‘So she told me,’ Jenny said wearily. ‘I think it’s true.’
‘Have you traced this woman?’ Ronald put in with anxious eagerness.
Inspector Simmons shook his head. ‘Not at all. In fact, madam and gentlemen, it’s difficult to be sure the child was ever there.’
‘What?’ cried Jenny, staggering under the shock of the words. ‘But Lucy said ‒’
‘From all I hear, she’s scarcely responsible for what she says or does. No one at the Mitre actually saw the child, although one of the chambermaids did say something about being asked to buy a short frock, which she did.’
‘Then she would be able to say ‒’
‘Unfortunately she’s left her employment. The owner of the inn, Mr Treadgold, says she was a flighty piece and he’s glad to be rid of her. We haven’t been able to find her.’
‘The woman who promised to take care of Heather?’ Ronald demanded. ‘You’ve traced her?’
‘I’m afraid not. The ticket seller has no recollection of her, and the driver says he’s had several women or families with children as passengers. You must realise, sir, that though the stage doesn’t get anything like the custom it used to before the railways, it’s still very busy ‒ it still serves places the railway has bypassed, and in one week the routes handle a great many passengers.’
He left them to go and interview Lucy. When he returned he was shaking his head. ‘I don’t know if she understands the situation at all. She keeps talking about sending for a milliner. I can’t get anything of use from her.’
Jenny was now under attack from a blinding headache. The housekeeper helped her up to bed. Inspector Simmons took Ronald aside.
‘Mr Armstrong, I didn’t like to say any of this while your wife was present. But that lady in there ‒’ he nodded towards the morning room ‘‒ isn’t responsible for her actions. If she really did take the child from your home in Galashiels, she may have got rid of it on the way south.’
‘What are you saying?’ Ronald cried in horror. ‘Whatever her faults, Lucy loves the baby ‒’
‘That’s as may be, sir, but I can’t be sure she had the baby with her when she was at the Mitre.’
‘But she says Massiter ‒’
‘That may be true or it may not. She may only be putting it onto him. But if he took the child away from her, sir, I think you have to accept the possibility that he didn’t hand it to any convenient woman passenger on the stage.’
‘I don’t understand you.’
The inspector looked grim. ‘I think you’ve got to be prepared for the worst, sir. Your baby may well be at the bottom of the Thames.’
Chapter Nine
A new factor entered the case next day. A silver-haired gentleman called at the house in Eaton Square, sending up his card and asking to speak to either Mr or Mrs Armstrong ‘on behalf of Mrs Massiter’. Since Ronald was out with officers of the police force, trying to trace the chambermaid from the Mitre, Jenny received Mr Giles.
‘Mrs Armstrong, I realise that you are under a very great strain at present and I offer apologies for breaking in upon your anxieties. Before I go further I must ask if what I hear is true ‒ that young Mrs Corvill is supposed to have abducted your daughter?’
Jenny, turned to ice by his cruel question, bowed slightly. By now, she knew, it must be common gossip. And the newspapers had printed veiled hints about runaway wives and missing gentlemen.
‘Mrs Massiter has been approached by the police for news of her husband ‒’
‘Has she sent you to tell me where he is?’ Jenny cried in startled eagerness. Massiter alone knew the truth of the story about the ‘respectable young woman’.
‘Indeed no. Mrs Massiter has no idea where her erring husband may be. It is unlikely that he will communicate with her, since he took with him some very valuable gems and a large sum of money in gold sovereigns.’
‘Then I don’t understand ‒’
‘Am I right in believing young Mrs Corvill has been found?’
‘Yes.’
‘She is to be prosecuted, of course.’
Jenny frowned and hesitated. ‘We don’t know ‒ not here in London, certainly, because there seems to be no case to bring against her.’
‘Theft! She took part in the robbery of Mrs Massiter’s diamonds.’
In all fairness Jenny had to counter that accusation. ‘There’s no proof she knew Mr Massiter planned to take the diamonds, Mr Giles.’
‘Then she will be tried for the abduction of your child.’
She shook her head. ‘No witnesses saw her with Heather except my mother.’
