‘I’ve had a talk with the woman who claimed to have seen a child, the child, in Peascod Street.’
‘Oh you found her?’ His tone was neutral. ‘I’ve had a word with her myself.’
‘It wasn’t hard to find her. I think she wanted to be found.’
‘What did you make of her?’
Charmian was careful: ‘I thought she spoke up well.’
‘I didn’t think much of it myself. Not that tale of dancing and crying, too … fictional.’
‘I felt there was a kind of veracity there, but I wasn’t sure what.’
—That’s a help, she could almost hear Feather muttering under his breath.
‘How it fits in with the mother’s story of Sarah going off cheerfully with a man is not clear, but I suppose it could. The man has a home and Sarah has been in it. With intervals of running up and down Peascod Street once happy and dancing and once in tears. I suppose that could happen.’
‘I’m considering it,’ said Feather. ‘She made a statement to a woman detective I sent down.’
‘I thought she’d told the story before.’
‘Oh, I think so, don’t you?’ he said drily.
‘Made it up as she went along, you mean?’
‘Could be. I think she likes to tell a tale.’
‘She knows the family well,’ said Charmian carefully.
‘So not totally disinterested? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Might have some motive … protecting them in some way.’
‘Why would she do that?’
‘Your guess,’ said Charmian, giving a shrug. ‘ Or she might be telling the truth … And there’s something else. She hinted that the girl might have a hiding place in the town. I wonder if she knows? I suppose you looked?’
‘We did.’ Feather’s tone was ever dryer: he didn’t like being taught his own business. ‘All the usual places were searched. Thoroughly.’
‘But there are always new ones. For instance, at the bottom of Peascod Street where a row of shops are boarded up … I noticed just now.’
Feather kept his temper. ‘If they have not been searched, then I can promise that they will be. But I would guess they have been done.’
Somewhat reluctantly, but conceding that he had better tell her, he said: ‘ Got the post-mortem on the boy Joe. He’d been smothered. From the stomach contents, it seemed as though he had been given a strong drink, whisky, which probably fuddled him. So probably we ought to be looking for some dosser with a taste for boys.’
‘Had he been sexually assaulted?’
‘No, and that’s odd. Might have expected it. Not beaten up, nor raped, just killed. But perhaps the killer got his kicks out of killing, you never know.’
Poor Joe.
‘There was dust in his hair and on his clothes so where he was killed was probably somewhere derelict. He hadn’t eaten much for some days, but he had been given a meal just before he died.’ There was an odd note in Feather’s voice.
‘Given?’
‘Yes, it’s the only worrying thing. I say given because it wasn’t something he was likely to have bought for himself, although he might have stolen it. Smoked salmon apparently.’
‘Yes, it doesn’t fit in with the rest of the picture, not with the derelict house and the dosser.’
‘I said it was worrying.’
It felt later than it was on that damp autumn evening. But it was time to see Kate.
She was sitting by the window of her room with a book on her lap, wearing a warm dressing-gown with a shawl round her shoulders, she said she always felt cold, even when her temperature was up. The curtains were drawn but she had pulled one aside as if she had been trying to look out.
Charmian kissed her. ‘I’ve brought you some magazines.’
‘Thank you and thank you for coming.’
‘Don’t you get many visitors?’
‘As many as I want. I don’t want everyone, they say the wrong thing, I know it can’t be helped and it’s me that’s being tricky. Dolly Barstow came in.’ Kate smiled. ‘She didn’t try to cheer me, she just said “ Yes, it is hell,” and then she talked about her latest case.’
‘Ah.’
‘Oh, it’s all right, not the missing child and the dead boy and skeleton of the baby. About which you didn’t tell me. You see, even you aren’t honest.’
‘You seem to know it all.’
‘Of course I do, the woman who brings in the food told me about it and got me some newspapers. She doesn’t treat me as if I was a child.’
‘Sorry.’
