As Mark read the letters, he felt they were from a young man enjoying a new way of life. While James had not volunteered, he was facing his conscription with cheerfulness and determination; he’d beaten his colleagues in rifle-shooting competitions, he’d had no trouble adjusting to the discipline and had enjoyed most of his training.
There was another side to it all, of course — some of the meeker recruits were bullied, one lad could not march because he moved his right hand with his right leg, another was colour blind and couldn’t distinguish green from red, another spent all his nights lying on his bed in tears, another had smuggled his cat into the barracks and gave it most of his own food…
Through the letters, he gained the impression that although James Reuben Hartley was a reluctant soldier, he was determined to do his best for God and his country. He always expressed his love for his mother and for the rest of the family, sometimes asking after Luke’s children or Matthew who had become a priest. He’d heard that one trade union leader, Ben Tillet of the dockers, had suggested that all clergymen should be conscripted. Tillet had calculated that there were 20,000 of them and called them miserable cowards, asking why it was that men who so often said they wanted to go to heaven were afraid to put themselves in the position of going sooner than they intended. In fact, the truth was that lots of them had volunteered. Tillet was merely making mischief and political capital.
It was the mention of heaven that reminded Mark Pemberton of the verse which said James had gone to hell. Was it a reference to the trenches? Had the verse begun to circulate while James was in training? Or did it follow his death? As he ploughed through the letters, Mark found nothing which provided any indication that things were not all right at home.
Mrs Hartley wanted James back, clearly regarding him as her special son; that she doted upon him was evident from her letters. Mark guessed there had been more than a few tears at Pike Hill upon his departure to the Green Howards. But there were no problems, it seemed, no messages from girlfriends, no disgruntled men who might have wanted to contact James about anything, no unpaid bills, no old scores to settle. And no sign that Mrs Hartley was ailing or sick.
With regard to the final letters, Mark found that James had been told of his impending posting. He and Eric had been earmarked to serve in the area of the Somme in France, to add valuable support to the British troops already there. They were to sail from Folkestone on Wednesday, 13th September 1916.
James’s CO had told him about the Horsemasters who were also sailing with their animals. James liked animals; he said in his final letter that he would not mind working with horses in France, doing spots of farrier work, grooming and so forth. That was his last letter. It was dated Friday, 8th September 1916 and had probably arrived at the farm on the Saturday following. There was nothing in it about coming home for a short embarkation leave — indeed the tone of the letter suggested he was going straight from Richmond to Folkestone and then to France.
The telegram from home had changed all that. And James must have responded by telegram — how else would the family have known what time to collect him from Rosenthorpe station?
As Mark rested from his studies, he felt that James had never considered he would be coming home before embarking, he had never expressed any fear about going to war and, most certainly, there was never a hint of his being suicidal.
So who had spread that kind of rumour, and why?
Pemberton knew he must digest the contents of those old statements yet again. There must be something he’d overlooked, some tiny item of evidence he’d missed. He tugged the huge file towards him and turned once again to the very first report. He would start at the beginning. He was sure that James Reuben Hartley had been lured to his death.
Chapter Twenty
Pemberton began by reappraising the victim profile that DI Larkin had compiled from Dawson’s earlier work. Now that his knowledge of the personalities was more detailed, he quickly found some contradictions — on the one hand, James was portrayed as a softy, a mother’s boy, a man who was afraid of becoming a soldier, and yet during military training, he’d proved to be a good soldier, eager to learn and very capable at everything he attempted. There was not the slightest suggestion that he was a cissy or a mother’s boy.
It was Luke who had hinted that James was not a strong man by saying his mother was worried about him walking from the railway station while carrying all his kit, something he would have had to do while serving in France. Soldiers were trained to march mile after mile carrying their kit, so a walk from the railway station to the farm, although five miles or so, would not have been a hardship for a countryman. Even old ladies and children would often walk that sort of distance, either to go to school or to visit the town by train.
But it dawned on Mark that it was James’s mother who’d said he needed careful treatment.
Luke’s statement contained phrases like, ‘Mother asked if I would collect James because it was a long walk home…’ Later, when he’d returned without James, ‘Mother was in tears, worrying herself sick.’ Mark therefore turned to Mrs Hartley’s own statement; it was upon this that Larkin had relied for his victim profile.
He found phrases like ‘James was the weakest one of the family, he was never very robust as a child, often off school with sickness of one kind or other.’ ‘He was a kind-hearted lad, he’d always be thinking of his parents, and would always give me a helping hand, carrying heavy buckets or even laying out the washing on the hedges.’ ‘He was very sensitive, he hated us having to drown kittens and wouldn’t help with pig killing.’ ‘When conscription was announced, I thought he would never make a soldier, he was too sensitive and shy. I told him to go to the tribunal to get exemption, but he didn’t want to. I think he was frightened that people would think he was a coward or avoiding his duty to the country, so he never went to the tribunal. I don’t think he was a pacifist, but he was never one for a rough-and-tumble at home.’ ‘He couldn’t make friends with girls too easily, he was very shy.’ ‘He had no enemies, he wasn’t seeing somebody else’s girlfriend or wife, he wouldn’t do that sort of thing. He would sometimes talk to girls after church, he always drove me to church in the pony and trap, but he never brought a girl back home. I think some of the less savoury sort of girls would have liked to get their hands on him. They used to talk to him when he took me shopping and try to get him to take them for walks. He was a good-looking man, you see, and very kind and gentle. I know some of them couldn’t wait until he got into a soldier’s uniform, I had to warn him about the sort of things they’d do to force him into marriage.’
