Harriet found herself smiling back. She offered Carine a wine gum.
It took several minutes to settle into the carriage. The five of them were in a carriage for six. Harriet sat by the window, Derek seated beside her. Opposite Harriet sat Tobias Murchison, Carine beside him, and Rita Rufus next to Carine.
The Murchisons had a large portmanteau which Tobias did not allow into the luggage van. It was too big for the rack and had to be stood on end.
The stationmaster blew his whistle. The train pulled out of the station.
Mr Murchison lit a cigarette.
Rita arranged the woven stole across her knees, gazed briefly and admiringly at her own toes, and produced a newspaper. Before turning her attention to the newsprint, she made an announcement.
‘We are a mixed bunch. An usherette, a young newspaperman, a superb studio photographer, watercolourist and versifier and …’ she hesitated, ‘and her husband.’
Tobias Murchison glared, but Rita Rufus was unaware of this because Carine sat between them. Harriet smiled. Since he had given her a tour of Carine’s darkroom, Harriet had developed a confused and uncomfortable feeling about Mr Tobias Murchison.
Derek leaned across and said something to Carine, about her canvas bag.
He lifted it onto the luggage rack. ‘Safely stowed, Mrs Murchison.’
She smiled. ‘Derek, first name terms! It’s Carine, as you well know. All friends in the eye of the camera.’
Harriet had noticed before that Carine had a perfect face and smiled a great deal. A person could not help but like her. She would have to be the most patient and kind woman to put up with that husband. Harriet shuddered. How would a person know, when she married, what a man might turn out to be like? They might start off young and handsome and turn into a horrible boorish pig, though that would be unkind to pigs. Carine was a saint to be so nice to Tobias.
When Harriet had asked her auntie about the funeral for Carine’s father, Auntie Kate had hesitated before she answered. ‘It was well attended.’
‘Was Carine very upset?’
‘She seemed so. Carine has unexpected inner strength and reserves. She is a remarkable woman.’
Auntie Kate changed the subject then, and Harriet wondered if that was because of something she did not want to say. On the other hand, perhaps Auntie Kate thought Harriet might remember back to when her father died, as if she could ever forget. Auntie Kate had come to see them. She came to find things out, so at least they knew. Or, Harriet did. Austin had been too young to understand.
There was an odd, unsettling atmosphere in the railway carriage. Perhaps because they were, as Rita said, a mixed bunch.
Carine tried to put everyone at their ease, saying that they must all be thrilled for her because her contract with the greetings card company had been renewed. This weekend, she would photograph wildflowers, moss and heather, and from these she would create her images for the greetings cards.
She insisted that everyone divulge their plans, teasing her husband and saying she knew he wanted to be secretive, so he would be excused. She kissed Tobias’s cheek and said his secret was safe with her.
What a knack Carine has for making us comfortable with ourselves, Harriet thought. They all shared their plans. Rita’s was to take no photographs at all, except in her mind’s eye. She instead offered to be the model for anyone who wanted a figure in their picture.
Harriet wiped her hand across the steam on the carriage window and looked out. There was not much to see. Factories, mills, smoke.
Carine leaned back and closed her eyes. She had long lashes like those on an expensive doll in the County Arcade toyshop.
Harriet decided she must be mistaken about Derek. He and she always chatted when she tore his cinema ticket. They liked to talk. Twice he waited for her and walked her home, because they had more to say about the picture. He couldn’t fall for an elderly doll.
She would give him another chance.
‘There’s a picture house in Haworth and one in Keighley.’
‘I suppose there would be.’
‘We could find out what’s showing.’
He nodded. ‘We could.’
She had thought he was like her, wanting to go to the pictures all the time.
She asked him what he hoped to photograph over the weekend.
Derek’s replies were so brief that she gave up. After that, he did not so much as glance at her. His gaze was permanently fixed on the supposedly sleeping Carine.
Harriet knew Carine was not asleep. Her head would loll or her mouth open. She was pretending.
Tobias Murchison brought a silver flask from his inside pocket and took a sip.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, there was what people call ‘an atmosphere’.
