“Right you are, Al,” Beryl said when he was done. “What do you say, Ed? I’ll tackle Michael in the morning and you can take on Mrs. Mumford?”
All Edwina could do was to nod.
Chapter 29
The Blackburns lived in a flat above the garage. It wasn’t large or even very attractively furnished but it did have the luxury of convenience. Beryl took the steps at the back of the garage. She knocked on the wooden door at the top of the steps and stood waiting for someone to answer. As she held tightly to the banister she looked out over the rolling fields nearby and the ribbon of sparkling river beyond. Walmsley Parva was a beautiful little place. If you didn’t mind the odd murder.
Despite the nature of her visit to the Blackburn residence Beryl felt the same sense of well-being she had leaving Parnham St. Mary the afternoon before. It seemed the country air and Ed’s companionship had renewed her zest for life. Her heart skipped a beat when she thought how it was just luck that she had seen Ed’s advertisement in the newspaper. What would have happened to her if she had not? Beryl realized she was gripping the handrail as if her life depended on it. She gave herself a little shake to banish any dark thoughts to the back of her mind. There was far too much to do to entertain their like today.
Norah opened the door wearing a pair of loose trousers and a man’s open-necked shirt. Beryl approved. She had long enjoyed wearing such practical garments herself and was delighted to see other women doing likewise. Not that she didn’t love a dramatic ball gown, but the lure of the sensible combined with the forbidden made trousers irresistible.
“Good morning, Norah. I wonder if Michael is home?” Beryl asked.
“Is there something wrong with your motorcar?” Norah asked, stepping back to allow Beryl entry.
“I just need to talk to him about something, that’s all,” Beryl said, following Norah in through the open doorway. “Did he tell you about the talk he had with Edwina yesterday?”
“No, he didn’t. He didn’t say much of anything all day when it comes to that. I asked you two not to say anything about Agnes to upset him. Why can’t you just leave well enough alone?”
“This isn’t just about Agnes anymore, Norah. Did you know he drove off somewhere with Polly on the night she died?”
“Who said that he did?” Norah asked.
“Young Jack, the newspaper boy.”
“Did Michael tell you he had Polly in the cab?”
“He doesn’t deny it. I’m not saying he admitted it either but they were seen together driving out of town at the time the last film of the night at the Palais let out.”
Norah crossed the small sitting room to the sofa and slumped down on a sunken cushion at the end of it.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she said. Beryl sat down beside her.
“You’re worried about what he has been doing because of what happened to Agnes?”
“No. That’s not it. I know he didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Agnes. I’m worried that he is having some sort of return to his precarious state of mind. I can’t stand the thought of him slipping back into being the sort of person who can’t even recognize when he is being spoken to.”
“Has he shown any signs of a breakdown?’ Beryl asked.
“He hasn’t been himself in days. He doesn’t eat. He’s jumpy and every time I mention Polly he gets defensive.”
“Don’t you think it might be because he has something to hide?” Beryl asked. “You have to admit, Agnes disappeared after he showed an interest in her, and then after a witness saw him driving Polly away she turns up dead. One would be insane themselves not to wonder if the two circumstances are linked.”
“For the last time, I know he had nothing to do with Agnes’ disappearance.” Norah raised her voice and banged her fist down on the arm of the sofa. “Agnes is alive and well and living in London.” Her eyes grew large in her face and she covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh dear. I wasn’t supposed to say.”
“That’s all right, Norah. I think it will be for the best if you tell me exactly what happened.”
Norah sat in silence gnawing on a thumbnail for a moment and then began to speak in a low voice.
“Agnes and I were friends. We met when I first went up to the Wallingford Estate to fix some broken machinery. A good mechanic can work on all sorts of engines and I liked to do my bit for the war effort so I was up there quite a lot.”
“Is that why she paid special attention to Michael?”
“Yes, it was. She chose Tarzan because I told her he had loved those books when he was a youth. She sat right next to his bed and touched his hand now and again as she read because she knew how distressed I was by his illness.”
“But then she disappeared.”
“About three months after Agnes had started reading to the soldiers she came to me out of the blue and said she was leaving the Land Army and would be heading to London.”
“Wasn’t that unusual? I thought the Land Army workers committed to a one-year term,” Beryl said.
“They did, which is why I was so surprised when she said she was leaving. She hadn’t fulfilled her obligation. When I asked why she was going she said she was expecting a child and that she was going to change her name and go to London where she would introduce herself as a war widow.”
“The poor girl. She must have been so distressed,” Beryl said.
“I believe she was at the time. She really seemed to enjoy her work at the Wallingford Estate and I don’t think she was looking forward to leaving it for a job in a factory in London. But she couldn’t stay here.”
“Was the baby Michael’s?”
“Heaven help me, that was my first thought, too. I actually asked her if Michael had forced himself on her in any way and she said that he hadn’t. I wasn’t entirely sure that I believed her after the way that he had behaved but I wanted to do so more than anything.”
