by Nicola Slade
‘Bother,’ I grumbled. ‘I was almost asleep then.’ I marshalled my thoughts and explained about the soft mud at the bottom of the ditch and the way Judith been lying face down. ‘Addy must have been on the spot very quickly, just before the fire alarm sounded. How did Judith injure the back of her head?’ I yawned. ‘There are no rocks down there, not even a pebble that she could have landed against. The only possible way she could have hurt her head like that is if someone hit her so that she fell.’
‘You should take up writing penny-dreadfuls,’ she suggested then apologised at once. ‘You already do, I’m sorry. You must admit that in real life it sounds far-fetched even though I agree it’s plausible the way you tell it.’
After Alix dropped off to sleep I lay awake, wondering why on earth I was being so stubborn about this, for despite Henry’s frank dismissal of my stumbling suggestion, and Alix’s wavering, I was convinced that Lt Trevelyan had not died naturally. I set out my theories. Major Larking disliked his sister-in-law but that was surely not enough to beat her about the head. If he had by chance become so incensed with her that he waved his stick in the air, accidentally knocking her off balance, I couldn’t imagine him walking callously away. For one thing, he was a hail-fellow-well-met kind of man, always the centre of an animated group, so he would not care to lose his reputation. He could simply have made a show of trying to rescue her after a bad fall.
Besides, even if he hated Judith, what possible reason could he have for helping a poor lost soul to escape a world that held so little for him? Nothing I had observed, or Alix and Henry had mentioned, gave any indication that Major Larking was a compassionate kind of man. Quite the opposite in fact. Alix said he was most unsympathetic.
Captain Halliday was another imponderable. Poor young Trevelyan had accused him of nameless crimes but despite that he might have a fellow feeling for such a tragic case and could have taken steps to help him. Even so, why on earth would he have attacked Judith? As Henry said, it’s hardly reasonable to hit a woman, just because she bores you.
Matron, though… I could imagine her taking it into her head that the injured boy made the place untidy and justifying her actions by knowing that death would come as a welcome oblivion. She had taken a dislike to Judith, too, but again that was hardly grounds for attacking her even if Judith was correct in thinking she had encountered Matron somewhere else. There’d been no suggestion that the circumstances of that occasion, if it had in fact occurred, had been anything other than respectable. Matron would have to be raving mad to attack someone in cold blood. I didn’t particularly like her but I didn’t think she was a madwoman.
There was still that sense of unease stemming from our night shift up at the Hall. I’d been more than a little scared by all the groans and screams, as well as the occasional wanderer who would pace up and down in a vain attempt to dull the pain. What was it that kept tugging me back to that night? I wished, how I wished, that I’d done a more thorough check just before we left for home but I’d done no more than glance through Lt Trevelyan’s curtain and, seeing him apparently asleep at last, had decided to let sleeping dogs lie. Could I have saved him? Was there something I could have done or was he already dead by then?
I kept coming back to Matron, Major Larking and Lt Halliday but could make no sense of it.
I yawned again, scolded myself for my nonsense, and slid over to put my cold feet on Alix’s back, happy that I was safe and loved and that nobody was likely to want to put an end to my existence.
Well, that was a mistake. I think the word I’m looking for is “hubris” because far from being safe, I was soon to find myself facing a loaded pistol.
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday, 17th March – morning
‘I’m taking the morning off,’ I announced at breakfast time. ‘I feel an urge to go to church today; one of us ought to represent the family and it’ll impress the lodgers. I’ll help wash up and make beds before I go.’
‘Rather you than me,’ Alix looked at me with narrowed eyes. Addy was scornful. She has decided to be a Rationalist and sniffs at traditional beliefs but Granny was pleasantly surprised and said in that case she would stay at home to see to the luncheon and get on with her knitting. I probably looked as guilty as I felt, though I did intend to go to Morning Service at the Priory. My true motive for going into town was to look for our errant father and I suspected he too might decide on church, if only because the pubs would be closed and it would be warmer than the Fishing Lodge, if that was his hiding place. Papa, eternally on the lookout for opportunity, had always liked the Priory anyway, preferring it to the other local churches because of the wealth and status of much of the congregation. I suspect he also felt it provided a suitable backdrop to his own larger-than-life personality.