‘She, I believe, is in Scotland?’
‘Yes.’ She forbore to tell this high-handed stranger that her mother was very ill in bed.
‘So the prosecution will be brought in Scotland.’
‘Mr Giles, I fail to see what it is you wish to achieve by these questions.’
‘I wish to convey the interest of Mrs Massiter. I will tell her that the prosecution is to take place under Scottish law, for which I have the greatest respect, but I am sure Mrs Massiter would want me to say that if there is anything she can do to further your case against Mrs Corvill ‒ if you wish to have inquiries made here in London or elsewhere in England, if you wish to have evidence sought, if you can use letters from Mrs Corvill left behind by Mr Massiter ‒ Mrs Massiter stands ready to help.’
‘Are you saying,’ Jenny asked in horror, ‘that Mrs Massiter has sent you here to ask for help in getting revenge against Lucy?’
‘Justice, dear lady, justice! Mrs Corvill tempted away Mrs Massiter’s husband ‒’
Jenny rose. ‘Sir, I must ask you to leave.’ She rang the bell.
The lawyer, looking surprised, rose too, but made no move to go. ‘Surely you wish to see Mrs Corvill punished?’
‘Please go.’
‘One moment. Am I to understand you would help to shield this wicked young woman?’
‘No, but I’ve no wish to be involved in Mrs Massiter’s vendetta.’
‘Your brother, Mr Corvill, would presumably have different views about a wife who has betrayed him. He would surely like to see the very revealing letters the lady wrote to her lover. Is your brother at home, Mrs Armstrong?’
‘No,’ lied Jenny, ‘and I assure you you’re quite wrong in your notions. Ned is grieved for Lucy, not vindictive. Graham, the gentleman’s hat.’
‘Your brother must be a very strange young man. But you, Mrs Armstrong ‒ surely you feel strongly against the woman who stole your child? You must want revenge!’
‘I want my baby back, that’s all,’ Jenny said, struggling for control in face of this insistent probe.
‘And if you don’t get her back?’
‘I want you to go!’
Mr Giles moved in stately fashion to the door. ‘I believe you will change your mind. When you do, remember that Mrs Massiter is your friend and ally.’
When he had gone out, Jenny slammed the door behind him. To the butler she cried, ‘Never let that man in again!’
Ned was in Lucy’s room during this interview. Lucy, now under the care of a doctor, had been given an opiate to calm her nerves. Under its influence she slept, a fragile figure in a lace-trimmed nightgown against lace-trimmed pillows. Her husband sat at her bedside murmuring soothing phrases. But the sounds of Mr Giles’s peremptory dismissal had reached his ears. He came downstairs.
‘Who was that?’
‘Some minion from Mrs Massiter, who wants Lucy prosecuted for every crime she can think of.’
‘Jenny, I know things look very black against my poor little wife, but you must believe me ‒ she’s incapable of the things the police have been suggesting.’
‘Don’t let’s discuss it, Ned.’
‘But I want you to understand ‒ Lucy would never harm anyone ‒’
‘She took Heather away, Ned.’
‘But she never meant to harm her ‒ it was Massiter ‒’
‘Yes, Mass
iter! Face it, brother. Lucy ran away to be with Harvil Massiter!’
He had had time to think of a way to live with this dreadful fact. ‘You have to understand that Lucy is a victim, not a criminal. Massiter used her. She’s more to be pitied than condemned ‒’
‘Pitied! God, pity is what she will batten on now! She’ll use it like a shield to keep from being made responsible. Ned, she struck down our mother ‒’
‘She never meant to!’
Jenny walked away, trembling with the anger that kept coming up in a senseless wave inside her. What was the use? Everyone wanted to look at the facts from a different viewpoint. Ned wanted to see only what could exculpate his wife, Mrs Massiter wanted to punish and annihilate her, the police wanted evidence, a case … No one understood that the only important thing was Heather, Heather; a little girl of eighteen months taken from everything she loved. Heather, lost now, somewhere in the wilderness of London.
Ronald came home about nine in the evening, exhausted, soaked by the rain that had been falling steadily all day. Jenny didn’t even have to ask if he had had any success. He looked beaten, broken.
