clouds. Something really terrible had happened now. Now there could be no more carrying on as normal or talk about a passing vagrant or a mishap. There was no turning away from what had happened here.
The dread Henry had been feeling, the urge to ring Edith, all of it, his increasing unease and need to be alone—all somehow culminated in this moment. He didn’t believe in premonition or superstition and it wasn’t either of those things. He had been fighting down the knowledge that something was wrong in the house.
He touched Fallon’s cheek with the back of his hand, It was still warm—fairly warm. The touch of his stubble against Henry’s skin was harsh and it was bleak to think of that man, handsome arrogant, no doubt very attractive to women gone from this world.
His shoulders and back ached badly and he straightened up. He’d been wounded once, when administering to a private in a field hospital. An accident; a superficial wound it had turned out but a nearby doctor had given him a shot of morphine and the effects had been pleasant. Most of all, time had taken on a different quality and he’d been unable to tell whether it was minutes or hours that had passed. Like now. Though it wasn’t hours.
He fell into a state where he was no longer impatient and he just got on with waiting it out when he heard low voices and Brother Malcolm, accompanied by Inspector Jardine and the other police officer came down the path.
It was solemn, respectful, he supposed, how the inspector, pulling up the knees of his trousers automatically, knelt by the dead man. The police doctor was on his way.
The silence was heavy and only broken by the sound of rain on leaves as another shower broke into their near-trance like attendance on David Fallon.
As soon as the inspector took his attention away from the dead man, he dispatched them with instructions. The main one was to keep other members of the community away. They must already have ensured that Canon Richardson was well away from the scene of the crime. You had to feel sorry for the old man, just this time. His mind befuddled and full of ideas of persecution and then to come on a scene like this.
They didn’t speak on the way and just as they approached the house, Brother Malcolm cleared his throat.
“This is an awful business, Wilkes and I can’t help thinking that we—me in particular, must have got things very wrong.”
“You’re right, Brother Malcolm but hindsight makes everything look very clear. Even the police didn’t anticipate this. If they
had…well either the retreat and conference would have been cancelled or we would all have been under close scrutiny. As it was…they must have concluded that the attack of Stephen Bird was random, or at the very least directed at him personally and maybe not intended to be as serious as it turned out.”
He stopped talking. Shook his head. He knew how easy it would be to form the habit of speculating like this and having huddles of people all over St Chad’s, coming to their own conclusions wasn’t going to help.
They agreed Brother Malcolm would speak to the staff and Henry to the other people in the house, though it didn’t turn out quite like that. He was about to turn into the library thinking it was a likely spot to find at least one of the house’s temporary residents. People sought solace either in the grounds or indoors, in the chapel or library. He escaped to his bedroom to write to Edith, when he could reasonably do so but you got the feeling it might be frowned upon. St Chad’s wasn’t a hotel.
“What’s happened—is it true what they’re saying? About David?”
Fiona Elliott looked both plain and beautiful. Simultaneously.
Her face raw as if without a sheen or an outer layer of skin.
“It is true. I’m sorry. Canon Richardson found him. He told me and I almost didn’t go with him.
“Ah, ah,” She uttered a sound between a cry and a groan. The small bit of colour she had, left her cheeks and Henry put a hand to her elbow and pushed open the door of the high-ceilinged, cool library, with its safe comforting smell of old books and leather.
Armchairs which had seen better days were found at the ends of the rows of books and Henry pressed Fiona Elliott as gently as he could into the first one.
“It’s an awful shock. I’m sorry to be the one to confirm it. How did you find out?” Stupid question. How was she likely to have found out?
“Canon Richardson, telling everyone, going on as he does. People didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but, you know…there was something. He was enjoying the attention. Being listened to for a change. But, I knew he was telling the truth this time…”
“Can I get you a drink of water. Something else? Brother Malcolm has some spirits in his room for shock, you know?”
“It’s all right. I’m sorry for making an exhibition of myself but I’m all right now and…” She shook her head and put a hand up to her hair. “David was heading for something like this.”
Henry really wanted to ask her to elaborate on this but he held back. Though she was calmer, she was still in a shocked state and
she could revert back to the difficult, defensive woman at any second. It must be shock he was also feeling but his body felt hollow as though any reserves of strength had left him and he wasn’t able for any hostility. Really unable to deal with it.
Hopefully, he wouldn’t come face to face with Canon Richardson or any of the other residents on his way up to his bedroom.
Impersonal as the room was, it had never been more desirable.
Just to sit in his armchair, look out the mullioned window and try to make some sense of what had happened. Make sense—that was a joke. There could be no rhyme nor reason to one of the clergy being attacked and now, one murdered. The only that he could think with any certainty is that they must be connected.
“He was a complete bastard. Deep down, you know. Maybe it’s impossible to be that beautiful inside and out. What do you think?” She stared at him. The only feature of hers that slightly jarred was her eyes. They were pale and he had an unreasonable aversion to their fathomless nature.
“I only met the man, here. So, I can’t agree or disagree with your statement but I found him difficult.” Just like I find you difficult. He didn’t say it.