Of course, if I did happen to spot a burly, silver-haired gentleman and he turned out to be nothing like Papa at close quarters, perhaps Alix and I could breathe again though I doubted it. Even if I had been imagining Papa, there was still the disturbing American whom Addy had dubbed “half-man, half-badger”.
Fortunately the weather cheered up and the sun was actually shining by the time I set out for the service at ten o’clock. Most people who live our side of the river, including the staff and patients at Groom Hall, attend the small church at Alderman’s End, up past the farm, but like Papa, we have always been High Church so it was the Priory for me. As I skirted the green that surrounded the famous Font – an ancient, natural spring – I kept an eye open for the Badger Man. There was no sign of him but I did notice several smart spring hats, in spite of the War, and wished I could afford a substitute for my blue velvet tammy. However, as Granny has always taught us, kind hearts are more than coronets, and honest toil is good for the soul. How would it be, I wondered, to sample something more in the way of a coronet and a few ill-gotten goods that arrived without toil? The thought of Papa intruded and I shivered at the idea that he might, even now, be lurking nearby and about to wreak havoc on our hard-won security.
It seemed sensible to find an inconspicuous seat near the back of the church and I bent my head in earnest prayer. ‘Please, God,’ I whispered fervently. ‘Let us keep safe. I’d be happy for Papa to be alive, we did love him in spite of everything, but please, please, don’t let him destroy our quiet lives. Not now, Bertie…’
I sat up, looked discreetly round at the congregation and met the dark, startled eyes of a gentleman two rows behind me, on the other side of the aisle.
Papa! I almost had a heart attack. It was him, it really, really was, for Heaven’s sake! What is more, he recognised me and nodded slightly after the first shock, which meant I was on tenterhooks in case he tried to leave and had to turn round whenever I heard any movement.
The rest of the service was sheer torture but fortunately the vicar is a poor preacher and knows it, so he gives us only a ten-minute sermon and gallops through the hymns in order to collapse in the vestry with the glass of sherry that his curate holds ready for him. This ritual is known to the entire town but nobody has the heart to mention it because his timetable is universally popular. Gentlemen can go home full of virtue and relax over a sherry themselves, ladies can order luncheon safe in the knowledge that it will not be spoiled, and the choirboys have no time to get fidgety.
As the closing hymn came to an end and the vicar started to look restive, I slipped out of my seat and made my way to the door where I could quietly accost my father, as well as keep an eye on any move he might make should he decide to try to avoid me.
For once in my life I was not disappointed in Papa, who paused to admire a particularly ugly gargoyle as he strolled past me.
‘The coffee room in The Blue Boar is pleasant enough,’ he said as though making an idle comment on the masonry. ‘Ladies are welcome.’
I nodded, not at all fazed by the cloak and dagger performance. Papa, a consummate actor, should have gone on the stage where he would have made a fortune and earned himself a knighthood. I followed hi
m at a discreet distance, buoyed up by the feeling of well-being that always comes from spending time in church when you are possessed of a relatively clear conscience. I wondered whether Papa could say the same.
Outside The Blue Boar Hotel I straightened my tammy and cast an anxious look up and down the street. I had no desire to be seen by anyone who might know me. The coast was clear so I held my head high and walked into the room which, thankfully, looked so stuffily respectable that I was reassured. Not a single head was raised to look at me, including that of a silver-haired gentleman who sat near the door to the back yard. Typical Papa, I thought, stifling a reluctant grin. I could see that he had his exits marked and at the slightest sign of trouble, would be out of the place like a shot.
All the tables were occupied so I was able to saunter quite naturally over to Papa’s table and ask, in a politely bored voice, ‘Do excuse me, is this seat free?’
He rose, gave a half bow and pulled out a chair. I sat down as the waiter came to take my order.