“So she vanished without a trace and you never told anyone that she was alive and well? You just let everyone worry that she had come to harm?” Beryl asked.
“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Now it seems unkind. I didn’t realize how much it had plagued Miss Davenport all this time.”
“You realize, don’t you, that this secret may have contributed to Polly Watkins’ death?” Beryl asked. “As soon as we started asking question about Agnes, Polly was killed. Michael may yet have something to hide.”
“He didn’t know about the baby. She made me swear not to tell anyone. Until now I haven’t.” Norah looked at Beryl with tears in her large blue eyes and Beryl wished to believe her. It was, however, a murder enquiry.
“You don’t know her new name or her address in London, do you?” Beryl asked.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I am going to need to verify for myself that what you are telling me is true. I will need to go up to London with Edwina and see Agnes Rollins in the flesh for myself.”
“But then she’ll know I didn’t keep her secret,” Norah said.
“Which is worse? Two sympathetic women making discreet enquiries way off in London or the two of us continuing to ask questions about Michael right here in Walmsley Parva?” Beryl asked.
“She calls herself Agnes Martin now. I have the address written in a cookery book in the kitchen. Michael would never look for it there.” Norah moved off the sofa and into the kitchen. She returned holding a piece of paper in her hand and she stretched it out to Beryl. “Here it is. When you see Agnes will you tell her that I miss her and I hope that she is doing well?”
“I’ll be sure to let her know that you were asking after her. I can’t help but ask, why would she tell you about the baby instead of just slipping away?”
“Because she was going to London and she was planning to get a job in a munitions factory. She was worried about what would happen to the baby if she were hurt or even killed in one of the accidents that were so common in those places. She didn’t ha
ve any family at all and she didn’t have any other friends she would trust with her baby. She said after the way I did my best for Michael she knew she would trust me with the care of her baby if it came down to it.”
“Did you ever meet the baby?”
“No, I never did. I didn’t want to try to explain to Michael why I was going up to London. Besides, he gets quite anxious if he has to stay at home overnight alone. The trains are reliable but you never know what could happen to delay a journey. I never wanted to risk it.”
“Thanks for trusting me with your secret.”
“Please just don’t let Michael know that Agnes is able to be found. I don’t think it would be good for him. I especially don’t think he needs to know she bore another man’s child.”
“Do you think he could have found out another way? Did anyone else have that information about Agnes?” Beryl asked.
“I doubt it. Agnes was friendly enough with Polly but I think she knew Polly couldn’t be trusted to keep such an important secret. If she were as smart as I believed she was, she would have known better. I don’t think there is anyone else she would have told about a thing like that,” Norah said. “I really don’t believe there could be any way that Michael knew.”
“You realize you still haven’t told me if Michael drove Polly somewhere on the night that she died.”
“I was rather hoping you had forgotten with the excitement of discovering that Agnes was alive and well.”
“I’m afraid I am not quite so old as all that. I haven’t lost all my marbles yet and left them to roll round the nursing ward floor.” Beryl shook her head at the younger woman. “So tell me, did he drive her somewhere on the night she died?”
“Michael has a strong sense of honor for his fellow soldiers. He doesn’t like to put them in harm’s way either in their bodies or in their minds either.”
“I understand the instinct. There is something between compatriots that the rest of the world cannot ever quite understand. Polly wasn’t a fellow soldier though unless you are including the Land Army in the military to the same extent as the army or the navy.”
“No, of course not. I only meant he had a great respect for his fellow soldiers and would have considered requests for secrecy from one of them of the highest order.”
“So someone else asked Michael to keep the secret of Polly being in his cab?”
“Yes. And Michael did. He hated to lie to Edwina. He was brought up better than that but his code with the fellow soldiers goes deeper than common courtesy.”
“Yours doesn’t though, does it?” Beryl asked. “Your loyalty isn’t to the armed serves that broke Michael’s spirit but rather to Michael himself.”
Norah looked at Beryl then slowly nodded. “Michael had a standing engagement to drive Polly home from the cinema three times each week.” Beryl’s heart beat faster and her nose twitched at the thought that the trail was heating up.
“That seems a bit expensive for a daily maid, doesn’t it?” Beryl asked.
“Polly didn’t pay for it. Walter Bennett, the projectionist at the cinema, contacted Michael a couple of weeks ago and made the arrangements. He hired Michael to drive Polly home.”
“In the cab?” Beryl asked. “To her house?”
“That’s right.”
“Why would he do that? Isn’t it a bit strange to go to the expense of hiring a cab for someone you barely knew?”
“It wouldn’t have been much money. Michael always gave other soldiers a deeply discounted rate. It barely covered the petrol. I assumed Walter and Polly knew each other better than anyone else realized. Michael never said. In the cab business it doesn’t pay to ask too many questions.”
“You must end up picking people up at places they ought not be and dropping others off at locations at least as damning.”
“Something like that. Discretion is a large part of developing repeat business.”
“Did Michael ever drive Walter Bennett anywhere?”
“Not that I know of. If he did he never said. Walter only hired him to drive Polly and only back to her house, as far as I knew.”
