Serious Intent

by Margaret Yorke

  ‘I expect they’d like some, too,’ said Marigold. ‘Isn’t it what you’re always supposed to give them, when they call?’

  They went on chatting in this casual manner while Marigold, stepping carefully over the debris on the floor, filled the kettle and put it on.

  ‘I’d better start clearing up the mess,’ she said, reaching in a cupboard for some cups and saucers. Marigold was not equipped with mugs. Most of her best tea things were still in the dishwasher.

  ‘The police may want to look at it,’ said Richard. ‘The mess, I mean. It’s evidence.’

  ‘Do you think so? Perhaps they’ll want to see where the shots went,’ said Marigold. She could still smell the explosive. ‘The empty cartridge cases must be somewhere about. He’d unloaded them before I blipped him.’

  Had she been sitting there holding an unloaded weapon? Richard mouthed the question at her.

  ‘Oh, it’s loaded all right,’ she answered blithely. ‘He was doing that but I interrupted him. Fancy shooting at a woman my age,’ she went on. ‘What a—what a—’ the appropriate epithet eluded her.

  Richard could think of several.

  At this point in their dialogue, the kettle boiled and the police arrived. The kitchen seemed suddenly to be full of men in uniforms, but in fact at first there were only two, soon joined by others from the search party.

  They extracted Alan from the cupboard and clapped handcuffs on him while they cautioned him. The whole scene seemed, to Marigold and Richard, quite surreal.

  ‘Have you found my wife?’ he asked them, but they had no news of Verity.

  Alan, being led away, was shuddering.

  ‘Don’t let that – that thing near me,’ he kept saying, peering sideways at Marigold. ‘She’s a ghost.’

  ‘What can he mean?’ asked Richard. ‘He went on like that while you were telephoning.’

  They didn’t understand for quite some time. The search party seeking Verity were convinced, by now, that unless she had taken refuge with a friend, she must be in the river, and there was little more that could be done till daylight, but because of the summons to The Willows, where there was, allegedly, an armed man, they came into the grounds and played their powerful torches round the garden. They saw the muddy trail which Alan had made walking to and from the shed. They found Verity there, wrapped in her big coat, her tangled hair sticky with her own dried blood, her face unrecognisable.

  It was a long night.

  Eventually, Marigold went back for what remained of it to Merrifields with Richard. The policewoman left in the house had succeeded in getting Terry to bed and he was asleep, so he was not a problem for the moment. In the morning, Richard would have to tell him that his mother was dead – would have to say that she had been murdered, because he would hear the truth in time. Perhaps Justin could be spared the news till he was stronger.

  Richard had been questioned thoroughly, but there was no blood on his clothes, and the man, soon identified as Alan Morton, was smothered in it; there would be scientific proof that it was Verity’s. Separately, Richard and Marigold gave their statements. All this was done at The Willows. Alan, swiftly removed to Radbury police station, had left plenty of evidence, enough to lead, months later, to his second conviction for murder. The spade and the sledgehammer in the shed were stained with Verity’s blood, to which adhered strands of her dyed hair. When the police realised who Alan was, his actions became easier to deduce. The gun used to shoot at Marigold might well prove to be the same weapon that had killed his wife so long ago.

  ‘He kept calling me a ghost,’ said Marigold. ‘He must have thought he’d killed me, not someone he had never heard of. Poor Verity. I wonder what she was doing here.’

  ‘Just wandering about, I expect,’ said Richard. ‘Perhaps she came to see you at the house, and then heard something from the shed and walked on down there.’

  ‘We shall never really know,’ said Marigold.

  ‘If I hadn’t ignored her when she came banging at my workshop door, she wouldn’t have run off,’ said Richard. He had described their row to Marigold as they sat by the revived fire in the drawing-room at Merrifields.

  ‘You weren’t to know that she’d meet a murderer in my garden shed,’ said Marigold. ‘If I’d been in, she wouldn’t have gone down there.’

  ‘She couldn’t be happy,’ Richard sighed. ‘I couldn’t make her happy, anyway.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Marigold. ‘Some people just don’t have it in them. They can’t learn to count their blessings. I’m sure you did everything you could for all of them.’

