Haverscroft

by S. A. Harris

  Shirley tuts and starts to pick up plates, piling them in the sink.

  ‘Then Richard Denning spoke to me a few weeks back. He said the old lady was short of money and she shouldn’t have been. He wanted to know where it’d all gone.’

  ‘Did he know then, about the fraud?’

  Whittle is shaking, his face pale and sweating.

  ‘I don’t know, but he was suspicious, asking too many questions. Lyle says if I tell anyone about the land going to him on the cheap I’ll go down with him. I should’ve said something years back, when I first knew what Lyle was up to. He wants the house, you see, always has.’

  ‘If you’d spoken up right away Richard might still be here.’ Shirley glares at Whittle, her eyes bright. She picks up the last dirty plate and turns to the sink. ‘He’ll be greatly missed. He was a better man than most, so he was.’

  Whittle gives me a sideways glance. He looks utterly miserable.

  ‘Old Lyle couldn’t believe it when Mrs Havers moved into Fairfields and still didn’t sell the house. He got impatient, he wanted it straight away and said he’s entitled to it, you see.’

  ‘How?’ I say, looking between Mr Whittle and Shirley. ‘Because he bought the land?’

  ‘He says that he’s Edward Havers’ son. Illegitimate, but all the same, he’s got a right to the place.’ Whittle raises his eyebrows, turns the glasses between his fingers. ‘It annoyed the old girl, making claims like that.’

  ‘Mrs Havers has a reputation to maintain,’ I say, sending Shirley a flat smile.

  ‘Lyle wanted me to say the place was about to fall down and to get shot of it quick. I, well, I just wasn’t any good at that sort of thing. The old girl knew I was lying. I’d no stomach for it, to tell you the truth.’

  Mr Whittle looks at me properly for the first time since he arrived. ‘She even thought there was some trickery in you and your husband buying it from her. She thought you were buying on Lyle’s behalf.’

  ‘He’s obsessive about the place. He has to have it at all costs.’ Shirley reaches across the table and takes my hand. ‘I was so worried when we heard he was with you at the station.’

  I squeeze her fingers. ‘Shirley, I’m just fine, really I am.’

  She looks at Whittle and again I can’t interpret their expressions.

  ‘Lyle was going to speak to Denning, tell him to mind his own business, right worked up about it he was. He went over to Denning’s boat first thing yesterday morning.’

  We sit in silence, the only sound is Mr Whittle’s wheezy breathing. Not used to running, his lungs must have had an extraordinary shock this evening.

  ‘You know Richard Denning’s been unwell, don’t you?’ I glance between Shirley and Whittle. ‘I’d wait to see what the post-mortem says before drawing too many conclusions.’

  ‘Do you think I’ll go to jail, Kate? I don’t think I’d cope with that.’

  Shirley stands and turns to the sink, her back to us, shoulders hunched. Whittle looks at her and fiddles with his glasses, his fingers shaking.

  ‘I don’t really know. Mark will tell you, it’s what he does. Lyle will certainly go inside, he’ll lose everything. The land will get taken as proceeds of crime and he’ll get struck off as a solicitor.’

  Shirley sits back at the table, her face pale and strained. Despite her anger at Jerry Whittle, she’s clearly concerned for him.

  ‘No wonder he’s desperate.’ Shirley’s looking at Whittle.

  ‘Go over to Haverscroft first thing before Mark heads off for London. He’ll be able to tell you what to expect at the police station and what the likely outcome will be.’ I stand and pick up my bag. ‘By then the police will probably have the post-mortem results as well.’

  ‘You’re not going yet, love. The taxi won’t be many more minutes.’

  ‘I can’t wait, Shirley. I’ve waited too long as it is.’

  ‘Jerry, you walk back with her, speak to her husband about it all if he’s awake.’ Shirley’s on her feet tugging the sleeve of Whittle’s jacket.

  The estate agent’s head is bowed, shaking from side to side. I don’t think Whittle will be much use if we do bump into Oliver Lyle, or anyone else for that matter. I head for the door, Shirley’s quick footsteps at my back along the narrow hall. She pulls back the chain, top bolt and unlocks the door.

