by Kate Ellis
The tearoom in the centre of the village had chintz curtains and dark oak furniture, chipped in places through years of wear. Albert remembered it from his first time there in 1914 and it hadn’t changed one iota. In spite of the proprietor’s attempts at gentility, the Cottontots and their wives took their tea elsewhere.
Gwen was waiting for him at a table for two in the corner and he sat down opposite her, signalling to the waitress – a young girl wearing a black dress and crisp white apron that looked too big for her. The white cap perched precariously on the girl’s unruly curls slipped a little and she adjusted it before taking their order. Gwen chose Welsh rarebit and a pot of tea and Albert asked for the same. His mind hadn’t been on food but he suddenly realised he was hungry.
‘Is there something you want to tell me?’ he asked as soon as the waitress was out of earshot.
‘I thought it would be better to talk away from the police station. It’s something I think you should know but I would like it dealt with … delicately. It’s Peter Rudyard.’
‘What about him?’
‘For a while now he’s been talking about a Shadow Man but I presumed it was just another of his stories.’
A battered leather briefcase stood on the floor by her feet and she hoisted it on to her knee and opened it. She took out a sheaf of child’s drawings, remarkably detailed and, in Albert’s untrained opinion, showing promise of future artistic prowess. She shoved them over the table to Albert and he saw that each depicted a tall man wearing what looked like an officer’s greatcoat. The figure had no face, only a blank oval with two dark holes where eyes should have been. In most of the drawings it was bareheaded with longish lank hair framing the blank face but in two of the drawings it wore a hat remarkably similar in style to the one Albert had lost.
‘This is him? This is the Shadow Man?’
‘That’s what Peter drew.’ She sighed. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t believe everything he tells me but there’s something about him that makes me want to protect him.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘The Rudyards aren’t a happy family, Inspector.’
Albert sat in silence for a while before he spoke. ‘If you ask me I don’t think it was ever a happy household, even before Jimmy’s murder.’
‘It can’t be easy, living so close to the dead like that … in the cemetery, I mean. It’s enough to give any child nightmares, let alone a sensitive, imaginative soul like Peter. An obsession with death and funerals isn’t healthy for a boy that age, wouldn’t you agree?’
Before Albert could answer the food arrived and he ate hungrily. Gwen, on the other hand, picked at her food as though there was something on her mind. Eventually she spoke.
‘This Shadow Man – Peter says he’s seen him up on the Ridge.’
Albert stopped eating. Someone had attacked him up there – could it have been Peter’s Shadow Man? ‘Is he real or just a figment of Peter’s imagination?’
She didn’t answer.
‘When I was injured on the Ridge … When you looked after me … ’
‘You told me you’d slipped on some rocks in the quarry.’ ‘That’s what I said but I think someone attacked me.’ ‘The Shadow Man?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Will you organise a search of the Ridge?’
‘If this Shadow Man is real – and if he is the killer – he could be miles away by now.’
‘If he does exist, who do you think he is?’
‘Some unfortunate soldier damaged by war and then thrown away like rubbish once he was no longer needed as cannon fodder.’ Albert saw a look of shock pass across Gwen’s face. But he couldn’t help betraying his feelings.
They ate the rest of their lunch in silence, Albert watching as she forked the food into her mouth, delicately at first then faster as though hunger had got the better of her.
Once their plates were empty she spoke again. ‘The Shadow Man’s real. I’ve met him.’
‘Why didn’t you say this before?’
‘I didn’t know if I could trust you not to go straight up there and arrest him.’
‘Any reason why I shouldn’t?’
‘Because I don’t believe he killed either of those women.’ ‘How can you be sure of that?’
‘You’ll have to take my word for it. I know a broken man when I see one and he’s no murderer.’
‘Then why is he in hiding?’
‘Just because someone doesn’t want to be found it doesn’t mean they’re a killer.’
She stood up, sending her chair clattering backwards and making everyone in the tearoom turn to stare. This would be all round the village by teatime.
Before he could stop her she’d marched out, setting
the bell on the door ringing to fanfare her departure. Albert sat for a few moments before following but when he reached the High Street she was nowhere to be seen.
As he walked back to the police station he knew that he couldn’t put off his visit to Strangeways any longer.
Chapter 46
The governor allowed Albert to use his office for the interview. It was a room not unlike his own office at Scotland Yard, only considerably larger in acknowledgement of the governor’s status. As Albert sat waiting for Joseph Jones to be brought to him, he eyed the filing cabinets he could see through the open door to the outer office. One of them would contain details of Flora Winsmore, former prisoner in the women’s wing.
He wondered how she’d coped with her last days on earth. Had she thought of him and the love they’d shared before the horror of what she’d done was revealed? What had happened to the child she’d given birth to inside the prison walls? Had she any inkling of what had become of their baby boy or had she been as ignorant of his fate as he was? He longed to ask her all these questions but now it was too late. He’d kept well away while she was awaiting her execution, thinking it was for the best. Now he wasn’t so certain.
