The Nightingale

by K. J. Frost

  Turning back into the room, I stoke the fire, adding a small log from the basket, then I flop down on the sofa, letting my head roll back on the cushion behind me, and I recall the conversation I overheard last night; the conversation that has changed everything and flipped my whole life upside down.

  I heard every word that little trollop said, and through my tears, had to listen while my own husband offered her money. Money! She turned him down, seemingly insulted… but the point is, he still offered. He didn’t deny a single word of the filth that came out of her mouth, but he tried to buy her off instead. And that told me that not only had he cheated on me again, but he’d also lied to me. We’re not hard up at all, not if he’s got enough to pay that scheming little slut. We could have a child if he wanted… and that’s just it. He doesn’t want to. He’d rather sleep with conniving tarts than give me the only thing I’ve ever really asked of him.

  Well, I’m damned if his mistakes are going to ruin my future. I’m damned if I’m going to let a little whore like her take away everything I’ve ever worked for…

  ***

  It’s just after midday when I park the car outside our home in School Road.

  It seems strange to think of it as ‘our home’, even though that’s exactly what it is, being as this is the house which Amelie’s Uncle Gordon gave to us as a very generous wedding present.

  He warned us that the place was in a bit of a state when he made the gift, on Christmas Eve, over a month before our wedding, and he wasn’t joking. When he brought us to view the house a few days later, Amelie and I looked at each other and wondered what we’d let ourselves in for. Between the cracked windows, the broken back door and the missing roof tiles, there was plenty to do, and that didn’t include the internal decorations, buying new furniture, and installing kitchen equipment.

  I can still remember the worried expression on Amelie’s face when she turned to me and asked whether I was sure I was still happy to pay for the refurbishments, which was what I’d agreed with her uncle, and my smile when I’d replied that, of course I was, even though I honestly had no idea how much it was likely to cost.

  And so, my future bride set to work, with the help of my mother and my aunts, and between them and a few local tradesmen, they’ve managed to get it all done. And I know Amelie was extremely relieved that she’d decided to resign from her position at Hawker’s Aviation in the first week of January, because it meant she could devote her time to the house… well, and the wedding preparations, of course.

  Fortunately, my own work hasn’t been too busy since Christmas, and I’ve been able to spend my weekends here too, the only problem then being keeping my hands to myself whenever Amelie and I have been alone, although I’m glad now that I managed it, and that we waited. I think the wait made our honeymoon even more special. If that were possible.

  Climbing out of the car, I go around to Amelie’s side and open the door, offering her my hand, which she takes with a smile, as I raise her to her feet.

  She stands in front of me, my hands resting on her tiny waist. “Pleased to be home?” I ask.

  “Yes.” She tilts her head a little. “But only because you’ve got the weekend off. I’ve got used to having you around, Inspector Stone.” She smiles up at me, squinting slightly into the pale sunshine, and biting her bottom lip as I grin back, and then I bend down and lift her into my arms. She yelps. “What are you doing?”

  “Carrying you over the threshold, of course.”

  “Don’t you think you should unlock the door first?”

  She probably has a point, but I’m not about to be defeated and, crossing the narrow pavement, I nudge the gate open, remembering that I didn’t get around to fixing the latch before the wedding, and mentally reminding myself that I’ll try and get it done sometime next weekend. I won’t worry about it today, or tomorrow, because I’ve got my hands full… with my wife.

  “The keys are in my pocket,” I tell her as I walk up the short path to the front door. “Can you reach?”

  She leans back slightly, reaching behind her and into my jacket pocket, pulling out the keys and holding them up triumphantly.

  “Lovely, darling, but you’re going to have to open the door… My hands are otherwise occupied.”

  She giggles and I hold her still while she turns the key in the lock and I push the door open, letting us directly into the living room, the staircase right ahead of us.

  “Who lit the fire?” she asks and I turn, closing the door in the process and notice the logs burning in the grate, the metal guard surrounding it.

  “My mother, I assume.”