  Richard had told her about Justin’s part in causing his own injuries.

  ‘He hates me so much,’ he said. ‘At least Verity never knew that he’d been burned.’

  What was he going to do about those boys? Would he have to face a future of caring for two disaffected stepsons, at least one of whom loathed him? Poor man, thought Marigold.

  ‘Where’s their own father?’ she asked. ‘Will he come to the fore now?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Richard. ‘Her parents might tell him about this, I suppose. They may know where he is. Perhaps they’ll help in some way. The boys are fond of them. What a shock it’s going to be for them.’

  ‘Well, when it’s a reasonable enough hour, you can tell them, Richard,’ said Marigold. She was suffering, now, from a physical reaction to the night’s events and had begun to tremble, only slightly but uncontrollably, her jaw shaking. She hoped he wouldn’t notice.

  He did, however.

  ‘You’re frozen. You must go to bed,’ he said.

  ‘It’s too late,’ she said. ‘Or do I mean too early? I’d like a bath, though. That would warm me up. And what about you?’

  ‘I’d like one too,’ said Richard. ‘We can both be satisfied, for as you know, there are several bathrooms here now. What if I make up the fire, we both have baths, then come down again and tuck ourselves up with rugs, and put some music on? That will pass the time till the rest of the world wakes up.’

  Less than an hour later, they were both ensconced, Marigold on the sofa, Richard in the largest armchair with his legs resting on the second, rugs over them, and Elgar’s violin concerto playing softly in the background. Richard fell asleep quite quickly; Marigold took much longer, and she woke first, hearing a gentle snore.

  She smiled. Now she had, for the first time in her life, slept with a man.

  He rang Caroline early in the morning, telling her that there had been an accident and that his wife was dead.

  ‘Oh dear! I’m sorry.’ Caroline sounded genuinely distressed. She hesitated. ‘Are you coping? Shall I come down?’

  He could not believe his ears. She was offering to help: this woman who might be carrying his child but did not mean to let him know the truth.

  ‘No. It’s all right. Someone very kind is helping me,’ he said. ‘A neighbour.’ He asked Caroline to let it be known that he would not be in the office today and possibly not tomorrow either.

  At that moment, Marigold was giving Terry his breakfast in the kitchen. He had been told a sanitised version of the facts: his mother had gone out walking in the night; there had been a burglar, and tragically the two had met, with fatal consequences. It was close enough to the truth for now. Neither Marigold nor Richard yet knew about Steve’s role in the Merrifields robbery.

  Terry was chastened, almost stunned, but then he cried. Amidst his tears, his brother’s name was uttered several times and Richard assured him that Justin would recover. They would go and see him later.

  ‘I don’t have to go to school?’

  ‘Not today.’

  ‘Oh.’ There were more tears, but then Richard said that Terry’s grandparents were coming to stay for a while. This cheered him up and he began telling Marigold about their house in Devon, which was near the sea, and about their small sailing boat. Richard had told Marigold that the grandmother was a friendly, easy person, though the grandfather was less predicta
ble.

  ‘Verity was like him in some ways,’ he said.

  Oh dear, thought Marigold, who was hoping the couple would take the children on: surely Richard could not be expected, now, to raise them? Perhaps there were aunts and uncles, even godparents.

  ‘Before they get here, we must ring up the hospital and find out how Justin is this morning,’ Richard told Terry. ‘Then we must go round to Miss Darwin’s house and clean it up. She was very brave last night. She captured the man – the villain. He was a very wicked man.’

  ‘The man who killed Mum?’ Terry could say it, even if Richard could not bring himself to do so.

  ‘Richard helped me,’ said Marigold. Let the poor man win some respect from these difficult children. ‘Is that a good idea?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Richard firmly. ‘We need occupying and we can’t do much here. I’ll get some glass and fix the broken windows – yours and mine. And you can’t clear all that mess up yourself.’

  Marigold’s resolution to have stronger locks fitted could be carried out later. Whatever his fate, Steve had had a fright and wouldn’t be coming round again; at least, not yet.

  ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Thank you both.’

  She was determined not to cancel her arrangement with Mark; he was due that afternoon and he would need something to eat. Maybe, while they cleaned the kitchen up, Terry could suggest a menu likely to appeal to him.

  Two police officers arrived at Merrifields just as they were ready to set out for The Willows, and Richard asked if they had finished their work in Miss Darwin’s kitchen.

  ‘Oh yes,’ one of them said, and added, ‘You’ll need a new fridge, Miss Darwin. It’s damaged beyond repair and it’s a prime exhibit in the case.’

  Marigold knew that it had proved strong enough to save her life.

  ‘I expect the insurance company will pay,’ she said, and she laughed. Two claims within so few days must be a record.

  The cleaning operation was under way when Ivy Burton arrived at The Willows, pushing Adam, wrapped cocoon-like in his padded stroller. With her, on a set of reins, was the toddler she was minding for the morning. She had brought back Miss Darwin’s stolen jewellery.

  ‘Oh, what a mess! What’s happened?’ Ivy said, seeing what was going on.

  ‘There was some trouble here last night,’ said Miss Darwin. ‘Mr Gardner and Terry are very kindly clearing up.’ She bustled Ivy into the sitting-room, with the toddler, closing the door. Adam, who was asleep, they left parked in the hall.

  ‘I’m sorry I had to bring them with me,’ Ivy said. She was almost in tears. ‘Sharon’s at her job, you see – that’s my daughter. Adam’s my grandson – in the pushchair,’ she explained. ‘This one, William, I’m looking after for a few hours. I’d no one to leave them with.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Miss Darwin. It was a bit tough on Mrs Burton to have a thieving stepson on her hands as well as her own children, and be expected to bring up her grandson, too.

  ‘I’ll keep him tethered,’ Ivy said. ‘You’ve such nice things. He’s into everything, is William.’

  ‘Mrs Burton, I must tell you quickly that Mr Gardner’s wife was killed last night, and the other boy, Justin, has been badly burned in an accident,’ said Miss Darwin swiftly, before Ivy could launch into an apology for Steve’s misdeeds. With Richard and Terry so close at hand, she must be warned.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Ivy stared at her.

  ‘You hadn’t heard?’ Marigold thought the news might have arrived by grapevine already.

  Ivy shook her blonde curls. Despite her difficult and chequered life, she was very well preserved, thought Marigold.

  ‘What happened? Was it in the car?’ she asked.

  ‘No – nothing like that,’ said Miss Darwin. ‘There was an intruder here – that’s why the kitchen’s in that state. He broke in, but he’d already met poor Mrs Gardner. He’s been arrested for her murder.’

  ‘Alan Morton,’ Ivy said, exhaling.

  ‘Yes. How did you know that?’ asked Miss Darwin.

  William, by now, was getting bored and making fretty noises. Ivy found some sweets in her pocket and unwrapped one, popping it into his mouth without turning her attention away from the conversation.

  ‘He met Steve yesterday at the Gardners’ place,’ said Ivy. ‘Steve’s still at Radbury police station. The police found him carrying things he’d stolen from Merrifields – he’d got it all in pillow slips. Can you credit it? Walking along with them, he was, after I thought he was safely locked up in his room.’

  ‘But how did he meet Alan Morton?’ Marigold was mystified.

  ‘Steve broke into Merrifields and Alan Morton saw him and went in after him. When the police picked Steve up, he said Alan had done the job and had threatened Steve and made him carry off the stuff for him. Of course that part’s not true,’ said Ivy. ‘Steve admitted it to me when I was let see him on our own last night. Seems Alan Morton saw him snooping round here again, yesterday afternoon, and then Steve realised with all the Gardners here that he could get into their place and help himself.’ She sighed heavily. ‘It’s a fine thing if you can’t go out and leave your house unoccupied without some young tearaway breaking in and thieving. My house is empty now. I hope none of his friends is in there while my back’s turned. He’s got into bad company since his dad died, I’m afraid.’ Ivy paused, and then said soberly, ‘What you’re really saying is that Alan met poor Mrs Gardner and went for her.’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Miss Darwin.

