr Sykes. I saw Mrs Webb.’
‘You were gone a long time.’
‘But worth it. According to Mrs Webb, Dora and Jack Philips had planned their wedding at the little church in Sandsend. They had thought their baby dead. When Jack realised that Brendan was their child, the rift between them was mended.’
Ever the practical man, wanting facts and figures, Sykes asked, ‘Had they set a date?’
‘I believe so.’
Sykes rocked forward on the bench as if about to spring into action. ‘That’s something to go on. I can drive there, talk to the clergyman, or a verger. She wouldn’t murder the man she was about to marry.’
‘Wait.’ I put my hand on his arm. ‘First, don’t imagine that Marcus Charles doesn’t know this. Second, think about it. Jack was doing up the house in preparation for Dora moving in, and buttering up his son by lending him the boat. What if something went wrong? Say Alma Turner became a fly in the ointment, an irritation to Dora, or a threat, Dora and Jack might have fought about it. Dora could have hit out.’
‘Oh no.’ Sykes was more adamant than I had ever seen him. ‘If that were the case, it’s not Jack Dora would have walloped, it’s your friend Alma. The rival. If she really was a rival.’
‘Mrs Webb thinks not. She believes Alma was pushy and trying her luck. That could have caused Jack and Dora to fall out.’
We lapsed into silence. In other circumstances we might have felt inspired by the view and the freshness of the breeze. But not today.
Sykes spoke first. ‘It’s a pity you’re not on better terms with Marcus Charles.’
‘We are on good terms but he won’t tell me about the investigation, so forget that.’
We stared out to sea. Sykes tried again.
‘He threatened to have me taken in for obstruction, but you could charm him into an indiscretion.’
I had to laugh. ‘Me? Do you think Whitby has turned me into some kind of Mata Hari? I don’t want to charm him.’
Sykes smiled. ‘I know! You could tell him you’ve located Tiger.’
‘What is the matter with you? I shouldn’t have interrupted your holiday. Your brain needs a rest. Go back and blissfully wander around Robin Hood’s Bay.’
He took out another cigarette. ‘There’s nothing the matter with me.’
‘Of course not. You just don’t trust anyone else to do the job.’ I kicked at the mound of tab ends strewn around the bench. ‘What a mess you’ve made for someone to sweep.’
He lit his cigarette. ‘They’ll be glad of the employment.’
‘There is no point in sitting here and talking in circles.’
‘What then?’
I stood. ‘Come on. Mrs Sugden has been abandoned at Bagdale Hall for long enough. And I want to know how poor old Cricklethorpe is doing.’
Sykes began to walk towards his car. ‘Cricklethorpe must know something or he wouldn’t have been
attacked. He only needs to regain consciousness long enough to make a statement.’
‘I hope for more than that, Mr Sykes. I liked him.’
Straight away it worried me that I had spoken of the dame in the past tense.
Sykes drove the short distance back to Bagdale. ‘I’ll drop you off, Mrs Shackleton. I’ll just call in on Miss Dowzell’s solicitor, and see whether he has news.’
Mrs Sugden was sitting in the courtyard at Bagdale Hall, knitting. I was pleased to see that she looked happy and settled.
I sat down. ‘Where is Alma?’
‘The hospital must have agreed to let her see Mr Cricklethorpe. She went with that intention and hasn’t come back.’
‘That’s a good sign.’
We chatted for a while. She was cheered by the news that a woman from Sandsend was willing to clean Bagdale Hall.
Sykes arrived, looking glum. ‘That solicitor is worse than useless. Miss Dowzell said she had no objection to being questioned and he left her to it. I can’t credit it. Do you think he’s the brother’s solicitor as well – some crony?’
‘He could be. Mr Dowzell will know lots of people and move in the inner circles.’
Sykes looked at me rather pointedly. ‘I can’t go to the station. There’s no point in me asking to talk to Mrs Dowzell. She wanted to meet you, Mrs Shackleton. She asked about the person who found Jack Philips.’
