“What did you do with it?” he asked.
“That’s a bit personal, isn’t it?” Jamie responded sharply. He looked both embarrassed and angry, but Alistair pushed on regardless.
“I know she left you money, but you were heard complaining of being short to your sister recently,” he asked. “What happened? It was a sizeable amount.”
Jamie stared at him belligerently, then finally gave up. He shrugged and looked at the floor.
“I used it for Simon,” he muttered. “He was in a really bad way. There was a hospital, in the Borders. They were doing great stuff for people like him. They got real results. But it cost money. A lot. He was there for a long time. Uncle Bob couldn’t afford it. He and Aunt Daphne did what they could, but the clinic was too much. So I used Juliana’s money to give Simon a chance. I can never repay my debt to him, but I can try.”
“Your debt to him? What do you mean?” Alistair asked.
Jamie looked at him, his chin up in the air. There was a pinched look around his mouth.
“He saved my life. Came out of the trench to find me after a push forward had gone badly. I was trapped in a crater, under a couple of other chaps, both dead. They were pushing me into the mud. I nearly drowned before Simon found me and carried me back.”
“He mentioned to someone that you saved his life too,” Alistair interjected.
Jamie huffed. “What I did was blind instinct and luck both. But Simon knew what he was doing, and he did it, in cold blood. Because he heard from someone that I might still be alive out there. I would have drowned in that filth if he hadn’t. I owed him, Alistair. And if my paying for that damned hospital gave him the slightest chance of coming back to life, it was worth it ten times over.”
From the mixture of anger and pain in his voice, Alistair realised that he had got as much as he was going to get from Jamie Evans for the moment. He thanked him, then left the dining room and made his way to the study. He put through a call to the Yard, thinking hard as he waited to be connected, then spoke to Sergeant Robinson and asked for some specific information.
When he left the study after making his request, he found Juliana waiting for him, arms folded across her chest, her head back. She took a quick look into the room and then looked sternly at him.
“I was looking for Jamie. Didi said he was with you, but he’s obviously not any more.”
Alistair saw the look in her eyes. It was the same one he saw during any and every investigation at some point, in everyone’s eyes. It was the dawning realisation that they had asked for what was happening. That investigating a crime was going to turn up more than people would like, would dig deep and bring out feelings and emotions that they would rather stay hidden. He sighed.
“I was asking him some questions. He got a little upset,” he replied.
Juliana looked at him carefully, then her expression changed, as if she had read his mind. Her eyes softened.
“What a difficult life you have chosen for yourself, Alistair,” she said gently. “This is what you do, isn’t it? Ask questions, pry into secrets that we would rather keep to ourselves, turn us inside out, to find the truth. And we can’t even get angry because we asked you to help. How do you manage?”
“With difficulty sometimes, Juliana,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure about taking this on in the first place, but Adrien asked me and I felt I couldn’t turn him down.”
Juliana smiled. “If it helps your conscience any, I am glad you said yes. You were right this morning. We need to know what happened, Alistair. This isn’t a little secret, something we can brush under the carpet and ignore. This needs to be in the open, before it destroys us.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder for a moment, he could feel the weight through his sweater and he looked at her gratefully before she turned away.
***
Juliana looked all over the house, and eventually ran Jamie to earth in the tower. He was curled up on the dusty window seat, his face wet with tears. He didn’t hear her come in, so lost was he in his thoughts.
“Sorry, Jamie, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. He was huddled up, his arms around his knees, and there was something in his hand, a yellowed card of some kind. She looked at it curiously.
“Bad memories?” she asked.
Jamie sighed and handed it over. It was a photograph, worn and creased, and showed Jamie standing with Simon Cundy in a garden; there were roses on the bushes behind them and sunlight shining through the trees. The two boys laughing out of the picture were ridiculously young, both in stiff new khaki, youth and determination clear in their eyes. Juliana was saddened at the sight of them. The smiles creasing their round cheeks were those of boys who had no idea of what was about to happen to them, smiles that would never cross their faces again exactly like that. She realized now that despite Jamie’s laughter, and Simon’s occasional smiles, there was something at the back of their eyes that was missing. It was gone from Adrien, too, and every other man who had gone to the Continent to play his part in the War there. Something had been ripped from each of them—the last shreds of innocence, perhaps—and nothing on earth could bring that back.
“That was before we left for France, just after we’d signed up,” he said, sniffing. “It was taken in Aunt Daphne’s garden. We came back here for a few days and then went off to training camp. We didn’t see each other for a while after that. I was at Arras most of the time, and Simon was all over the place with the Medical Corps. They sent the stretcher bearers wherever they were needed, whenever there was another push.”
His mouth twitched into a half-smile.
“And then we ended up at the same place, about a year later. I’ve never been so glad to see someone in all my life.”
He took the photograph back out of Juliana’s hands.
“We thought we were doing the right thing, we were so confident,” he said. “And then it was too late to turn back. There were days when I doubted there was a world left. I couldn’t imagine anywhere without mud, and dirt, and the smell of the trenches. Every time I pictured Hendra, or Trevennen, or the cove, I saw them through smoke, mired in filth, rats everywhere. I was fighting for home, but I didn’t believe it would still be there if we got back.”
