Jenny gulped. ‘That monster I saw – the murderer – was that my father?’
Martin coughed in embarrassment and looked away.
‘It can’t have been,’ said Jenny in a small voice. ‘What I saw wasn’t human. Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t my father. I’d have known him, wouldn’t I? I’d have known my own father.’
Martin coughed once more. ‘The mind plays funny tricks sometimes, Jenny. Perhaps what you saw as – well, a monster – was just how you remembered it later.’
‘He could’ve been dressed up?’ suggested Betty.
‘Whatever for?’ demanded Jenny, turning on her. ‘If you were going to commit a murder, you’d want to make yourself look as inconspicuous as possible, not more so.’
‘You’d be surprised what people do, Miss,’ put in Bill. ‘I’ve heard of some very odd cases.’
‘But this is my father,’ she protested. ‘I know I never knew him, but this is my father.’ She sank back in her chair again, hugging her knees. ‘If only I’d known him!’ she broke out. ‘If only there was someone who knew him, who could tell me what he was like.’
‘There is,’ said Jack unexpectedly.
Martin and Jenny both stared at him.
‘I got a letter from a Mrs Gwyneth Shilton in answer to my advertisements. She’s your father’s sister. Your aunt.’
‘My aunt?’ repeated Jenny in bewilderment. She turned to Martin. ‘Did you know about her?’
Martin looked uncomfortable. ‘I do, as a matter of fact. She used to write to Mum occasionally. I found her letters after Mum died and dropped her a line to say what had happened.’
‘And you never told me?’
‘Tell you what?’ demanded Martin. ‘I don’t know anything, Jenny, apart from what Dad told me that day.’
‘What did he tell you, Dr Langton?’ asked Bill curiously.
Martin shrugged. ‘More or less what you seem to have discovered. Obviously, his first thought was for Jenny. When Mrs Trevelyan—’
‘My mother,’ put in Jenny in an uncertain voice.
Martin swallowed. ‘All right then, your mother. When she disappeared, Trevelyan wrote to my – our – parents to ask if she’d turned up in Salterbeck.’
‘Did he?’ asked Jenny, looking startled. ‘But that sounds as if he really didn’t know what had happened to her.’
A cynical expression crossed Martin’s face. If Jenny had been looking, she’d have seen exactly the same expression mirrored on the other faces in the room.
‘That’s not really the case, Miss Langton,’ said Bill. ‘If he was trying to cover his tracks, that’s exactly what I’d expect him to do.’
‘But …’ began Jenny, then stopped. ‘This is very difficult, isn’t it?’ she said in a small voice. ‘Go on, Martin. What did Mum and Dad do after they got the letter?’
‘Naturally Mum was concerned for her sister, but she and Dad were also concerned for you. They wrote back to Trevelyan – your father – and the upshot was that they travelled down to London and took you back with them. Dad told me it was said at the time it was supposed to be a temporary arrangement until your mother was found. That was what they told your father, but Dad believed your mother had gone for good.’
Jenny swallowed. ‘You mean Dad thought my father was a – a murderer?’
Martin looked away in embarrassment. ‘That’s about the size of it,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘He was worried for your safety, Jenny. You must see that. And so,’ he added, taking a sip of beer, ‘you remained in Salterbeck. As I said, I was only a kid. I do remember you arriving but everything went on more or less as it had before so it didn’t really make much difference. I suppose the neighbours knew, but both Mum and Dad were well liked and respected, so everyone accepted it. No one wanted to cause any trouble.’
‘I remember,’ said Jenny, ‘some odd conversations between the grown-ups. Women who stopped talking when they realised I was in the room.’
‘Do you?’ asked Martin. ‘I must say I never twigged anything.’
Martin Langton, thought Jack, was the sort of person who accepted things at face value. He didn’t, he thought, have a very enquiring mind. Or, to put it another way, Dr Langton wasn’t, as Betty said about him, naturally nosy.
‘Anyway,’ continued Martin, ‘it must’ve been a year after you arrived that Eric was born, and there we were, the three Langton children.’ He took a cigarette from the box and lit it. ‘I was shocked when Dad told me the truth, Jenny, but I couldn’t see it mattered very much. I didn’t want you to find out, of course, any more than Mum and Dad did, but only because you were my sister and Eric’s sister and I didn’t want you to feel upset about things.’ He looked round the room helplessly. ‘That’s all.’