Harriet looked out of the window again. She could see the reflection of the three people opposite: Carine feigning sleep; Rita’s and Carine’s hands touching; Tobias staring across at Derek with a look of pure hatred.
They arrived at Keighley, where they were to change trains. Derek jumped up and opened the carriage door. He climbed out first, so as to give a hand to Rita, and then Carine. Harriet expected he would not give her a hand, but he did. So did Tobias Murchison, from behind, and not the kind of hand she welcomed.
Tobias looked for a porter to bring the big portmanteau.
‘What about your luggage?’ Carine asked Harriet.
‘Auntie Kate arranged for it to be delivered to Ponden Hall.’
‘Oh, good!’ Rita had stepped back from reading the timetable. ‘There’s time for me to buy wellington boots before the Haworth train leaves. A walker friend advised me to bring stout footwear. Don’t go without me!’
Carine hurried after her. ‘If you’re having wellington boots, so am I.’
Harriet knew that wellington boots did not count as stout footwear. Her own boots were safely packed. She did not intend to hang about with Derek and Tobias Murchison. Let them keep each other company. They looked ridiculous, side by side. Murchison was big, broad and bloated. Derek was so skinny that the gust of a passing train might knock him off his feet.
They were ignoring her anyway. Derek was looking up at Mr Murchison, telling him a story about a car sending him flying on Albion Street. ‘It was a car very much like yours, Mr Murchison.’
Harriet went to wait for the Haworth train. She sat on a bench next to a sad-looking old man who nursed a Cairn terrier. The little dog dribbled onto his master’s sleeve. He spoke to it in a consoling voice.
‘Is your dog poorly?’ Harriet asked.
‘Bless you, no, lass. He’s as well as you or I, but he likes to know that all is well and all manner of things are well, especially when he is travelling.’
As they left the train at Haworth station, a brass band played. For a mad moment, Harriet thought that this must have been laid on by Auntie Kate. It turned out that there were important people arriving. Two motor cars waited for them. The important people climbed into the cars which drove off at a funeral pace behind the town band.
Harriet, Rita and Derek all stood on the kerb, watching the band and the cars wind their way out of sight.
What now, Harriet thought. She had copied her auntie and carried a satchel. It held comb, purse, diary, pencil and a copy of Jane Eyre. She had reached the point where Jane Eyre knew that her only course was to leave Thornfield Hall and seek a new kind of servitude. Harriet was very glad that times had changed, and that she could work at the café and be an usherette. Life would have been so much brighter for Jane had she been able to go to the pictures.
Rita was wearing her wellington boots and held onto her carpet bag into which she had squeezed the brown paper parcel containing her fancy sandals. Derek paused to slide his arms through his rucksack and adjust it on his back.
Rita said cheerfully, ‘I looked it up. Stanbury is not much more than a mile off. We can walk.’
Derek cleared his throat. ‘We don’t know the way.’
Harriet felt a
sudden surge of pity for him. He had never lived anywhere but with his gran and only been once to the seaside, on a day trip. He strode about like a man of the world, but his world was small and now he was out of it.
‘I’d soon find the way,’ Rita said confidently. ‘I can read a map upside down and inside out. I look at the sun and I know which way to go. Every decent photographer knows what the sun is doing.’
‘You don’t take photographs,’ Derek said, sounding a little peevish.
‘I don’t need to. If you know where the sun is, you can find your way from one end of the country to the other.’
Harriet had no intention of spoiling her shoes by marching about the countryside. ‘Auntie Kate has the map.’
The porter brought up the rear with the Murchisons’ portmanteau on a squeaking trolley. Tobias clutched Carine’s arm.
‘Call you a cab, ladies and gents?’ The porter waited for his tip.
Tobias handed him a penny. ‘We’ll want a cab to the Black Bull, porter.’
The porter swung the trunk to the ground, pretending not to hear. He retreated with his trolley.
Carine touched Tobias’s arm. ‘No, dear, the Black Bull was fully booked.’