“But you can’t help your feelings, can you?” He almost held his breath. She was off her guard. “When you say he had it coming or, that you weren’t surprised what happened, what did you mean?”
“David took what he wanted and the devil take the hindmost.” It was a long time since he’d heard that expression. So much for escaping to his room but if he was going to get any insight into the man whose body he had discovered in the far-flung part of the grounds, this was possibly his only chance.
“Let me give you an example. When we met, all I knew was that he was in charge of a parish somewhere on the south coast, Brighton, Hove, one of those resorts where you get a congregation of elderly and wealthy retired people. They loved him, by all accounts, and you could see why. You never saw the charm but trust me, he had it in spades when he needed it. He was head over heels as they say, in love with me. Wining, dining and promises of a future together.”
“But he was married?”
“No, that’s the thing that hurt me most. At that point he wasn’t married. He was just what he presented himself as. A clergyman in pursuit of a wife, to paraphrase Jane Austin.” She gave him a look out of the clear, glass eyes. Challenging, proving that though a housekeeper she was able to make a literary reference with the best of them.
“He came to St Gabriel’s fairly often. At that time he seemed under the sway of Saville. But, I think there was a clash of
egos. The first sign that things weren’t as he portrayed them was when he kept making excuses why I shouldn’t visit his parish The summer came and it seemed the perfect holiday for me and Jerome.
Not even a holiday, a day-trip. But there were reasons why it wasn’t the right time. The bishop was visiting, it was a particularly busy time in the parish because of the summer visitors. I suppressed my doubts for a
while.”
It was clear that this wasn’t going to end well and it was also clear that in spite of her calm telling of the tale, that there was a lot of fury here. A trickle of unease went down from Henry’s neck to his spine.
“He seemed to go cool though I fought the realisation for quite a while. Then, I couldn’t ignore it any more. Not when his engagement to Clarise Rushworth, niece of the Bishop of Arundel was pointed out to me as I delivered the morning coffee one morning. Read out of The Times, actually.”
“Bad behaviour.” She laughed. “You could say that. The man played me along until a much more suitable proposition appeared. Niece of a bishop, widowed housekeeper with a child in tow. No contest.” The bitterness wasn’t far below the surface, regardless of the flippancy.
“But, that’s not the end of the story. He turned up again, in my life.”
The door pushed open and Ivy Miller stood there, catching sight of them, she crossed to the room and nodding at Henry, she bent down to Fiona.
“You’ve had a shock. You need to rest, Fiona.”
Henry was in the way and needed still to go to his room. There was even more to think about now.
He hadn’t been mistaken when he sensed the history between Fallon and Fiona Elliott and the hostility.
A gun, though. A woman and a gun. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts.
Chapter Eleven
Edith’s mouth was dry and her heart pounding when she awoke. It was pitch dark and her instinct was that it was early in the night. Though into July, dawn still came early. She looked at the luminous numbers on the alarm clock. Almost half past two. She’d get up and make cocoa. Sometimes, it was possible to lie there and drift cosily back into sleep but that wasn’t going to happen, this time.
Her dreams before she awoke had been of running, desperate to get away but only being able to move really slowly and being in a
room full of people, trying to tell them something crucial but everyone just kept talking, talking over her, so she couldn’t be heard. She had studied enough psychology to know that these dreams were only a reflection of her disquiet. Her fears about Henry were groundless. She’d have another letter tomorrow and he’d be home soon.
Hannah was calmer, now that she knew her son would be soon home.
Hopefully they weren’t jumping the gun. Surely nothing could go wrong with that now. He was coming back. Josh Braithwaite had taken off with the purpose of finding John and returning him home. For all his bravado, the man had been shaken that someone had taken his son. Whatever he’d planned himself, things had run out of his control. Hannah must have had blinders on when she married him.
“Take a grip on yourself, woman,” Edith spoke aloud to the empty kitchen as she got the cup from the cupboard. Max raised an ear and thumped his tail on the floor. When she’d come into the kitchen, he’d left his bed, under the table, and come to greet her, just as if it was the normal time to wake him.
She wasn’t one to talk about making poor choices though, was she?
Not when she’d developed some sort of obsession over Matthew Taylor, years ago, leading her to have a breakdown. But, no point in dwelling on that now. It had been a bad time but look at her now and maybe if all of that had not happened she wouldn’t have started studying again at her advanced age. She might not have looked at who was on her actual doorstep and ended up marrying Henry.
“Bill, the inspector is here for you.” The knock had woken him but only barely, just for a few seconds. He just needed to get back to that lovely sleep he’d been having. Just get back to sleep.
“Bill, are you awake? Inspector Greene is here, downstairs.
Something’s happened, lad. You need to get out of that bed and downstairs now.” He got up, still not properly awake and picked his trousers up from the floor. He had put them on the back of the chair. They must have fallen. His jumper, that was it. Socks.
What on earth had happened? His alarm clock showed that it was a few minutes before three o’ clock. The middle of the night, in other words.