‘That’s a very natural reaction, Dr Langton,’ said Jack.
Martin looked at him hopefully. ‘You think so? Good. Then I can take it that it’s over?’
‘Over?’ said Jenny. ‘What do you mean, over?’
Martin wriggled uncomfortably. ‘All this mystery business. Look, it was a brutal crime, and I’m sorry you were caught up in it, but it’s all finished with, yes? You don’t have to keep poking and prying. You know what happened. The best thing to do is forget about it.’
‘Should I?’ Jenny’s voice was doubtful. She looked at her friend. ‘Betty, what do you think? Do you think I should I forget about it?’
‘I …’ Betty began and hesitated. She knew that Martin Langton was willing her to say yes. And really, there were good reasons to agree. The crime, a brutal crime, as Martin had said, was tucked away safely in the past. The facts seemed clear and all the damage that could be done had been done. But that would never be satisfactory, would it? If it was her choice, she’d always want to know more, but it wasn’t her decision.
‘It has to be up to you,’ she said.
Jenny bit her lip. ‘Mr Rackham,’ she said, turning to Bill. ‘You told us what was in the official report. Do you think Michael Trevelyan – my father,’ she added, picking her words carefully, ‘was guilty of murder?’
Bill didn’t answer right away. ‘It seems that way,’ he said eventually. ‘There’s some very pressing evidence against him. The letter and the diary, to say nothing of him making a run for it, all point in that direction. However, I’d like to know more. The obvious question is, what did he do with the body?’
‘So you think there’s questions to be answered?’
Bill nodded. ‘Yes, I do, but getting answers twenty years after the event is going to be tricky, to say the least.’
‘I want to know what I saw in the garden,’ said Jenny. She turned to Martin. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. I loved Mum and Dad – and you and Eric, too, of course – but I want to know what happened. If my father really did kill my mother, I’d like to know why.’ She raised her hands and then let them drop helplessly. ‘I just feel there’s more to be discovered.’
She turned to Jack. ‘You say you had a letter from a Mrs Shilton? My aunt?’ Jack nodded. ‘What did she say?’
‘She said she always believed in your father’s innocence.’
Jenny frowned. ‘I wonder if she’s right?’
Martin wriggled uneasily. ‘She’s his sister, for heaven’s sake, Jen. What do you expect her to think?’ He glanced at Jack. ‘Are you going to see her?’
‘I am, as a matter of fact. She offered to see me if I cared to call round.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Jenny with determination.
‘Jenny …’ began Martin warningly, but Jenny shook her head.
‘I’m going to do it, Martin, and, what’s more, I’d like to go this afternoon.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I don’t want to lose my nerve.’
‘You don’t even know if she’s at home,’ protested Martin. ‘You can’t just barge in on a total stranger.’
‘We can always find out if she’s at home, can’t we? And as for being a stranger, she is my aunt, after all.’ She looked at Jack. ‘Is she on the
telephone? Can you ring her? Can you do it now?’
SEVEN
Mrs Shilton’s house, facing Cannon Hill Common, radiated middle-class respectability and comfort, with its double bay windows, attached garage and well-tended gardens.
Jenny hesitated before she rang the bell. She was glad that both Jack and Betty had come with her. Martin had been very dubious about the trip, but she had promised to tell him everything at dinner that evening.
Betty squeezed her arm. ‘Buck up,’ she said softly. ‘Remember, she is your aunt.’
The door was opened by a young white-aproned maid, who clearly knew, from her look of decently restrained excitement, exactly who they were and why they had come. ‘I’ll tell the mistress you’re here,’ she said, ushering them into the hall and taking their coats. ‘She’s been waiting for you.’
Mrs Shilton appeared at the door to the drawing room. ‘Are they here, Edith?’ she called, then broke off as she saw them.
She was a small, plump, dark-eyed woman. She looked swiftly from Jenny to Betty, fixed on Jenny, then seemed to swell as she radiated happiness. She came towards them, her hands outstretched, her face crinkling in a huge smile. She looked, thought Jack, immediately charmed, like a delighted raisin.