Mrs Sugden picked up her knitting, maintaining an unusually meaningful silence that signified agreement with Sykes.
They both waited for me to speak. There was nothing else for it. I would fail, but at least I must try.
‘I’ll go to the station.’
With a bit of luck I might see the sympathetic sergeant and learn how things stood with Miss Dowzell and whether she was charged or simply providing information. Without a bit of luck, I would see Marcus and be appointed to find another cat.
Thirty-Eight
Sergeant Garvin came from the back office to the counter. He greeted me warmly before asking, ‘How is Mrs Turner this morning?’
‘She’s feeling much better and relieved to know that Felicity is safe.’
The sergeant smiled. ‘A great relief to us all. Mrs Turner is a plucky lady. She’s in her pepper pot I suppose?’
‘Well no, I believe she is at the hospital by Mr Cricklethorpe’s bedside. The hope is that if he hears a familiar voice it might help his recovery.’
Sergeant Garvin’s eyes widened with surprise and pleasure. ‘If anyone can bring him back into the world, she will.’ He glanced at his paperwork. ‘Now, was there something, Mrs Shackleton?’
‘Yes.’ It was thoughtful of him to think that I might have come in for a reason other than to sing Alma’s praises. ‘I believe that you have Miss Dowzell in custody.’
‘And you’ll understand I can’t comment on that.’
‘Has she been seen by a policewoman, or a doctor?’
‘I can’t comment, of course.’
‘Of course. Only I believe Miss Dowzell wanted to speak to me and I should very much like to see her.’
‘As it happens that lady’s sister-in-law is in the station now, with female necessaries.’
That put me in my place. Mrs Dowzell could visit but I couldn’t.
He gave a sigh and looked again at his paperwork before relenting and saying in a whisper, ‘She won’t speak to anyone. Miss Dowzell hasn’t said a word.’
The screech came from along the corridor. ‘Get her out of here!’
Sergeant Garvin hurried from behind the counter in the direction of the small cell where I had enjoyed a night’s rest.
Moments later, a woman in a mauve coat and hat came hurrying into the reception area, clutching her throat. ‘She attacked me!’
A young constable tried to detain her. ‘Mrs Dowzell, please, wait a moment!’
She fled the premises, calling to anyone who would listen. ‘The woman’s mad. Demented.’
It was at this moment Marcus Charles came into the building, hat in hand. The constable with him had intercepted the woman in mauve and now spoke soothingly, asking her if she would just wait a moment. They would give her a cup of tea and she could say what was the matter.
He led her away.
Marcus took off his hat. ‘Kate.’
‘Marcus.’
‘What are you doing here?’
Where should I begin? That I wanted to see Miss Dowzell, that I wanted to know what was going on. There might be some way of phrasing a sentence that would ensure he did not show me the door within fifteen polite seconds.
‘I’d like to talk to you.’
‘About?’
‘Miss Dowzell.’
‘This isn’t a good time. No need to meddle.’
He waited.
I waited.
He waved his hat in the direction of the counter. We walked through to the room at the back. There was just one constable seated at a table. Marcus spoke to him.
‘Find out from the sergeant what’s going on.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Marcus pulled out a chair.
We sat across from each other.
He placed his hands on the table. So did I. ‘Marcus, Miss Dowzell didn’t kill Jack Philips. They were to be married at St Mary’s in Sandsend.’
He showed no surprise. ‘On the first Monday of September at noon.’
Well that was a relief. He knew. ‘When I saw Miss Dowzell on Saturday, right before I found Jack Philips’s body, she was so happy, so full of life and hope. It shone out of her. She didn’t know he was dead.’
‘Anything else?’
‘She has asked to see me. I think she wants to know the circumstances surrounding my finding Jack. Also, she’ll be concerned about their cat while she’s locked up here.’
‘The cat?’