‘I told you I saw a figure out there in the dark. That was real, not imagination.’
‘I know. And I believed you. And I acted on it. That was how the police came to investigate.’
Kate was quiet for a minute. ‘ Oh, I didn’t know that. But then you went all silent and never talked about it and the nurses kept me away from the window.’
‘We were wrong,’ said Charmian humbly. ‘You’re not a child.’
‘No. Only Dolly seems to know that.’
Mentally, Charmian saluted Dolly Barstow’s tact and diplomacy in getting the tone right while saying nothing.
Kate hadn’t finished. ‘ Isn’t it odd that the other body, the new one, was on top of the very old little one?’
Her words summoned up the picture of the small bones with a surprising and shocking vividness. Charmian knew that the girl must be seeing a vivid picture herself. ‘Not on top,’ she said gently. ‘Not exactly that. Near but not quite.’
‘But the bones would not have been discovered if the police hadn’t been digging, and they would not have been digging if I had not told you of what I had seen.’
‘No, probably not.’
‘So it was my doing, in a way?’
‘There was a search everywhere for the missing child,’ said Charmian in a neutral ‘let’s not worry about it’tone, which probably irritated Kate. ‘Would you rather the bones had not been disturbed?’
‘In a way. But I think they had a right to have been found and then given a proper burial.’
‘That has been done,’ said Charmian.
‘I know. You went?’
‘I did.’
‘I knew you would, you’re good. I value that, Godmother.’ She held out her hand and gripped Charmian’s.
‘Not sure I deserve it, love, but thank you.’
Kate settled back in her chair. ‘I feel better now … There is something else … I could tell you something else that I have seen.’
‘Go on.’
‘I saw this in daylight. A yellow car used to park in that side road and someone would sit in it and they would be looking out. I could see the face turned this way.’
‘Man or woman?’
Kate hesitated. ‘A woman, I think.’ And before Charmian could ask, she said: ‘And no, I haven’t seen it since. I have looked. I have hopped out of bed and looked, after all I was not tied up. I don’t know if it’s important, but it’s something you didn’t know.’
Kate smiled, and in the face of that smile, how could Charmian tell her that so often these fascinating details, that look so promising, turn out to be no help at all in the end. Either they meant nothing, or they could not be understood.
‘There is always something you don’t know,’ said Charmian.
A case is not a static thing, it is growing all round you all the time you work on it, even as you investigate it, uncover this and that, new mysteries are forming themselves, it is people made and people do not stay still.
Biddy Holt opened her door to a peremptory ring.
‘Oh.’ She was surprised, not too pleased. ‘I was expecting someone else.’
‘I suppose I may come in?’ But Emily Grahamden was already in the house, sweeping past Biddy, in her ancient but beautiful fur cloak. ‘Who were you expecting?’
‘I thought someone from the police might come. There’s a woman – I liked her. Not like the rest.’
A l
ook of sympathy came into Lady Grahamden’s eyes. She sighed. ‘I suppose they’re in and out all the time? Yes, with us too. It’s how they work. I remember it of old.’
Second time round for her, Biddy thought, remembering the murder of Peter’s wife. For me, too, for that matter.
‘Does that mean there is news?’ Emily Grahamden was looking round the room. A mess. But you could hardly blame Biddy. ‘You mustn’t let them get you down. The thing is to stand up, be strong … Heavens, you’re doing your Christmas cards.’
‘It’s something to do.’
‘I haven’t even decided if I’ll be here at Christmas.’
‘Oh, come on, Emily.’ Biddy sounded weary and exhausted. ‘You’ll be here.’
Emily Grahamden cleared away the mess on a chair and sat down. ‘You’re on your own too much, Biddy. I’m just sorry Peter can’t come. He’s got a terrible chill.’
‘Peter can never stand much.’
‘He stands what he has to,’ said his mother, tartly. ‘What about your husband? I should think he might come back and give some support in the circumstances.’
