Season of Darkness

by Maureen Jennings

  “Did you lend out your MG?”

  She shook her head.

  “Given that he was baring his bosom, it would have been easy for Grey to say you were both working at the Old Rectory. From there it was quite plausible that you’d be driving home. But he didn’t say that. He wanted me to know that you were in your flat, a long way from the Heath Road. Why was that, Clare? Why was Mr. Grey so intent on giving you an alibi?”

  He saw her shoulders slump.

  “Can I have a cig?”

  He gave her one but she didn’t light it.

  “So why was Mr. Grey making up a story, Clare? Or is it too secret for even my ears?”

  “No, it’s not exactly that … Grey told you he was with me because there was nobody to confirm that I was in my flat.” She gave a wry smile. “We should have got our stories straight.”

  “Why? Why was it important to convince me you were snug in your flat?”

  “Because I wasn’t. It was me driving along Main Street at that time.”

  “Fair enough. What were you doing in Whitchurch at such an early hour?”

  Rather awkwardly, she started to light a cigarette. He did it for her, waiting.

  “I was visiting my daughter.”

  It was Tyler’s turn to struggle to light up another cigarette. “I take it you’re going to give me an explanation.”

  “The whole kit and kaboodle, Tom. I would have told you before but we were interrupted.” She smiled at him rather impishly. “Shall I fetch the scarf and wave it around, à la Arabian nights?”

  “That’s all right. I don’t need stage effects.”

  “Well, I need some brandy. Do you want some?”

  “Just lemonade.”

  She went into the kitchen. He watched her while she poured the brandy, took a big gulp, then returned to the chair across from him. She was carrying the bottle and an extra glass which she put on the coffee table.

  “In case you change your mind.”

  Tyler finished off his lemonade, then added a splash of brandy to his glass.

  “Go. I’m all ears.”

  Clare took a deep breath. “There’s a preamble. Be patient.”

  “My strongest suit.”

  “After I married, life went on, busy, empty, demanding and boring at the same time. Then when I was thirty-six and staring down a bleak future, I went to Paris for a holiday. Valentin was busy as usual so I was alone. One evening I went to an after-hours jazz bar, the new music from America. I met Paxton, a saxophone player. He wasn’t like my other young men; he was a brilliant musician, passionate about his music, rather aloof. I went back several times. We started to talk between sets; he asked me to come back to his digs.” She drank some of the brandy. “I accepted his offer and that was the beginning of a short but intense love affair.” She paused. “Don’t look like that, Tom. I’m telling you the truth, which you say you want.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”

  “What about you?” she fired back. “You were probably tomcatting around the countryside not thinking of me for a minute.”

  “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Clare. I wish I could have.”

  She was silent for a moment, looking at him. “Do you want me to go on or not?”

  “Of course.” He reached for the brandy and poured a slug into his glass.

  “All right then. As I was saying, Pax and I had a brief but good time. We shared cannabis, even cocaine, and an awful gritty bed. I was infatuated with him, although I knew the affair would never go anywhere.”

  “Why not?”

  “He wasn’t interested in any permanent commitment and I … well frankly, I had got used to a certain way of life. I couldn’t bear the thought of being poor again. So we kissed goodbye, cried a few tears, and I returned to Switzerland. I never saw him again.” She sighed. “After he had gone I discovered I was pregnant.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh. I couldn’t imagine getting rid of the child but, given our situation, there was no chance I could fob it off as my husband’s. As I told you, we hadn’t been intimate for years. Besides, Valentin is a highly conventional man and most unforgiving to those he feels have betrayed him. He would have cut me off without a penny if I had left him. I was, as they say, in a quandary.”

  Her face was filled with pain as she remembered. He wanted to comfort her; he wanted to punish her.

  “What did you do?”

  “I told Valentin I needed to improve my German. I said I could study in Berlin. He liked the idea and didn’t demur. I went to Berlin, found a private hostel, and carried the child to term.”

  “Your husband never guessed the truth?”

