Elisa suddenly appeared from the direction of the kitchen. ‘Whatever happened?’
‘I slipped in the stream.’
‘You come with me where it’s warm. I’ll give you a towel.’
I followed her into the kitchen. There was a worn roller towel on the wall. Elisa released the towel and handed it to me.
‘Get your wet things off and wrap yerself in this.’ She handed me a blanket. ‘I’ll fetch you something from your trunk. Oh and there’s a telegram for you.’ She pointed to the mantelpiece, and then went into the hall.
The familiar telegram envelope stood beside the clock.
I forgot about the towel and opened the envelope the minute she had closed the door. The telegram read:
MRS B SEWED MRS M’S LETTER TO D IN LINING OF HER CLOAK BUT CLOAK MISSING
As I dried my hair, and then myself, I read it again, inserting the names, and the missing words that would have added to the cost of the telegram.
I could not fathom why Derek’s grandmother would sew Carine’s letter into a cloak. A five pound note, for safety, yes. I had heard of people sewing money and valuables into their clothes. Still, mine was not to reason why. Mrs Blondell’s cloak was missing. It was missing because Derek had brought it as a prop to take photographs of Harriet.
The cloak had covered Tobias, and was stained with blood.
Elisa came back, carrying my clothes. She brought underwear, the peach silk dress and the close-fitting natural straw cloche that is ornamented with appliqué work and peach and cream embroidery. The sight of that, my gloves and silk stockings, made me feel human again. She laid the items on the chair back and set my barred shoes by the hearth. ‘Thank you! And Elisa –’
‘What?’
‘Derek was asking you about a cloak that had a stain.’
‘What of it?’
‘Did he give it to you?’
‘He tried to. I wasn’t having it.’
Monday. Today was washday. Elisa seems to me the most get-on-with-it person I have ever met. She would make quite a team with Mrs Sugden. ‘I need that cloak, for evidence. Is it in the wash?’
‘First off, do you think me or Mrs Pickup have had time to do a wash today? Second off, that’s a thick woollen cloak. Only a fool would wash it. And you know my other reason why I won’t touch it.’
‘Where is it then?’
‘You’ll have to ask the young reporter himself. Happen he’s writing a piece for his newspaper about it. “I am the cloak that covered the murder victim.”’
Something like a chortle came from within the box bed.
‘What do you mean?’ I stared at Elisa. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘I’ve seen him in the library, scribbling his little heart out and changing his mind. Wasting paper, screwing it up and throwing it in the basket. Well his scribblings will do nicely for the fire.’ She went to the door. ‘I’ll leave you to change in peace.’
I began to dress, taking my time in front of the fire. I was halfway decent when the door in the box bed slid back. I paused. There was not another sound. I finished dressing.
‘Is that you, Mrs Varey?’
‘Who else are you expecting?’
I went to catch my first glimpse of her. She was sitting up against the pillows, wearing a white nightdress. The family resemblance was there in her square jaw and heavy eyebrows. She wore her hair in two grey plaits.
‘Hello. I’m Kate Shackleton.’
‘Hello.’ She gave me an appraising look. ‘You look dressed for a party. Mind you, it’s a nice frock.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I was beginning to think I’d dreamed it. But now I know he’s dead.’
‘Tobias Murchison died on Saturday from a stab wound in the heart.’
‘What heart?’
‘You’re a hard woman, Mrs Varey.’
‘Not hard. I would have loved his child if it had come into the world. You can tell me one thing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Is any of my lot suspected?’
‘I don’t believe so.’
‘Then you can put on your hat and don’t mind me. And you can use my comb. I’ll be getting up soon.’
As if in confirmation, she left the door to the bed open.
The room was warm but there was a fire, to heat the oven. A mixture of peat and coal gave off a smell of earth, smoke and Mrs Sugden’s compost heap. I thought of apparitions, comings and goings, and disappearing umbrellas.
When Elisa returned, I saw that she had Mrs Blondell’s cloak. She draped it over a chair, and went out again. I resisted the urge to tell her that by not putting the item in the wash and through the mangle, she may have saved Derek Blondell from the gallows.
I looked at myself in the brown speckled mirror by the kitchen sink, combed my hair and picked up my hat.
I was now ready to face Marcus, armed with telegram and cloak. ‘Do you have a small pair of scissors handy, Mrs Varey?’
‘Top left drawer of dresser.’
‘Thank you.’
The drawer in question contained everything that a domesticated human being might ever need, and much that would never be called for. Fortunately, the scissors were on top. I would need to unpick the stitches carefully. Mrs Blondell would want her cloak back in one piece and in good shape. It was disconcerting to see the bloodstain, where the cloak had covered Tobias. What was also troubling was that I could not feel a letter, no paper that crackled. Yet there was a spot near the hem where the fabric of the cape was slightly thicker.
I began to snip. It was a slow business, unpicking the neat, tiny stitches. My snipping was rewarded. Where the material had been folded over, an envelope had been wrapped in lining material and sewn inside. It took a great deal of care to release this item, holding it with a hanky to avoid leaving fingerprints.
The envelope, written in purple ink, was addressed to D. Blondell, Esq.
