She relived the awful homecoming and the evening when he had walked in and told her he no longer wanted to marry her. She had to force herself back from tears that burned to be shed.
‘I’ll take it to him on the way home,’ Lydia said, throwing the hateful object down on the counter.
‘Shall I take it?’ Stella offered. ‘He needn’t know you saw anything. I’ll tell him it was me who found it and looked inside for the owner, shall I?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘No, I think I’d enjoy him knowing that I’d seen it,’ she said harshly. ‘After all, it no longer concerns me, does it?’
‘No indeed,’ Stella said quietly. ‘Glyn is no longer your love. Don’t care tuppence, do you?’
* * *
Lydia walked to the Howes’ house and called out as she walked in. Only Tomos was there, sitting in the small office beside the telephones.
‘Hello, Lydia, love. How’s the business going?’
‘Fine, Tomos. I called to see Glyn, is he here?’
‘No, won’t I do? Better looking I am,’ he joked.
‘I found this wallet when I was tidying up. It’s Glyn’s so I thought I’d better bring it straight round in case he’s worried about it.’
‘No need to rush. I doubt there’s any money in it.’
‘I… we didn’t look, only to see if there was a name,’ she said.
‘Stay for a cuppa, he’ll be back soon.’
She couldn’t stay. Suddenly embarrassed about her intention to tell Glyn she knew about his money, she realised with a jolt that she was interfering, Glyn’s business was no longer hers. Still tender from the way he had hurt her, for a while she had forgotten, acting as if they had merely quarrelled and would one day soon make up and be as they were before. Refusing the offer of a cup of tea, she was anxious to get out of the house. She no longer wanted to see Glyn’s face when he realised she knew about the money. Hurrying out of the house that had always been like a second home, she ran with her head down, hoping she wouldn’t bump into Glyn and have to explain.
* * *
On Monday afternoon Molly called at the newly opened wool shop after a visit to the police station on behalf of Mr and Mrs Frank.
‘They’re a bit upset,’ Molly whispered as Stella and Annie were not far away, in the back room. ‘Those medals and a few pieces of valuable jewellery which had been stolen from Mr and Mrs Frank are being returned,’ she reported.
‘Aren’t they pleased?’
‘No, it brings it all back, see. The burglary while they were in bed fast asleep. Finding the medals and jewellery and money missing. It reminds them of how vulnerable they are, him being partly blind and her so deaf.’
‘But the medals, Mr Frank must be glad to have them back in the family?’
‘What family? There’s only those two and a couple of distant cousins several times removed or whatever. No, they don’t want them back. Refusing to accept them they are. That’s why I had an afternoon off to go to the police station and sort it out.’
‘Such a shame. He must have been so proud of them.’
‘He was. Now they feel uneasy with them in the house,’ Molly sighed. ‘Medals won by Mr Frank, and his father and grandfather during famous wars. but he won’t even look at them.’
‘Perhaps he’s afraid that if someone wanted them badly enough to break in and steal them sixteen years ago, someone else might have the same idea now?’ Lydia suggested.
‘That’s right! I’d never thought of that. I imagined they’d be overjoyed to get them back but they’re going straight to the bank and there they’ll stay until they can arrange to sell them. Sad isn’t it, what effect a burglary can have? Long after the event it causes misery. Poor dabs, they’re ill and practically housebound, and they have to have this to contend with, making them feel unsafe, even in their own home. Pity it is that the stuff was found.’
‘What’s more disturbing is that it must be someone around here. Someone we know. Someone who has waited for years afraid to dig up the cache and sell it, until now.’ Hesitantly she added, ‘Someone perhaps, who’s so short of money he’ll take a chance and go to the castle and recover it.’
‘Thinking of Glyn again, are we?’ Molly asked. ‘That’s ridiculous and you know it! I know you and I toyed with the idea of him being involved but neither of us really believed it. Desperate for money he might be, but digging up there at night and pushing you and me down the slope where we might get hurt? Never! And even when he was a boy, could you see him breaking into houses and taking valued oddments? No, the Howes are a good, honest family and neither Tomos nor Glyn are the type.’