  She has a key, because we had to have the telephone connected in our absence and she agreed to let the engineer in and wait while the work was completed.

  “That’s kind of her,” Amelie replies. “I’ve been dreading coming home to a cold house.”

  “Well, I’d have found a way to warm you up,” I murmur and she giggles again as I lean down and kiss her, carrying her further into the room at the same time. She drops the keys onto the sofa and cups my face in her hands, kissing me back until we’re both breathless.

  “Gosh,” she says, as I straighten and slowly lower her to the floor, unbuttoning her coat and throwing it over the back of the couch. “You really meant it, didn’t you?”

  “Meant what?”

  “When you said that that coming home wouldn’t make any difference… that the honeymoon wouldn’t be over.”

  “The honeymoon will never be over,” I whisper, pulling her close to me. “Not as far as I’m concerned.” She smiles and pushes my jacket from my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, before she tugs my shirt from my trousers, slowly undoing the buttons, her eyes fixed on mine.

  I wait for her to finish, and then place my hands on the hem of her thin jumper, pulling it gently over her head, then reaching behind her, unfastening her skirt and allowing it to drop to her ankles. She’s wearing a full-length slip which I lift over her head, throwing it onto the chair by the window and sucking in a breath, unable to believe that it was only this morning that I watched her dress; only this morning that I held her naked in my arms…

  “Upstairs or down here?” I mutter, shrugging off my shirt completely and holding her close to me.

  She’s breathless, almost panting with desire, and looks up at me, her hands resting on my bare chest. “I don’t mind… anywhere… everywhere.”

  I smile, because I love her enthusiasm, and I take her hand, leading her around the sofa and sitting her down, kneeling before her, just as the telephone rings, its shrill chime echoing around the room, making Amelie jump. “Damn,” I murmur under my breath, then mouth, “Sorry,” to her, before I get up again and go across to the small shelf by the front door, picking up the receiver. “Hello. Stone here,” I bark.

  “Rufus?” I recognise the voice of Harry Thompson on the other end of the line.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he says quickly, as I feel my shoulders drop. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back yet, but I thought I’d give you a try.”

  “We’ve only just walked in the door. What’s wrong?” I can tell from his tone that something is.

  “We’ve got a dead body on our hands,” he replies.

  “A murder?” I ask, hoping I’m wrong in my assumption, just as I feel Amelie’s hands on my back, right before she leans into me, and I turn and put my free arm around her, letting her nestle against my chest.

  “I’m afraid so,” he says.

  “I thought the chief super was covering for me while I was on my honeymoon,” I point out, adding, “which I still am, until Monday morning.”

  “I know,” he replies, “but unfortunately the chief super has gone down with flu, along with half the station. We’ve got Tooley, myself, and about a dozen men left.” He sighs. “But I can handle it myself for the time being…” His voice fades.

  “No, it’s fine.” I glance down at Amelie and she looks up at me, then blinks a
few times and sighs, but manages a smile – just – and I kiss her forehead. “Where do you need me to be?” I ask Thompson.

  “The body is still in situ,” he says. “It’s in the graveyard of St Nicholas’ Church in Thames Ditton.”

  “Okay. Get yourself over there and make sure no-one moves it, or touches anything, before I arrive… and that includes Doctor Wyatt. I’ll be half an hour. I just need to… um…” I leave my sentence unfinished, unsure what to say next.

  “Get dressed?” he suggests, with a chuckle.

  I smile, but just respond with a, “No comment,” before hanging up. “I’m so sorry,” I say immediately, turning to Amelie and cupping her face in my hands.

  “What’s happened?” she asks, gazing up at me.

  “That was Thompson. There’s a dead body been found in the graveyard at the church in Thames Ditton.”

  “One that’s not meant to be there, I presume?” she asks.

  “I’m guessing so,” I reply and she nods. “I’m sorry,” I repeat, “but I’m going to have to go.”

  “Don’t apologise. I knew there would be times like this when I married you.”

