by Kate Ellis
David Cohen’s description of Barbara had been remarkably accurate. She was small with fair hair and a smile of greeting that lit up the room.
‘An inspector from Scotland Yard. Oh dear, what have I done? And before you ask how I know, David Cohen telephoned to say you’d called on him and wanted to speak to me about Patience.’ The smile suddenly vanished. ‘You don’t have to break the news, Inspector. David’s already told me.’
The cheerful greeting had been a brave attempt to cover her true emotions and now the mask had slipped and her eyes were glazed with unshed tears. ‘I can’t believe anybody would want to hurt Patience. I’m sure she didn’t have any enemies so it must have been a maniac. You hear of these things, don’t you?’ She sat down heavily on an armchair and stared out of the window. ‘David didn’t mention the … baby. Is he all right?’
Albert’s heart lurched. David had broken half the news but he’d left him to tell her the worst possible thing a mother could ever hear. He searched for the right words, something that would soften the blow, but he couldn’t think of any so he had to be direct.
‘I’m sorry. It appears that the baby died of natural causes either before or shortly after Patience was killed. I’m so sorry. Would you like me to fetch someone … your mother?’
She shook her head and straightened her back. ‘No, thank you. I’m quite all right.’
‘Are you sure?’
She looked sad but not unduly distressed, which surprised him.
‘What do you need to ask me?’
‘You knew Patience before she went to live in Mabley Ridge.’
‘That’s right.’
‘She visited you here regularly, I believe. Did she mention anybody in Mabley Ridge – someone she was afraid of, perhaps?’
She breathed in and her body shuddered. ‘The only person I can think of was the gardener, Mr Rudyard. She didn’t like him. Said he made her nervous.’
‘Did he ever threaten her or … ?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Did she say anything about her employers?’
‘Oh yes, she used to talk about the Ghents quite a lot. She thought Mr Ghent had a mistress. She wasn’t too happy about that.’ There was a long pause. ‘She felt sorry for Mrs Ghent. She said she’d never got over Monty’s death.’
‘That’s understandable. Was there anybody else in the household Patience didn’t get on with?’
‘She wasn’t too keen on Esme, Monty’s younger sister. Said she was spoiled. I fear there’s going to be a great chasm between we women who did our bit in the war and learned to deal with unspeakable things, and those who were too young to serve. There’s going to be a generation coming up who live for nothing but pleasure whereas the rest of us saw things that … ’
‘You were a VAD, I believe?’
‘That’s how I met Patience.’ She smiled at the memory.
‘Where did you work?’
‘Initially at a place in Derbyshire, in a village called Wenfield, not far from New Mills. Tarnhey Court it was called.’
The name hit Albert like a blow. Flora had nursed at Tarnhey Court and after the big house was no longer needed for the war effort it had been handed back to its owners, the Cartwright family. He had interviewed Sir William Cartwright when he’d been investigating the Wenfield murders, along with his son, Roderick, who’d had secrets of his own. At one stage they’d even come under suspicion.
‘I know Tarnhey Court,’ he said quickly. There was a question he couldn’t resist asking, although resurrecting the memories seemed like picking at a sore. ‘Did you know Flora Winsmore?’
She hesitated before answering. ‘Yes, I knew Flora. I read about her in the newspaper. I still find it hard to believe. Although there was something … ’
He sat forward. ‘What?’
‘At first she seemed nice … quite ordinary. Then … There was this doctor called Dr Bone; he had a reputation and none of the nurses wanted to be alone with him but Flora was flattered by him and … anyway I heard that one day he caught her alone and … something happened. Nothing was said, of course, but she was never the same after that. Not that it excuses what she did.’
‘Of course not. You didn’t stay on at Tarnhey Court?’ ‘My mother and father wanted me nearer home so I moved to Stockport Infirmary. Patience was working in the dispensary there. That’s where we first met.’
Albert longed to hear more about Flora but asking more questions would only arouse Barbara’s curiosity. ‘I’d like to talk about Mabley Ridge if I may. Did Patience say anything else about the Ghent household?’
‘She said the maid, Daisy, was a sly little thing who had her eye on Mr Ghent, although I don’t know if that was true.’
Albert stored this unexpected piece of information away in his memory and moved on.
‘Did you ever visit her there?’
‘A couple of times. She met me off the train and we walked up to the tearoom near the Ridge. But most of the time she came here. It seemed easier.’
‘While you were in Mabley Ridge you didn’t go to the Ghents’ house?’
She hesitated. ‘It didn’t seem … appropriate.’
‘Can you tell me anything about Patience’s family?’
‘Her brother’s a prison warder in Strangeways.’ A worried frown passed across her face. ‘Does he know yet?’
‘I’m going there to tell him tomorrow. Have you ever met him?’
She shook her head again. ‘They didn’t have much to do with each other. I don’t think they’d ever been close.’
‘What about her sister?’
It was a few moments before she answered. ‘She didn’t mention her much. Connie I think her name is.’
‘Did she tell you anything about her?’
‘She said she was a … tart. And before you ask the only thing I know is that she’s in London somewhere and that she had ambitions to go on the stage but, as I said, Patience didn’t speak about her much. To tell you the truth, I think she was a bit ashamed of her.’