‘What “type” does it take to steal and cheat and frighten people? Criminals don’t wear a badge, or have shifty eyes or a cruel mouth, do they?’
‘If Glyn had all those plus black and broken teeth I still wouldn’t believe he was a thief!’ Molly laughed, ‘and neither would you!’
Lydia told Molly about the ten thousand pounds. ‘And, he did turn up soon after we heard the dog howling and after Stella and I saw the man running away from the castle that night.’
‘Fancy going up there and having a look?’ Molly asked. ‘The police have re-sealed the entrance, but Tomos and I – we’ve found a way in again.’
‘I don’t think so, I—’
‘Come on, it’ll be a lark. There’s no one likely to be about now everything’s been found.’
‘Not everything. There’s still money missing.’
‘Notes that are out of date. No one could spend them unless a bank changes them. Spent years ago they were for sure. Come on, “Never let it be said your mother reared a jibber”!’ she quoted with a laugh.
‘I wonder how long that ten thousand has been in Glyn’s account?’ Lydia frowned. ‘Could it have been there for sixteen years?’
‘Don’t talk tripe!’
With Stella keeping an eye on the shop, the two girls collected a couple of torches, and put on heavy raincoats. They were laughing as they walked along the lane leading to the quarry, and clambered up the steep slope and over the fence into the allotments. The second fence which had been six feet high and intended to keep people from entering the castle grounds, was flattened by regular use to a leaning and battered two feet. They stepped over with ease and walked through the shrubs up to the narrow path which led around the outside of the castle.
Imminent rain in the form of a heavy mist shrouded the view when they reached the castle entrance. From the ancient gateway on the elevated site. the view across the bay towards the pier, normally so breathtaking, was invisible. Only the few shop window lights succeeded in piercing the mist which soon turned into rain.
Pulling up their hoods, Molly led the way around the outer walls to the place where she and Tomos met regularly. Getting into the castle was made easy with the use of a ladder, which Molly and Tomos left hidden among the overgrown nettles, brambles, and the dead and dying wild flowers that in summer added to the beauty of the place.
They walked through the empty rooms and crawled into the almost filled underground room that had been a cellar. Men working for the police had examined the shallow room but it had settled back into its quiet peace. They went into each room and area they passed, taking their time, glancing around with casual indifference. Neither girl admitted they were avoiding going to the old kitchen, where the body of Rosie Hiatt had been found, for as long as possible.
There was no sign of any further activity and Lydia wanted to abandon the visit and return to the warmth and safety of the shop. ‘What are we looking for?’ she said in exasperation. ‘We shouldn’t have come. Let’s go back and have a cup of coffee.’
‘We ought to look at the kitchen, Lydia.’
‘Why? There’s nothing left to find. The police have searched thoroughly and they’ve got electronic equipment. What do you expect us to see that they missed?’ she said irritably. ‘This was a stupid idea.’
The rain, darkening the already dark afternoon, was add
ing to the gloom of the place and making her uneasy. The walls were wet, dripping rain which made gentle sounds that seemed threatening. The rooms with their shadowed doorways offered shelter to anyone who might be hiding, looking out at them from the blackness. The sensation of eyes watching their every move increased by the minute. Rosie’s death was a tragedy and being here, ghoulishly enjoying the atmosphere of danger, was wrong. They had no right to be here.
‘Creepy, isn’t it?’ Molly whispered when she stopped a few inches into the doorway of the barrel-vaulted storeroom. ‘Come on, we’ll have a quick look at the kitchen and then go. I promised to be back to get Mr and Mrs Frank their tea at four.’
Along the open corridor, out into the courtyard. Their nervousness increased as they looked towards the imposing gateway a little to their left. In front of them was the old kitchen. To the left of it, between the kitchen and the gateway, stone steps curved up leading to the battlements. Another stairway, left again of the gate, also led upwards, this time under cover, and it was in the doorway to this one that Lydia detected a slight movement. She covered her mouth to stifle a scream and Molly grabbed her arm and looked in the direction her friend was staring.