‘I haven’t seen him for over a year. He’s living in Spain now, and he has got a new girlfriend, she might have something to say. He did telephone when he heard and said, “ You’re having a bad time, Biddy, let me know what I can do.” Then he rang off. That’s about his limit.’
‘This policewoman, why do you expect her? Did she say she was coming?’
‘I sent a picture of Sarah. Inspector Feather has one, I wanted her to have one.’
‘Was that necessary?’
‘I thought so.’ Biddy’s face was determined. ‘I’d like them all over the town. On the Castle walls, put up in the Great Park. It’s
what Sarah deserves.’
‘All right. I understand. Why do you think I came today? To
give you support. I loved Sarah too.’
‘Love, love, love,’ said Biddy fiercely. ‘ No past tense.’
Emily reached out and took her hand. Her own hand was loaded
with diamond hoops, with a great emerald in an old-fashioned
setting on her little finger which she never took off even to bathe
or garden as far as Biddy knew.
They were holding hands when the bell rang.
‘Don’t go, leave it.’
‘No, I must.’ Biddy stood up.
But she had left the door unlocked and Charmian opened it,
wondering if there was anything wrong.
She saw both women, one sitting, one standing. They both stared
at her with the same unwelcoming look.
Clear, almost arrogant, and dismissive.
Chapter Seven
‘Covering a multitude of sins.’
Bleak House
‘I’m sorry,’ said Charmian. ‘I didn’t mean to burst in, but no one seemed to hear the bell and the door was unlocked.’
Biddy collected herself and came forward. ‘My fault, the bell doesn’t always ring in here.’
Two lies in one moment, Charmian reckoned, because I didn’t ring the bell, just walked in when I saw the door was open, as any detective would, you don’t ignore an open door when on the job, and she didn’t hear what didn’t ring because she was so deeply into whatever they were talking about. An ongoing scene here.
Biddy continued to look distracted. ‘I thought you’d come, or might do. About the photograph …’ Suddenly she became the hostess, not entirely naturally, but like an unwary lady caught at a garden party. ‘ Do you know Lady Grahamden?’
‘We’ve met.’ Lady Grahamden stretched out a hand. She was wearing a plain linen skirt with a silk shirt, but Charmian got the impression of a flowing gown and the stiffness of rich silk and the flirt of a furred sleeve. Behind her stood generations of ladies of great estate: Victorian grande dame, Regency aristocrat, Tudor patrician, right back to the medieval women who ruled their husbands’manors while their lord was away on the Crusade, handing out justice, hanging, imprisoning, and banishing with a firm hand. Dispensers of the law, every one, even if sometimes the law was of their own making.
‘You’ve come about Sarah.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘If there was real news, then there would be a lot of you. I’ve had experience in these matters, you see.’
So she had.
‘I’ve heard about the boy you’ve found. It can’t have anything to do with Sarah.’ This too was a statement, but there was a kind of question behind it.
Charmian decided not to answer so this left a hole in the dialogue which Lady Grahamden filled in. ‘We used to call it the Baby Drop ground when I was young. Very young.’
‘I had heard.’
‘You know what it meant? It was the place where the poor young creatures used to put their babies, in the hope that they’d be taken into the hospital. Sometimes it was worse than that and the child would be stillborn or smothered. No one had heard of cot deaths then.’
‘Is that name in common use?’
‘No, only among old Berkshire families who have a sort of folk memory. Or Army families, the place was near the old barracks. I know it, I was born near here, and my mother’s old nurse, who stayed on with us, was a Windsor girl, in fact her daughter still works for me.’
Biddy had moved away to a side table where she was pouring a drink, she’d already had several by the tight, white look around her mouth.
‘I’ll have a gin too,’ said Lady Grahamden, not turning her head to look at Biddy, ‘but not so strong as that one. You’ll have one, Miss Daniels?’
‘Just tonic, please.’