He had ten minutes to ponder the situation before he was joined by Joseph Jones. He was a dapper man of medium height with neatly cut whiskers and piercing blue eyes. Albert had only seen Patience Bailey in death, lying on a cold slab in the mortuary, but nevertheless he recognised a resemblance between brother and sister.
Jones stood to attention and didn’t move until Albert shook hands and invited him to sit. Even then he looked awkward, as though he was reluctant to relax in the presence of a superior officer.
Albert smiled to reassure him. ‘I’m sorry that we’re meeting under such tragic circumstances, Mr Jones,’ he began. ‘Please accept my condolences for the loss of your sister.’
‘Patience chose her own path,’ was the unexpected reply.
‘You weren’t close?’
‘No.’
Albert sensed that the interview wasn’t going to be an easy one. The man sat upright and there was no show of feeling for the sister he’d lost.
‘You’ve been told that Patience was murdered?’
‘Yes.’
Albert paused to allow him to say something more but he waited in vain.
‘Have you been told how she died?’ Surely the horrific manner of her death would elicit some emotion.
‘Yes.’
‘She was buried alive. A terrible way to go.’ Albert watched the man’s face and he still couldn’t see any flicker of grief.
‘Indeed. But no worse than a lot of my comrades.’ For the first time he looked Albert in the eye. ‘Where did you get that lot?’
Albert told him: battle, date and regiment. It was something seared on his memory. With that Jones appeared to unbend a little.
‘What about you?’
There was a short pause before he replied. ‘Came through unscathed. I was lucky.’
Not entirely unscathed, Albert thought. People returned with scars invisible to the eye; scars of the mind that made it impossible for him to mourn his own sister. He’d seen it time and time again, and there was no help for such men.
‘What ca
n you tell me about Patience? When did you last see her?’
‘At her wedding in ’sixteen,’ he answered. ‘October the twenty-third it was.’
‘You haven’t seen her since then? You didn’t get in touch with her when her husband was killed?’
‘He wasn’t killed. He was reported missing in action, believed killed.’
‘Same thing, surely.’
‘Is it?’ He pressed his lips together as though he wasn’t prepared to say any more on the subject.
‘You think Victor Bailey might still be alive?’
‘It’s possible. You hear things, don’t you.’
‘What have you heard?’
‘Came across a comrade of his – said he thought he’d scarpered. She had a baby didn’t she?’
Albert was about to correct him but he decided to let him carry on.
‘Our Patience wasn’t one to go with any Tom, Dick or Harry, you know. She wasn’t a harlot like—’ He stopped, as if he’d thought better of what he was about to say. Then, ‘I think Vic Bailey deserted and came back. I think Patience was covering for him.’
Albert sat back in his seat. This was something he hadn’t considered. David Cohen had seemed absolutely sure that Corporal Bailey was dead; he’d even considered it his duty to look out for his NCO’s widow. Unless David had been lying, and been in on the secret all along.
A new possibility occurred to him. What if the Shadow Man Peter Rudyard had drawn was Vic Bailey, who’d travelled to Mabley Ridge to be near his wife? Perhaps David Cohen had arranged it that way – after all there was nowhere for a man on the run to take refuge near his grandmother’s house in Didsbury because there were always too many people around – neighbours, servants, shopkeepers – all too ready to notice anything or anyone out of the ordinary. But Mabley Ridge, especially the Ridge itself, was full of hiding places and if Jones was right, Bailey was a deserter – and deserters were punished severely in times of war.
‘The baby was found dead, buried near to Patience’s body.’
Jones didn’t respond.
‘You have another sister, I understand?’
‘Who told you that?’
Albert was taken aback by the sharpness of the man’s question.
‘An old neighbour of yours in Withington supplied the information.’ He had no wish to bring David Cohen into the conversation unless it became absolutely necessary. ‘Her name is Constance, I believe. I hear she went to London.’
Jones stood up and his chair made a loud scraping noise against the floor that set Albert’s teeth on edge. ‘That whore could be in hell as far as I’m concerned.’
‘I take it you have no love for Constance.’
‘Like I said, she’s a whore.’
‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me about her?’
Jones hesitated for a few moments before doing as he was asked. Albert waited for the man to speak and eventually his patience was rewarded.
‘Connie left home at sixteen; broke my mother’s heart. Got lots of fancy notions in her head about going on the halls. Always showing off to all and sundry when she were a lass.’
‘And you’ve no idea where I can find her?’
‘I haven’t heard from her for years and that suits me fine.’
‘Why?’
‘She killed my little brother.’
Albert tried his best to conceal his surprise and left a long silence, hoping that Jones wouldn’t be able to resist filling it by expanding on his statement. The tactic worked.
‘She nagged our mother to let her take our little brother to Platt Fields Park in his pushchair. She was eight, he was two. She came back with the pushchair but it was empty. He’d drowned in the lake.’
‘An accident?’
‘She’d always been jealous of little Isaac being the youngest and the centre of attention. In my opinion she took the opportunity to be rid of him.’
‘Did anyone see what happened?’