In Mark’s opinion, this revealed an over-protective mother rather than a wimpish youth. The idea that James had not wished to fight appeared to have come not from James himself but from his mother; there was no doubt she had dominated the lad. He was not her youngest son, but he was the youngest still at home. The youngest of all, James’s brother Robert, had married and gone to live in Newcastle on Tyne. Matthew, also younger, had gone away to become a priest and so James had remained to work on the farm with his elder brothers, perhaps knowing that he would never inherit the business, that he would never become owner — that he’d always be merely a farm worker at the beck and call of his father and his older brothers.
Mark’s opinion of James was changing.
He now regarded James as a very considerate young man. He was the sort who would not want to hurt his mother’s feelings by leaving home while she was alive; he’d sacrifice his own future for her and the family. If he went to meet a girl he would keep it a secret from his mother, Mark reckoned.
He also guessed that James had welcomed an opportunity to get away from the farm even if it meant joining the Green Howards to fight in the notoriously evil battles in the Somme. And typical of the lad, he’d written to his mother every day, but instead of pandering to her desires, he told her and the family all about his new and exciting world, the new friends he was making and the new experiences he was enjo
ying.
Mark realised that if this woman was neurotic and over-protective, the thought of her beloved son being despatched overseas, possibly to his death in France, could indeed have made her ill, but none of the statements referred to any illness. In fact, they all said she’d been very busy that Monday, preparing food for the twenty men and other family members who were helping with the threshing.
Mark plodded through the file. There were statements from a handful of those workers, men from the village who went from farm to farm assisting with threshing. The police had clearly thought it unnecessary to interview them all when all were at the same place at the same time. Threshing days in 1916 were always like this — umpteen workers all knowing their job and all working from dawn till dusk to get the task completed. The huge hissing traction engine was used to power the thresher, but the work of loading it, stacking the straw and storing the grain was all done by hand. It was a long slow job, but it was vital to get the threshing finished before winter and so the moorland farmers all helped one another.
The machinery would be hired, and it would travel from farm to farm in an endeavour to meet the demand, the hired workers followed it to earn some hard cash from their labours. As a consequence, Pike Hill Farm on the Monday of James’s death would have been a hive of activity. Every available assistant, whether child or adult, would have been welcomed.
Mark checked the statements taken from a sample of the workers; they all agreed that Luke had taken the pony and trap at the time he’d stated, and with the intention of collecting James from the railway station. Those who knew James did not have a bad word to say about him. They respected his decision to join up without appealing to a tribunal and they said he had no enemies in the locality.
A third fact which clearly emerged from the statements was that those who knew James said he was a fine and intelligent young man who could have made a career in a town because he had a good brain and he liked reading and writing. They all said he was quiet and somewhat shy, but he was never a cissy, as they put it.
Mark also found a statement from Father Clifford, the parish priest at Wolversdale. He expressed an opinion that James Reuben Hartley was a fine upstanding young man with a deep social conscience and a high intellect. He had no enemies, he was well mannered and considerate to everyone. Father Clifford knew of no reason why anyone would wish to harm him, nor did he think James would ever contemplate suicide.
Most certainly, he would not shrink from something as important as fighting for his country. Before leaving home to join the Green Howards, James had talked about it to the priest, not to seek advice but merely as one man talks to another, and he had said he was quite looking forward to the experience — he’d even said he had no fear of dying for his country because he had every faith that God would look after him.
Mark returned to the statements which dealt with that fateful day, a hectic time for Pike Hill Farm in which even the children had a part to play. One statement was made by a Mrs Gloria Bowen; she said she’d been at the farm all day assisting with the feeding arrangements and also looking after the Hartley children. Luke’s son, Caleb, aged eleven, had been considered mature enough to work on the stack while Paul, only nine, had been given the job of sweeping up the stray bits of straw. George’s eldest, also called Caleb and also eleven, worked beside his cousin on the stack, while Joseph, almost ten, had the chore of sweeping up the fallen grains of corn and taking them to a large bin in one of the outhouses. Young Maria, aged only seven, stayed with Mrs Bowen and helped carry the food out to the men or the empty mugs and dishes back into the kitchen for washing. Everyone had had a job.
Mark’s scrutiny of a mass of other minor statements, made by those who had known James, all confirmed James’s status among the villagers and tradespeople — he was a charming young man who was universally liked and respected.