  “Yes, but my job wasn’t supposed to interfere quite so early on… certainly not while we’re still officially on our honeymoon.”

  “It can’t be helped,” she replies, although I can hear the emotion in her voice.

  I lean down and kiss her, reminding myself to keep it brief, before leaning back. “We can carry on with this later,” I whisper, running my thumb along her bottom lip.

  “I hope so,” she replies, her eyes sparkling, and we stare at each other for a long moment, before she blinks, the action seeming to bring us back to reality. “I suppose we’d better unload the car, so that I can unpack,” she says.

  “That’s a good idea, but I think we should probably get dressed first, don’t you?”

  She giggles and I kiss her again, then release her and gather up our clothes, laying them on the back of the sofa, before I stop and look down at them.

  “Actually, I should probably go upstairs and put on a suit. If I’m going to have to work, I’d rather be dressed for the part. I’ll feel more comfortable.”

  Amelie smiles up at me as she pulls on her sweater and I lean down for one last kiss, before I go up the stairs, taking my shirt and grey tweed jacket with me.

  Our bedroom is at the front of the house and, like all of the rooms, is painted plain white, with a few of Aunt Dotty’s paintings dotted around to make it feel more homely. Mother has made us some lovely curtains to hang at the windows, which in here are white, with pale blue and pink flowers on them, and in the corner is a large walnut wardrobe, with two doors, either side of a full length mirror. My clothes hang on the right hand side, placed in here literally the day before the wedding, when Amelie and I moved our personal belonging in, despite the fact that we ourselves wouldn’t be taking up residence until today, and I open the door, pulling out a grey pinstripe suit and white shirt, laying them on the bed and adding a blue tie.

  I make short work of dressing, adding the cufflinks that Amelie bought me for Christmas, and a pair of black shoes, then I take my grey fedora from the shelf at the top of the wardrobe, before going back downstairs, where my bride is standing fully clothed now, over by the fire, waiting for me.

  “You look lovely,” she says, her eyes wandering over me.

  “So do you.” I drop my hat on the sofa and wander over to her, taking her in my arms. “Will you be all right by yourself?” She nods. “Make sure you eat something for lunch, won’t you?”

  “Yes. But I’ll have to go shopping first. We don’t have any food in the house, remember?”

  “Oh, God… so we don’t.”

  I take her hand and we wander together from the small sitting room, with its dark blue sofa, two occasional tables at either end, each supporting a shaded lamp, the matching chair by the window, and the small cabinet in the alcove by the fire, which houses the wireless, taking her through to the dining room, sparsely furnished at the moment, with just a rectangular dining table and four chairs – two on each side – and into the long, galley kitchen. In here, a cottage style window overlooks the side alleyway that eventually leads out to the small patch of lawn that qualifies as a back garden, the half-glazed door to which is covered with a black-out curtain. Down the left hand side of the narrow room there is a deep ceramic sink, beneath the window, and beyond that, are various cupboards, the tops of which provide some preparation space. On the right, a little further down from the sink, is the stove, and yet more cupboards. At the end of the room, is a closed door, which leads to the bathroom. The door to the larder, which is immediately to our right, is ajar, and I glance at Amelie, feeling curious, as I go over and open it completely.

  “Well, I’ll be…”

  “What is it?” She joins me and together we look at the shelves, which we left empty, but which now contain a few basics, including some milk, eggs, bread and cheese. “It doesn’t look like I’ll starve, does it?” Amelie smiles up at me. “It seems that your mother’s been at work again.”

  “Hmm, it looks that way, doesn’t it?” I turn to face her. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I think even I can manage to boil an egg, or make some cheese on toast,” she remarks, leaning into me. “But I’ll pop out to the shops first and make sure we’ve got something nice for dinner.”

  I pull my wallet from my inside pocket and hand her a couple of folded notes. “That should be enough, unless you’re planning a banquet.”

  She grins. “You should be so lucky.”