His voice was flat and hard. Juliana was not sure how long he had been crying before she had come in. She knew that she was correct, that it was important to find out what happened, but the results were not heartening in the short term.
“When I saw Simon come out of the ambulance, for a moment I could remember a life before war,” he continued. “I don’t know why. He was carrying a dead man. He was covered in blood, mud to his waist, hadn’t bathed in weeks. I wasn’t much better. But it was like watching dawn come up after a storm at sea. We would meet up and talk when we could. Drink disgusting army tea out of enamel mugs, and instead of thinking about the rats in the walls and the lice in our uniforms, we would remember blackberrying along past the Roscarrock, swimming in the cove, lighting fires on the rocks to roast eggs.”
He looked over and Juliana could barely stand the look in his eyes. With the laughter gone, they reminded her of Simon. The realisation that nothing could erase what had happened. If one was lucky, one forgot for a while. No more than that. Seeing him now, she could understand what a struggle it had been for him to get well.
“It was a way of staying compos mentis. Not sure that I’d have made it otherwise,” he said, turning to the window and shivering. “I think I was going slowly insane. I didn’t know in the morning if I’d still be alive that evening. And I had had to kill men. I was scared and I did it to survive, and it haunts me to this day. Simon held to his beliefs. Refused to fight. But he insisted on doing his bit. He saved my sanity and then saved my life. And look what it got him. So much for honour and pride. Neither are much good when the sound of a car backfiring has you scrambling under your bed.”
Juliana could bear it no longer, and pulled him into her arms. He leant his face against her shoul
der and she could feel the damp from his cheek through her blouse. His arms crept around her waist.
“Sometimes I look at how far we’ve come and marvel,” he murmured. “And other times I don’t think we’ve gone very far at all.”
They sat like that for a while. Juliana stroked his hair and held him until he was calm, aware of his body warm next to hers. Finally he straightened up, his face only inches away. Then, as she knew he was going to, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto her mouth. She could taste salt from his tears, his lips damp and unsteady against hers. Despite that, she was shocked that she liked it. And she knew what Damaris had been warning her against.
“I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling away just enough that he could look at her. His eyes were still wet, lashes stuck together with his tears, but there was an odd look in them, almost as if he were gauging her reaction.
She said nothing more, wondering at what had put that expression on his face. As it faded to entreaty, she shook her head, then hugged him to her again. He laid his head on her shoulder again and was quiet. She really didn’t know what to say. He needed so much, and she knew she was not the person to give it.
***
Alistair made his way back to the study. He called the station in Sancreed. The phone rang for a long time and then was answered by Joe Vercoe, a little sullenly. He perked up when he heard who was calling.
“Mr Carr, how can I help you?”
“Sorry for disturbing you again, Joe. But can you remember exactly what was missing from your cousin’s room? Once your aunt took a close look?”
“Hmm. Let me think.”
There was a pause, and Alistair imagined Joe sitting back in his chair, the end of his pencil in his mouth.
“As far as I can remember, the list went like this. Sunday frock, a skirt and a couple of blouses. Stockings and her best shoes. Hairbrush and comb, her best hat. A bottle of scent.” He paused here and gave a snort. “She liked to wear scent; used to drive Uncle Jago mad. Said she smelt like a Brighton tart. She used to ask him how he knew. And they would sit on either side of the tea table and glare at each other.”
He gave a real laugh.
“She was a one. Not scared of anything.”
“Anything else? Books, personal items?”
“Not much. Left her Bible and prayer book by her bed, like I said before. Some make-up, although she never wore it around the house. Used to put her lipstick on in the lane on her way to town. And she took her bear. I think that was all.”
“Her bear?” Alistair wondered if he had heard correctly.
“She had a stuffed bear, a raggedy old thing. It had been a gift when she was very young. Gwenna loved that bear. Even when she was told she was too old for it, she refused to give it up. Frankly, no one dared to take it from her.”
For a moment there was silence.
“That was when I knew she had gone for good. If she had been planning to come back, she wouldn’t have taken it. You know, though, I’m glad she did. It was a real source of comfort to her. I used to tease her about it, but she didn’t care. When Gwenna wanted to do something, there was nothing anyone else could do that would make her stop.”
“She sounds like a character, your cousin,” said Alistair, the picture building in his mind.
“That she was.”
Alistair could tell from the sound of his voice that Joe’s homely face had creased into a fond smile. Alistair paused, not wanting to ask the next question, knowing that he had to.
“Tell me, did she have any accidents when she was young? Anything that needed medical attention?”
Alistair waited for the answer, hoping that Gwenna Black had had an appendectomy, or frankly anything that would have left her with a discernible scar.
“Not that I can think of,” said Joe at length. “Healthy as a pit pony, she was. The worst that happened to her was falling out of a tree once when she was younger, playing down by the boathouse with Jamie and Simon. Her arm was bad for a time. I reckon she broke it, but Uncle Jago was sick at the time and my aunt was fair bedizened trying to keep everything going. She bandaged it for her and that was that.”