‘Are we staying at the Fleece?’
‘You’ll see.’
Five of us and a massive suitcase, Harriet thought. We’ll never all fit. She waited for Carine to tell Tobias where they would be staying. Carine said nothing.
Tobias turned to Derek. ‘We’ll catch the bus. Derek, take an end of this portmanteau.’ Harriet saw that Tobias was taking revenge because Derek was an idiot who adored Carine. Tobias thought that Derek would not be able to keep up his end of the heavy case.
Derek made a move as if to do as Tobias bid. No one said, ‘We are not staying in Haworth, we are going to Stanbury.’
Harriet, having withdrawn five shillings from her savings account, grabbed Derek’s arm. ‘Auntie Kate told me that you and Rita must come with me in a cab. It’s provided for. Be so kind as to catch that porter.’
She felt pleased with this speech, which worked.
Derek was a sappy article, but a nice sappy article. She did not want to see him bullied.
The porter called them a cab, and made it clear this was for them – the sixpenny tippers. The ‘cab’ was a horse and cart.
‘Come with us!’ Rita called to Carine. ‘Let Tobias follow on with the luggage.’ Carine stayed by her husband. ‘You three go ahead. We’ll follow.’
As she scrambled onto the cart, Harriet gave a quizzical look at Rita and Derek. Did they know why Carine had kept their destination secret?
Rita said, ‘He’s in for a shock.’
Harriet smoothed her dress. ‘A good shock or a bad shock?’
Derek sometimes liked to show off because he had stayed at school longer than anybody needed to. ‘Is a shock ever good, or must a shock by its nature always be bad?’
Harriet ignored him. She knew, that for some mysterious reason, Mr Murchison was in for a bad shock.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ponden Hall
Harriet guessed from the name Ponden Hall, and Auntie Kate’s account of it, that this would be a fine-looking place. It was reassuring that the man she saw, as the cart rattled and shook along the winding and bumpy lane, was on the scruffy side, with a sheepdog at his heels. No toffs. Not yet.
The views on either side delighted her – a huge reservoir on one side, fields and hills on the other.
The driver stopped outside a long two-storey house built of stone. Harriet paid the fare, having the money ready in her hand. She wondered now if she had been rash in offering, and pretending that it was on Auntie Kate’s instructions. She knew you were supposed to give a tip. Feeling important, feeling nervous, not sure how much to give for a tip, she guessed at sixpence. That had been appreciated by the porter. A driver would expect no less.
Harriet was surprised at the sight of the house, which was solid-looking and might once have been grand. Though this was not an Auntie Kate sort of place. The entranceway was rough ground. There were no pots of flowers nearby. Smoke rose from the chimney. They must keep a good fire, even in August. Stone pillars stood on either side of the wide entrance.
She, Rita and Derek walked up the broad paved drive. An elderly couple sat on a bench, drinking tea and pretending to be lords of the manor.
Rita was busy looking around her, breathing in deeply as if needing to taste the air. Derek had stayed a few paces behind.
The door was firmly shut. Rita rapped the knocker. Moments later, a youngish woman appeared. Square-jawed, plaits wound around her head, she wore a black dress and kept her hands in the pockets of a white crossover pinafore.
‘We’re the party from Leeds,’ Harriet announced, ‘come to stay.’
The young woman nodded. ‘Right then. You’re the first of them. Which ones are you?’
‘I’m Harriet Armstrong. This is Miss Rufus and Derek Blondell.’
The woman took her hands from her pockets. ‘Follow me then.’
‘What’s your name?’ Harriet asked.
‘I’m Elisa Varey,’ the young woman said, as if this was stating the obvious and no one need ever ask. ‘You’ll want to see where you’re stopping.’
She led them along the passageway, passing a stand for hats, coats and sticks and a rack for boots. Doors to the rooms on the left were closed. The passageway walls were done in a dark green wash. At the end of the first passageway, they turned. Harriet heard the low murmur of voices from an immense room on her right. People were gathered at tables, eating, and drinking tea. ‘Walkers,’ Elisa paused. ‘We do teas and cake.’
