The Dead Woman Who Lived

by Endellion Palmer

  “No, Alistair,” she said coldly. “It couldn’t mean what you are thinking!”

  Alistair tried to placate her. He knew that Willett had finally decided to take Juliana’s account seriously, and that meant that her memory of the coat had become important.

  “It was just one thing I had thought of. That coat that Juliana recognised was a pivotal moment for her. She thought she recognised it on the cliff, and ran away because of her fear that it was Adrien. But I don’t believe that Adrien pushed her. I think he did what he said he did that night—he went to the Lugger with David Roskelly, and then drove up onto the moors.”

  “I don’t believe it was Adrien, either. I’ve seen how he looks at her,” stated Jean, her mouth still a thin line. “Completely batty about the woman. He’d have thrown himself off the Roscarrock before he pushed Juliana.”

  Alistair acknowledged this and continued. “And then it was a coat again that brought her memory back. It is not an uncommon garment. A man’s wool overcoat. There are thousands of them hanging in closets all over Cornwall. I should think there are fifty in Sancreed alone. I’m just trying to be ahead of Inspector Willett. Please don’t worry.”

  She seemed only faintly reassured by his words, and there was still a flicker of fear at the back of her eyes when he left. He went back to Trevennen, then after a quick lunch he walked up to the hut. He knew Simon had not been at the house since his visit to Jamie just before the poisoning. He wondered what state of mind he was in and hoped that he was at home.

  He was in luck. Simon was kneeling on the ground by the fire with a dead rabbit by his knees. He leapt to his feet as he saw the visitor, so quickly that he tripped over his own feet and nearly fell to the ground.

  “Jamie! Is he…?”

  He could hardly get the words out he was so upset. Alistair grabbed at his arms to steady him, realised that Simon was on the verge of hysteria.

  “Jamie is fine. At least, he will be soon,” he said, soothingly.

  Simon looked a little relieved at this, but Alistair could feel him shaking still. “I was with Aunt Daphne yesterday, when we found out. She tried to get me to stay with her, but I needed to get back here. To be on my own. I don’t know what I’d do without Jamie. I was so scared. I knew someone would tell me if he was dead, but I couldn’t…”

  He broke off here, exhausted. Alistair had a vision of him pacing through the night, terrified of what might be happening, and too scared to find out.

  “Get on with what you were doing,” Alistair suggested. “That looks like a good rabbit. Pity to waste it.”

  Simon nodded at this piece of sensible advice, squatting back down and reaching for the knife he had laid down alongside the rabbit, then picked up the rabbit itself. The familiar actions were soothing and he looked happier after the good news about Jamie; Alistair hated that he had to ask something that might upset him again.

  “You know I am trying to find out what happened at Trevennen, don’t you? I have a question, Simon, that you might be able to help me with,” he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

  Simon looked up at him briefly, his eyes alert despite their air of fatigue, then concentrated on the rabbit. He made a small cut in the fur along the animal’s back, and with a couple of smooth movements he ripped the fur off the pink body, leaving only tufts on the feet and a fluffy mask on the head and ears.

  “Aye?” he said, taking up a large knife. “What is it, then?”

  Alistair watched him work, delicately slicing open the belly, retrieving the organs and intestines, keeping the heart and liver separate from the waste. As he picked up the knife again and cut the rabbit into pieces, dropping them onto a plate with some flour, Alistair asked him about the coat. Simon looked at him as if he was mad. Frowning, he took a lump of butter and threw it into the aged pot that hung over the fire.

  “What coat?” he questioned.

  “Mrs Saxby told me that you had an overcoat, a dark wool one. You bought it at the jumble sale some years ago.”

  Simon’s mouth tightened, and his hands stilled for a moment before he finished dusting the pieces of meat with the flour and dropping them into the blackened pot, adding the offal and a handful of tiny white onions.

  “What if I did?” he said. “It were still a right good coat. I don’t know why they gave it away. Jean said I needed summat for the cold.”