‘Connie was too clever for that. She waited till there was no one about and said he wandered into the boating lake when she took her eye off him for a moment. My parents believed her because it was easier to do that than face the fact that their own flesh and blood was a murderess. But it was all lies if you ask me. When she went away I swore to have nothing more to do with her as long as I lived.’
‘Did Patience feel the same?’
‘Patience was soft-hearted. Never realised how wicked people can be.’
‘But you do?’
‘You face the reality of human evil every day when you work in a place like this, Inspector.’
‘Did you fall out with Patience over Constance?’
‘You could say that. Patience never thought she’d done anything wrong. Neither did our parents.’
‘So Patience stayed in touch with her sister after she went to London?’
‘She never said anything to me but I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘I need to speak to Constance.’
Jones pressed his lips together in a stubborn line. ‘I can’t help you.’
Albert knew he was lying so he persisted. ‘If you have any idea where she is, please tell me.’
There was another long silence before Jones replied. ‘Somebody said they’d seen her performing at the Royal Hippodrome in town. Singing and dancing.’ He made these sound like deadly sins. ‘She was calling herself something different.’
‘What?’
‘I think it began with a D. As if the name she was born with wasn’t good enough for her.’
‘Not Dora Devereaux by any chance?’
‘Could be,’ he said noncommittally as if confirming it would bring his wayward sister back into his life.
Now there was another possibility Albert had to consider. Victor Bailey might not have been the attraction in Mabley Ridge; it might have been the presence of Patience’s own sister, Constance.
‘Could the baby have been Constance’s? Would Patience have helped her by pretending it was hers?’
‘If she did that she was a fool.’
‘Can you think of anybody who’d want Patience dead?’ ‘Only Constance.’
‘Why would that be?’
‘If the scales finally fell from Patience’s eyes she might have threatened to expose Constance as a murderess.’
‘Or if Constance wanted her baby back and Patience refused to hand it over?’
‘Surely the baby was Patience’s.’
‘The doctor who examined her body thought otherwise. He said Patience had never given birth. She was looking after that baby for somebody.’
As Albert waited for the revelation to sink in he looked round the office, wondering how much longer the governor would give them.
‘The doctor’s wrong.’
‘You live nearby, I believe?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You have children?’
‘Indeed I do. Three girls and a baby boy.’
‘How old is the baby?’
‘Seven months.’
‘The same age as the baby Patience had with her. Your little ones will be distressed at the death of their Aunt Patience.’
‘They didn’t know her. She was nothing to them.’ Albert was well aware that nobody really knows what goes on in other people’s families but he was surprised by Joseph Jones’s coldness.
‘I’ll make sure you’re informed about the funeral arrangements – unless you’d like to make them yourself … as her nearest relative.’
‘As I said, I’m sure that husband of hers is still alive. The funeral arrangements should be up to him.’
‘And if he’s dead? Or if he was the one who killed his wife?’
‘That’s no concern of mine, Inspector. I have a family of my own and I can hardly be held responsible for the mistakes my sisters make.’ He made a move towards the door as though he was keen to get away.
All of a sudden Albert didn’t want him to go. ‘You had a prisoner here – Flora Winsmore. She was ha
nged about six months ago.’
‘Why? What’s she to you?’
‘I arrested her.’
‘In that case you must be as pleased as I was that justice was done.’
‘How was she before … ?’
‘No trouble, according to the matron. They usually come to terms with the inevitable at the end.’
‘She had a baby?’
It was hard to read the expression on Joseph Jones’s face; a mixture of disapproval and something else Albert couldn’t quite fathom. ‘Indeed.’
When it was clear he would say no more on the subject, Albert thanked him, careful not to betray the turmoil he felt inside. Unexpectedly he felt near to Flora at that moment and yet she was never so far away.
Albert watched as Jones left the room. He’d taken a dislike to the man and his self-righteousness had irritated him. But he had provided two useful pieces of information – Connie Jones might be living in Mabley Ridge under a different name and Patience Bailey’s husband might be alive after all. If this was true, it changed everything.
Before he left the prison he said his farewells to the governor but instead of leaving his office straight away he hovered in the doorway.
‘Is it possible to have a word with the chaplain?’ The question was out before he could stop himself. ‘I believe he telephoned Scotland Yard recently saying he wanted to speak to me so as I’m here … ’
The governor looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, he went away yesterday. He’s visiting an old friend down south – a bishop I believe,’ he added as though he expected Albert to be impressed. An awkward silence followed, then: ‘You arrested Flora Winsmore, I understand.’
Albert’s heart lurched. He’d had no idea the connection was common knowledge. Perhaps Flora had spoken of him. Perhaps she mentioned him when she’d given birth to their child – or when she finally met her brutal end.
The governor was waiting for Albert to reply but he said nothing. The memory of Flora and what had happened to her in this very place was too much to bear.
Chapter 47
Esme Ghent felt restless. Earlier she’d crept into her father’s study to conduct a swift search of the great oak desk that dominated the room like an altar. She’d seen him hide the key there once and had stored the information in her memory for future use. Once she’d found what she was looking for she returned to her bedroom to consider her next move.