Once more, the voice came from the box bed. ‘What is it you’re looking for?’
‘This and that.’
‘Are you after knowing how to remove blood?’
‘No.’
‘Come close and I’ll tell you.’
She must have thought I was trying to clear someone’s name.
Constable Briggs was by the constabulary car on the dirt road. I gave him a note to take in to Marcus, who was still interviewing Carine. ‘Just please hand it to him, Mr Briggs. It’s important.’
I waited near the door.
Moments later, Marcus emerged, closing the door behind him and leaving the constable with Carine. I stood to one side, so that Carine would not see me, and handed Marcus the telegram from Mrs Sugden.
We stepped into a small laundry room. Marcus read the telegram and handed it back to me. ‘Is this the cloak?’
‘Yes. It was used to cover Tobias. Derek asked Elisa to wash it for him. Fortunately, she didn’t.’
He drew on white gloves, examined the envelope and took out the letter.
I felt treacherous towards Carine, treacherous and wretched. I understood why she would have lied about not writing to Derek. It would be humiliating to own up to an indiscretion with a callow youth. Though perhaps I was misjudging her, and the passion was one-sided.
What the writing and purple ink confirmed was that the suggestion slip of Ponden Hall as a destination for a photographic outing had most certainly come from Carine. She had distinctive handwriting, not at all what was to be expected from an elementary education but the kind of hand one would expect from someone who had attended art classes. I realised that so many of Carine’s accomplishments must have been hard-won.
I watched as Marcus read the single-page letter. And then, he read it aloud.
‘ “Dearest Derek, You have done the right thing. I am so glad I have you to rely on. Come on Saturday at the usual time. As always, Carine.”’
‘It says nothing!’
He took an evidence bag from his pocket and slipped the letter into it.
‘What do you think she means by “the right thing”, Kate?’
‘Ask her, and ask him. I don’t doubt you will hear two different answers.’
‘And what is your answer?’
‘That she wanted him to burn her letters, and he did burn them.’
‘Then why did she write the letters in the first place?’
‘I don’t know, perhaps as an encouragement to him. A one-sided correspondence would be most unusual. She kept his letters as a token of his feelings, or reassurance, or enjoyment or …’
‘Or what?’
‘Derek’s letters would be bound to cast suspicion on him. I hope this is wide of the mark, but Mr Sykes and I thought of the Thompson and Bywater case. It was Edith Thompson’s letters to Freddie Bywater that sent her to the gallows.’
‘Are you suggesting that Carine deliberately created a situation where Derek would be likely to feel jealous and enraged, and murder her husband?’
‘It seems utterly unlikely. I’m simply saying the thought came to me, and to Sykes. You still have Derek in custody?’
‘Yes. But what has made you change your mind about Carine? You were all sympathy.’
‘I haven’t changed my mind.’
‘I can see that you have.’
‘It’s difficult to say. Lots of small things, and something that I can’t quite put my finger on.’
‘I have until tomorrow before Leeds CID tell her about what, or I should say who, was found in the cellar.’
‘Carine’s mother?’ I asked.
‘They believe so.’
‘How have they identified her?’
‘She had a dentist who never discarded records. The contents of her handbag were intact. It appears conclusive. But how did you know?’
‘I know that she “went away” when Carine was five years old.’
‘Once she knows about the body, she may be too distraught to be interviewed. I have very little time, Kate. And now I don’t want her to be alone.’
‘Shall I sit with her?’
‘Yes, stay with her. First, I’ll ask her about this letter. Miss Rufus was tackling me earlier. If the two of you are with her, Carine may be more at ease.’
‘You mean she may let down her guard.’
‘That too.’
‘Marcus, you do know that she is pregnant?’
He nodded. ‘I spoke to the matron at Lindisfarne. And you were correct in saying that her husband could not be the father.’ Marcus ran his fingers over an eyebrow, something he did when trying to solve a puzzle. ‘Go on, Kate. Tell me what you are thinking. I can hear your brain ticking.’
‘First, you tell me something. Did the special constables find the murder weapon?’
‘They did not. We are still searching for the knife that went missing from the kitchen here. How did you know?’
‘I didn’t, not for sure, but it seemed the most obvious item to be searching for. Tell me, have you met the old woman in the box bed?’
‘No. I’m told that she is sickly.’
‘She’s as sick as you or I. She will know who took the knife.’
‘Will you ask her?’
‘She wouldn’t tell me, and I would lose her trust by asking, especially if the knife was taken by someone close to her.’
‘Elisa?’
‘She had motive. I don’t believe she, her mother or your special constable Timmy Preston would have been happy to see Tobias Murchison return home hale and hearty.’
‘I wish you had told me this before I charged Derek Blondell with murder.’
‘You’ve charged him?’
‘No, as it happens. Not yet. But it won’t hurt if Miss Varey and Timothy Preston think that.’
‘Going back to the knife, have you many places left to search?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. It could be anywhere.’
‘You have certain special constables who might be more than willing to have the truth of that murder hidden.’