  He rolled his eyes a little, as if exasperated at Jean Saxby’s insistence on mothering him.

  “She fusses sometimes. Like I were a child.”

  Then he shrugged.

  “It was right warm. When the winter turned cold, I was glad I had it.”

  “Do you still have it?”

  Simon looked at him strangely. “Why are you asking about that coat?” he asked, his eyes narrow. “Jamie nearly died yesterday, his mother were poisoned the day before, and you are asking about my clothes? It were just a coat!”

  Alistair held up his hands. “I’m hoping that I can keep Inspector Willett off everyone’s backs. He knows that it was the touch of a similar coat that brought back Mrs Creed’s memory.”

  Simon’s eyes widened. Alistair was not sure if it was alarm or anger.

  “Juliana never said it was me! She knows I wouldn’t hurt her.”

  Alistair was alarmed at the trepidation in Simon’s voice. “No, she didn’t. I promise you she said nothing of the sort,” he soothed. “She only said that whoever was on the cliff with her that night was wearing a coat like that. Simon, I want to help. Please believe that.”

  He was aware that he was still being regarded with immense suspicion. Finally, Simon got to his feet and, adding some water, stirred the pot viciously before he disappeared into the hut. He was gone for a couple of minutes and Alistair could hear him rummaging about. Then there was the slam of a lid and he stomped back down the stairs. He marched over to Alistair and dropped a bundle at his feet.

  “There!”

  He moved back to the fire, prodding the contents of the pot again and turned his back, ignoring Alistair as he stood and unfolded the garment. There was an ugly stain on both sides of the front, which was presumably why its owner didn’t wear it any more.

  “How did it get stained?” Alistair asked.

  “Well, I didn’t stab anyone in it!” snapped Simon.

  He turned back to see Alistair’s examination of the stain, a look of fury on his thin face.

  “I wasn’t going to suggest that you had,” said Alistair with a grin, pleased that the air of fright had left his companion. “I doubt you’d still have it if you had committed murder in it. I’m not suggesting you are stupid.”

  Simon’s mouth twitched with amusement despite himself.

  “I help out with the lambing sometimes. The farmers are right busy round then. There was a bad night over at the Morgans three years ago. They lost a couple of lambs from one ewe, and the mother of another. So I took the skins from the dead lambs and wrapped the orphaned one up in them.”

  “Why?” Alistair was bewildered.

  Simon looked at him as if he thought Alistair was being deliberately obtuse. “So the ewe would smell her own lambs and take on the little one as her own.”

  His face cleared as he realised that Alistair was genuinely flummoxed.

  “Don’t you know owt about lambing?”

  “No, I can’t say I do,” said Alistair thoughtfully. “I’ve clearly missed out on a great deal.”

  “Well, there were a lot of blood. It got on the coat by accident.”

  “Don’t you use it any more?”

  “Haven’t needed to. I got this.” He hung the kettle over the flames and indicated the guernsey. “It’s just as warm, and easier for getting about in. I tried to get the blood out, but it wouldn’t clean properly. So I just use it on my bed when it gets too cold.”

  Simon moved to go, then turned and grabbed at Alistair’s sleeve.

  “She never said that, did she? Juliana. You’re not lying to me?”

  Alista
ir released his hand gently. He patted him on the shoulder. “She said absolutely nothing about it. Someone else was talking about a coat that you had, that is all.”

  “She’s a friend. I like her,” was all he got in return, but he saw the look in Simon’s eyes and made a note to tell Juliana about it, so she could reassure him. There had been a flash in his eyes that had troubled Alistair. He had seen it before.

  He got the opportunity to mention the meeting the moment he got home. Juliana was in the study with Adrien. They looked up as he came in. Juliana appeared to be on the verge of tears.

  “Willett came back after you left. He’s still asking about that bloody coat,” Adrien said heavily.

  “Was he?” asked Alistair, sitting down opposite Juliana. He was glad he had taken the trip to Simon. The information might come in useful.