‘Just coffee, thank you,’ I said, conscious that might need to leave in a hurry. I did briefly wonder whether reaction and rage would set in later, but at that moment I felt eerily calm.
‘Well, Christy,’ said my formerly dead but now surprisingly resurrected father. ‘You’re looking prosperous.’
I hastened to convince him otherwise lest he try to touch me for a loan. ‘It’s an illusion, Papa. You should know that better than anyone. Why are you here?’
‘Always to the point, eh?’ He sighed extravagantly and gazed at me with spaniel eyes. ‘Just like your Granny. I suppose you’re a trifle annoyed with me?’
‘Just a trifle, Papa,’ I admitted. ‘I had much rather not have seen you. In fact I’d much rather you had remained drowned. Come to think of it, why aren’t you drowned?’
‘Ah well…’ He had a reminiscent smile that made me want to slap him. ‘They gave the order to abandon ship and I had a brainwave. What if I should leave my passport in my coat pocket and drop it into a lifeboat? I’m a good swimmer so it was worth a chance. With any luck it would be discovered and poor Mr Fyttleton declared drowned.
‘It worked perfectly,’ he said, looking smug. ‘I found a lifebelt and dropped the coat into the first boat I saw, then jumped into the sea. That was where I had my only spot of ill luck for I banged my head on some floating wreckage as I came up to the surface. I learned afterwards that there’d been rich pickings to be had where First-Class passengers had left everything behind in their cabins, but I’d had no intention of hanging about on a sinking ship.’
He heaved a pensive sigh and continued. ‘When I came to I was in a bed, attended by a beautiful young Irish nurse. She asked my name and I pretended I’d lost my memory at first then came up with a plain, ordinary name which suited my purpose at the time. The long and the short of it is that I was taken up by an elderly American gentleman whose valet had drowned and who needed an assistant. At least, that’s what he called it; a better name would have been nursemaid.’
As I drank my coffee I tried and failed to envisage Papa performing the duties of valet and nurse but it seemed he had been a success. Or so he said. I reminded myself to take a very large pinch of salt with his every utterance.
‘Mr… ah, better you don’t know, my dear,’ said my father with one of his limpid, innocent smiles. ‘He wanted to return to America at once and that suited me because when I’d had to leave in a hurry, never mind why, I’d made provision for my eventual return. Here’s a tip, Christy: always make sure you know where to find the nearest pawnbroker.’
I ignored his mischievous wink. ‘When did you come back to England?’
‘About a month ago,’ he said. ‘It took me all that time to make my way across America, for my employer lived in Texas and refused to go back to the East coast, saying it was unlucky for him. Still,’ he said callously, ‘Texas wasn’t too lucky either, as he died there last year. I worked my way across the country and finally reached that New York pawnbroker.’
‘And retrieved a certain gold nugget?’ I asked and had the satisfaction of seeing him blanch. ‘We’ve recently been visited by a Mr Mervyn G Welter who wishes urgently to meet you once more.’
He swore under his breath and shot a hunted stare round the room. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘What could we tell him, Papa? Only that you’d been dead for nearly three years, but he refused to believe us. He did, however, tell us just why he was looking for you and why it had taken him so long to come after you. He was unavoidably detained elsewhere, he said.’
‘That blackguard,’ muttered Papa. ‘He has no title to that, er…’ he broke off abruptly. ‘Is he staying here in Ramalley?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ I replied. ‘I can only pray that he is not.’ I looked at the clock on the wall and picked up my bag and gloves, then I hesitated. I might never see him again. I doubted it, bad penny and all that, but there was something only he could tell me.
‘Before I go, will you tell me one thing, Papa, and try to tell the truth, for once?’ I had little hope that this would ever happen but I might glean a few clues amid Papa’s embroidery.
‘You little minx,’ he looked surprised but smiled at me. ‘We can but try. What is it you want to know?
‘Do we have any right at all to the Fyttleton name, or is that one of your fictions?’
‘Well, now…’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘That wasn’t what I was expecting at all.’