Alistair closed his eyes, as his solar plexus flinched like someone had punched it.
“Which arm, Joe?” he asked.
“Left,” was the answer. “Close to her wrist. Why?”
“Nothing for the moment. Thank you for your time.”
“My pleasure, Mr Carr.”
He rang off, and Alistair sat at Adrien’s desk, perfectly still. What he had suspected was true. The body that had lain in the Creed plot for three years had not belonged in that grave, but she had belonged in the churchyard. Gwenna Black had not run away to London. If she had tried, she had not gone far.
He hoped that the vicar’s prayers had been strong. Someone in Sancreed, and closely connected to Trevennen, had blood on their hands. And the more he thought about it, the more blood there appeared to be. He now believed that Juliana was correct in her recollections. She had been lucky to survive that evening on the cliff. And after that Gwenna Black had been strangled, and the body set up to look like that of Juliana Creed.
Fancy Evans was alone in the library when he went in. It was not yet teatime, and he had intended to take the newspaper and read it. Instead he gave a half-bow to the woman in the chair by the fire and asked for some of her time.
She did not seem eager but waved him to a seat nearby.
“Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Mrs Evans,” Alistair began.
She gave a glacial smile that affected her mouth and nothing else; her eyes were cool and appraising.
“Adrien made it quite clear that any request from you was to be honoured.”
Her tone was sceptical under the purr.
“Nevertheless, I am grateful for anything you can tell me,” he answered with authority. He had dealt with worse than Fancy Evans before. “I know you are a busy woman, Mrs Evans.”
She unwound under the measured tones of his voice.
“What can I tell you, Mr Carr?” she asked.
“Your recollections—any you have—of the time Mrs Creed disappeared three years ago,” he replied.
The mouth thinned again.
“Juliana’s disappearance,” she murmured, then looked straight at him. “Do you truly believe that story of hers?”
Alistair was taken aback. “Do you doubt it?”
“It all seems very unlikely to me,” she replied casually.
“How would you explain it?”
She looked at him and her eyes were amused.
“Things between her and Adrien were strained around that time. Personally I think Adrien had come to his senses and realized what a mistake he had made. Someone with Juliana’s background was not to be expected to take her place in a community like this. She was never going to fit in. Dear God, even Helena would have been better. She worshipped the ground Adrien walked upon, any fool could see that.”
Alistair realized that he would have to tread lightly here. He took note of Fancy’s words about the eldest Clevedon girl but returned to the subject of Juliana.
“I had heard that Juliana settled down very quickly.”
Fancy flicked the words away. “There was novelty value in her, certainly. But she stuck out like a sore thumb. She didn’t even play bridge. She played some outlandish Chinese game instead!”
Alistair forbore from saying that he didn’t like bridge either. He loathed the game. Give him Parcheesi any day.
“No, there were definite signs of trouble between them,” said Fancy with a narrowing of her eyes. “I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if she had run off. They were arguing a great deal. There was a huge argument between them the day she left.”
“I was told that there was a stormy atmosphere all around, that day. That you had an argument yourself with your son.”
Fancy’s eyes flashed in a way that bode ill for Jamie later on.
“I don’
t know who would say that,” she responded coldly. “We had a discussion, certainly.”
“And yet Jamie left the house immediately afterwards and went back to Plymouth, despite having arranged time off to spend with his sister?”
“I was not aware that he intended to stay any longer,” replied Fancy with firmness, looking into the fire. “He and his sister had been squabbling like infants all day. I dare say that is what upset him. They were all at it. Even Margaret turned up at one point in a fury over some trifle or other.”
“Do you really think that Juliana ran away in such a fashion? If she had truly been unhappy, she could surely have departed in a more seemly manner.”
Fancy’s pout indicated exactly what she thought of this.
“So you remember nothing of that evening that might help to explain why Mrs Creed ended up falling over the Roscarrock?”
“After Jamie’s disgraceful behaviour towards me,” she said, forgetting that she had called it merely a discussion, “I developed a frightful headache and lay down on my bed. I had Damaris bring me some soup and custard on a tray, then I rested. I didn’t leave my room until the next morning.”
She indicated that the conversation was over by rising suddenly to her feet, rocking slightly as she did so. Alistair jumped to his feet and offered his arm to steady her. She refused, giving another of those glacial smiles as she stalked out of the room. Alistair stared after her in surprise. That last movement had brought her close to him and he had caught a distinct hint of alcohol from her in that moment. She had drunk brandy recently. He wondered if she had suspected he would want to talk to her, and it had been simply to bolster her confidence during the interview, or if it was a common occurrence.
Chapter 18
Pleased to be away from Fancy’s chill, in his room, Alistair jotted some notes down. Someone was hiding something. He could feel it, like the end of a pine needle sticking from a woollen coat. A tiny sharp point, and he had to find it before he could draw it out.
The Dead Woman Who Lived Page 28