  “There had already been long stretches of time when I didn’t see him from one month to the next. It wasn’t hard to remain out of sight in those last few months. There were always things about my life that Valentin didn’t want to know and vice versa. He preferred if I didn’t enquire too closely as to what he was up to.”

  “He was screwing other women, you mean?”

  “Not that. He’s not really a very sexual being. It is more to do with some rather secretive negotiations with various important figures in Nazi Germany concerning his manufacturing plant.”

  “Great, so you married a Nazi collaborator?” Tyler knew his voice was harsh.

  “Please, Tom. I’m sorry, but as you can imagine, this is a painful subject for me. Here, give me your glass, I’ll freshen up your drink.”

  He sat motionless on the couch, trying to absorb what she had told him. When she’d gone through the ritual of pouring out the brandy, she was more in control; the moment of anguish she had revealed was covered up again.

  “This child is the one you just referred to, I presume? The daughter you were with in Whitchurch?”

  “Yes. I arranged to have her adopted by a local family who were living in Berlin but are actually French. They have two other children like her, and she fitted in perfectly. She knows them as mama and papa, and I am nice tante, the auntie, who visits regularly and brings presents.”

  Clare was running her finger around the rim of her glass.

  “I stayed on in Berlin applying myself to my studies.” She shivered. “Germany, a place I have always loved, was becoming more and more frightening. Rumours were rampant about what the Nazis were doing but people didn’t want to hear them. Many were only too glad that the country was prosperous again, that German pride was restored. I feared that my little family was in danger, so I got them out of the country and into England. I came as well. I went immediately to London and volunteered to work for the Security Service. My fluency in German is an asset. I was sent to Birmingham, dealing with refugees.”

  “And now here?”

  “That’s right. I was able to have my daughter and the other children evacuated here. They are billeted with Mrs. Pettie on Orchard Road. I actually spent the evening and the night at Mrs. Pettie’s. I wanted to help them settle in. Amelie is a sensitive child and she easily feels like an outsider. I left early in the morning. I had to come back here, then go over to the camp.”

  Something was coming back to him. Gough reporting a complaint from Mrs. Newey. Foreign children. Dark skinned.

  “You said, children like her. Was your lover Italian?”

  “No. Paxton is from New York. He is a negro.”

  “Oh!”

  “Yes, oh again … My daughter and the other two children in the family are of mixed race. Mama is a negress, Papa is a white man. In addition, Amelie has mild cerebral palsy. As you can see, she is amongst the most vulnerable to the Nazi philosophy. She is one of the ‘useless’ people.” Clare put her glass down on the table and came over to him, kneeling in front of him and taking his hands. “I told you I grew up believing I had a heart of ice. Even with you, my dear Tom, that feeling didn’t totally go away. Not until I gave birth to Amelie. When she was put into my arms, I felt as if my heart was being ripped out of my chest. It was almos
t physically painful, I loved her so much. I mean it when I say I would give my life for her.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “It must be very hard for you not to have her with you all the time.”

  “Sometimes it’s sheer agony.”

  They sat like that for a while, then she shifted and sat in his lap, putting her head on his chest as if she were a child. “Thank you, dear Tom. Thank you for understanding.” She kissed him. “You looked like such a boy just now when you felt I was leaving you out of the story. Well, this is your part. When the princess was still quite a young girl, she met a handsome young man, not a prince exactly, but of noble birth.”

  “Hah.”

  “She fell in love with this young man, but she was too frightened to give herself to him completely. She had to leave before her heart melted and she lost her own soul.”

  “That’s not what you said.”

  “I didn’t know it myself at the time. I made up excuses. Now I understand. When I saw you again in the market I was gobsmacked, as the East Enders say. There you were, with your beautiful blue eyes, your copper hair glinting in the sun, your sunburned nose … I knew I still loved you and that I had made a terrible mistake.”

  He took her hand and kissed her palm. “Mistakes can always be rectified.”