‘Inspector Simmons has offered more men tomorrow. We’ll go out first thing.’
She nodded. She knew she should tell him that he needed rest and should stay at home, but she wanted him to help in the search, she wanted the whole world to search for her daughter. And find her. Find her.
The doctor came once more to look at Lucy and satisfy himself she was resting quietly. The household retired early. At three in the morning Jenny started awake. There was a sound downstairs, the bell of the outer door was ringing, had been ringing for some minutes.
She threw on a dressing-gown. Ronald was already at the bedroom door, wrenching it open. They flew down the stairs. Graham the butler, in rumpled nightclothes, was letting in a man in the uniform of the Metropolitan Police.
‘You’ve got news? You’ve found her?’
The officer came forward. In the light of the hall lamp silver buttons gleamed on his tunic. ‘No, ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s something quite different. I’m from the local station, Sergeant Luxby.’
‘Yes? What is it?’ Jenny, at the foot of the stairs, drew back at the seriousness of his face. ‘It’s bad news of some kind.’
‘We received a message by telegraph from a Mr Lauder in Galashiels ‒’
‘Dr Lauder!’
‘He didn’t know quite where you might be, so he asked the Galashiels police to get in touch with the Met. I’ve been sent to tell you ‒ he asks Mrs Armstrong to return at once.’
‘My mother ‒ something wrong with my mother. What else did he say?’
‘That’s all the message, ma’am. “Please contact Mrs Armstrong, tell her to return at once”.’
Ned had come down. He said, as if remembering it from a long time ago, ‘Of course, Mother is ill …’
‘There’s a train in a little over an hour, ma’am,’ the sergeant said. ‘I have a carriage outside ‒ if you would like to dress and come at once?’
‘Of course.’ She turned, began to climb the first step, stumbled, and almost fell. Ronald put his arms about her to help her up.
‘I’ll come too ‒’
‘No, stay here! Stay here and find Heather!’
‘But you can’t go alone.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ Ned put in.
Her impulse was to shout at him to stay out of her way. Her brother, whom she had loved since childhood, had become like a stranger to her now that his wife had wrecked their lives.
Yet while she was hesitating, holding back the angry refusal, he said, ‘She’s my mother too, Jenny.’
When they reached Galashiels in the grey light of morning, Dr Lauder was waiting on the platform. One look at his face told them the news was the worst.
‘She’s gone,’ he said. ‘At about four this morning.’
Jenny was past all tears. She stood on the draughty platform, the wind catching at her winter cloak and the ribbons of her bonnet. She felt her brother’s hand on her arm, but shook it off.
‘Mrs Armstrong, you look far from well,’ the doctor said.
‘I’m all right. Is the carriage here?’
‘Yes, we had word by telegraph from the London police that you were on your way.’ He glanced at Ned. ‘Have you any luggage?’
‘No, we just pulled on our clothes and ‒’ Ned’s voice was wavering out of control. He dropped behind as Lauder took Jenny’s arm to lead her out of the station. He was trying to come to terms with the fact that he had almost forgotten his own mother in the last few days.
‘How did it happen?’ Jenny asked, when they were in the carriage.
‘A pneumonic fever. That was always a danger after the exposure she suffered lying out in wet clothes that night. She simply hadn’t the strength to fight it.’
‘She was never robust.’
‘When I saw the crisis approaching yesterday evening I sent word to fetch you. Unfortunately I thought you were still in Dover. But even if you had come at once …’
The house was arranged for mourning ‒ the blinds down, the wreath of evergreen leaves bound with black crepe on the door, the hall mirror covered with a black shawl. Jenny threw off her cloak and went slowly upstairs. She stood by her mother’s bed in silence.
‘She asked for you,’ Dr Lauder said.
‘And me?’ Ned asked, from behind him.
Dr Lauder looked embarrassed. ‘She asked only for Jenny. But she spoke very little at any time. The growing infection in her lungs made it difficult for her to speak.’