  “I am lucky,” I reply, kissing her forehead. “I’m the luckiest man in the world… because you’re my wife.”

  “I’ll remind you of that when I’m serving you something inedible later,” she replies, chuckling.

  “I won’t mind.”

  “I’ll remind you of that too… when you’ve wasted away.”

  I chuckle myself now. “I won’t waste away. And neither will you. Cooking really isn’t that hard, my darling. I promise.”

  “I’ll take your word for that.”

  We make our way back to the front of the house and I go outside, bringing in our cases, which I take upstairs, despite Amelie’s protests that she could manage that by herself. I leave my coat in the car, though, because I’ll need it later, and then pick up my hat from the sofa.

  “I wish I didn’t have to go,” I murmur, pulling Amelie close to me again, holding her in my arms and looking down at her.

  “So do I, but I’ve got plenty to do, and you’ll be busy too. The time will soon pass.” She sounds like she’s trying to put on a brave face, but I don’t remark on that for fear of upsetting her even more.

  “And then I’ll be home again,” I say instead.

  “And I can poison you with my cooking,” she jokes.

  “And I can take you to bed,” I reply and she sighs, smiling.

  “I think I prefer your idea to mine,” she murmurs.

  “On the whole… so do I.”

  I lean down and capture her lips with mine, leaving her breathless as I pull away and go out to the car. She stands on the doorstep, blowing me kisses and waving me goodbye and, while I’m still cursing the curtailing of our honeymoon, I’ll admit, there is something marvellously domesticated about all of this, which makes me smile to myself as I drive off down the road.

  I approach St Nicholas’ Church down Church Lane, parking my car beside one of two Wolseleys and putting on my overcoat, before walking the rest of the way to the graveyard, where my route is almost immediately blocked by a police constable I don’t recognise; a man probably ten or more years my senior, of medium height and build, with a scar on his chin.

  “You can’t come through here, son,” he says, standing upright, his hands behind his back as he rocks on the balls of his feet with a slightly arrogant expression on his face.

  “I think you’ll find I can,” I remark, and just before he starts
to argue with me, I show him my warrant card.

  He blanches and flusters, “Sorry, sir. I didn’t realise.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Constable. Just point me in the right direction, would you?”

  “Yes, sir. The body was found around the back of the church, past the main entrance. You’ll find your sergeant down there already.” He points along the footpath and I nod my head, making my way past the multitude of lichen covered gravestones until I come upon another constable, standing by a yew tree, who, upon sight of my warrant card, directs me towards the rear of the ancient flint and stone church, where I find Detective Sergeant Harry Thompson and yet another constable, both of them standing a short distance away from what appears to be the body of a young woman, lying on a patch of grass between the outer wall of the building, and a large tombstone that’s raised on a plinth and surrounded by wrought iron railings.

  “Good afternoon.” I announce myself and Thompson looks up, a smile forming on his lips.

  “Hello, sir,” he beams and I cringe slightly at his manner of address, although I understand why he’s used it, given that we’re not alone at present, even though we agreed that, whenever possible, he wouldn’t refer to me as ‘sir’ at all. “This is Constable Fellowes,” he adds, nodding to his companion. “He’s from the local station, and he was first on the scene.”

  I smile at Fellowes, a youngster of probably no more than twenty years of age, who’s holding his helmet under his arm, revealing very light blonde hair. His face is pale, but that’s hardly surprising, in the circumstances, and he greets me by raising his eyebrows, seemingly nervous, and clearly keen to avoid looking at the body, which is lying on its side, facing the church wall.

  “Who raised the alarm?” I ask as I approach them.

  “It was a woman from the village,” Fellowes replies, his voice deeper than I would have imagined for one so young. “The way she explained it to me was that she came here to lay some flowers on her husband’s grave, being as today’s his birthday… and she came round the back here to get some water from the tap to put into the vase.” He indicates off to his right, where there’s a standpipe by the back wall of the graveyard, then looks back at me. “And that’s when she saw the body.”