‘You’re Jennifer!’ she said excitedly, taking her hands. ‘Little Jenny! Oh, my dear, I’ve thought of you so much. You look so like your poor, dear mother.’ She tore her eyes away from Jenny for a moment to glance at Jack. ‘Ever since you telephoned, Mr Haldean, I’ve been beside myself with excitement, haven’t I, Edith?’
‘Indeed you have, ma’am,’ said the beaming maid.
Mrs Shilton’s happiness was so infectious, Jack and Betty couldn’t help feeling warmed by it. ‘I told you it would be all right,’ muttered Betty to her friend.
‘All right?’ questioned Mrs Shilton.
Jenny had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. ‘I did wonder if you would …’ She broke off. What had worried her, as Jack well knew, was if Mrs Shilton, aunt or no aunt, would actually care to see her, granted her brother had apparently murdered Jenny’s mother. ‘I wondered if you would remember me,’ she finished lamely if tactfully.
‘Remember you?’ asked Mrs Shilton, with a laugh. ‘I could hardly forget you. I used to play with you when you were little. You had a teddy bear and I used to chase you round the garden with it.’
Jack couldn’t help giving Betty a smug look. He felt a proprietorial interest in that teddy bear. She snorted with laughter and nudged him in the ribs.
Both Mrs Shilton and Jenny looked at them enquiringly. ‘I found that teddy bear,’ he explained. ‘It was in the old toy box in the attic of Saunder’s Green.’
With the mention of Saunder’s Green, a chill came into the atmosphere.
Mrs Shilton’s face fell. ‘That was all so very sad,’ she said. ‘Ah well, the past is the past and can’t be helped. Jennifer, my dear, you must call me Aunt Gwyn.’
‘Aunty Gwyn,’ said Jenny suddenly. ‘You’re Aunty Gwyn. Nanty. I remember you.’
Mrs Shilton blinked away sudden tears. ‘Nanty.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s years since I’ve heard that name. I’d forgotten that’s what you used to call me.’
‘Did you have tea with me in my tree house?’ asked Jenny.
Mrs Shilton looked startled. ‘Why, yes! You had a toy tea set and loved playing tea parties. Your daddy built you that tree house. It was very cramped but I remember squeezing in. Your mother said it was too high up for you, but it had a big wide ladder. You were perfectly safe.’
‘It had a slide,’ Jenny said excitedly. ‘I loved it!’ She turned to Jack and Betty. ‘I can remember! Really remember, I mean.’ Her face fell. ‘I wish I could remember more. More about what happened.’
That chill came into the atmosphere once more.
Mrs Shilton took her arm, obviously sensing, if not understanding, the change in mood. ‘Now, come on into the sitting room everyone and we’ll have tea.’ She glanced at the maid. ‘It’s all ready, isn’t it, Edith?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the beaming maid, who was obviously deeply touched by this reunion. ‘It’s all prepared, just as you asked.’
Over tea and muffins, Mrs Shilton drew out every detail Jenny could tell her about her life with the Langtons. In return they learned that Mrs Shilton was widowed. Her husband, Alan, had been killed at Passchendaele, leaving her with two sons, Robert and James.
‘They’re your cousins, of course, Jenny,’ said Mrs Shilton proudly. ‘They’re away at university now, but they’ll be very pleased to meet you.’ These were very brief details, though. Mrs Shilton returned time and again to Jenny, hungry for information about the missing years.
‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve thought about you,’ she said. ‘Sheila Langton would write to me occasionally, which was good of her. I was sorry to receive a letter from Martin Langton to say she had passed away. It was kind of the Langtons to take you. To know you were well looked after was a real weight off poor Michael’s mind.’
‘So he cared about me?’ asked Jenny nervously.
Mrs Shilton opened her eyes wide in surprise. ‘Cared about you? My dear, he doted on you. You mustn’t ever doubt that. And he loved your mother, no matter what wicked lies the police told. But tell me, Mr Haldean, how did you get involved? When I saw your advertisement in the newspaper I very nearly didn’t respond. I thought some wretched journalist was digging the whole sorry story up again. In the end, I just couldn’t bear to ignore your advertisement and I’m so glad I didn’t. But how did you come to be involved?’