I waited, wondering what he thought I should have asked. He clearly considered whether to give me a straight answer – I dismissed that idea at once. Or perhaps to lie outright? Or some approximation of the truth.
‘Very well,’ he made up his mind. ‘It’s not an interesting tale, you know, Christabel. There are no warming-pan babies or pirates or anything other than dull respectability.’ He heaved a sigh then his eyes brightened. ‘Apart from a distressing lapse in my father’s extreme youth, that is.’
Years of practice made me sit up and look admiring. I really wanted to know about this.
‘He was a pious old fraud.’ Papa pursed his lips and I thought there was a ring of true feeling there. ‘We lived just outside Bath and Father was the vicar. Imagine me, a clergy brat! He married late in life and I only learned quite what a hypocrite he was when my ancient grandmother was on her death-bed.
‘Apparently, when Father was about seventeen – this was before Victoria came to the throne, you know – he became entangled with a young housemaid and Grandmother boasted that she had trumped up a charge of theft to get rid of the girl. Her mind was failing when she told me but she laughed when she recalled that the girl was packed off to the colonies, the usual punishment for theft in those days.’
‘That’s dreadful, Papa,’ I interrupted him, forgetting my resolution not to disapprove, and he looked half-way sincere for once.
‘I hung around until Grandmother died because she had promised to leave me her jewellery. However, my mother interfered and insisted that the jewels were hers and to hush my nonsense, so I pocketed the lot, along with as much money and portable valuables as I could find lying about the Vicarage. I saddled up Father’s best hunter and set off to seek my fortune.’
‘How old were you, Papa?’ I wasn’t sure how much I believed but the story was plausible. I was upset at the thought of that poor young servant, tricked and abandoned. I wonder how she fared in the Colonies?
‘Sixteen, nearly seventeen.’ He made a face but his eyes were dancing. ‘I’d arrived home from school two days before Grandmother died and I left directly after the funeral. It seemed sensible to leave before my father discovered I’d been expelled from yet another school.’
Shades of Addy! I let a slight primness shadow my face I knew he would expect that. ‘And the Fyttleton name?’
‘I saw a signpost to a village called Fittleton,’ he shrugged. ‘Somewhere near Salisbury, I think. It was spelled with an ‘i’ and had a ring to it but needed polish so I inserted a ‘y’. A b
aronial sort of touch, I always thought and it certainly impressed the circles I moved in later on.’ He looked reflective. ‘You needn’t worry, Christy. Your mother and I were married as Fyttletons and you girls were registered and baptised as such. You’ve as much right to that name as to any other.’
We sat in silence while I wondered if there was an iota of truth in his tale or whether he had composed it on the spur of the moment. I remembered all the worries awaiting me at home and, for a fleeting moment, wondered what it would be like to run away with my father. To abandon all responsibilities in favour of a carefree life.
Papa was stroking his chin, something I recognised from my earliest childhood. It meant he was scheming so my momentary fantasy vanished. He was right. I am just like Granny, which means I’m quite incapable of deserting my family. As I watched his shoulders relax he gave me that sentimental spaniel smile of his.
‘I heard about Bertie,’ he said softly, crocodile tears gleaming in his dark brown eyes. ‘It broke my heart, my poor brave boy.’
‘Don’t you dare mention his name,’ I hissed in a furious undertone as I jumped to my feet. ‘You weren’t fit to black his boots when he was alive and you’re never to speak of him again. You’re a disgrace to fathers everywhere. I’m leaving, and you needn’t worry; your shameful secret is safe with me. I shan’t mention this meeting to anyone, not Mr Mervyn G Welter if I bump into him, and certainly not to the family. As far as I’m concerned you can stay dead and good riddance.’
The tide of rage I had anticipated, carried me half-way across the bridge towards home before it occurred to me that I hadn’t asked whether he’d been in the park on Friday afternoon. For a moment I thought I should run back to him, but common sense told me that much as I might wish it, Papa was unlikely to stay dead for long if there was something he needed from us. That something, I thought, recalling his slight air of shabbiness, would inevitably be money. Something we could not, and would not, let him have.