On the way home she told him what Cath had said and questioned him.
‘Lydia, I have to trust you. I love you and if you love me you have to promise never to repeat what I’m going to tell you.’
‘Short of murder, I promise,’ she replied, giving a quivering smile.
‘Rosie’s death was one hell of a shock. You have to believe that. I had no idea she wasn’t living, acting in her usual happy-go-lucky way and getting plenty of fun from life. I even imagined her married and settled down with a husband, kids and a mortgage. But dead? Possibly murdered? It’s nightmare stuff.’
‘But the gun? That was something to do with you?’ she asked when a silence stretched out.
‘That was something to do with me,’ he admitted. ‘I’d robbed several houses. Yes, including that of Mr and Mrs Frank. Spite that one, really. He was always chasing me off the pavement, telling me to keep away from respectable people and twice he hit me for climbing into his precious garden to retrieve my ball. It was no use to me, the stuff I took from the Franks. I usually looked for money. Where Cath Wesson lived there was a weak back door and I used to go inside and eat some food from the larder, imagining how they’d puzzle over what happened to it. I was just a kid,’ he said and she smiled, seeing in her mind that unhappy, undisciplined, defiant little boy.
‘Then one day I found the gun. Mr Weston had been shooting and had left it out to clean. A box of cartridges had been carelessly left too, a box half full, and I whipped the lot.’
‘What did you do with it?’ Lydia asked, dreading to hear the answer, wondering if she’d be able to keep her promise.
‘I buried it up in the castle with the stuff I’d taken and couldn’t sell.’
It took a moment to sink in, then she whispered, ‘It was you who was digging in the old kitchen?’
‘It was me.’
‘And you who found—? Oh, Matthew, what an awful experience, finding Rosie like that.’
The memory of that awful moment choked him and for a moment he couldn’t go on. ‘I was searching for the gun and the boxes of stuff I’d stolen, thinking that if the castle was being repaired the workmen might find them. Then, when I thought I’d found it, I saw.’ He stopped and took a few deep breaths, the horror of it returning. ‘I thought it was a necklace at first, would you believe that? I wondered if it was part of the stuff I’d buried. Then, then I realised it was a body. I remember running, scrambling through that window, imagining a hundred ghosts chasing after me along the path. Blundering through trees, down the slope, pushing someone aside. It was terrifying.’
‘You didn’t know then that it was your sister?’
‘How could I? I didn’t believe she was dead. Lydia, I still can’t forget the horror of being told it was poor Rosie.’
‘Of course you can’t. Your own sister,’ she murmured sympathetically.
‘No, you don’t understand. I hated her you see. I hated her for not bothering to keep in touch with me. I was a criminal and I’d been living on my wits for years but I was only seventeen and I had no one. She promised that whatever happened we’d never lose touch and I hated her for letting me down. All the time she was—’
‘Come on in,’ Lydia said, guiding him like a child. ‘Stella’s there, looking after Mam, but we’ll stay down in the kitchen. I think you need to talk and talk until you can get the pictures out of your mind.’
Stella and Billy were playing cards but when Lydia explained that she and Matthew needed to talk, they didn’t interrupt, just continued with their game of rummy, while Annie slept peacefully above. When Matthew left, Billy walked Stella home without asking any questions.
* * *
In the Howes’ home, discussions had continued on Matthew and Rosie Hiatt. Cath Two was in bed, Gimlet and Mary went up and still the talk went on. Cath remembered the day Rosie disappeared with surprising clarity. At midnight, when the lights finally went out, Glyn and Tomos and Molly persuaded Cath to talk to the police.
‘It was all so long ago,’ she argued. ‘How can it help after all this time?’
‘How can you tell? What you remember, added to what they already know, might be enough to help them discover what happened the night Rosie Hiatt disappeared.’
* * *
Cath was unwilling to talk to the police. There was something she hadn’t explained to Glyn and Tomos. Her memories of the night Rosie Hiatt disappeared were very clear. She had been taking a short cut through the castle grounds via the allotments. It was almost dark and she had seen men tidying their tools away and closing their tool-sheds, having finished work for the evening. Standing under the trees she had seen Rosie, who was waiting for someone. She remembered clearly the young woman’s excited mood.
She told Cath she was pregnant and was laughing, describing how determined she was that someone would pay. From the look on Rosie’s face she was going to enjoy the situation in which she believed she had the upper hand.
* * *
The following day, the shop was crowded with customers and with those who only came to chat. The decorations were decidedly fragile by this time as display after display had been demolished for the items to be sold. Stock was running low and in between serving, Lydia and Stella were making lists of items they would need to see them through the unexpectedly busy few weeks.
Battling her way to the window to retrieve a jumper someone wanted to buy, Lydia was laughing and joking with a customer when she saw a police car stop outside. A constable came in and asked her to go with him to the police station. Gimlet Howe and her father were under arrest.
Chapter Ten
Any warmth Lydia felt towards Cath dissolved like steam on a window under a cat’s lick. Thanks to the information she had given the police, her father and Gimlet were under arrest.