  “He’s finally decided that these poisonings are linked to my accident,” she said, blinking hard. “Went over and over my memories of being on the cliff. Was it raining? Just how dark was it? Am I sure I didn’t see the person’s face? God, how he went on. And, Alistair, he was asking about Simon.”

  Alistair groaned.

  “All about him. What we knew of his background, how long had we known him, all kinds of things. Could it have been him on the cliff? And after he spoke to us, he went to the Island to ask the Clevedons the same things. I think he’s been doing the same thing all over town. And given how quickly gossip spreads, Simon’s name has probably already been dragged through the mud. The only place Willett hasn’t been is the Cundy house. So he’s not entirely stupid.”

  “Dear Lord, the man’s an ass!” Alistair said viciously.

  Adrien poured him a glass of whisky and they drank together. Juliana paced by the window, muttering imprecations against the absent inspector under her breath. Finally she turned around.

  “Where did you get to?” she asked. “You missed lunch. Not that anyone ate much. Poor Mrs Fennell is doing her best, but most of it goes straight back to the kitchen.”

  “I went to see Simon. He was desperate for word of Jamie, poor thing, and too scared to ask.”

  He paused, seeing tears well up in Juliana’s eyes again, then decided to go ahead.

  “Apparently he used to have a wool coat. I needed to see it.”

  Juliana folded her arms in front of her. “No, there is no way he was involved,” she announced, and Alistair smiled at the look on her face. The tears disappeared and she looked adamant.

  “You may want to reiterate that the next time you see him,” he said. “He’s jumpy at the moment.”

  She pursed her lips, and Alistair could see that she was still not happy. Then she relented. “It’s not your fault, I know,” she said. “I’m sorry, Alistair. You’ve been such a brick. I shouldn’t distrust you, not now.”

  She looked at her wristwatch.

  “Damn,” she said. “I need to go up and see Simon, especially after what you just told me. But Bob was here earlier, and he’s worried about Didi. She’s barely left Jamie’s side since yesterday and she’s worn out. He’s insisted that she take some rest this afternoon, and I said I’d take over.”

  Both men offered their services and Juliana laughed.

  “You are both kind, but Jamie is my responsibility this afternoon. He gets upset very easily, and the only way Damaris is going to leave him and get some sleep is if I take over.”

  She turned to Adrien.

  “I’ll go up and see Simon first thing tomorrow. On my own,” she said firmly, and both men realised that it was a challenge to them. Like it or not, she was championing Simon and no one was going to get in the way.

  Chapter 28

  Bob Cundy was at the breakfast table the next day, working his way through a heaped plateful when Juliana came down and pushed open the dining room door, the dog scampering in before her, looking hopefully at the sideboard. Juliana ignored his pointed glances and addressed the doctor instead.

  “Morning, Bob,” she said. “How is Jamie?”

  He got to his feet and responded with a kiss on her cheek, holding her in front of him.

  “Jamie is better. But you look pale. Still not sleeping?”

  “On and off,” she replied. Even with Adrien beside her, she still found herself awaking from worried sleep, from the persistent nightmares, although with his arms around her, the terror faded more quickly. “After the events of the last few days, I’m not surprised I’m pale. I’m more surprised that I sleep at all.”

  She took some porridge from the tureen and added a couple of spoonfuls of thick cream. Sitting opposite the doctor, she shook brown sugar over the top and picked up her spoon. He looked at her approvingly as she ate.

  “Good girl. You need to keep up your strength,” he said, and returned to his own plate.

  “Jamie is really all right?” she asked after she had put her bowlful where it would do most good.

  Bob nodded. “As all right as someone who came within a whisker of dying two days ago can be,” he replied frankly. “I suggest he take things very easy for a few days more. Between you and Didi, keep him quiet, plenty of rest, nothing too rich to eat. Don’t let him get up yet. Milk, eggs, good simple food, that’s what he needs. Won’t do Didi any harm either.”

  “I don’t think Didi has left his side since it happened,” Juliana mused. “Funny, because…”

  “Because what?” Bob asked, pouring them both more coffee.

