Lawrence transcribed the will word for word into his notebook, closed the register and returned it to the shelf. He had accomplished what he came to do and there was no need to prolong his visit. He hailed a cab and returned to the station to wait for the train, planning his next move. He would visit Elijah Scoggins and search for John Chittock in the most recent register. James Fayer’s will had strongly implied that Sarah Fayers was married to John Chittock. It was also conceivable that Sarah had a sister and the sister married John. It was a strong lead either way and he was eager to try and track the lineage to the present day. Lawrence paced the platform impatiently, waiting for the train and in due course, it arrived. He climbed on board and took a break from investigating, passing the remainder of the journey reading a copy of The Times.
It was dark by the time he arrived at the Vicarage. He broke his journey to eat in a coaching Inn near Eye station. It lengthened his day. He was reluctant to rouse the Vicarage household, opting instead to let himself in the back door and proceed to his room. He would tackle the search for John Chittock’s records next morning.
Sleep came easily and he woke after 8.30, dressing quickly to reach the morning room in time for breakfast. He descended the stairs and was immediately met with a house in turmoil. The Revered Raven stood in the hallway, an expression of impatience upon his face. Elijah Scoggins waited, beside him.
“Mr Harper, have you seen my parish register?” he demanded.
“You know I have,” said Lawrence. “You were with me, but it was no use. I am keen to search it again though.”
Elijah exchanged glances with the Reverend. “It is missing,” he said. “I have not seen it since your visit.”
“I returned it,” said Lawrence. “You took it from me.”
“I know. I wondered if you had borrowed it again?”
“I would not dream of it without asking first,” said Lawrence.
Elijah signed. “Oh dear,” he muttered.
“You must search again,” insisted the Reverend. “It cannot have gone far. If you cannot keep it safe, it must come back here,” he continued. “And you must use it at the Vicarage when I am away instead of keeping it close by for your convenience.”
“I will look again,” said Elijah, “but it is futile. It is not there.”
The Reverend shook his head and walked back to the study, shutting the door a little more firmly than usual. Lawrence smiled sympathetically, and the Parish Clerk left, shaking his head. Lawrence turned towards the morning room in anticipation of breakfast. He had just poured a cup of coffee when Michael burst through the drawing room doors. He leaned towards Lawrence and whispered conspiratorially. “Violet is missing,” he said.
Chapter 35
Missing
“What do you mean?” asked Lawrence. “She was here when I left.”
“Yes, but she went out on an errand yesterday and did not return. Mrs Harris cannot decide whether to be worried or angry."
“Has she told the Reverend?” asked Lawrence. “He seems more concerned about his missing register.”
“She has not told him yet,” said Michael. “He thinks she is too indulgent with Violet, as it is. He is always reminding her that Violet is a paid employee.”
Lawrence frowned. “Violet seems devoted to Mrs Harris. I have not long been acquainted with her but her loyalty is plain to see. It is uncharacteristic of her to disappear without warning. She has helped me a great deal lately and always seeks permission first.”
“I agree,” said Michael. “It is not Violet’s way.”
“When did you see her last?”
“After lunch, yesterday. She missed supper last night, but nobody thought anything of it. Mrs Harris began to worry about her at bed time. Violet usually gets her undressed and ready for bed but Mary Warne helped instead.”
“Not good,” said Lawrence. “Have you searched Violet’s room?”
“I put my head round the door,” said Michael, “but I did not go in, or check any of her things. Do you think I should have?”
“I would,” said Lawrence. “Something is wrong and her room might hold a clue. We should look together.”
Michael nodded and the two men proceeded to the first floor. “Violet sleeps on the upper level,” said Michael gesturing to a small staircase at the end of the corridor.
Michael opened the middle of three doors located on the right-hand side. Violet’s room was well-proportioned with a window overlooking the graveyard. The room was set into the roof space but was light, bright and functional. The furniture comprised a mahogany wardrobe and matching dressing table similar to those in Lawrence's room. The dressing table had been placed beneath the window which was latched open. A vase of cut lilies was set upon it and a spatter of moisture surrounded the vase from the open window. The single bed was made up and had not been slept in. It was evident that Violet had not returned to her room the previous night.
“There is no sign of her,” said Michael.
Lawrence frowned. “No, there is not. We should search the room.”
“What for?” asked Michael.
“I do not know,” said Lawrence. “Something, anything.”
They began their search. Michael rifled gingerly through the wardrobe, muttering to himself. He was not comfortable in his task.
Lawrence opened the dressing table and was unsurprised to find it orderly. Violet Smith was tidy by nature and everything she possessed was packed neatly away. There were no muddles. He bypassed her toiletries and took a quick look through a drawer of books. They were, as expected, gothic horror. It appeared that she did not stray far from her chosen genre if the contents of the drawer were anything to go by. As he removed the left-hand book, he spotted a slip of paper beneath. He picked it out, opened it and passed it to Michael.
Michael read it and stared at Lawrence open mouthed. “It is her birth certificate,” he exclaimed.