‘What is it, Lydia?’ she whispered.
‘I don’t know. I saw someone, or something, over by there, in the doorway of the spiral staircase,’ Lydia’s voice was choked with fear.
‘Come on, it’s probably a bird. Dozens of pigeons live here.’ Only slightly reassured, Lydia followed Molly through the entrance and looked at the soggy grass of the kitchen floor.
The turf had been neatly relaid and there were no visible signs of the place ever being disturbed apart from a few places where mud revealed newly joined turves which had not yet knitted together.
Lydia walked across and showed Molly exactly where the grave had been found, and talked about the sad discovery for a while, then a movement caught Lydia’s eye.
‘Molly. I saw it again. There is someone in that doorway!’ They looked towards the entrance to the stone spiral staircase and this time, Molly saw it too. A small movement, as if someone standing there had moved further inside.
‘Let’s get out of here!’ Molly muttered.
Both girls began to run back to where they had left the ladder and it was as they went through the chapel block that they realised someone was following. Panic stricken, they held hands and crouched as they hurried through the rooms and corridors, up steps, stumbling occasionally in their haste.
In their agitation they took a wrong turning, climbed a dozen steps through a short passageway and found themselves on the roof of a lower room and there was only one way off it, the way they had come.
It was a terrible moment to have to return back down the few steps they had climbed, back to the corridor where they feared someone was waiting for them. Although the rain had darkened the air, it was still daylight. Yet it looked darker still on the stairway, looking from the open air down into the gloom of the building. It was impossible to see if there was anyone in there, he would be lost in the ominous blackness.
Trying not to make a sound, they stepped down the twelve steps, each counting but without knowing why. At the bottom, Molly was leading and she peered around the corner and came face to face with a man.
‘Well! Miss Jones and Miss Powell,’ Detective Superindendent Richards said. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me what you’re doing here?’
‘Oh, thank goodness it’s you!’ Lydia gasped.
‘What are you looking for?’ The voice was harsh, the eyes steely and the policeman who had been so helpful and comforting to Lydia had vanished. The face now glaring at her was no longer kind. ‘Come on. Tell me what you were doing or we’ll go to the station and sort it out there!’
‘Nothing. We weren’t doing anything. Just – I don’t know. Coming in for a bit of a dare I suppose.’
‘That’s all,’ Molly added urgently. ‘I dared Lydia to come here.’
‘It isn’t the first time you’ve been here since the discovery of Rosie Hiatt’s body, is it Miss Powell? Not the first, nor the second. Regular meetings, isn’t it? With someone’s husband. You’re a bit like Rosie herself, don’t you think?’
‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’ Molly stormed. ‘I’m not a tart!’
‘All right. I’m sorry. But I want to know what you were looking for.’
‘Now listen to me,’ Molly stormed, fright making her brave. ‘Getting soaked we are, standing here listening to insults and answering stupid questions! It’s pelting down in case you haven’t noticed! Come on, Lydia. We’re going.’
‘You’ll have to wait until I replace your ladder,’ Richards said.
‘Come on, I’ve had enough of this.’ She glared at the policeman and pulling Lydia after her, hurried to the place where they had entered. The ladder was still as they left it, and both girls climbed out while the man watched them, his face cold and disapproving.
‘I recommend you both stay away from here, unless you want to answer a lot of questions,’ he called after them.
‘I’ve a damned good mind to pull the ladder up after us,’ Molly shouted back.
‘You can if you wish,’ he replied. ‘I have a key.’
With Lydia’s help, Molly hauled up the ladder and threw it down where it was usually hidden.
‘I hope he wasn’t bluffing,’ she laughed as they ran through the allotments and down to the road.
When Lydia arrived home that evening, with her father and mother, the taxi was driven by Glyn. He helped her mother up to her bedroom and Billy tucked her in while Glyn ran back down the stairs.