‘Jack’s cat, Tiger – the one that Mrs Bailey asked about yesterday. Miss Dowzell took him home. Someone will have to look in on him.’
‘I can’t spare a constable for the cat but I’ll look into it carefully. Was there anything else?’ He pushed back his chair.
I hate it when people say that they will look into something carefully. Such words are rarely truthful.
He stood. ‘Well thank you, Kate. I won’t keep you.’
I didn’t budge when Sergeant Garvin came hurrying in. ‘The councillor’s wife was near hysterical, sir. We’ve calmed her down but she’s claiming that her sister-in-law, Miss Dowzell, tried to choke her, pulled the beads from her neck. I went to ask Miss Dowzell what was going on. She says the necklace came from the safe. I think she means the jeweller’s safe.’
At the door, Marcus turned to me. ‘Wait here.’
He was gone for several minutes. When he returned, his mouth was set tight. ‘In your statement to Sergeant Garvin, you said that there were jet beads across the floor of the deceased’s living room.’
‘Yes.’
‘You can speak to Miss Dowzell. Don’t mention that the safe was open. Don’t say anything about beads on the floor. Sergeant Garvin will be listening. Let Miss Dowzell talk to you. Say as little as possible.’
Sergeant Garvin trod softly as he led me back to the familiar cell.
Dora Dowzell was sitting on the narrow bed, knees pulled up against her chest. She clutched a broken necklace in her hand. Some beads had fallen onto the bed. They were Whitby jet beads carved in the classic rose flower shape. The ones that remained threaded were in ascending order of size. A jet pendant, also carved with a rose, hung from the centre of the necklace.
‘Dora.’
She raised her head.
‘I’m Kate. We met, briefly, on Saturday. I bought postcards, toffee, tickets, and the Gazette.’ She stared, not really seeing.
‘I’m so sorry about Jack’s death. I went in his shop to buy a bracelet. It was I who found him.’
She lowered her head onto her knees. A few more beads dropped from the snapped thread of the necklace onto the bed.
S
he watched me pick them up.
I did not know where to begin. Say as little as possible, Marcus had instructed. Yet one of us must speak.
‘May I sit down?’ She did not say no. I perched on the end of the bed. ‘Jim Sykes and I are friends. He walked you back from the Mission yesterday. He helped you with the papers this morning. He told me you asked to speak to me.’
It was a small brainwave to open my bag where I carried the ‘lucky pebbles’ that Felicity gave me when she was about four years old. Not that I am superstitious but it had seemed a good idea to bring them with me. The pebbles were in a velvet pouch. I took it out and dropped the pebbles into my bag. I put the spilled beads into the pouch and offered it to Dora. ‘Keep your necklace in this for now, until it can be re-threaded.’
She took it from me. Her hands shook. She could not do it.
‘Let me.’ She allowed me to take the necklace from her and place it in the pouch. I looked for more beads and found two on the floor. ‘We have them all I think. It’s beautiful.’
‘It’s mine.’
‘Did Jack buy it for you?’
She nodded. ‘He had it made. He had all sorts made for me in the jet workshop, when we thought…’
‘When you thought your baby had died.’
‘You know.’
‘I talked to Mrs Webb. Brendan is safe.’
There was the slightest sound from beyond the open door.
‘How do you come to have the necklace in here?’
‘She was wearing it. My sister-in-law. It was in the safe, Jack’s safe, along with a mourning collar and a brooch. She must have taken it.’
‘I have a mourning collar. My mother-in-law bought it for me when they held a service for my husband.’ I never wore it. ‘What was yours like?’
She looked up. ‘A triple row, carved, faceted, too fancy to wear.’ Her hand went to her throat. ‘Yet it was the kind of piece you like to touch.’
‘He had them specially made at the jet workshop?’
‘Yes, on Church Street, as if that would make up for my baby. It was no good. That was always between us, like a great fall of rock. They lied you see. My parents. They said my baby had died.’
‘Where was Jack when you had the baby?’
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