Westmorland Alone

by Ian Sansom

  ‘Had he forgotten his lunch that day?’ asked Morley.

  ‘Which day?’

  ‘The day of the crash?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Dora.

  Morley then began to build on his evidence. (‘Anticipations and calculations will take a man so far in solving a puzzle,’ he writes in the Puzzle-Solver, ‘but at a certain point one must rely upon vision and imagination. Puzzle-solving is a painstaking business. It also involves the art of risk.’)

  ‘Did you perhaps arrive to find a bicycle leaning up against the railings by the signal box? Had you already had your suspicions?’

  Dora’s face revealed nothing.

  ‘Your father was a weak man, Dora. Perhaps you were disappointed in yourself that you had chosen another weak man as a husband?’

  Again, Dora remained tight-lipped.

  ‘Dora?’ prompted Miriam.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘We might,’ said Morley. ‘You might try us?’

  ‘I was furious,’ said Dora. ‘Furious with him. Furious with her. I knew he was up to something. People had been talking. But I had to have proof. I needed to see it with my own eyes. I knew I’d catch them.’

  ‘So what happened?’ asked Morley.

  ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just burst in to the signal box and there she was. And the door was open and …’

  ‘She fell down the steps of the signal box?’ said Morley.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Dora.

  ‘She wasn’t pushed?’ I asked. ‘You didn’t push her?’

  ‘Sefton!’ said Morley.

  Dora said nothing.

  ‘If she fell down the stairs, why didn’t you simply confess?’ asked Miriam. ‘Go to the police?’

  Dora went to speak – but seemed unable to find the words.

  ‘Because that’s not all you did, is it, Dora?’ said Morley.

  Dora looked at Morley as a condemned man might look into the eyes of a sentencing judge, begging for mercy.

  He continued. ‘When did the train crash? At that very moment? A few minutes later? Was it you who sent him off down the tracks with his concocted story?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him to say it was gypsy kids on the line,’ said Dora. ‘I told him to say there were kids, that’s all.’

  ‘And then you hid the body?’

  ‘It was chaos everywhere. George was taken to the station to talk to the police, I hid the body under the signal box and then …’

  ‘And then?’ said Morley.

  ‘I went to Noname. I knew he’d help me.’

  ‘And he did help you?’

  ‘We put her in the back of the vardo at night and took the ancient way up to Shap.’

  ‘And you told him where to bury her?’

  ‘We both knew about the underground pit.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘This is where we’re from, Mr Morley. We know all the secrets and hiding places, from when we’re children – not like Jenkins and his stupid dig.’

  ‘And you were happy to see Professor Jenkins framed for Maisie’s murder?’

  ‘He wasn’t framed,’ said Dora.

  ‘And Gerald Taylor?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking. It all got out of control. I didn’t think she’d be found. I just wanted to get rid of her.’

  ‘Like she was never there?’

  A blustery wind had picked up outside the station and the door, though locked, rattled on its hinges.

  ‘Did you ever tell your husband about your father, Dora?’ asked Morley. ‘Did you tell him your father was a gypsy?’

  Dora shook her head.

  ‘I’ve never told anyone.’

  ‘But he knew,’ said Morley. ‘He told us. He must have known there was something different about you.’

  ‘He might have guessed, I suppose,’ said Dora. ‘But I never told him. I never told anyone. Not even when I was a kid.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Miriam.

  ‘You wouldn’t be able to understand,’ said Dora. ‘Woman like you.’

  ‘And what became of your father?’ asked Morley.

  ‘He never got over losing his family and his people.’

  ‘Being made marime?’

  ‘That’s right. He’d drunk himself to death by the time I was ten years old.’

  ‘So Noname lost him and then you lost him too?’

  Dora looked at Morley, at Miriam and me, and began sobbing – but this time none of us offered her a handkerchief.

  ‘And every year you saw Noname at the Appleby Fair,’ continued Morley. ‘Brother and sister, united in your loss.’

  ‘It was me who made him do it. It’s not his fault.’

  ‘I know,’ said Morley.

  ‘I always knew it would end like this.’

  ‘What would end like this?’

  ‘Me, living a lie. Not one thing or another, half gypsy, half gorgio, not fully accepted in either world. That’s the trouble with this place—’

  ‘Which place, Dora?’