A massive chandelier hung from a beamed ceiling that sagged so deeply that Harriet imagined it to be a series of hammocks. A massive sideboard held stuffed birds and animals. There were reindeer heads on the wall.
‘That’s where you’ll have your breakfast,’ Elisa announced. ‘We call it the hall. You’ll be on your own here for breakfast and supper. These are ramblers and day trippers, calling in midday until teatime.’
The kitchen on the opposite side of the corridor gave off a sweet smell of baking.
Elisa led them to a staircase, and up into another corridor. This was the kind of house where a person could get lost in the maze of stairs, landings and rooms off. You might go through a wrong door and never find your way back into the real world. Elisa flung open a door. ‘This is for the lady who booked …’
‘My auntie, Mrs Shackleton.’
‘… and for you, Harriet, and for Miss Rufus here.’
They were in the biggest bedroom Harriet had ever seen. What’s more, it gave off a sensation of opulence. The floor was almost entirely carpeted in scarlet, though the carpeting was in strips and squares, neatly joined like a jigsaw puzzle.
There was a clothes-press, an old sideboard and two crimson-covered chairs. A great chandelier hung from the ceiling, its glass drops on silver chains sparkling in the light from the window. As well as two narrow beds, there was an uncomfortable-looking couch that Harriet thought must be called a chaise-longue. She had seen one illustrated in a book.
‘Does one of us sleep on that?’ she asked.
Elisa waved at a large oak case with squares cut out at the top like little windows. ‘There’s the box bed. Slide that door back.’
Harriet went to look, and took a fancy to it straight away. It was almost like a little room, with the bed inside taking up all the space. There was a candlestick on the window ledge. A person could spend the day in there. She climbed in. ‘I fancy sleeping here.’
‘Then you shall,’ Rita said. ‘I’m used to sleeping on a straw mat under the stars and this carpet would suit me well enough, if there were no beds.’
Elisa glared at her. ‘What’s wrong wi’t beds?’
‘The beds are grand. I’m just saying. I crossed Africa, you see.’
‘That’s you settled then,’ Elisa said somewhat abruptly. ‘Where’s the feller gone?’
‘I’m here,’ Derek said from just beyond the doorway.
‘Follow me.’
Harriet noticed the little casement window covered with ivy. ‘I do like it in here.’ She glanced over at Rita who was rubbing her foot. ‘Hadn’t we better toss for it or something? You or Auntie Kate might want this bed.’
‘You nab it, girl. I should think a person might have interesting dreams in a bed like that.’
‘I don’t dream much.’
‘Of course you do.’ Rita padded across the room and sat down on Auntie Kate’s trunk which had been placed by the wall. ‘Do you record your dreams?’
‘No.’
‘You should write them down. You’ll have brought a diary or a notebook?’
‘Yes.’
‘Take it from one who knows, write down your dreams and you will be in for a revelation. Listen to any words that are spoken while you sleep.’
‘Who will speak to me?’
‘That I am not sure. Some say it must be your inner voice, others more spiritually inclined say that it is an angel or spirit guide who watches over us. Some say it is God. Personally I do not imagine that God would trouble the ears of the world’s light sleepers.’
‘I suppose not.’ Harriet was intrigued. ‘Do you hear voices in your sleep?’
‘I do, and sometimes they are nonsense which is why I am quite sure it is not God who speaks. Other times, the words come as a warning. I am very relieved there are just six of us on this outing.’
‘Why?’
‘On the night that I paid my deposit for this trip, I clearly heard the words “Seven will come and only six return.”’
‘How strange.’
‘Indeed! But we are six! You and your aunt, Carine and Tobias, young Derek and moi.’ She sighed. ‘Would you not think that with an active membership approaching thirty-five we would have had a better take-up? Mind you, it’s just as well or this room may have turned into a dormitory.’
‘I suppose so. Six is a good number.’
‘And I heard something else, just before I woke this morning.’
‘What?’
A Snapshot of Murder Page 9