Lawrence sighed. “I have made myself unpopular on two occasions already today,” he said, “but I will risk it again. Violet was christened Mills. Smith is not her name. She has gone and there is no evidence of foul play. I do not want to cast aspersions on her character but no one seems willing to consider the possibility that she might be involved in a deception. At best, she has not been completely frank. I admire Violet a great deal, but you should prepare yourselves for the prospect that she is not what she seems. Whatever my reservations, I will do my best to find her, if you want me to - unless she does not want to be found.”
The Reverend was silent for a long time. So long that Lawrence thought he had offended him. Then he spoke. “I appreciate your honesty,” he said, “and I know you speak with the best intentions, but we have known Violet a long time. We have faith in her.”
“Faith is the problem,” said Lawrence. “Faith. Faith Mills, Violet Mills. There could be a connection.”
“You know how I feel about that,” said the Reverend. “But even if there was a connection, does it change Violet’s character? Of course, it does not. She is the same person that she always was.”
“Then if you do not have any objections, I will search for her,” said Lawrence. “I have not the first idea where to start, and it may antagonise Inspector Draper, but I believe I am better placed to find her than he is.”
“Leave Draper to me,” said the Reverend. “You are not investigating his problem, only looking for our missing friend. We must find Violet. In the meantime, I will ask Emily and her sister to attend Mrs Harris so that it one less thing to worry about. Is there anything else I can do?”
“I may need to question the household,” said Lawrence. “It would help if I could rely on your support.”
“You have it,” said the Reverend, “please bring Violet home.”
Lawrence returned to the house, almost colliding with Michael who was entering the study.
“I have to tell you something,” said Lawrence, tapping Michael on the shoulder.
“What?”
“The Reverend knows about Violet. I did not want to betray your trust, but there was no choice.”
“It was the right thing to do,” said Michael. “My promise was only to Mrs Harris. It is a relief that he knows. Is he angry?”
“He could not be less so,” said Lawrence. “It turns out that he is as fond of Violet as everyone else and has agreed to let me search for her at once.”
“Where will you start?”
“I do not know,” said Lawrence. “I suppose I will question Mary and the girls.”
“Do you think she might have borrowed the parish register?” asked Michael.
“No,” said Lawrence. “I had already extracted everything I thought I needed. As it happens, there is more to look at now, but I have not seen Violet since I returned from London so she could not know. There is no reason for her to check it again.”
“But did she know that you had searched the register in the first place?”
“Perhaps not,” said Lawrence. “In fact, definitely not. We were going to go together but I went alone instead. So, she could have gone to Elijah Scoggin’s house after all.”
“That would explain why the register is missing.”
“Yes, it would,” said Lawrence. “But it would only explain why she read it. She would not have taken it without asking.”
“Perhaps she wanted to show you something,” said Michael.
“Then she would have written it down and shown me,” Lawrence replied, shaking his head. “I had no expectations from that register when I saw Violet last, and now I have need of it, it is lost, perhaps forever.”
“You can still get the information,” said Michael, “only the most recent entries are lost.”
“But the book is gone.”
“Do you not remember what I said? We transcribe all entries and send them away. You can still find the information you need, but not here.”
“That is something, at least,” said Lawrence, “though it gets me no closer to finding Violet. But your idea is a good one. She might have tried to help. I will start looking for her at Elijah Scoggins house.”
He left the study, pausing only to return to the drawing room to say goodbye to Mrs Harris. She had fallen asleep in her bath chair and was snoring lightly, her face relaxed in slumber. He closed the door, then remembered that he had not returned the shawl. He pushed the door to and peered inside. The shawl was not on the day bed which he should have realised having been sitting on it for the duration of his conversation with Mrs Harris. Someone had moved it, tidied it away or placed it somewhere for safe keeping. Either way, it was of little importance while Violet was missing. It would have to wait for another day.
Chapter 36
Fire
Lawrence grabbed his hat from the coat stand and strode down the Vicarage path and across the road into the familiar surrounds of the grave yard. He walked purposely towards the gate by Church Road and made for Elijah Scoggins cottage. He arrived at the little cottage to find the front window open to its fullest extent. He stopped and peered inside. The window opened into a parlour with a table and chairs set beneath. Next to the window was a half open door. He rapped on the weathered wood and waited. Presently, he heard the shuffle of footsteps and a young man appeared in the doorway. His hands were black with soot and he wore a heavy apron bearing the acrid smell of molten metal.
“May I speak with your father?” asked Lawrence.
The boy grunted. He walked to the rear of the cottage and shouted. Before long, Elijah emerged.
“It is you,” he said, nervously. “Gervis did not say who the visitor was. I thought it might be the Reverend.” He peered behind Lawrence.
“I am alone,” said Lawrence. “The Reverend is still at the Vicarage.”
