A Snapshot of Murder
Page 29
Mr Cohen developed a strategy. He judged that Edward Chester would be of no use as a defence witness.
There was much that would remain unsaid. Derek Blondell was sufficiently chastened that he kept his counsel, and merely admitted a boyish crush. Carine’s letter to him could be simply explained, if explanation were necessary. No one would hide evidence; it would simply come to light as required, and be presented in an appropriate way.
The trial, and Carine’s committal to an asylum at His Majesty’s pleasure, was widely reported, though not by Derek Blondell.
I jump ahead of myself. There was other news, of a lighter nature, that came as a great surprise.
During the time that Mr Cohen was instructing his barrister, an invitation to Rita’s wedding popped onto our doormat. I was alerted to the arrival of the post by Sergeant Dog’s happy bark. Harriet swears that our bloodhound is expecting a letter, and that he likes all correspondence to be read to him.
There was a similar envelope for Harriet. I placed this on the shelf, in case Sergeant Dog decided to open it himself.
The invitation was printed in gold letters on high-quality card.
MR AND MRS BELLINGHAM RUFUS
INVITE YOU TO THE WEDDING
OF THEIR DAUGHTER RITA
TO MR ANDREW JOHN BARRINGTON
AT LEEDS REGISTER OFFICE
ON SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1928
RSVP
I walked up to Norton’s Pharmacy and found Rita in her usual place behind the counter. ‘Rita, what’s this? You didn’t tell me.’
‘Can you come?’
‘My formal reply is already in the post to your parents. I wouldn’t miss it. Thank you for the invitation.’
‘Will you take a photograph for us on the day?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’d like Harriet to be bridesmaid and you to be my witness. Mr Norton will be Andrew’s witness.’
‘You’ve taken me by surprise. I thought you and Andrew were friends, and not really that way inclined towards each other.’
‘Please keep that to yourself, Kate. This is to be a bona fide marriage. It is not a marriage of convenience. There is nothing bogus about it. We are very fond of each other and have known each other for ten years. You might say friendship ripened into courtship.’
‘And did it?’
‘I said you might say it, and keep on saying it, especially in front of my and Andrew’s parents. We are a perfect match. He is the kindest of men. All I have to do is dress soberly at public functions, and say very little while we are applying to adopt Carine’s baby daughter.’
‘How do you know she’s going to have a daughter?’
‘What else would she have? Child then, let’s say child.’
‘I wish you both much happiness, Rita.’
‘No need for that tosh, Kate. We’ll be happy enough. Is there any news from Mr Cohen?’
‘He is confident that no jury with an ounce of humanity would return a verdict that would lead to the death penalty.’
Rita shuddered. ‘Don’t even say those words.’
‘I don’t know whether he was being too optimistic, but he seems to believe that in ten years’ time there’ll be doctors who will happily declare that Carine has regained her mental equilibrium.’
‘Ten years!’
I went to peruse the shelves while customers came to the counter asking for Beechams Powders and tonic wine. We resumed our conversation when they had left.
‘She will come back to us, Kate, I’m sure of it. You see, photography is all about the spiritual quality of light. Carine lived in the shadows for such a very long time. Now that those shadows have gone, she will be herself again. Wouldn’t you say that is distinctly possible?’
‘Everything is possible, Rita.’
It was from Mrs Porter that Mother heard that the Vareys were no longer tenants of Ponden Hall. When their lease was up, they did not renew. Elisa married a schoolmaster. She now lives with her husband in school accommodation. Mrs Varey went with her daughter and stays in the village nearby. I thought back to the day of the magistrates’ court hearing, when Elisa lifted Derek from his seat by the lapels and marched him out of the building. She would be a far better match for Edward Chester than Carine.
I saw a slim volume of Edward’s poetry in the bookshop. His latest verses, remembering a lost love, reminded me of the lamenting poems that Thomas Hardy wrote after his wife died. Hardy had stopped loving Emma and was afterwards overcome with remorse and longing. I had some sympathy for Thomas Hardy, but pass no comment on Edward Chester. They were young. As another poet once said, we are put on earth a little while to learn to bear the beams of love. The beams of love proved overpowering. In their different ways, Carine and Edward were courageous individuals, but perhaps not when it mattered most.
It was Harriet who solved the mystery of the anonymous writer of articles for The Mole of the World. After Derek Blondell turned up at Keighley Magistrates’ Court, on the morning of Carine’s appearance, it was not because he was ‘there for his paper’. It was because he had been sacked. He went to Harriet to find out whether she had news about what might happen next. He asked her to keep him informed. She declined.
We now occasionally take The Mole of the World, to see what Derek is up to. Thankfully, he was not permitted to write about Carine until after she had been committed to an asylum. I will spare you Derek’s staff reporter article, with photographs, headed ‘I Loved a Murderess’.
It was a year before Rita and I were permitted to visit Carine in the asylum. Thanks to the defence fund and the generosity of an anonymous donor, who had fallen in love with her photograph, Carine was accommodated in a reasonably comfortable manner in an institution that believed in treatment rather than punishment. Being allowed to continue with her design of greetings cards, she had gained special privileges and earned a goodly sum for the institution, where she became a favourite. Everybody loved her.
She waited for us by the big gates, which cast a shadow across the grounds, like the bars on a prison window. Carine stood in a shaft of sunlight. It was a great relief to see that she had regained her former radiance.
She stood there often, another inmate told us. Occasionally, she said that she was waiting for her mother.
We sat on a bench near the lawn, with the flowers we had brought. Rita gave Carine the picture of little Geraldine Carine Barrington. ‘Andrew is very good with her. We both love her, and tell her about you. We are in a big house in Far Headingley, with plenty of room for you when you are able to come.’
Carine smiled. ‘I should like that.’
Since marrying Andrew and taking responsibility for Geraldine, Rita has changed in certain ways. She has developed a practical streak and is now willing to give advice, whether wanted or not. She took Carine’s hand. ‘What your friend over there said, about how you sometimes wait at the gate for your mother. The thing is, Carine –’ Rita hesitated, and adopted her most gentle tone. ‘I am sorry if this sounds cruel, but your mother died such a long time ago. She will never come.’
Carine looked at Rita as if she presented a puzzle. ‘Rita love, I can’t argue with you over that. But some things are best not voiced until I have been in this institution for the minimum term. Only then will I be considered cured.’
Carine was, after all, a perfectly reasonable woman.
Also available by Frances Brody
KATE SHACKLETON MYSTERIES
Death in the Stars
Death at the Seaside
A Death in the Dales
Death of an Avid Reader
Murder on a Summer’s Day
A Woman Unknown
Murder in the Afternoon
A Medal for Murder
Dying in the Wool
OTHER NOVELS
Halfpenny Dreams
Sixpence in Her Shoe and Sisters on Bread Street
Author Biography
Frances Brody lives in Leeds where she was born and grew
up. After leaving school at 16, she worked and traveled, including a spell in New York. She then won a place at Ruskin College, Oxford, and afterwards studied at York University. Before creating the Kate Shackleton mysteries, Frances wrote historical sagas, winning the HarperCollins Elizabeth Elgin award for most regionally evocative debut saga of the millennium. When not writing or reading, Frances likes to test her less than brilliant map reading skills by walking in the Yorkshire Dales.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Frances McNeil
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-64385-096-2
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-64385-097-9
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-64385-098-6
Cover illustration by Helen Chapman
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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North American Edition: April 2019
Originally published in Great Britain by Piatkus, Hachette UK, October 2018
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