  ‘Fetch the children back here, Kate.’ I step past her onto the doorstep. ‘Be careful love, won’t you?’

  The street is empty, dark and alive with shifting shadows. I glance back at Shirley, her brightly-lit hall, Jerry Whittle sitting at the kitchen table, watching. I should wait for the taxi and take Whittle with me, but I dare not lose another second. I pull Shirley into a hug.

  ‘Thank you for everything, Shirley. Go back inside, don’t get cold. I’ll be just fine.’

  Chapter 32

  Tuesday 2nd November, 5:32am

  A dark, deserted high street. The only thread of light spilling across the frozen pavement comes from an upper-casement window of Lovett and Lyle Solicitors. A silver estate car is parked close to the railings.

  I turn left, run away from the solicitor’s office and head towards the church at the end of the street. My footsteps ring in the still air, murmuring in doorways, whispering behind me. My eyes search each shop entrance as I tear past. I glance over my shoulder. I’m being stupid, there’s no one hiding, jumping into my path. No sign of Oliver Lyle. Frosty air burns my lungs, rasps cold in my throat. I jog into the lane, drop my pace and tuck my chin deeper into my scarf. I’ve let Shirley and Mr Whittle, the empty isolation of this place, unnerve me. It’s only ten, maybe eleven minutes’ brisk walk from Shirley’s to Haverscroft. I’ve covered it in half that time, even Tom will be impressed.

  High hedges kill the moonlight as I pick my way past the church. Icy puddles skid and crack beneath my boots, my breath puffs hot and damp against the woollen scarf. The graveyard is black. I fix my eyes straight ahead and don’t allow them to find a shadow, a yew tree moving in the wind, a night creature prowling. If the twins were here, I’d reassure them that nothing hides behind the headstones, nothing to fear other than their own imagination.

  Haverscroft is lost to the darkness, the twins in there somewhere. I picture them in my mind and keep moving forward, one step after another. They’ll be sleeping, night lights on. I hope they’re with Mark, or together in Sophie’s bed, Blue Duck keeping them safe. The moon slips into cloud. I stop, try to make out any shape to guide me towards the house. I’m at the top of the driveway staring up into a cold sky patched with pockets of stars and streaked with cloud. The moon’s not coming back anytime soon. It was stupid not to have stayed on at Shirley’s and wait for the taxi. I can’t turn back, not now. Mrs Havers’ instruction to leave without delay rings in my head. I have to get the twins.

  A shriek, sharp and primeval, makes my heart thud harder. A fox most likely, from the direction of the graveyard. We laughed the first night here, spooked by similar screams. Now I don’t feel so brave. All Whittle’s talk about land sales and Lyle’s dodgy dealings unsettles me. I’ve no idea how we afforded Haverscroft, what we paid for it, what our London home sold for. I don’t know why Mark refuses to get the roof repaired. My husband always played straight, that’s one of the things I loved most about him when we first met. It made life simple, or so I thought. Usually I’d be certain Mark wasn’t involved with Lyle. But lately, I wonder if I really know my own husband. What he’s been up to, what he might be capable of.

  I have to keep moving. I try to follow the tyre tracks churned into the driveway as it slopes and spirals away from the lane towards Haverscroft. A red glow rises in front of the house, deepening the closer I get, window frames, the front door and steps picked out. Apprehension tightens in my chest. I turn the bend in the drive, feet stumbling on uneven, frozen ground. A taxi waits, tail-lights blaring a warning into the night
. The engine hums, a miasma of exhaust fumes behind it. What is it doing here, is someone leaving? Is Mark taking the twins to his mother’s after all?

  Light chinks through gaps in the kitchen blinds, the rest of the house in darkness. No sign of the Audi. Shirley thought Mark was staying here, for now at least, with the children. Even so, my chest tightens another notch. He knows I’m friendly with Shirley, would he lie to her if he intended taking the children away?

  I run the final few yards, at last able to see enough to move without fear of tripping. The overstuffed skip has been replaced by a smaller, empty one, the Armstrong Siddeley parked where the gravel slopes up to meet the lawn. The car’s larger than I imagined, the sweep of the coachwork from wing to slim running board accentuates its length. A tall grill, rusted and bent, must once have been elegant. The car that killed Mrs Havers’ children. Despite all that’s gone on, Mark’s still found time to have it towed from the garage. I can hardly believe it.