‘And of course, I know Humphrey.’
‘I believe he has mentioned you,’ said Charmian carefully.
Lady Grahamden laughed. ‘I won’t ask what he said. But I will tell you what he said about you: he said you were as clever as a wagon load of monkeys … when you wanted to be.’
It had the authentic ring of Humphrey in a rather sharp mood, they must have had a disagreement.
‘Are you going to be clever about us?’
‘Yes, Lady Grahamden. If I can be. For the sake of Sarah.’
And that other child, the boy, and that one who was but buried bones.
‘Good … Come and sit down, Biddy.’ She put out a protective but firm arm and drew Biddy down beside her. ‘You don’t look too comfortable yourself, Miss Daniels.’
Charmian moved around on the padded chair, the cushion beneath her shifted. ‘I think I’m sitting on …’ She looked. ‘A nest of dolls.’
Underneath the cushion were four little plastic dolls, they were naked, with price labels still round the neck.
‘Oh, they are Sarah’s reserve dolls … She kept a few extra in case anything happened to the others.’ Biddy hurried across. ‘ I didn’t know they were there.’
‘You don’t keep the house in much order, Biddy.’ Lady Grahamden took a drink of her gin and tonic. ‘You wouldn’t notice they were there.’
Charmian said quickly: ‘I wanted to talk to you about a story I have been told by Amy Mercer. You know her? She claims she saw Sarah in Windsor. Recently too.’
Biddy gave a little cry.
‘Oh that girl, she’s such a liar,’ said Lady Grahamden.
‘No,’ protested Biddy.
‘Is she?’ asked Charmian, interested.
‘Well, an hysteric who tells tales.’
‘What sort of tale?’
‘Oh, about seeing things, people who can’t really be there.’
‘Ghosts, you mean?’
‘Well, images, phantoms … If you can believe in such things.’
‘She said that she once saw an old man sitting by the kitchen fire, no one else saw him, and when she looked again he wasn’t there, it hardly constitutes hysteria,’ said Biddy wearily, as if they had been through this before. ‘It was a trick of the light or something, it’s very murky and shadowy in that kitchen of yours, anyone might imagine something.’
L
ady Grahamden raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘You can’t rely on someone like that.’
Not a reliable witness, she was saying. Between them they had destroyed the story as evidence.
‘You don’t believe her?’
‘How can I? It’s unlikely. Even Biddy doesn’t and she wants to.’
Charmian turned to Biddy: ‘You’d heard this story?’
‘Inspector Feather told me. He said he felt he must do so, but he managed to let me know how little it probably meant and how little weight he placed on it.’
Like the yellow car, Charmian thought, a something and a nothing.
‘You didn’t believe but you sent me the photograph. Why was that?’
Biddy looked away. ‘ For love,’ she said, eyes staring out of the window. ‘For love.’
Charmian finished her tonic, which was flat and lukewarm. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come.
Biddy suddenly came to life. ‘ Something I have to tell you … Of course, I was wrong in thinking I had seen the man who took Sarah away. I was confused, things muddled in my mind. Now that I am clearer, I see I did not know him and had never seen him before.’
Charmian nodded.
‘It was his clothes, you see. He was nicely dressed: jeans and blue shirt and a tweed jacket … but it’s what you see in an advertisement in a magazine or in a shop window, that sort of gear. I think that must have been what I was really remembering.’
So now he’s not a real person, Charmian thought. More detail about his clothes but now he’s a male model from a shop display.
Biddy reached to the table behind. ‘Look, you see, here …’ She was leafing through pages. ‘ I think this is what I was remembering and I got confused.’
Charmian took a look. Yes, a young male model wearing jeans and tweed jacket, the shirt was cream and not blue, but that didn’t matter, a girl was entitled to make a few mistakes. A good-looking face.
‘Did he look like that?’
‘Oh, I don’t think so, do you? I’ve got it all wrong.’
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