“I know,” said Lawrence. “Violet Judith Mills, daughter of John and Judith Mills. Born 1st June 1850 and not a Smith at all.”
“I do not know what to make of it,” said Michael.
“It means that she could be related to Faith Mills,” said Lawrence, “or not. But if not, why did she not mention it?”
“I do not know,” said Michael. “If it was of no consequence, she could have trusted us with the information.”
“Which implies that there is some connection,” said Lawrence, feeling nauseous. His good opinion of Violet had intensified over the last few days. Now he was faced with the prospect that she was an imposter - a stranger. A wave of sadness engulfed him. He gazed out of the window and across the churchyard. The gravestones brought Catherine to mind. She had been uncomplicated and so familiar to him. He could not imagine understanding anyone as well again. Catherine had been steady, reliable, dutiful and loving, and now she was dead; so very dead, but as dear to him as ever. Violet and Loveday, they were not made the same way as Catherine. They were characters placed in his path by fate to tease and disappoint. He shook his head to dispel the thoughts.
“We must find her,” said Michael.
“She may not want to be found,” said Lawrence. “She may have vanished of her own volition.”
“No,” said Michael, “I do not believe it, even with this." He clutched the birth certificate.
“And I do not believe otherwise,” snapped Lawrence. “Look around you, Michael,” he said, flinging open the dresser drawers. “Show me something that suggests she was compelled to leave.”
“She has not packed a bag,” said Michael. “Look.” He opened the wardrobe. There was an item of clothing on every hanger. Shoes were placed side by side on a shelf below. There were no gaps. “And look.” He gestured under the bed. A large suitcase was stashed beneath.
“She could have left her belongings here because she did not want to be seen removing them from the house,” said Lawrence.
“That is enough,” said Michael. His cheeks were flushed and his mouth was set in
a thin line. “That would be completely out of character, as you said earlier. Do not let this birth certificate set you against her. She is not the type of person to abandon her employer. She is very fond of Mrs Harris and the family too. She is our friend.”
“Forgive me,” said Lawrence. “I meant no offence. I thought I knew her well enough for her to trust me. I suppose I am disappointed. I do not understand why she concealed her identity, but I will do my best to find her so she can, at least, explain herself.”
“She does not need to explain anything,” said Michael. “We care only that she is safe.”
“Of course,” said Lawrence, patting Michael’s shoulder awkwardly. The young curate was staring over the graveyard, lost in thought. Lawrence felt ashamed. He had failed to consider Michael's obvious fondness for Violet and had spoken out of turn. He wondered if he would ever understand human beings. Their feelings and how to react to them were a constant mystery.
“Do you think Mrs Harris will talk to me about it?” said Lawrence. "I do not know where to start looking. She may be able to give some insight."
“Yes, she is worried. I am sure she will help.”
“It might be a difficult conversation,” said Lawrence. “I have the distinct impression that she does not approve of me.”
“She does not know you,” said Michael. And she is rather frail, but her mind is sharp and she is fond of Violet and protective towards her. If she thinks you want to help Violet, she will help you.”
“She does not need to protect Violet from me,” said Lawrence. “I have asked a lot of Violet recently with the research and everything, but she has enjoyed it and has been more than willing.”
Michael opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to change his mind. He shook his head and said, “Mrs Harris was in the drawing room when I saw her last. Let us go and find her.”
They walked down two flights of stairs and into the drawing room. Mrs Harris was still there, reclining in her bath chair and looking out onto the garden through cloudy grey eyes. Michael opened the door but she did not look in his direction. He walked towards her, “Mrs Harris,” he whispered. She turned to face him. Her eyes were misty with tears. He knelt beside her and took her hand. “I am sorry,” he said. “Please do not worry.”
“Pray with me,” she said and he remained kneeling, praying softly beside her.
Lawrence watched from the doorway feeling uncomfortable. In the short time, he had lived in the Vicarage religion had intruded very little. Reverend Raven said grace at mealtimes when he was present, but he had been away for much of Lawrence’s visit. Michael substituted in the Reverend’s absence using an abbreviated form of grace, which sounded more like a nod to good manners. Naturally, the Ravens’ were religious and Michael would soon have his own parish. Witnessing the scene before him left Lawrence humbled and a little embarrassed. He was very much the outsider being ambivalent about God. Religion had largely passed him by. But respect was due and Lawrence bowed his head until Michael finished praying and got to his feet.
“Mrs Harris, Lawrence, has some questions about Miss Smith. Do you feel up to answering them?” he asked.
She nodded. “Tell him to come over,” she said.
Lawrence approached her and smiled. She gestured to the day bed and asked him to take a seat. He perched on the edge and gazed towards her.
Mrs Harris was dressed in black. When he thought about it, she dressed in black every day. He had not noticed because she was old and her advanced years had rendered her invisible. He winced at the realisation, ashamed of his previous lack of interest and saw her with new eyes. Mrs Harris wore a black bonnet, of the old-fashioned kind. A mass of grey curls squeezed beneath. Her hair was still thick and long despite her age. She wore no rings or necklaces, but a black horn mourning brooch was pinned prominently over her heart. Her face, sheathed in wrinkles, was thin and her mouth was surrounded by deep lines. Age had dragged her lips into a natural frown but fine cheek bones and oval grey eyes showed traces of the beauty she enjoyed in her youth.