Superintendent Richards called and questioned her with alarming thoroughness. She was edgy and he knew it. The reason for her edginess, besides anxiety about the fate of her father and Gimlet, was because of the information given to her by Matthew; information she had promised to withhold.
For all his smiles and friendliness, this clever man could easily persuade her to tell all. He only needed a slight hint that she was holding back and he’d subtly edge the questioning so she would say more than intended. Then there would be no possibility of keeping anything from him.
It was eleven o’clock the morning after Billy and Gimlet had been taken in for questioning and the Superintendent had called at the house where Lydia waited for news. Annie had refused to leave her bed and Stella had agreed to look after the shop leaving Lydia to deal with her mother.
For a while the Superintendent talked about the discovery of Rosie’s body, making her go over and over what happened, making certain she had omitted nothing, then he asked for a cup of coffee and, with relief, she went down to the kitchen to make it. They sat almost companionably then. He asked about the sweater she was making and whether the central heating was adequate and even asked the names of the plants with which the room was decorated. She felt the stress ease out of her. Perhaps it was over now. Her father would soon be home and all the questioning would be ended. He didn’t kill the poor girl, the confessions had revealed the truth. Gimlet had found her dead and with her wrists cut. It was definitely suicide, so a charge of concealing the evidence of a crime by burying the body was sure to be all they faced.
‘Do you know where Matthew Hiatt is?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I think he’s at the hotel where he’s been staying off and on since October. I expect he’ll be here later, I dropped a note in for him late last night, telling him about Dad and Gimlet.’
‘You’re wrong. He’s left town. He was on the train out of town at seven o’clock this morning. No matter,’ he added as she began to argue, ‘we have an eye on him.’
‘But why? He’s probably gone off on one of his walks. I’m sure he will have let his landlady know where he is. Why the hint of secrecy? Surely he isn’t suspected of burying Rosie’s body? He
was devastated when he knew she’d been found.’
‘Coincidence, mind, him being here when the body came to light, wasn’t it? And did he ever explain why he broke into your house and took his jacket?’
Lydia was confused. The man who had entered the house and locked Annie in her room had been accepted as a dream. But the jacket had been taken, and only Matthew had known it was there.
‘And that knitted hat, several people have told us how he had one remarkably similar when he arrived here. Never seen it since that night. Could that be the one which ended up on the bonfire.’ He allowed a moment to pass then added slowly, ‘The bonfire on your father’s allotment?’
‘Matthew didn’t kill his sister and he wasn’t responsible for burying her either, it is just coincidences. They do happen, you know.’
‘Oh, I accept there are such things, but you’d be surprised at how often they aren’t coincidences at all, only someone trying to outwit someone else. Take another coincidence. He’s quite skilled at appearing at the right time, isn’t he?’
The words flew to and fro until Lydia finally gave Richards the opening he waited for.
‘What was he doing up at the castle if it wasn’t to find and move the body he had murdered and then buried?’
‘He wasn’t looking for her!’
‘Oh, then what was he looking for? A gun? A box of medals? Some jewellery?’
‘I don’t know,’ she blustered.
‘Rosie was threatening to tell the police where he was hiding. Did you know that? She was his sister but her evidence might have put him in prison. A long way from being a respected head teacher, an ex-jailbird, don’t you think? Worth making an effort to avoid that fate, wouldn’t you say?’ She knew then that to save Matthew from an accusation of murder, she had to tell the policeman what she knew. It was a relief in a way, she wasn’t a person who found it easy to lie.
Besides, her worries about Matthew were less urgent since Billy and Gimlet had been taken into police custody. She was too afraid for their fate to worry about much else. Matthew had only been a part of her life for a matter of weeks and the prospect of seeing Billy in prison dominated every other thought, including her promise to Matthew.
Richards listened silently until she had revealed everything Matthew had told her, then he stood up to leave. Thanking her for the coffee, he ran down the stairs without any more questions or even a discussion on what she had said. Her own questions hung in the air without answers. She was left with a feeling of anti-climax and an overwhelming sense of guilt. She had been so afraid for her father and Gimlet she had let Matthew down.
She sat, staring into space and wondering what was going to happen to them all. She was frightened for Billy and Gimlet, and wondered how this situation would affect Matthew’s career. She wondered about Glyn and Cath, and herself and Matthew. It was as if everything important to her had been thrown into a giant mixing bowl and stirred into chaotic confusion.
At five o’clock she decided to go once more to the police station for news of her father, then look for Glyn. Annie was sleeping, having taken a sleeping tablet unnoticed by Lydia. As she left the house, her thoughts were on Glyn. Whatever feelings she had for him, or had once had, they were in this together, with both fathers involved in the police investigation.
Cath opened the door and smilingly told her that Glyn was driving someone to the airport and wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. The little girl stood beside her aunt and Lydia couldn’t resist bending down and talking to the attractive, but solemn child. She didn’t try to begin a conversation with Cath – the person responsible for the arrest of her father and Gimlet – but left without going inside.
She walked along the road to where the allotments lay below the castle, and worked her way around the narrow roads and lanes to Stella’s house and shop.