Girls wanted him to pay attention to them, but his mother always seemed to be in the background. She seemed to be jealous of any girl who threatened to take him from her. Mrs Hartley was always steering him away from those she regarded as not suitable — it seemed that no young woman was good enough for her favourite son. There was no sign, in any of the statements, that James had any close male friends either — he was not a sportsman or a team player, although he had partaken in sheep-dog trials and shown a high degree of skill with a rifle. He was something of a loner, it seemed, preferring to enjoy those activities which did not require a team. All the indications that James was a softy were now regarded by Pemberton as untrue. Both Dawson and Paul Larkin had relied too heavily upon the mother’s statement. He must have words with Larkin.
Mark began to see James as something of a lonely man, perhaps not necessarily through his own choice. Sixth in a large family, living on an isolated farm and having to obey his neurotic mother’s whims, he might not have been able to make many friends, certainly not of the opposite sex. There were the poetry books among his belongings too — Mark saw him spending a lot of time alone with the books, perhaps reading them in his room or walking in the beautiful countryside which surrounded the farm.
There had always been the family’s feelings and reputation for James to consider; if he had wanted to leave home to follow a more Bohemian lifestyle, his family might not have approved. Mark wondered whether James had come to regard the army as a means of escape from his restricted existence. He had not volunteered for military service, perhaps because of pressure from his mother, but the moment conscription had been imposed on all unmarried men of military age (ie between eighteen and forty-one), James had applied to join the army. Mark felt sure this had provided him with the necessary impetus to leave home and make his own way in the world.
After reading all the letters James had sent home, Pemberton was satisfied that none referred to embarkation leave or a short visit home before leaving for France. Likewise none of his mother’s letters ever said she was ill or in need of his presence. Yet James had responded to a telegram suggesting his mother was ill. He’d been granted compassionate leave of one night — just enough time to draw him back to his death. So why was the telegram sent? Was it a summons to meet his death? It bore Luke’s name but not his signature — the words would have been written by a postal clerk at Richmond before delivery to the Regiment. Was it from Luke acting alone? Or was it the brothers together, all working in some form of conspiracy? Or was it even from James’s mother, making use of Luke’s name? But if there had been a conspiracy among the brothers, why plot against the likeable, quiet and shy James?
Mark then asked himself how many brothers were on the farm that day. He sought the answer by turning to more of the collected statements. He needed to know where every member of the family was on Monday, 11th September 1916, so he drew a pad of notepaper towards him and listed each member against a sequence of columns bearing headings denoting the time of day.
He jotted down the times beginning at 7.00am with hourly intervals until 9.00pm. Then it meant plodding through yet more statements to determine the whereabouts of every member of the family at any particular hour.
He began with Caleb Hartley, aged sixty-four. Caleb had been on the farm all that day, his task being to organise and supervise the threshing operation. When interviewing Caleb, Inspector Dawson had obviously asked the specific question, ‘Did you leave the farm at all on Monday, 11th September 1916?’ because there was a sentence in his statement which said, ‘I did not leave Pike Hill Farm at all during that day.’
Mrs Hartley had been at the farm all day too. Her statement said she had been feeding the team of about twenty threshers, aided by other women. Six of the other women had been interviewed and corroborated Mrs Hartley’s statement. No one had noticed any woman departing from the farm at the material time.
Luke had left the farm, as Mark knew only too well. He’d departed alone in the pony and trap at 2.30pm specifically to collect James. He had intended arriving at the station at 3.35pm. Several witnesses had seen him leave and verified the time. Luk
e had not found James at the station and had waited in the village in case he turned up later; Luke had returned home just before 6.00pm. Luke’s wife, Edith, and their children had been helping too. They had been on the farm all day.
Mark turned to a 1916 map of Pike Hill Farm and its environs which showed the farm’s position in relation to Wolversdale and also the roads to Rosenthorpe, both the public road and the toll road. There was a long track leading across fields from the high road to the farm; it hadn’t changed since 1916, except that it was now surfaced with tarmac. Pemberton remembered it from his own visit to George Hartley — if anyone had driven along that road, they would have been noticed quite easily by the people working around the premises. No one could have sneaked away without being observed.
George Stanley Hartley was the second eldest son and, according to his statement, he’d been threshing with the rest of the family all day. He had disappeared once or twice to attend to matters about the premises but had not left the farm. His wife, Mary, and children had been helping with food during the threshing. This was the present George’s grandfather.
Samuel was a butcher and was living away from the farm at the time of the murder; Thomas and Sophie the twins had moved to Hull, Matthew was a priest in Manchester, Jessica was living in Lincoln and Robert had married and was living in Newcastle on Tyne. But the police had never interviewed any of those brothers about their whereabouts. So had they all come home on Monday, 11th September 1916? After all, Dawson had not been too concerned with the people who had actually been on the farm that day; he needed to know who’d left it or who had been at or near the scene of the crime at the material times.
Mark knew that it was customary for all the brothers to assist with the harvest and with the threshing; even though they had their own work and their own families to care for, it would not have been unusual for them to arrive that day to give their assistance. The other helpers would not have considered it worthy of comment. Indeed, it was their absence which would have prompted comment. Mark then asked himself whether, if Thomas had in fact come home, there would have been any necessity to do so in secret. Surely, the family threshing day was the perfect reason.
Family Ties (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 1) Page 20