  ‘This town, this place, this country. If you don’t fit in it’s like …’

  ‘It’s like you’re not there?’ said Morley. ‘And that’s why you had to work so hard to prove yourself. Dora’s Station Café and Outside Catering – Catering For All Tastes.’

  ‘Will I go to prison?’ asked Dora.

  Morley sat back in his chair and relaxed his shoulders. It had been an extraordinarily tense and difficult conversation.

  ‘I don’t see why you should,’ he said. ‘If Maisie Taylor tripped down the stairs, as you say. Plus, you’re a mother, well-respected in the local community – no right-thinking judge would send you to prison, Dora. At worst, you were guilty of a crime of passion.’

  There was a banging on the door.

  The banging grew louder. Dora turned to see who was there.

  ‘It’s George,’ she said.

  ‘Well,’ said Morley. ‘You two will doubtless have much to talk about. Perhaps we should take our leave.’

  ‘We’re just going to leave them?’ said Miriam.

  ‘That’s right, Miriam,’ said Morley. ‘We’re just going to leave them. There’s nothing more we can do here. Thank you for your time, Dora.’

  We continued our discussion outside the station, by the Lagonda.

  Miriam was absolutely furious. I was none too happy with the outcome either. Dora and her conspiring husband disgusted me. But I could see at the same time how events had conspired against them.

  ‘We should at least escort them to the police station!’ said Miriam.

  ‘We’re not their gaolers, my dear. And the police station is …’ He pointed off to his left, down the hill past the railway workers’ cottages to a building no more than half a mile away. ‘What? There. A five-minute walk away?’

  ‘But what if they run away?’

  ‘I don’t think they will, do you? Where would they run to? This is their home, isn’t it?’ He looked down over the town of Appleby. ‘Or where they live – which is as close a place to home as any of us ever have. And anyway they’d be caught sooner or later, if they ran.’

  ‘They might not,’ said Miriam.

  ‘No one can hide for ever,’ said Morley. ‘Not in England. You’d have to be on the move the whole time, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Do you think she killed Maisie, Mr Morley?’ I asked. ‘Do you think she pushed her?’

  ‘Perhaps only she will ever know,’ said Morley. ‘But perhaps that’s enough. Living a lie is a terrible thing – it eats away at your soul.’

  ‘They’re responsible also for the death of the little girl,’ I said.

  ‘I know,’ said Morley. ‘Which must be a terrible burden.’

  Miriam lit a cigarette. ‘You know your trouble, Father?’

  ‘No,’ said Morley. ‘But I have a bad feeling you are about to tell me.’

  ‘Your trouble is you can always find something to like in people.’

  �
�We all have redeeming qualities, Miriam, don’t we? Even those with the darkest hearts and those who have committed the most heinous crimes – and I hardly count Dora and her husband in that category.’

  ‘Well, I strongly disagree,’ said Miriam.

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’ said Morley.

  ‘Not everyone has redeeming qualities. Do they, Sefton? Do you believe that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said.

  ‘Well, personally, I know I could never find anything to like in a murderer.’

  ‘Not in any murderer?’ asked Morley. ‘Really? King David? Moses? Samson?’

  ‘That’s different, Father.’

  ‘I don’t see why.’

  ‘Because,’ said Miriam.

  ‘Because what?’ said Morley.

  ‘Because it was a long time ago! I’d like to think we’re rather more civilised now.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’d like to think so too,’ said Morley.

  We fell silent all at once as the sound of a train could be heard in the distance, drawing into the station.

  ‘Listen!’ said Morley. ‘Wonderful sound, eh? They really are running again. Life goes on, as it always must. And we have work to do! Much left for us to do in Westmorland alone!’

  ‘What about the chief inspector?’ said Miriam. ‘I thought we had to check in at police stations all the way along the Great North Road?’

  ‘I don’t think that’ll be much of a problem now, do you, my dear? Besides, there’s this place, Mardale Green – a village that was submerged by the Manchester Corporation a couple of years ago when they raised the level of Haweswater to form a reservoir and the whole village simply disappeared. Worth a visit, eh? Bit of a metaphor, what? And then there’s—’

  ‘Is that the London train, do you think?’ I interrupted.

  ‘Leeds, then London, yes, I would have thought so,’ said Morley. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s just, I thought perhaps I might—’

  ‘Ah, yes, good thinking, Sefton! Still thinking about the book, eh? Trying to get it back on track? The Settle–Carlisle line, in reverse?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I agreed.