‘I understand you were close to Monty Ghent.’
She bowed her head so that he couldn’t see her expression, then drew a small lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes before blowing her nose delicately. Albert could tell she was fighting back her tears and he wanted to assure her that it was all right to cry in his presence if she needed to, although he imagined her parents would have different ideas. He had the impression that this was a household where respectability had to be maintained at all costs.
‘Were you … going to get married?’
Another nod. ‘We were in love, Inspector. There’s nothing wrong in that, is there?’
‘Nothing at all.’ He paused. ‘We know the baby didn’t belong to Patience.’
This time the tears came, cascading down her cheeks as her body shook with bitter sobs. Albert produced his own handkerchief and handed it to her, waiting until the sobbing subsided before he spoke.
‘Would you like to see him? I’m sure it can be arranged,’ he said, remembering the small, discoloured corpse. If she was the baby’s mother it would be the worst thing she’d ever be likely to experience but at least she’d be able to say her goodbyes.
She looked puzzled. ‘No. Why would I?’
It suddenly dawned on Albert that he might have got this completely wrong. ‘I thought … ’
She caught on quickly. ‘You thought the baby was mine?’ She gave him a bitter smile. ‘No. I’ve never given birth to a child and, as things are, I’m not likely to in the future. Monty was the only man I’ve ever loved and am ever likely to love.’
‘So where did the baby come from? Patience visited you here quite often. She must have explained it somehow.’ ‘She always claimed it was hers but I saw a lot of things during the war so I’m not completely naive. I thought it might have been her sister’s and that she might not have been telling the truth when she said she had no contact with her. If her sister had got herself into
trouble … Well, family is family, isn’t it. I’m sorry. I only wish I could help you but I can’t. You say the baby died from natural causes?’ ‘That’s what the doctor says. He wouldn’t have suffered.’ He didn’t know the truth of his last statement but thought it would provide a small crumb of comfort.
She wiped her nose with his handkerchief and looked up at him, her eyes swollen and red. ‘You’ve got to find out who killed Patience. The more I think of it the more I’m sure her sister has something to do with all this. Patience always said she was an evil, manipulative bitch.’
Chapter 44
The Shadow Man knew it had been a mistake to trust Peter Rudyard but the boy had promised to help him so he’d taken the risk. However, in his innocence Peter had unwittingly led the schoolteacher to his hiding place.
The woman had sworn not to betray his secret and at the time he’d believed her. Now he’d had a chance to think it over, he wondered if her promise had been made out of fear; and fear is no guarantee of compliance, as he knew only too well. He’d been afraid once and his terror had turned him into a criminal.
If word got out that he was living up there he knew they’d come looking for him and he was bound to become the prime suspect for the recent murders. He’d already had one narrow escape when the policeman from London came sniffing round his special place, but he’d dealt with him and he’d kept the policeman’s hat as a souvenir of his rare bit of good fortune. He liked the hat because it reminded him of those happier days before they began to hunt him like an animal.
The light was fading but the darkness held no dread for him, not any more. When he’d first begun living up on the Ridge he’d felt there were ghosts all around him; the ghosts of the workers who’d laboured in the quarries and ancient mines and the ghosts of the suicides whose unquiet spirits haunted Oak Tree Edge where they’d chosen to end their lives. There was even the little ghost of Peter’s twin brother and whenever he found himself near the standing stones at dusk he sensed the presence of his small, sad wraith. In his clearer moments he understood that these hauntings were produced by his mind. Then at other times he cowered in his cave covering his ears against the sound of gunfire, eyes tightly shut and his body paralysed with terror. Sometimes he cried. Peter had seen him cry and had taken his hand and held it until he stopped.
Seeing the old woman in the cemetery so soon after his arrival in the village had been a rare stroke of good fortune. He’d been visiting the grave of his beloved grandmother when he’d seen Mrs Pearce arrive with her basket and hidden himself behind a large tombstone. He’d watched her place something on a grave some distance away and as soon as she’d gone he’d hurried over to investigate and found a package wrapped in greaseproof paper containing bread, cheese and ham. He’d hardly been able to believe his luck when she returned every night with more; sometimes apples, sometimes slices of pie. Unwittingly she’d fed him for weeks and he’d come to regard her as his guardian angel.
On the night of Patience Bailey’s death he’d got to the cemetery later than usual because he’d had one of his turns and been unable to leave the sanctuary of the Ridge for an hour or so. When he’d eventually arrived his mind had been conjuring snipers behind each headstone and for a while he’d cowered behind a memorial with his hands clamped against his ears to block out the noise of gunfire. He cursed the episodes he’d experienced since that dreadful day at the front – and he couldn’t help wondering whether he’d have been able to save Patience that night if he’d been more alert to what had really been happening around him.
Then there was a possibility that filled him with dread. In his confused state had he mistaken Patience for an enemy soldier and killed her? But could he have killed his unwitting benefactor Mrs Pearce with realising it? He thought not but he couldn’t be absolutely sure … not when the waking nightmares overwhelmed his mind and body.