  “She was in a strange mood after Fancy died. I almost thought she was avoiding him.”

  Bob shrugged. “Different people mourn in different ways,” he said. “She had a very odd relationship with her mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if it hits her hard at some point. She had to be very strong the other day—I swear, Juliana, if she hadn’t found him and started that lavage, he’d be alongside his mother in the morgue.”

  She mentioned this conversation to Alistair when she met him in the hall. She was planning on walking up onto the moor to see Simon and set his mind to rest. Having filched a wedge of pork pie and some jam tarts from the kitchen, she intended to take Hobbs up for a walk and bring Simon back with her.

  “Jamie’s on the mend, Bob says,” she said to Alistair, who had a notepad and pencil in his hands and was going in to breakfast. Juliana looked at him curiously.

  “What are you up to, my secretive Scotch friend?” she asked. “More sleuthing and spying? I’ve seen you, you know; exploring down by the cliffs, over the moor, asking questions in town. Good to see you earning your keep!”

  Alistair grinned at her, pleased to see her good spirits[6]. He had indeed been busy, using any spare time he found on his hands doing exactly what she described. He had taken careful note of the tides and spent long hours on the rocks around the beach at the bottom of the wooden staircase. He had explored caves and gullies, estimated cliff heights, done some climbing insofar as it was possible. He had walked along the cliffs and checked out ancient mines, with their myriad ventilation shafts and decaying workings. The quarry had been assessed and explored. He had also walked around the town and had made purchases from various stores and drunk beer at the Lugger. The mass of information he had amassed was all percolating now, and he had found a few curious points kept coming to the forefront.

  “I have to wait for a phone call,” he said. “That call will dictate the rest of my day, although I do need to see Inspector Willett again, at some point, and see what his thinking is today.”

  “Rather you than me. I still think he’s a beastly man,” she replied. “I am going to the hut. I need to reassure Simon that I trust him. He can come back and sit with Jamie for a while. She’s barely left Jamie’s side, after having that funny turn beforehand.”

  “Funny turn?” Alistair asked.

  “When she went all withdrawn, and wouldn’t talk to anyone. I couldn’t understand why she turned away from Jamie, of all people. Bob thinks she’s going to have a bad reaction at some point.”

  “I have to say that I agree with h
im,” replied Alistair. “She seems so self-reliant that most of the time, I think people forget that she feels as deeply as her brother. Even just finding out that the body was Gwenna’s. By all accounts they spent time together as children. Even without all the other trouble, that would be upsetting.”

  He was about to accompany Juliana to the door to see her off when he noticed a shadow cross her face.

  “Juliana?”

  She shook her head. “It’s probably nothing, but Simon was acting oddly during the storm, and for some reason I just remembered it. It was you talking about Gwenna Black.”

  “Oddly? During the storm? I should say so,” he replied.

  “Well, even given the circumstances it was odd. When I was bringing him home from the quarry—he thought I was Gwenna, you see. He was worried that he’d hurt me; he really seemed anxious. I forgot about it in the aftermath, but I thought I should mention it to someone. We’ve all got used to the idea that Gwenna was buried in my place, but Simon knew her too. I think he is more upset by it than anyone realises.”

  Alistair said nothing, just looked at her, as she packed her carefully wrapped packets into a knapsack. She added a Thermos, then set off, the dog gambolling around her feet as she went. Simon was outside when they arrived[7], scrubbing his bedlinen in a tub of soapy water. Hobbs rushed over, still limping a little, but excited to see his rescuer. Simon looked up when he saw the dog, then jumped to his feet when he saw Juliana, and took an uncertain step towards her. She saw his anxiety and cursed.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get up yesterday, Simon,” she said gently. Ignoring his wet arms, she stepped forward to give him a hug, pulling him down to her. “Jamie needed me.”

  He nodded, hugging her back. For a moment he clung to her, she could feel his breath warm on her neck, then he released her and looked at her eagerly.

  “But he must be better today, if you came?” he asked.