  The taxi driver hunches low in the cab, his eyes watching my approach in the wing mirror. His window winds down a fraction as I come alongside.

  ‘Are you going in the house?’

  His voice is full of irritation. I nod and stop beside the vehicle, my breath clouding in front of me. I’m relieved he’s not the cabbie from earlier.

  ‘Who are you waiting for?’

  ‘No idea. A guy called to pick up a fare from Haverscroft House. This the right place?’

  I nod again, glance up the steps, the front door, closed. No sign of activity.

  ‘I’ve been here ten minutes or more already. Blasted the horn twice. I can’t wait all night.’

  5:41am on the taxi’s dashboard.

  ‘Hang on,’ I say, ‘I’ll find out what’s happening for you.’

  Whatever is going on here? I jog up the front steps, my hands shake as I root through my bag and find my keys. I need a clear head, to be calm and rational. I take a breath, put my key into the lock. It won’t turn. I try several times, rattle the key and put my shoulder to the door. Has Mark changed the locks?

  I stop, how stupid. I must calm down, the door isn’t locked. Mark’s leaving so he hasn’t locked the place up as I do before bed. I try the handle, it turns easily but the door won’t budge, stuck yet again. Shirley would have this open in a second. I lift the handle and put my shoulder to the woodwork. The door stays shut. I reach for the knocker. The door rattles and shakes, stops me dead in my tracks. Someone inside trying to open the door. Mark must have heard me. Swollen and sticking, it shakes again, the brass knocker clatters. The door jerks open.

  Chapter 33

  Tuesday 2nd November, 5:46am

  I stare in astonishment. The very last person I would expect to see here stares back at me. It would be usual to speak, to say something, but words fail me. I’d assumed only Mark would be home.

  ‘Good gracious! We were just talking about you. Come in, come in before we all freeze to death!’

  I step over the threshold and stand on the door mat gaping at three people staring back at me. The surprise on their faces is nothing compared to the astonishment I’m feeling.

  She raises her stick and waves it towards the taxi. ‘Wait right there, young man, I won’t keep you a moment.’

  I can’t move from the doormat, she’s blocking my way into the house.

  ‘Are you all right, Kathrine? What a dreadful business this has been. Utterly ridiculous the police keeping you like that. Quite absurd. I told them so myself.’

  I stare at her, at my husband standing behind her. Why would he be entertaining any visitors at this time of the morning, let alone Alan Wynn and Mrs Havers?

  ‘Are the police finished with you?’

  I look into her face. ‘I didn’t kill Richard Denning, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘No, no, of course not!’ She glances over her shoulder at the two men behind her and taps her stick on the tiles, her eyes bright beneath the rim of her hat.

  On the landing, a soft green light glows faintly from one end. No Sophie spying between the spindles. No Tom shivering at the top of the stairs. But the nightlight is on.

  I look beyond her, at Mark. ‘Are the twins okay?’

  ‘They’re just fine, Kate. Asleep in bed.’

  Mark’s voice is flat with exhaustion, his face grey. He looks so much more like his father, a worn version of the man I married. I can’t begin to imagine how I must look.

  ‘I’m very sorry about Richard Denning, Mrs Havers, but why are you here?’

  ‘I should have come sooner, spoken more frankly when I was here with you and your mother-in-law. I’m here on Richard’s mission.’

  Her voice is higher than usual, she stops speaking abruptly and looks back at Mark and Alan Wynn standing shoulder to shoulder. The kitchen door is open, light spilling through into the hall.

  ‘There’s rather a lot to explain. It all takes so much longer than one thinks. Have you read my letter?’

  ‘I read it on my way here.’ My tone is short and snappy. I no longer care if this woman finds me rude.

  ‘Then you know I must trouble you for a short while longer.’ She turns away from me and walks past Mark and Alan Wynn. ‘The morning-room fire may need a little something, it was getting quite low a few moments ago.’

  Mark is looking agitated, clearly expecting me to do something but I have no idea what. ‘Mrs Havers has been waiting in the morning room for you Kate, for some time.’