‘You’d better tell your aunt the whole story, Miss Langton,’ said Jack, then paused. ‘Actually, should I call you Miss Langton? After all, we know it’s not actually your name.’
‘Why don’t you call me Jenny?’ she said after a few moment’s thought. ‘You’ve done so much to help, I’d like that. As for my surname … Well, I’ve lived with it for as long as I can remember and it seems a bit disloyal to Mum and Dad to abandon it now. Martin would hate it,’ she added. ‘And Eric, come to that.’
Mrs Shilton, rather to Jack’s surprise, nodded in agreement. ‘It’s probably just as well, my dear.’ She swallowed and went on. ‘After all the … the unpleasantness with the police, it was better for you that you were brought up as a Langton.’
She sighed deeply. ‘It’s a shame, though. Your father – my brother, I mean – was so proud of you, I’d like to think you had his name, but it can’t be helped. But what’s this story that Mr Haldean was referring to? I can’t understand how you found out about things after all this time.’ She gave Jack a puzzled look. ‘And I don’t see where Mr Haldean fits into all this. Did you come across some old letters or something?’
Jenny shook her head. ‘No, it’s nothing like that. It was a good deal more scary.’
Helped with prompting from Jack and Betty, Jenny related what had happened to her that day at Saunder’s Green.
Mrs Shilton listened to her with growing astonishment which, as Jenny recounted what she had seen from the tree house, was replaced with horror. ‘You saw it?’ she exclaimed. ‘But what was this thing, this monster?’
Betty, seeing Jenny’s hesitation, stepped in. ‘We don’t think there actually was a monster as such,’ she said, ignoring Jenny’s wriggle of dissent. ‘We think that’s how Jenny remembered it because what she actually saw was too shocking to take in.’
Mrs Shilton looked startled. ‘I suppose that could be it,’ she said dubiously. ‘But I can’t get over the idea that you were there, Jenny.’ She reached out and squeezed Jenny’s hand. ‘No one ever knew,’ she said softly. ‘I remember I asked Michael about you when I heard the awful news, and he said you were fine.’
She screwed up her face in recollection. ‘Now what did your nurse say? I think she said that you’d been in the garden with your mother. One of the other servants had gone to collect the tea things and neither you or your mother were anywhere to be seen.’
She looked distressed at the memory. ‘Naturally everyone thought you and your mother had gone for a walk in the garden. There was a bridge over the stream that was a favourite of yours and you loved to sail little boats under the bridge. They looked there, but you were nowhere to be seen. They found you eventually safe and sound in the nursery but, of course, your poor mother had vanished.’
She looked at Jenny, puzzled. ‘No one said you were particularly upset. Your nurse would’ve have told your daddy if you had been distressed. Are you sure you were there? If you really had seen something as dreadful as you say, surely you’d have been in tears.’
Jack shook his head. ‘That wasn’t how it was in the war, Mrs Shilton. I know men who’d seen appalling sights who would never acknowledge them. I think it’s a sort of safety valve for the mind, to block out anything that is just too ghastly for words.’
He looked at Jenny. ‘I imagine you’d have been very quiet and withdrawn and, of course, with everyone concerned about your mother, no one would’ve paid you much attention. They were probably glad you were being “good” as they’d have seen it.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Shilton unhappily. ‘I was one of those people. Michael asked me to come and stay to look after things while he searched for Caroline. I arrived the day after she’d gone and yes, I do remember you being very quiet, Jennifer.’
She gave them a guilty look. ‘It seems so dreadful now, but I remember being pleased that you were so quiet, because the house was at sixes and sevens. It was bad enough with the builders coming and going, with all the noise and dust – that had been going on all summer – and your poor father was nearly off his head with worry.’
‘You were obviously very close to my father,’ said Jenny.
‘Indeed I was,’ agreed Mrs Shilton vigorously. ‘And let me say again that he would never have harmed poor Caroline. If you’d known him, you’d realise how ridiculous the idea is. Yes, he had a temper, but he was a good man. Anyone who knew my brother would’ve known he was utterly incapable of raising a finger to his wife. He and Caroline were a devoted couple.’
Forgotten Murder Page 11