“This still doesn’t get him off the hook for her murder, you know. He was seen with her and then she was found dead.”
“I know he didn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t have hurt anyone. That’s just not who he is.”
“Then convince him to talk to me or to Edwina. If anyone else saw her get out of his cab the night she died and then saw him drive away it would be a great help in convincing us to look elsewhere for her killer,” Beryl said.
“I’ll do my best but he’s been very tight-lipped about the entire business. I think Polly’s death bothered him more than he wants to admit. We were just starting to have the expectation that young people would have chance of living a normally long life again. What with the war and then the Spanish Flu it has taken a long time and some deliberate forgetting to let in a little bit of hope.” Norah looked down at her hands fidgeting in her lap. “He’s been so distracted he’s even started making errors with his work.”
“Then you had best get him to talk to me. Even if he didn’t kill Polly he may well kill an unsuspecting customer through negligence.” Beryl stood and made her way to the door. “I’ll be sure to tell Agnes hello from you.”
Chapter 30
The Silver Spoon Tearoom was warm and smelled faintly of nutmeg. Edwina looked around with admiration at the tins of tea and the sparkling porcelain pots and cups. Minnie was an inspiration. One felt quite sanitary about her operation. Edwina wished she were there to swap recipes instead of to interrogate her about black market involvement. There was simply no good way to broach such a subject.
At least there was no one else present. At least for the moment. Which was only to be expected as the tearoom was still closed. Minnie had looked surprised to see her when Edwina knocked on the door so far ahead of opening time. She was in the midst of polishing the cutlery from the looks of things. Silver teaspoons and butter knives lay on a thick layer of toweling on one of the tables near the center of the room along with a pot of some sort of paste.
“What brings you by, Edwina?” Minnie asked, seating herself once more at the table and taking up her polishing cloth.
“I felt a little cooped up in the house and wanted a bit of a walk so I came on into the village. I was passing the shop and when I glanced through the window I saw you sitting here all by yourself with this great mound of silver. So I thought I’d ask if you needed any help with it. I’ve always quite enjoyed doing the silver.”
“That’s very kind of you. The job has to be done from time to time but it can be a bit daunting.” Minnie waved her rag at the pile. “It’s much easier of course when you use the right sort of polish. I’ve tried all sorts of recipes, you know and my own recipe seems to work the very best. Sometimes I think I ought to sell it right along with the tea considering the way customers always ask me how I keep things so bright and shiny.”
“I should think that quite a good idea. You know,” Edwina said, reaching for the pot and holding it to her nose, “it smells quite pleasant really.”
“Rose geranium oil. Nothing so lovely as that as far as I’m concerned. I add a few drops at the end just before I bottle it. The scent fades over time but it’s nice for a few days,” Minnie said. “I’d be happy to give you a jar if you’d like. I often do when someone I know admires it.”
“I’d love one. And a very great help it must be to have an effective preparation to use. You certainly can’t count on finding staff to keep things spic and span,” Edwina said.
“You just can’t get the help these days, can you? Not for love or money.”
“Not like when we were girls, is it?” Edwina asked. She removed her coat and draped it over the back of a chair and sat in the seat next to Minnie. She took up a soft cloth from a pile on the table and dipped it in the paste pot. She applied it to a spoon blackened around the ornate scrollwork of the handle. She began to rub in earnest and was grat
ified almost at once to see a rich lustre emerging from beneath the tarnish.
“Not in the least. I sometimes despair. You know I do. I’ve often felt as if the war and all that came with it just upended the entire natural order of things. It used to be there were standards. Pride in one’s work. A sense of duty. But now it’s all about glamour and adventure and trying to look like cinema stars.” Minnie savagely rubbed at the handle of a cake knife. Edwina couldn’t help but wonder if they were really talking about the state of world affairs or perhaps something a bit closer to home.
“It can feel worrisome at times, can’t it? Running this place on your own is a remarkable achievement. I’ve heard Mr. Mumford speaking about you very proudly when you aren’t around to be embarrassed by the praise.” Edwina realized she was behaving just as she had when she had told fibs as a schoolgirl for the greater good. Mr. Mumford had never praised his wife in or out of her earshot to Edwina’s knowledge. But in this case, there was no reason the truth was a better choice than a little white lie. Especially if it helped Minnie to admit to her part in the black market purchases.
“That’s very kind of you to say, I’m sure,” Minnie said, her eyes widening in surprise and her zeal for energetic buffing slowing down a bit. “It hasn’t always been easy, I’ll say that much.”
“I’ve always admired your business sense. I don’t know how you did it. Especially the way you turned out such delicious morsels all through the shortages. People came for miles around to partake of your cakes and buns. Well, they still do, don’t they?”
“They do indeed. You know the increasing ownership of the motorcar is making places like this one more popular all the time. People are making a practice of stopping in for a bit of refreshment on their way along the road to the seaside or on their way to a weekend at a cottage in the countryside.”
Murder in an English Village Page 19