  I hurry across the hall and catch up with Mrs Havers. ‘I’ve had an extremely long and trying day, Mrs Havers. I’m here to collect my children and then head straight to Shirley’s and to bed. Perhaps I can call at Fairfield this afternoon or sometime later this week?’

  I lay my hand on her arm, she pauses and looks at me, then moves forwards again.

  ‘I must speak with you now, Katherine, it’s quite imperative, there must be no further delay.’

  Her progress is slow but steady. She grabs the doorjamb as she steps across the threshold into the morning room. Short of manhandling her, how do I make her leave?

  ‘Well, I must shoot off.’ I glance back towards the front door, Alan Wynn smiles at me and I realise I have no idea why he is here. ‘I have a christening in the middle of the day and must get my head down before then. We’ve agreed I’ll call by late afternoon, Kate, if that’s okay with you?’

  Mrs Havers stands on the threshold of the morning room waiting for my reply. Her navy blue coat has shiny gold-coloured buttons down its front, her brooch pinned to its lapel. A silk scarf in cream, red and navy is tied at its neck.

  ‘We have a plan in place,’ she says. ‘One that will work this time, I think, if you are prepared to try it. Reverend Wynn here,’ she waves her stick towards Alan, ‘has offered, very kindly, to have you all stay while he sorts out . . . what is here. So much more room than at Shirley Cooper’s. I will let the gentlemen explain. Do please excuse me but my knees have been dreadful in this damp weather, I really must sit down.’

  She heads into the morning room and I look back helplessly at Mark. He looks furious.

  ‘Let’s sit in the kitchen for a second,’ he says, heading off without waiting for a reply.

  I watch Mrs Havers for a moment. One of the kitchen chairs is in front of the hearth, our low coffee table cluttered with cups, glasses and a teapot. My husband has been quite the host in my absence. I glance at the landing, all is quiet, the glow from the children’s night-lights still there. I look back at Alan. He smiles and extends his hand towards the kitchen door.

  Mark stands with his back to the stove looking as irritated as hell, Alan sits himself at the table.

  ‘We thought it better to fill you in sooner rather than later,’ says Alan. ‘You know what gossip is like in the village, and it’s easy to get the wrong end of things.’

  ‘I’ve certainly got that
lately,’ I say, trying to smile and ease the tension. ‘Why is Mrs Havers here?’

  ‘She didn’t like Lyle representing you.’ Mark at last looks me fully in the face, he crosses the kitchen and closes the kitchen door. ‘I told her I’d been to the station, but you’d already instructed Lyle, so I couldn’t interfere.’

  ‘He was the duty solicitor tonight, but he’s the last person I wanted. I didn’t know you were at the station, Mark.’

  I sink into Mum’s sofa, drop my bag at my feet and realise just how exhausted I am.

  ‘I went straight there from London, what else would I do? I came back here after I’d spoken to one of the DCIs. They said they were just after a statement from you and that there was nothing to worry about. You’d taken some medication and were doing okay.’ Mark looks at me. ‘I thought you’d be fine so I picked the kids up from Shirley Cooper.’

  ‘And Riley?’

  ‘I put him outside when Mrs Havers got here. He barks incessantly at the woman.’

  Mark walks to the sink and runs hot water on to a multitude of mugs, plates and pans. I should point out we have a dishwasher.

  ‘Mrs Havers wasn’t entirely making sense when she descended on me at the Rectory, but the real reason she’s here is something altogether different.’ Alan looks at my angry husband, then back to me. ‘She said you’d be interested to hear about her nephew, Kate.’

  Alan smiles again. I’m glad he’s here, it’s difficult to fight with a Reverend in the room. Alan’s looking at Mark piling dirty crockery into the sink.

  ‘You remember after Dad died, Mother and I did a bit of research into the family tree?’ Mark says.

  I recollect Jennifer’s excitement as they pored over websites and old papers together.

  ‘It was kind of therapeutic when we’d just lost Dad. I knew he’d been adopted and assumed it wouldn’t be easy to find much out. It turns out he’d gone looking for his birth family before. He already had legal papers and letters and knew he was born here as Frederick Havers.