“Good, good,” muttered Elijah. “Come through,” he waved Lawrence down the passage into the back room which was large and occupied the rest of the ground floor. It served as both kitchen and workroom. The space was split into an area containing a cooking range surrounded by wooden seats which sloped up to a raised level covered by a rug. Roll upon roll of coloured linens and reels of cotton were strewn across the floor. Mary Ann Scoggins sat cross-legged on the rug joining two pieces of fabric with delicate stitching. Both the back door and the other window were wide open to the elements. Gervis was in the yard, feeding chickens from a pail of scraps.
“Excuse the muddles,” said Elijah. “It is a busy time.” He strode towards the window. The sky had darkened. He looked anxiously at Mary Ann. “Looks like rain, my dear,” he said.
He shrugged his shoulders and turned away from his wife. “Her eyesight is poor,” he whispered, nodding towards Mary Ann. “And mine not much better. It is too dark to sew when the light fails.”
Lawrence nodded. It explained why all the doors and windows were open. The cottage was not imbued with natural light. It would be hard to see and impossible to sew in inclement weather.
“Are you here about the register?” asked Elijah
“Not entirely,” said Lawrence, “although I would like to see it when it has been found.”
“Then how can I help?”
“Did Violet Smith ask if she could borrow the register yesterday?” asked Lawrence.
“No, I have not seen her recently,” said Elijah.
“Could she have asked your wife or son for it?” he asked.
“No, they would never let it go without asking me first. Have you seen Violet Smith, Mary?”
Mary Ann Scoggins shook her head. “Not for a while,” she said without looking up from her work.
“She was not here,” said Scoggins. “Sorry, we cannot help.”
“I have reason to think she may have tried to get the register,” said Lawrence. “Is there any way she could have taken it without your consent?”
“Somebody has,” said Elijah. “It has disappeared completely. I have searched the cottage from top to botto
m and not a page of it remains. I am not looking forward to telling the Reverend that I have been unsuccessful in my search.”
“He is half expecting it,” said Lawrence. “It is not the only thing that has gone missing. Violet Smith has vanished too.”
Elijah raised an eyebrow. Mary stopped sewing and put her work down.
“Has she been gone long?” he asked.
“She went out yesterday afternoon and did not return,” said Lawrence. “We are all very concerned.”
“She has not been here,” Elijah reiterated.
“So, you say,” said Lawrence. “But she has gone and the parish register has gone and she may have an interest in it. Where do you usually keep it?”
“In the front room,” replied Elijah. “Come, I will show you.”
They returned to the front of the house and entered the room. It was sparsely furnished, containing a table and four worn chairs. Writing implements were scattered over the top part of the table. It was evident that Elijah conducted his parish duties from this room.
“I kept it here,” said Elijah, “when I had it at all. It generally remained in the Vicarage when the Reverend was here but he went away quite often and when he was absent, I made the entries. I am a tailor by trade as well as Parish Clerk. It suited me to keep the register near my workshop rather than walk to the Vicarage when I needed it. The Reverend was always reluctant to let me keep it at home. It appears he was right to be concerned.”
“You should not worry unduly,” said Lawrence. “I understand the entries are copied and not lost forever.”
“You and I see it that way,” said Elijah, “but the Reverend is passionate about history. It is second only to God himself. He will be displeased if the book remains unaccounted for.”
“I appreciate his feelings,” said Lawrence. “My father was the same but at least the information has not gone. Is it well-known that the registers are copied?”
“I doubt it,” said Elijah. “It is one of those things that does not get mentioned in everyday conversation.”
“So, if I asked you if one of the drovers or servants might know, what would you say?”
“I would say it is very unlikely,” he replied. “Most people would not know. You did not know yourself.”
“Good,” said Lawrence. “If it has been taken, the perpetrator may think the information has gone forever. It could be their motive for removing it. Where exactly was the register located?”
“Here, on the table,” said Elijah, pointing to the chair below the window. “The light is good for reading here.”
“Of course,” said Lawrence, “But someone only needs to reach through the window to lay their hands upon it.”
“Well, yes,” agreed Elijah, “but, why would they? What use is it to anyone but the Reverend?”
“What indeed,” mused Lawrence. The proximity of the register to the window meant that anybody could have purloined it. He could not rule out a single person. Worse still, there was no way of knowing whether the lost register was connected to Violet's absence.
He thanked Elijah and left the cottage. The sky had darkened and rain threatened, as Elijah had feared. It struck before Lawrence reached the end of the street. A fat droplet fell on his temple and trickled down his cheek. Two elderly ladies held their hats and scurried along the street, making for home. The street emptied and he was alone. It was a marked contrast with his last encounter in the Village when he was surrounded by the angry crowd later dispersed by Inspector Draper. The crowd had not reconvened and the anger had dissipated. Lawrence did not expect the peace to last. It was only a matter of time until Violet’s disappearance became public knowledge and the clamour would start again.
He passed the door of a brick built cottage and a young woman emerged into the street as a squall of rain struck. She clasped her shawl, hugging it tightly around her shoulders.