Jenny had never felt so alone. Her mother was dead. Her brother was here, but the affection that had once bound her to him had turned to contempt. Ronald was in London, miles away. Her daughter was missing. It seemed there was no one, nothing, by which to find her way through life.
The well-established traditions of mourning took over. Friends called, leaving black-edged cards of condolence. The funeral was announced. Ronald arrived the next day, and the day after that the men followed the coffin to the graveside.
All the men of Galashiels ‒ neighbours, friends, fellow textile manufacturers, officials, workmen ‒ every man who could walk and had black to wear even if it were only an armband, came out to do honour to the mother of the mistress of Waterside Mill. After the funeral Ronald noticed that no one spoke to Ned. They shook hands on leaving the graveyard, as custom demanded, but no one seemed to want to pause with comforting words. In fact, as they later walked back to the carriage to go home, Ronald heard hisses from some of the workmen.
Next day Ned came uncertainly into the drawing room, where Jenny and Ronald sat signing formal cards of thanks to neighbours’ messages.
‘I want to speak to you,’ he began, looking from one to the other. ‘I ought to go back to London, to take care of my wife.’
His sister and his brother-in-law looked at him. Neither spoke.
‘I want to bring her home.’
Jenny put out a hand as if it ward off the words. Ronald captured it in his.
‘You’re not bringing her here,’ he said.
Ned stiffened, thrust out his chin. ‘This is our home!’
‘If you bring that woman across the threshold, I’ll ‒’
‘You’ve said that kind of thing before, Ronald. I let it go by because you’re under a great strain ‒’
‘Ned,’ Jenny said.
He stopped, looking at her.
‘Lucy cannot come into this house.’
Her brother stared, then opened his mouth to challenge the statement.
‘Wait. This is my house.’
‘What?’
‘Have you forgotten? When father died he left the business to you. He left the house to Mother and me, so that we would always have a roof over our heads. Now that mother is gone, the house belongs to me. And I will never, never allow Lucy to enter it.’
It was clear that he had not thought of any of this. He coloured in futile indignation,
but had more sense than to argue against the embargo.
‘In any case, I imagine that the Procurator Fiscal will decide where Lucy is to stay,’ Ronald said in a hard tone.
‘The Fiscal!’
‘She has charges to answer.’
‘But she’s not fit to be charged with anything ‒’
‘She won’t go on for ever living in a twilight world of chlorolhydrate. She’ll end up in court ‒ and after that, I imagine, in prison.’
Ned put a faltering hand to his shirt collar, pulling at it as if he were stifling. ‘You hate her,’ he whispered, ‘you really hate her.’
‘Yes.’
‘I won’t let you hound her! She didn’t mean to harm anyone ‒ you know she wouldn’t harm anyone!’
‘Only a fool like you could really believe that, Corvill.’
Ned turned for the door. ‘I’m going to London. She needs me. And I’ll find her a good lawyer so that you can’t trap her into a prison sentence! I’ll protect her from you, Ronald Armstrong!’
He almost ran out of the room. There came a bitter silence. Then Jenny said with a deep sigh, ‘What has it come to, that we can only think of hurting each other?’
Ronald had no answer to that. He had long ago gone past hope of anything but retribution.
A few days later, after a troubled conversation with Mr Kennet, the family lawyer, he went by appointment to see the Procurator Fiscal Depute in Edinburgh, Andrew McArder. The advocate had the documents of the Corvill case in front of him. He was a youngish man, with a clever, fox-like face.
‘Well now, Mr Armstrong, I’ve agreed to see you because this is a most difficult and delicate business. Mr Kennet of Galashiels writes to my superior Mr Gladwell that he hopes there may be no long delay in bringing Mrs Corvill to justice.’
‘Yes, that is our aim, Mr McArder. The lady is sheltering behind a claim of poor health, but ‒’
‘Her health would matter gey little, Mr Armstrong, if we had a good case against her. But I have to tell you we probably will not prosecute.’
Ronald gasped. Words of protest clogged his throat.
‘I see you’re surprised,’ the Depute said, playing with a paper-knife on his oak desk. ‘I don’t blame you. But from the legal point of view, there is no case to be brought.’
Broken Threads Page 12