At the gate to the castle grounds, onto which light flooded from the lit shop window, she paused and looked up at the castle. It was late evening and already dark and, with bright lights behind her, it was almost impossible to make out its shape. Was there something up there that would end this mystery? Something to clear her father and Gimlet from the suspicion of murder?
Turning to enter the shop she stopped. Would the police still be watching the place? It had been a while since they were last seen exploring the ruins and the grounds. But perhaps after the revelations about Matthew their vigil would be reinstated? Searching her mind for a reason to go up there, she remembered seeing some teasels growing on the slope between the path around the outer walls and the end of the allotments. Going up to pick them was not the most brilliant excuse ever invented but it would do.
Stella was busy serving customers, the place was full, customers chattered and demanded and Stella was rushing around trying to please them all looking quite harrassed. Going in through the side door and collecting a torch and a pair of scissors, Lydia excused her abandonment of her aunt with the conviction that she would be no more than ten minutes.
The air was still, a mist had crept in from the sea and was clothing the village that nestled beside it, tucking it in for the night. Coloured lights were hazy, both enlarged and weakened by the damp air. The sound from the busy shopping street reached her and gave her a feeling of isolation and loneliness. Down there were happy people gathering the ingredients for their Christmas celebrations and up here against the be-fogged castle she was on her own, looking for heaven alone knew what, fantasizing about making a discovery that would solve everyone’s problems in seconds.
The path around the walls was less frequently used now summer had ended and even Neville Nolan and his gang accepted that the place was out of bounds. Branches stuck out and became hazards as she pushed her way along. Leaving the path she started down to where the allotment fence was no more than an occasional glint of metal. Her speed increased with the sharpness of the slope and she was running before she touched the fence.
This area, where both Molly and she had fallen, was even more overgrown. She forced her way through, foolishly clinging to the plan of cutting the teasels in case she was stopped. They were easily found, taller than even the hedge parsley heads which were now untidy with the last of their seed. She took out the scissors she had brought and cut the thick, thorny stems. They would look nice as a window display if they were sprayed with colour. Apt for a wool shop too. Teasels had been used for carding wool ready for spinning for centuries.
Once picked, she found it difficult to carry them. They were long and awkward, getting in the way as she walked through the overgrown trees and the brittle stalks of dead wild flowers. The stems hurt her hands and a handkerchief wrapped around them didn’t help. She needed two hands to climb back up the bank too, and seeing her path with only the thin beam of a torch made it almost impossible. She left them where she would find them on her return and began to clamber up the slope on all fours.
She almost turned back then. What was she looking for? And how could she hope to find anything with only a small torch? She realised she was back at the place where she had fallen. The ground was disturbed and great channels showed where her feet had failed to find purchase. Bending again into a crawl she began to climb up to the castle’s periphery path.
The earth was insecure, the plants growing there were brittle and had shallow roots which didn’t hold the earth. Even under the hawthorns the soil was friable and loose. She had climbed about half way up, only a matter of three feet, when her foot began to slide and she couldn’t stop herself slithering slowly, but inexorably, back down. Scrabbling around frantically for something to grip to save her falling, her hands grasped a small object and as her feet slid at an increasing rate at the same moment, she still held it when she landed in an undignified heap near the allotment fence.
She was angry with herself. What a stupid idea this had been. Better off she’d be, going back and helping her aunt serve in the shop. She struggled back to where she had left the bunch of teasels, she might as well have something to show fo
r her stupid behaviour. It was then she realised she was still holding the object she had grasped. In the beam of the torch she saw it was a knife. A two-bladed pocket knfe with one blade, rusted and almost unrecognisable, still open.
Instinctively she threw it down, then she stared at it down the beam of her torch.
It must belong to one of the boys who frequented the castle. But what if it didn’t? What if it had been here for sixteen years, after someone had slit the wrists of Rosie Hiatt?
Holding it distastefully, she carefully wrapped it in the handkerchief she had been using to hold the teasels, then she marked the place where she thought she had found it, and went down towards the gate.
When she walked into the shop, mud-stained and with her hair sticking up and full of flower seeds, Stella laughed then demanded an explanation.
‘It’s unlikely it has anything to do with Rosie,’ Lydia said when the shop was cleared and they sat with a cup of tea in Stella’s back room. ‘Not after all these years. No, it was probably dropped last summer by a tourist sharpening a pencil or something equally mundane. So many people wandering about there and dropping things. It could have come from anywhere. If it was anything to do with Rosie wouldn’t it have been found at the time? And with Neville Nolan and his gang spending so much time there, it’s unlikely that it’s been there sixteen years and not been found.’
‘When Rosie disappeared, no one looked for a weapon, did they?’ Stella replied.
‘Oh, I’d best throw it away. I’ve been watching too much television for sure.’
‘Glyn’s been here looking for you,’ Stella told her. ‘I didn’t know where you were. Said he’d go back and wait for you.’
‘Look at the time! I must fly! Mam’s on her own. All fuss and feathers she’ll be if she wakes up and find herself alone. You know how frightened she gets. What have I been thinking about!’
The Homecoming Page 17