The trivial act triggered a memory. Mrs Harris had said that Violet intended to run an errand but would Violet use that word in conjunction with reading a parish register? It would have taken much longer than the ten minutes she mentioned. Running an errand was a term used for going to the bakers, or returning a shawl. Is that what Violet had gone to do? It would explain why the shawl was missing and was worth a visit to Hannah Roper. He had been meaning to see her for days and would value her well-balanced, logical opinion. The Chemist and Post Office was close by and he was getting wet. It would be a welcome diversion from returning to the Vicarage in the rain.
He hastened towards the Chemist and flung the door open. The bell clanged, as usual, announcing his arrival.
Mr Lait was behind the counter, reaching for a substance high above his head. He could not quite grasp the container and cursed beneath his breath.
“Sorry,” he said as he turned to Lawrence. “I cannot catch the slippery devil. If only I were a few inches taller. Never mind. I will fetch the steps. What can I do for you?”
“I would like a word with Hannah if she is available,” he said.
“She is here,” Mr Lait replied. “She is either in the parlour or in her own room. You know where it is.”
“Thank you.” Lawrence left the Chemist and entered the room at the rear of the house before knocking on the parlour door. There was no reply. He opened the door and went inside. The room was as he remembered it. A fire burned brightly in the grate. The aroma of roasting meat wafted towards him, but there was no sign of Hannah. The back door stood ajar and on the opposite side of the room was another, much smaller wooden door. He unlatched it. Behind the door was a narrow set of stairs leading steeply up. The white wood panelled walls were adorned with pictures. Above his head and to the left was an exquisitely embroidered sampler of a tree. The branches were cleverly designed to contain family names. He studied it for a moment, then called upstairs but no one was there. He was about to ascend when the back door opened and Hannah appeared.
She gasped and clutched her chest. “You frightened me almost to death,” she said.
“I am sorry,” he replied. “Mr Lait told me to come and find you. I knocked first.”
“I was outside,” said Hannah holding a cabbage towards him. “Getting some greens.” “How can I help?”
“I wondered if you had seen Miss Smith?” he asked.
“Violet Smith?”
“Yes, have you seen her?”
“No,” said Hannah. “Not for several days. Have you lost her?”
“She is missing,” said Lawrence. “Nobody has seen her since yesterday afternoon.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Hannah. “but she has not come here.”
Lawrence looked disappointed. “I hoped she may have returned your shawl,” said Lawrence.
“I was not aware I was missing one,” said Hannah. “But in any case, she has not been here. She may have gone back to visit Mary Ann Scoggins. The last time I saw her she was leaving Mary’s house.”
“When was that?” asked Lawrence.
“A few days ago."
“I have only come from there. Mary said she had not seen Violet for some time.”
“She may have made a mistake,” said Hannah, “Or perhaps Mary was not there and Violet let herself in.”
“They all say she was not there,” said Lawrence. “Why would they lie?”
“I am not accusing them of lying," said Hannah. "I did not see them with Violet but I saw her walk from their house.”
Lawrence frowned. His heart sank. Could Elijah or Mary Ann Scoggins be lying? He had believed Mary Ann when she denied seeing Violet. Which could only mean one thing. Violet had sneaked into the house without their knowledge or consent.
“Thank you, Hannah,” he said. “You have helped more than you can imagine. I will not trouble you any further.”
“It is no trouble,” said Hannah. “I am only sorry that you did not find what you were looking for.”
“Thank you anyway,” he said again, doffing his hat.
He passed through the Chemist.
Mr Lait had gone and the closed sign was turned on the door. The large receptacle containing the substance Mr Lait was reaching for was now on the counter. Mr Lait had evidently been successful in retrieving it. Lawrence left the shop to the clang of the bell and walked into the path of Caroline Elliott, the monthly nurse.
She greeted him. “How are you, Mr Harpham?” she enquired.
“Better than when we last met,” he smiled. “You were the voice of sanity in a sea of ignorance.”
She smiled. “It has been difficult to rise above it, working for the Edwards. William is so consumed by his experience with the crows that he cannot see reason. Mary has a little one on the way and refuses to be drawn into it. She has been very sensible.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Lawrence. “It is a relief to know that not everyone has been infected with hysteria. I have just been speaking to another who is equally sensible.”
Caroline laughed. “You must mean Mr Lait? He is an amusing man, is he not? But a typical scientist and not in the least bit susceptible to the supernatural.”
“I saw him too,” said Lawrence. “but I was talking about Hannah Roper. She strikes me as a very rational woman.”
Caroline raised an eyebrow. “Does she?”
“Yes, I was going to visit her anyway. She is practical and I value her opinion, but events overtook me. Violet Smith has gone missing. I have been to see Hannah to ask whether Violet returned her shawl.”
Caroline nodded. “I heard she had missed it,” she said. “Has Violet been there?”
“No,” said Lawrence. “Hannah has not seen her for several days. Have you?”
“Unfortunately, not,” said Caroline. “Our paths only cross when I am attending Mary. Violet often comes in for a cake. She is a very pleasant woman.”
“Yes, she is,” agreed Lawrence, “and very well thought of, it seems.”
"I have never met anyone who dislikes her,” said Caroline. “Not like poor Mary Corbyn.”
The Fressingfield Witch Page 22