‘Thank you for returning my wallet,’ he said to Lydia who was already washing rice for the evening meal. ‘How did you know it was mine?’ he asked.
She turned, prepared to lie, but instead said, ‘I looked inside, of course. I saw your name on the bank statement with the balance of thousands of pounds. Does Tomos know? You pestering him for extra work and taking money from his pocket. Does he know?’
‘He does now,’ Glyn said ruefully. ‘That was careless of me wasn’t it? Leaving it for everyone to see?’
‘Not everyone. Just Auntie Stella and me, and your brother of course.’
‘One day I’ll explain,’ he said softly. ‘If you can wait a while, you’ll understand.’
‘I doubt it,’ she said sharply. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to get the meal ready.’ She pushed him towards the door and closed it firmly behind him.
* * *
Superintendent Richards turned up at the shop the following morning. ‘I want you to come with me,’ he said, but he was smiling. The stern, harsh look was gone.
‘Am I under arrest, then?’ she asked. Her returning smile was wavery. She wondered if something else had happened at the castle and if she and Molly were thought to be implicated.
‘Just something I want you to see,’ he replied.
Leaving Stella once more in charge, the policeman led her along the lane which led past the entrance to the allotments then on to the old quarry. At the allotment gates, he stopped and unlocked them, guiding her to where her father and Gimlet had their plots. He pointed to where a bonfire had been built. Lydia frowned and looked around her.
‘See anything you recognise, Miss Jones?’ he asked. Lydia shook her head.
Richards didn’t offer any further explanation but stood there patiently as if capable of standing there for the rest of the day. Lydia looked at the dereliction of the year’s small harvests, and the few green survivors, like chives and parsley, sprouts and winter cabbage. Her father’s allotment was furthest away, next to that of Gimlet, and she walked towards it.
Another bonfire had been started, smaller than the first one she had noticed. Thrown across it, half hidden by dead twigs and brown curling leaves was a coat. Curiously she walked towards it. Brown, it was, and not unlike the one belonging to Matthew.
‘That jacket,’ she said. ‘Matthew Hiatt had one like that, although it
’s difficult to see properly.’
‘Had one?’
‘Well it was taken from—’ Too late she remembered that the incident in which an intruder entered their house had not been reported.
‘Go and take a closer look, Miss Jones, before you tell me exactly what happened to the jacket,’ he said and the steeliness was back in his voice.
She walked forward and picked up the jacket, slipping debris from it onto the garden. She examined the button and saw that it had been recently fixed. ‘It is Matthew’s! I sewed that button on for him,’ she said, offering it up for him to see. ‘And that repair on the sleeve, I did that too.’
‘Anything else you recognise, Miss Jones?’ There was something accusing in the way he kept saying ‘Miss Jones’ and she was anxious then to assure him she had no more secrets. She looked around at the partly dug plot and at the rubbish that had been gathered together for burning. Half hidden by the leaves which a windy day had blown there and a rainy day had flattened into a mulch, was a black woollen hat.
‘There’s a hat here,’ she said. ‘Shall I pull it out?’ He didn’t reply so she bent down and unearthed it from the litter that concealed it. A pom-pom, a bright green pom-pom showed boldly, cheerfully in the dull light. She frowned, her memory teasing her. She had seen a hat like this, but where? Then she gasped. Memories of the moment she and Glyn had come upon the body of Rosie Hiatt returned as if it had happened moments, not weeks ago.
‘I remember seeing one like this the night we found poor Rosie Hiatt,’ she said in disbelief. ‘How could I have forgotten? It was on the ground near the garden fork as if it had just fallen from its handle.’ She turned and stared at him, her eyes wide with alarm. It was so distinctive someone would remember who made it – and for whom. ‘Was this what someone was afraid I would remember? Remember and tell the police? The phone calls weren’t specific, just warning me to keep my mouth shut.’ She was talking, not to the policeman, but to herself.
The Homecoming Page 14