  ‘Good, good.’

  Miriam looked suspiciously at me.

  ‘We’ll see you back in Norfolk, then, shall we?’ said Morley. ‘What, tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Absolutely. Definitely.’

  ‘You’re not coming with us then?’ said Miriam.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said.

  ‘Well, really, I thought I could rely on you, Sefton.’

  ‘He’ll be back tomorrow, Miriam,’ said Morley.

  ‘Will you?’ asked Miriam, giving me her sternest gaze. ‘You’re not thinking of deserting us?’

  ‘I’m—’

  ‘Leave the poor chap alone, Miriam!’ said Morley, who had climbed into the back seat of the Lagonda. ‘Can you come and get the typewriter fixed? We really have to get on here.’

  Miriam ground out her cigarette underfoot and leaned towards me – I thought to kiss me goodbye.

  ‘You’d better be back in Norfolk with us tomorrow,’ she whispered. ‘Or I’ll come looking for you. Do you understand? My life is moving on, Sefton. I have things to do. Plans to make.’

  ‘Wedding plans?’

  ‘All sorts of plans. And you’re looking after Father now.’

  ‘Miriam, come on!’ called Morley.

  As the train pulled in, and just as the doors were opening, I bought a newspaper from the vendor on the platform. Turning to get into the carriage I saw – to my horror, but also to my relief – Lucy’s mother, with her baby, struggling to climb aboard. I quickly went to assist. I wanted to say something. But she stopped me with a stare. In her eyes all I could see was hate.

  Finding a seat in the corner of a carriage, I opened the paper and found what I had been dreading at the bottom of the front page, an article entitled ‘MARLBOROUGH STREET MURDER?’ A man who had been found beaten outside Marlborough Street Magistrates’ Court the week previously had died in hospital. Police were treating the death as suspicious and were appealing for anyone with information to come forward.

  I had enough cigarettes to last me till London and a pocketful of Delaney’s powders. The train pulled out of the station.

  FOOTNOTE

  CHAPTER 3: 72 MILES, 1,728 YARDS

  fn1 The only piece of paper I ever saw framed was Morley’s school leaver’s report, an extraordinary scrap of a document, yellow with age, which hung above his desk and which placed him unceremoniously in division ‘D’ among his classmates, numbered at number 30 out of 30. ‘Morley’s schoolwork this year, as in every other year,’ the report reads in its entirety, ‘has alas been far from satisfactory. His test work has been uniformly poor and his prepared work often worse. In mathematics a typical piece of prepared work scored 2 marks out of a possible 50. In other subjects his work is equally bad. He has often been in trouble because he will not listen but will insist on doing things in his own way. I believe he has ideas of becoming a journalist or a writer. On his present showing in English this is quite ridiculous. He is a boy in possession of eccentric ideas who does not respond to the usual disciplines. He may possibly be suited to employment as an apprentice in some trade that requires neither rote learning nor regular hours.’ Fair comments.

  THE NORFOLK MYSTERY

  IAN SANSOM

  The first of

  THE COUNTY GUIDES

  Spanish Civil War veteran Stephen Sefton is flat broke. So when he sees a mysterious advertisement for a job where ‘intelligence is essential’, he applies.

  Thus begins Sefton’s association with Professor Swanton Morley, autodidact. Morley intends to write a history of England, county by county. His assistant must be able to tolerate his every eccentricity – and withstand the attentions of his beguiling daughter, Miriam.

  The trio begin the project in Norfolk, but when the vicar of Blakeney is found hanging from his church’s bell rope, they find themselves drawn into a fiendish plot. Did the Reverend really take his own life, or was it – murder

  FOURTH ESTATE • London

  DEATH IN DEVON

  IAN SANSOM

  The second of

  THE COUNTY GUIDES

  Join Morley, Sefton and Miriam on another adventure into the dark heart of England in the 1930s …

  Swanton Morley, the People’s Professor, sets off for Devon to continue his history of England, The County Guides. Morley’s daughter Miriam and his assistant Stephen Sefton pack up the Lagonda for a trip to the English Riviera.

  Morley has been invited to give the Founder’s Day speech at All Souls School in Rousdon. But when the trio arrive they discover that a boy has died in mysterious circumstances. Was it an accident or was it – murder?