  ‘I came here to apologise to you,’ said Ivy. ‘But now you’ve told me this – oh dear! I don’t know what to say. He came in here and threatened you, I suppose? Alan, I mean.’

  ‘Yes, he did, but as you can see, I’m all right and the police soon came and took him away,’ said Miss Darwin.

  ‘But the boy? You said he was burned?’

  ‘That was a separate incident. He was playing about with petrol and set himself alight, by accident.’

  Ivy remembered Steve’s petrol-smelling jeans. She knew he sometimes saw young Justin around town; better not to mention it just now.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said again. ‘Will he be all right?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Miss Darwin. Richard had telephoned the hospital before they left the house, and had learned that Justin was in a stable condition. They told one so little, she had reflected.

  Ivy’s mind had returned to Steve.

  ‘If Mr Gardner gets his things back – he will – the police got everything – maybe he won’t press charges,’ she said, hopefully. ‘What about you, Miss Darwin? I was going to ask you to let him off.’

  ‘I’d be willing to,’ said Miss Darwin. ‘But in view of last night’s events, it may not be within my power. And the same may apply to Mr Gardner.’

  ‘But Steve had nothing to do with – with Mrs Gardner’s death,’ Ivy protested.

  ‘No, but you’ve just told me that he’s blaming Alan Morton for the burglary at Merrifields. He’ll involve himself if he sticks to that story,’ said Marigold.

  Ivy looked at her, unable to reply.

  ‘He’d better talk to a solicitor and take whatever advice he’s given,’ said Marigold. ‘My own advice would be to tell the truth.’

  ‘He needn’t say anything,’ said Ivy. ‘That’s the law. He’s only told me, so far.’

  ‘And it’s the law that let Alan Morton out of prison after just a few years, when he had been given a life sentence for killing his wife,’ said Marigold. ‘If that sentence had been implemented literally he would not have been released and Mrs Gardner would still be alive.’

  Ivy, searching Steve’s drawers for further stolen property, had found, among other articles which had given her reason for concern, the newspaper cuttings he had hidden, with the report of Alan’s trial.

  ‘He came over to The Willows last November. Alan did,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if he’d escaped or if he was on one of them shopping trips they let them
out for. That’s how Steve knew who he was, last night. Steve and Mark were here. Of course neither of them said a word to me, and nor did Mr Morton, but that’s when he went downhill. He died soon after. Steve told me last night, at the police station.’

  ‘We all have secrets,’ said Marigold, who had very few.

  ‘Poor Mr Gardner, though, with them two boys. How will he manage? It’s funny, you never think of that, when you take on someone else’s kids. When you get married, I mean. You don’t think of them dying and leaving you with their kids. I never thought Steve would be a problem. He was a lovely little lad. My mother died when I was eight and my dad married a lovely woman. They had two more kids and we all got on a treat.’

  At this point, William had had enough and let out a bellow.

  ‘I’d best take him off,’ said Ivy. ‘I’m ever so sorry, Miss Darwin. About everything.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Marigold. ‘So am I.’

  Two weeks later, Justin was discharged from hospital and soon afterwards was taken, with his brother, down to Devonshire. Verity’s mother had spent the intervening time at Merrifields, with one excursion home to make some preparations, as she did not altogether trust her husband. The boys were going to live there for the present.

  That evening, Richard took Miss Darwin out to dinner at The Red Lion.

  ‘It’s not a celebration, but I’m glad they’ve gone,’ he said to her, across the table. ‘They represent my failure.’

  When he picked her up, Marigold was just seeing off Susan Conway, who had come to collect Mark after his few hours spent at The Willows. It was too much to expect that anything could be sparked off between them, but Marigold hoped to contrive occasional meetings as the days grew longer. She had learned that Mark knew nothing whatsoever about his father.

  ‘We’ve all failed at some things,’ Marigold declared. ‘What about your daughter? When’s she coming home?’

  ‘Oh – not yet. I’m not sure when she’s due for leave,’ he answered.