  She spoke into his neck. “Can they? Can they really? I wish I could be so sure.” She pressed herself against him. “Oh Tom, my dear. Can we make love again?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes, right now.”

  On impulse, he said, “Why do I keep getting the feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye? You said you didn’t know Elsie Bates. Is that true?”

  Clare didn’t flinch. “No, it’s not.”

  “Ah. And I presume there is another explanation forthcoming?”

  “I promised the whole kit and kaboodle, and that’s what you’ll get. I was, shall we say, acquainted with Miss Bates.”

  “You don’t seem shocked by what happened to her.”

  “Shocked? Of course. Sorry? I wish I could say I was sorry. I am not.”

  “And the reason for that is?”

  “Do you want me to tell you now, or can you wait until afterward?”

  He pulled her into his arms. “Afterward.”

  They made love and it was more tender and close than anything he had yet experienced.

  After a while, Clare got off the bed and put on her dressing gown.

  “Final story.”

  “I’ll sit up.”

  He reached for his cigarette case.

  Clare began. “Keeping the nature of the real relationship between Amelie and me a secret is vital for a continuing good life for her and her adoptive family. By the worst bad luck, Elsie Bates saw me in Birmingham. I’d brought the family up there and I was coming out of the house with Amelie. Elsie happened to be going by, God knows why. She had the acuity of a rat, and suspected this was no ordinary relationship. Then lo and behold, she saw me again when I was here in Whitchurch. She deliberately followed the three children to the park. She wheedled out of them a few facts. Amelie is a trusting child. She speaks English well. It didn’t take much for her to spill out her life story and how much she loved her auntie Clare who she has known since she was a baby, when they were all in Germany … how easy for that guttersnipe to put two and two together. She knew it was the last thing I would want revealed. You have to admit, it’s one thing if I have had a child outside of my marriage with a white man, another if the father was a negro. I saw the shock in your face Tom, when I told you.”

  He couldn’t deny it.

  “Go on. So Elsie put the squeeze on you?”

  “I was foolish. I panicked. I might have been able to bluff my way out, but I couldn’t bear for my daughter to be the subject of gossip and whispers. I immediately offered Elsie money. I was only too happy to pay if it bought her silence.” She exhaled as if she had been holding her breath the entire time. “That’s it. That’s the whole story.”

  She stood up, but he pulled her back. “One more piece, Clare. There’s something I must know. As you were leaving Whitchurch, which road did you take to get back here?”

  “I came by way of the Alkington Road, it’s faster. And if that’s a pointed question, I swear I had nothing to do with the murder.”

  “But you’ve just told me Elsie was threatening to reveal your secret life, and that you would give your life for your daughter. Elsie’s death would relieve you. Why should I believe you?”

  Clare regarded him steadily. “Because it’s true, Tom. If you know me at all, you know it’s true.”

  52.

  WHEN TYLER CAME DOWN TO THE COURTYARD, HE found Eagleton already sitting in the Humber waiting for him.

  Tyler slid into the driver’s seat. “Any luck?”

  “I think we can eliminate Mr. Newstead. He’s got bad lumbago and has been in bed for four days. He said he was being treated by Dr. McHamer from Wem.”

  “Let’s confirm that. I don’t want to take anything for granted. Maybe Newstead is the fifth columnist. He could be feigning lumbago.”

  “Really, sir?” said Eagleton doubtfully. “He’s a good actor if that’s the case.”

  “Precisely. Always temper your investigations with common sense. What about Trimble?”

  “He wasn’t in his cottage nor on the estate. I took the liberty of seeking out Lady Somerville in case she had any information.”

  Tyler whistled through his teeth. “Did you indeed? What did she say?”

  “She was very accommodating, actually, sir. She said that Mr. Trimble had told her he was going in search of pullets so they could build up the hen flock.” He looked sideways at Tyler. “She’s very knowledgeable about breeds of poultry, leghorns and such.”

  “I’m sure she is, Eager, and I’m sure she thought you were a very nice lad. Did she say when Trimble was expected back?”