She spoke before Lawrence had a chance to begin. “Do you have any idea where Violet is?” she asked.
Lawrence shook his head. “Sorry, I do not,” he said, “I was hoping you would know.”
“I do not,” she replied. Her voice trembled. Lawrence could not decide whether it was out of fear for Violet or an indicator of her frailty.
“When did you see her last?” he continued.
“Yesterday afternoon,” said Mrs Harris. “She helped me get ready for bed, and read to me for a while.”
“Can you remember what time it was?” asked Lawrence.
“About four o’clock,” she said. “It must have been around then as we had eaten afternoon tea, with a little seed cake as I remember, then Violet cleared the dishes away. She said she might run an errand but would be back in ten minutes.”
“Did she say where she was going?” asked Lawrence.
“No,” said Mrs Harris. “But I expect it was around the Vicarage. Anywhere else would have taken longer than ten minutes.”
“When did you notice she was missing?”
“I fell asleep,” said Mrs Harris. “And because she did not return, I slept longer than usual and when I woke up I was alone. I would still have been there had Mary Warne not come to collect the cut-glass vase. She helped me to my room and prepared me for supper.”
“I have been told that Violet missed supper.”
“That is correct. I thought she would be there and was prepared to give her a good telling off. She knows I cannot manage alone. I am fond of her, but I expect her to perform her duties well. Now l am angry with myself for thinking that she would neglect me when I know very well that she would not. Something has happened to her and it cannot be good.”
Her eyes grew misty again and Lawrence feared she might cry. Michael would be able to manage her tears but he had left the room. Lawrence had no idea what to say. He tried to head off the problem by changing the subject.
“Could she have left the Vicarage? Or decided to find a new occupation and not be able to face telling you?”
“Of course not,” snapped Mrs Harris. Her sadness turned to anger in seconds. “She is too kind-hearted. She would not abandon me without saying so. She has been with me for a long time and is very loyal.”
“And she has never married?”
“No,” said Mrs Harris, “she has never shown any interest in meeting a man. She is a spinster but not unhappy. She has no desire to wed.”
“How long has she been with you?” asked Lawrence.
“Over ten years,” said Mrs Harris. “She has cared for me since I lost my beloved Arthur.” She touched the mourning brooch as she spoke.
“So, she was about thirty when she first came to work for you?”
“About that age,” agreed Mrs Harris.
“What did she do before?”
“The same,” she replied.
“A companion?” asked Lawrence.
“Something of that nature. She bought references with her. They were excellent. Why do you want to know? What relevance does her previous occupation have?”
“Her name is not Violet Smith,” said Lawrence. “I am trying to ascertain whether she secretly married.”
Mrs Harris snorted. The sudden movement disturbed her breathing and she was racked with a fit of coughing. Once she regained her composure, she spoke.
“Her name is Violet Smith and she has never been married. I would know if she had been.”
“I have seen her birth certificate,” said Lawrence. “She was christened Violet Judith Mills.”
“Be that as it may,” said Mrs Harris, “she is not married and there will be a good reason why she calls herself Smith.”
“You are sure?”
“Certain,” she said.
Lawrence thanked her and left the drawing room none the wiser. There was nothing more to gain from questioning Mrs Harris who had given all she had to offer. He had no idea where V
iolet had been and more to the point, where she might be now. He was also uneasy about keeping her disappearance secret from the Reverend. If Violet really was missing, he ought to be told. He would find out in due course anyway and would be angry that serious news had been kept from him. Mrs Harris was too frail and too loyal to make objective decisions about Violet's disappearance. She was also consumed with worry which must be taking a toll on her health. Lawrence decided to tell the Reverend even if it meant breaking his word.
He proceeded to the study and knocked on the door. There was no answer. He peered inside but neither Reverend Raven or Michael were there. The study window overlooked the garden and Lawrence saw, to his relief, that the Reverend was pottering around outside. He clutched a sheaf of papers and seemed to be talking to himself. Lawrence exited via the rear door and walked towards the Reverend.
As he approached, he heard Reverend Raven reading aloud from his paper.
“Sorry to disturb you,” said Lawrence. “Do you have a few minutes?”
The Reverend sighed and folded the papers. “I was practising my speech to the Archaeological Society,” he said, by way of explanation. “I suppose it can wait for a moment.”
Lawrence took a deep breath and told him about Violet’s disappearance. He expressed his concern about the impact it was having on Mrs Harris' health.
The Reverend listened without comment. When Lawrence had finished, he said “I am glad you have told me. It was the right thing to do. This is no dereliction of duty. Though my sister-in-law can be too indulgent with Violet, she is indulgent for a reason. Violet Smith is loyal and kind. She is incapable of abandoning her without warning.”
The Fressingfield Witch Page 21