Although Peter had brought him as much food as he could lay his hands on, it wasn’t enough and hunger was gnawing at his stomach, which meant he’d soon have to venture out. At times he’d been tempted to go to the one place he knew he’d be taken in and fed; but if he went there they’d come for him and then his only future would be death by firing squad. He’d seen men die like that during the war. They’d called them cowards but the Shadow Man knew this wasn’t true.
Pulling the hat down to shade his face and hugging his greatcoat around his thin body, he set off down the road, praying he’d meet nobody on the way, although on the few occasions he had been spotted people had taken him for a vagrant passing through. Some had given him a few coins, assuming his makeshift mask hid some terrible disfigurement acquired in battle, but nobody had ever asked questions.
By the time he passed the cemetery it was dark and he looked across at the lodge as he always did, but there was no sign of Peter in the lighted windows. He wondered where the teacher lived; in those awkward moments of conversation it had been hard enough to explain his situation without making small talk as well. Now he wanted to know.
He walked on beyond the edge of the village into the countryside and came to a small brick farmhouse, isolated from its neighbours by fields of grazing cattle. Perfect.
Sneaking round the back, his spirits soared when he saw the kitchen window was unlit. He tried the door and, to his relief, it opened smoothly so he stepped inside, listening for the sound of footsteps. He made straight for the pantry and, after stuffing two pork pies and some bread and cheese into the pockets of his greatcoat, he crept out again, thankful that he hadn’t been forced to break a pane of glass in the back door. Theft was always best when it went undetected.
He avoided the main village street as he hurried back with his head bowed and his hat pulled down to conceal his masked face. Then when he neared the gates of Gramercy House his footsteps slowed to a halt.
From where he stood he could see the house clearly. The curtains hadn’t yet been drawn so, unable to resist, he crept down the drive, keeping to the side so the trees and bushes concealed his approach. As he drew nearer he could see the drawing room lit up like a stage beyond the glass.
A woman was lying on a chaise longue, reposing like an invalid with a blanket draped over her body, and he could see a fashionably dressed girl standing in the doorway wearing her coat, hovering there as though she was anxious to get away. When the girl left the room he stepped back further into the shadows. Then a few moments later he heard the front door slam and the girl marched down the drive straight past him. She was only a few feet away – so close he could have reached out and touched her – but she had no idea he was there because he’d perfected the art of making himself invisible.
From the shelter of the bushes he watched as she stood by the gate, examining her watch with increasing frequency, and when the Alvis drew up with a screech of brakes the glow of a nearby street light gave him an excellent view of the man who emerged from the driver’s seat and offered the girl a cigarette.
His stomach lurched because he knew who the man was – and what he was. He didn’t know what name he was using now but back in 1918 he’d been known as Lieutenant Charles Woodbead and the thought of such a man being with the girl made him feel sick. The Shadow Man had seen him kill – and his victims hadn’t been the enemy. If anybody deserved to pay for his many and various sins it was Charles Woodbead.
Chapter 45
The following morning Albert received another letter from Vera, just to keep him up to date, she said. Mary seemed a little better and the doctor was calling later. But she didn’t want to go to the sanatorium because it would mean leaving London and the comfort of the Reverend Gillit’s meetings. As far as she was concerned, going away would mean abandoning their little Frederick. Albert was tempted to screw up the letter in fury but instead he left it in his hotel room, stuffed inside a drawer out of sight.
When he reached the police station he found a message from Gwen Davies lying on his desk. Could he meet her at lunchtime in the Primrose Tearoom in the centre of the village? Si
nce she gave no reason her request intrigued him and as he sat in his office going through statements from various witnesses he kept checking his watch, wondering what she had to tell him.
His interviews with David Cohen and Barbara Nevin had opened up a new range of possibilities, mainly concerning Patience Bailey’s estranged sister, Constance. He also needed to speak to the brother, Joseph, at Strangeways Prison. One moment he was determined to arrange the interview, the next he was tempted to delegate it to Stark or maybe to Constable Mitchell, whose intelligence and common sense continued to impress him. However he knew this would be cowardice. He had a job to do.
Eventually he yielded to the inevitable and telephoned the governor. Arranging to speak to Joseph Jones that afternoon proved to be a simple matter and as soon as the appointment had been made he felt better. He’d made no mention of the chaplain; he would gauge the situation once he was there. He knew he was unlikely to see any reminder of Flora there … and yet he wondered whether he’d be able to resist asking the governor about her last days.
He hoped the meeting with Gwen Davies would take his mind off his afternoon appointment at the prison, and when lunchtime came he told Stark he was going out, although he didn’t say where. Gwen had wanted to meet in private on neutral territory; he guessed that whatever she had to say she didn’t want shared with the entire station.
As he walked to the tearoom he found he was looking forward to seeing Gwen again. The fact that she reminded him a little of Flora should have caused revulsion but it didn’t; just a sad longing for the stolen happiness he’d experienced in that short period before his world fell apart. He forced himself to think of Mary, expecting to experience a pang of guilt, then to his horror he realised that if the worst should happen and her illness proved fatal, he probably wouldn’t grieve for her as a husband should.