‘Kate, your mistrust of everyone and everything grows in leaps and bounds. Congratulations.’ He indicated the evidence bag containing the letter. ‘Thanks for this. By the way, I’m with Mrs Murchison in the big hall. There’s a door at the back of that room that leads to what the family call their sun parlour. I have a plain-clothes man with me, and your Mr Sykes who has turned up some interesting information.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Laying of Flowers
I went to sit outside on the bench. Not many minutes passed before Harriet and Rita returned. They brightened considerably at the sight of me. Sergeant Dog pulled on his leash, anxious to reach me. Harriet let him come running. He was wagging his tail and slobbering.
Rita followed and sat beside me.
‘Have you brought Carine back?’
‘Yes.’
Harriet showed considerable tact. She took the dog by its collar and hauled him into the house. ‘Come on. Let’s see if we can find you something to eat.’
‘Where is she?’ Rita asked. ‘I must see her.’
‘She is in the hall, talking to the chief inspector.’
‘How is she?’
‘Bearing up. She is going to need your support.’
‘Kate, you could have stopped this.’
‘Stopped what?’ Did she think I could have prevented the murder?
Rita strode towards the house, calling back to me. ‘Hasn’t she suffered enough without being subjected to police interrogation?’
Harriet came out of the house. ‘The old lady’s got up. She’s nice, Mrs Varey. She found a marrow bone for Sergeant Dog.’
I could not help thinking that the marrow bone must be Mrs Varey’s reward for one of us having murdered Tobias.
‘Did I do well, keeping Rita occupied?’
‘Yes. How did you do it?’
‘I asked her about crossing India and Africa. I told her I wanted to go there.’
‘And do you?’
‘I don’t need to. She told me all about it. She told me everything.’
My niece was getting a more thorough education than her mother would have hoped for. ‘I forgot to ask you, did you get the old umbrella mended?’
‘Yes. What do you think I’ve been using?’
‘Tell me again about losing the good umbrella.’
‘It’s gone! I’ll never see that nice umbrella again. I didn’t lose it on purpose.’
‘I want you to tell me about how it happened, the queue, the crowd, people moving.’
She opened her mouth, took a sharp intake of breath. ‘I think I know why you’re asking.’
Elisa came to the door and rang the gong. ‘I’m serving up afternoon tea, orders of Mr Charles.’
Afternoon tea was a subdued affair. Carine, Rita and I sat at one of the small tables. Harriet stayed in the kitchen with the dog and Mrs Varey.
Elisa put down a tray and placed a pot of tea, plates of sandwiches and a seed cake on the table.
Walking had made us all hungry, in spite of the distress.
Carine ate a ham sandwich. ‘The police can’t want to know much more now. Does anyone know the train times?’
She believed she would be going back to her beloved studio. Even if she did, even if I were wrong about her, it could never be the same again once she knew that her mother had lain dead in the cellar all these years. How much longer could that information be kept from her?
The news would hit her between the eyes. After such knowledge there would be no way of living there as she had before. What would she do? How she would put one foot before the other, have a rational thought, or find a spark of hope?
So many details had flitted into my thoughts over the past hours. I must find a way of making sense of them before this great blow fell.
Rita was trying to be helpful. She suggested that we should go into Keighley to buy a mourning dress.
‘I couldn’t.’ Carine slapped down her cup, spilling tea in the saucer. ‘I don’t want to go into Keighley knowing that Derek
is being held there, under suspicion.’
‘Haworth then.’ Rita was not to be put off.
‘Rita, I have a black dress with me. I’m in mourning for my father, in case you’d forgotten.’
‘Then I should wear black too,’ Rita insisted. ‘Though I do have my white sari. In India that would be acceptable attire for mourning. I’ll wear that. You should have a new dress.’
‘Why?’
Rita gave Carine’s arm a little squeeze. ‘Because the one you have is too tight. You might be better in something that is not quite so well-fitting. That is what is so good about the sari. It leaves space for expansion.’
‘I am not going to wear a sari.’
‘Of course not.’ Rita poured more tea and urged Carine to take another lump of sugar. ‘You must keep your strength up.’
‘I don’t care about my strength.’
There was then talk about money, and who had cash.
The oddity of this conversation made me wonder if it was some kind of code between the two of them. Was the cash to make a getaway? Or were their minds befuddled by everything that had happened?
As I was trying to decide, Rita said, ‘Tobias would want you to have a new dress. He will have brought money, in his wallet.’
Carine gulped and stared at Rita. ‘I can’t ask the police for his wallet.’
Rita put her hand over Carine’s. ‘Of course you couldn’t, but I could. If they say no don’t worry. I have a guinea.’
‘What would I get for a guinea?’
That was when I lost patience. I was about to tell them that none of this mattered when a thought occurred to me. ‘Let us go into Haworth, anyway. Never mind about money and wallets.’
Rita brightened up at this. ‘Let’s go now, before the shops close.’
Surprisingly, Carine agreed. ‘I don’t care about buying a new black dress. But I want to lay flowers at the spot where Tobias fell.’
Rita clapped her hands together. ‘That is such a beautiful idea. We should have a ceremony.’ She stood. ‘I’m going upstairs. I’ll get my white sari.’
A Snapshot of Murder Page 26