His mother was making tea. Bill shook his head. She was an amazing woman. Woken up in the middle of the night and now insisting that neither of them was to leave the house without a cup of tea and the inspector was taking it too, being spoken to like a child. Sitting down by the table. He gave Brown a look like he was something the cat had dragged in and in fairness he probably deserved it.
“We have a big problem, Sergeant. Our Braithwaite has crashed his car. Fatality. On the Yorkshire, Cumbria borders.”
They say about the hairs standing out on the back of your neck.
For Brown, there was a definite shiver there.
“That means…” His thoughts were running ahead of him, a mile a minute. Braithwaite dead. He was their lead to John.
“That means that we have a big problem. Because as far as I am aware, he kept it all to himself. Who had taken John and why but most important of all, where the hell…” He looked at Brown’s mother.
“Sorry. No idea of where he was heading apart from the fact that he was headed up the country. I’ve had the Cumbrian police on the phone. Thankfully, no-one else was involved. It was a country road and there had been a bad shower on very dry conditions, possibly making the ground slippery. Oh, and there was a strong smell of alcohol from the inside of the car.”
“Thanks for the tea, and I’m very sorry for knocking you up in the middle of the night, Mrs Brown. It wasn’t my intention to be getting you out of your bed and have you brew tea.”
“Are we going to go round to Hannah’s cottage and tell her.”
Greene nodded. “I think we have to though there probably isn’t anything more she can tell us. I might have been a bit bull in a tea-shop with her but I don’t think she was holding anything back. Why would she? All she wants is to get her son back and as usual, whatever they say about not speaking ill of the dead, Josh Braithwaite went his own way without any consideration of anyone else.”
“She’s going to be distraught. I’m sorry. It’s police business and I shouldn’t be interfering but that poor woman. To think that she was going to get her lad back, shortly and then for this to happen.” Mrs Brown shook her head.
“What are we going to do, sir?”
“I’ve been thinking about that on the way here. The slow process, I’m afraid. We have to trace Braithwaite back to where he was last working and hope to God, he has blabbed to someone. It’s lucky for us that he was such a braggart and someone might have some inkling of what he’s been getting up to.”
“Now? Can we start now?”
“The morning. In the meantime, we need to go round and tell that poor woman what’s happened. Regardless of the time, I’m afraid.
It’s a delicate situation. The Cumbrian police are searching the vehicle for any clues as to where he was heading. But…” He
drained the last of the tea and pushed his chair away from the table.
“I have a sinking feeling here. He was a man who travelled light I feel and I don’t think we’re going to find shoals of friends or people he shared confidences with. Maybe our best hope is that there’s a woman. From what I know of Braithwaite there will be a woman on the side-lines.
“You’ll give Hannah a terrible shock knocking her up like this in the middle of the night. She’ll think the worst.”
Bill Brown’s mother had again broken her rule of not interfering.
Inspector Greene didn’t look annoyed.
“I know. You’re right but there’s nothing else for it. The daughter was far from happy when we left it to the morning to send our colleagues in Ripon out to her. If the woman was on the telephone…but she isn’t.”
“I’d go with you but she doesn’t know me well. What about the doctor’s sister. Edith. Married to the vicar now. Hannah works for her and she’s been helping, spending a lot of time with her.”
Greene nodded. There was a telephone in this house and he telephoned the vicarage.
“It’s Inspector Greene and we have worrying news for your housekeeper. It’s about her husband…or former husband rather than her son but of course, the two things are connected. He’s had an accident.”
“Is it serious?” Stupid question. They wouldn’t be ringing her in the middle of the night if it wasn’t. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Yes. We are going round straightaway to tell his wife and daughter and I wondered if you would be able to come out to the house? It’s a tall order but it was suggested and because of the situation with John, it’s difficult.”
“There’s no need to explain, Inspector Greene. Of course it’s difficult and of course, I’ll go round straight away.”
Not that’s it’s me she’ll want. The only person that Hannah will want to see coming through the cottage door is John. How much more difficult would that be now that this had happened?
She got dressed, pulling out a warm cardigan from the shelf where she’d stacked her winter clothing. It was Yorkshire and it always got cold in the middle of the night regardless of the calendar.
Max came across to her as she went into the kitchen to get her keys.
“Not now, lad. I’ll take you for a walk later.” Maybe much later.
The day stretched ahead full of dread and uncertainty. Maybe the uneasy feelings she’d been having were nothing to do with Henry.
It might be an association with Josh Braithwaite and the havoc he’d wrought once before. A dark time in her own life that she could do without dwelling on.
Young Sergeant Brown led her into the kitchen. Hannah and Cathy both stood, both in dressing gowns and slippers, both looking absolutely wiped out.
“Inspector Greene telephoned me and told me what happened. I’m sorry, Hannah, Cathy.”
She’d debated with herself about this on the motor journey here.
You could argue that there was even less love lost between Hannah and Josh, after what had happened in recent days but it felt the right thing to do.
It felt right to show some respect regardless of what Josh Braithwaite had been.
[Edith Horton 05] - Murder in Retreat Page 15