  FOURTH ESTATE • London

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  For previous acknowledgements see The Truth About Babies (Granta Books, 2002), Ring Road (Fourth Estate, 2004), The Mobile Library: The Case of the Missing Books (Harper Perennial, 2006), The Mobile Library: Mr Dixon Disappears (Harper Perennial, 2006), The Mobile Library: The Delegates’ Choice (Harper Perennial, 2008), The Mobile Library: The Bad Book Affair (Harper Perennial, 2010), Paper: An Elegy (Fourth Estate, 2012), The Norfolk Mystery (Fourth Estate, 2013), Death in Devon (Fourth Estate, 2015). These stand, with exceptions. In addition I would like to thank the following. (The previous terms and conditions apply: some of them are dead; most of them are strangers; the famous are not friends; none of them bears any responsibility.)

  Toluwalope Alabi, Hannia Amir, Aubrey Anderson-Emmons, Jennifer Andrews, Sophie Asty, Andreas Avraam, Emma Axelsson, Hugo Ball, Kanika Banwait, Hope Barker, Sarah Batty, Julie Bowen, Monica Boyajiev, Amy Brandis, Benjamin Bryant, Ty Burrell, Sarah Wayne Callies, Cassandra Cooper-Bagnall, Hannah Cooperwaite, Coppi (Belfast), Benjamin Creeth, Thomas Crompton, Owen Davies, Abigail Day, Daniel Day, Will Dove, Melissa Edmunds, Martin Edwards, Laura Elliston, Lorayn Emterby, the English Libr
ary (Alassio), Established Coffee (Belfast), James Reese Europe, Rhiannan Falshaw-Skelly, Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Scott Flanigan, Hannah Froggatt, Samuel Fry, Pascal Garnier, Nolan Gould, Roseanna Gray, Alice Griggs, Hackney Colliery Band, Nichola Harding, Jamie Hardwick, Zoe Harrington, Eleanor Hastings, Hebe Hewitt, Ellen Hiller, Jaden Hiller, The Hop House (Bangor), Elizabeth Hurst, Sarah Hyland, Alex Jago, Aamir Kapasi, Rebecca Kelley, Samantha Kelly, Ming Yi Koh, Sohini Kumar, Vicky Lai, Emily Lambi, Ellen Lavelle, Anna Lodwick, Jessica Lowe, Mica Lowe, Carmella Lowkis, John Lynas, Nicholas Makinen, Jean-Patrick Manchette, Alick McCallum, Lucy McCarthy, Cathy McKenna, James McKenna, Olivia McNeilis, Annmarie McQueen, Wentworth Miller, Samuel Mitchell, Steven Moore, Abigail Neale, Charlotte Newbury, Yvonne Okey-Udah, Ed O’Neill, Morfudd Owen, Alex Payne, Mrs Peabody, Brogan Pierce, Andrey Platonov, Alexandra Prew, Olive Higgins Prouty, April Roach, Katyana Rocker-Cook, Rico Rodriguez, Kent Russell, Colin Sackett, Joshua Saffold-Geri, Simran Sandhu, Joanne Sarginson, Allegra Scales, Paul Scheuring, Sophia Schoepfer, John Servante, Jimi Sharpe, Alex Smith, Brillia Soh, Maaike Spiekerman, Oliver Stockley, Eric Stonestreet, Mark Storey, Patrick Symmons-Roberts, Hu Ting Tan, David Taylor, Anne-Marie Thomas, Lewis Thomas, Michel Thomas, Josephine Throup, Kate Tolley, Sofía Vergara, Jonella Vidal, Matthew Walpole, Gabriella Watt, Robert W. Weisberg, Ariel Winter, Dahmicca Wright, Cheuk Ling Ann Yip.

  In the fourth of The County Guides,

  Essex is the destination …

  OCTOBER 1937. Swanton Morley, the People’s Professor, finds himself invited to the Colchester Oyster Festival. But the mayor dies suddenly at the civic reception. An accident? A heartache? Or could it be … murder? Could he have been poisoned by the Essex trawlermen, furious at his plans to build a sanitising facility to purify their oysters? Could it possibly be his fellow councillors, jealous of his plans to electrify the town? Or his wayward nephews, the rogue Cowley brothers?

  A tale of town hall intrigue, dodgy oysters, and the wall-of-death at the Kursaal, Essex Poison sees Morley, Miriam and Stephen Sefton embarking once again upon an adventure into darkest England …