  “No, sir. She didn’t know.”

  Tyler sighed. “I hope the bastard hasn’t done a runner.”

  “Is he our prime suspect, sir?”

  “Let’s just say he is a person of interest. Great interest. We’ve got motivation and opportunity for Elsie’s murder. As for Rose Watkins, if the bugger turns out to be fifth columnist, it would put him sending out his messages right where and when Rose was cutting through the woods to go to Mass at the camp.”

  “You don’t think the two of them had an assignation, do you, sir?”

  “No, I don’t, but as the head doctor said, we’ve got to keep an open mind at all times.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You know what the problem with that is, Eager?”

  “No, sir.”

  “The bad guys can slip through the net, easy as pie.”

  “We need to find Trimble soon, don’t we?”

  “On the nail, lad. I want you to go back to his cottage. Leave a note where he can’t miss it. Tell him he must report to the station immediately. Now that you’ve got cosy with her ladyship, go back to her and tell her we want to talk to Trimble at once.” He opened the car door. “While you’re doing that, I’m going to see how the girls are. I won’t be long.”

  “Sir!” Eagleton was regarding him anxiously.

  “Yes?”

  “Sir, your fly button is undone.”

  As it turned out, Tyler didn’t spend much time at the hostel house. He didn’t have any more information to impart, and the girls seemed as good as could be expected. Including the warden, they were all in the common room listening to the gramophone. The sun was streaming through the windows and at first glance, the scene was happy and normal. However, he was immediately aware of how subdued the girls were. Not even Molly and Freckles waved at him as he came in. Nobody was chatting, the music was a piece of classical piano, mournful and sombre. Miss Stillwell hurried over to greet him.

  “We’ve been talking a great deal about what to do and so forth, but so far all of the girls have decided to stay on here and keep workin
g. I have to say, Inspector, I am most impressed with them. Harvest time is so demanding and important I hate to think what would happen if they deserted now. Would you like to address them yourself?”

  Tyler spoke briefly, commending the young women for their decision to stay on. He emphasized the importance of being on the alert and reporting to him anything at all that they thought was amiss. He scanned the young faces, the eyes that were fixed on him. Florence Hancocks looked a little better, less pale and ravaged. She was seated in between Molly and Freckles on the couch, and Tyler had the sense that Florence had unloaded her secret. Sylvia was on the floor leaning back against Muriel’s knees; Lanky was next to her, hugging a cushion to her chest. All of the girls had clearly drawn closer to each other through this ordeal.

  There was a bit of chat back and forth, but Tyler didn’t stay long. He promised to return soon with a progress report.

  Miss Stillwell escorted him to the door. “The vicar from St. Alkmund’s has offered to come over this evening and conduct a service. He is a good man, surprisingly eloquent for a vicar, and I think it will be of comfort to the girls.” She held out her hand. “Thank you, Inspector. You have been most considerate.”

  Tyler drove back to Whitchurch with his constable.

  “Go around town. See if anybody has seen or heard of our man. I’m going to have Collis get over to the estate and watch in case he returns. I’ll send out the alert to all stations in the area. If you have anything new to tell me, doesn’t matter what, come to the house. I might as well be there as anywhere.”

  53.

  At the appointed time, Arthur Trimble made his way into the woods, trying to move quietly. Every sound, the crack of a twig underfoot, the sloshing of the petrol in the cans, made him jump and curse to himself. He was desperately in need of a fag but couldn’t risk lighting up. He stopped and popped a boiled sweet into his mouth instead. His hand was trembling and the sound of his heart thumping in his chest was deafening.

  They’d established early on that in a matter of extreme emergency, he would receive a note in a packet of cigarettes, to be destroyed immediately, and that the rendezvous would happen that night. He’d stayed out of sight until darkness fell, going back to the estate only to do the job. There was a constable leaning against his own door but he was fast asleep. At first, Trimble considered just getting the hell out, but he needed the other man’s help.