Snow mounded on the gabled porch and traced leafless wisteria vines that climbed the wall. Although she could see customers at tables inside, there was little to hear but birds on the forage and the snapping of sticks under the snow’s weight.
Considering for only an instant, Alex chose the bell for the flat and gave it a push. The tea rooms were open for afternoon tea so the ladies might not be upstairs, but this was a personal, very personal visit.
She stood back to look at a window upstairs which usually opened to allow Harriet or Mary to call down and ask her up. Instead, the door on the right opened and one of the women who worked at Leaves of Comfort smiled out. ‘Hello, Alex. They just went up for a bite of late lunch. Said to send you after them.’ So, she’d been seen from the windows as usual.
Winifred Sibley, who comfortably filled out a floral, wraparound pinafore, waved Alex inside. ‘Get in quick. It’s cold enough to freeze the bottom off a brass monkey.’ She winked and went back to serving customers.
Among the items displayed for sale around the rooms on high, antimacassar-draped shelves, were small china dolls dressed entirely in handmade lace and fine lawn. These were Winifred’s work and Alex owned one which she kept in the library at Lime Tree Lodge in company with her extensive collection of children’s books.
‘What’s taking you so long?’ Harriet Burke called from the top of the stairs to the flat. ‘The kettle’s on.’
Banging snow from her boots onto the doormat, Alex waved at Harriet and spread greetings to those she knew – which was most present – having tea at mismatched wooden tables, any of which was for sale together with their handmade cloths.
Taking the stairs two at a time she paused to scratch Oliver the sinewy gray tabby between the ears. Oliver was the stay-at-home member of the family. No carousing in pubs for him.
‘We thought we might see you,’ Mary Burke said from her spindle rocker. Today’s Spanish comb – she always wore one in her white chignon, minus the mantilla – looked to be made of pink coral and was quite beautiful.
At the sound of a kettle’s whistle from the kitchen Harriet stood up from her overstuffed chintz chair. ‘I’ll make that tea. We’ve the best custard tarts from George’s. One of the good things about growing old is that one can eat tarts for lunch, or pudding first at dinner. What would we do without George’s? That bakery may not know they are our partner, but we could never manage without them.’ She went into the kitchen but popped out again and said, ‘I mustn’t forget about Gladys. Did Gladys Lymer come to see you about a job?’
Alex shrugged. ‘No.’
‘She’s a bit shy about it,’ Mary said. ‘Life at Major and Mrs Stroud’s isn’t working out very well anymore. Not enough hours and, well, you know only too well how the Strouds are.’
‘Gladys is a housekeeper.’ She wasn’t prepared to talk about this now.
‘She’s also a fine cook and we did sort of drop the idea that you’re busy these days and might be able to use capable extra hands in the restaurant kitchen.’
‘Gladys?’ Puzzled, Alex paused in the middle of taking off her coat. ‘I always thought she was settled with the Strouds.’
Neither sister responded.
‘Yes, well …’ Alex didn’t want to be distracted.
Harriet said, ‘Her husband is Frank. I don’t think he’s kept much work for some time. Gladys is looking for another job. She’s such a good cook and we were thinking you might be able to use her.’
The timing was bad for this discussion. ‘I … I might be able to. She should come and talk to me. Good cooks aren’t so easy to find out here – not reliable ones. My chef is Phil Jenkins. I’ll talk to him, but have Gladys come to me. I’ve known her forever.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Harriet said, beaming. ‘And I think Mary should have said, we hoped you’d come today. You must be on edge, Alex dear. I know we are. And we’re worried about our Lily. But let me get that tea.’
‘I want you to sit down and relax,’ Mary said to Alex, indicating the rather lumpy rose velvet sofa reserved for guests. ‘And I don’t want you to worry about your mother. I’m certainly not concerned. It’s Harriet who always overreacts in these situations.’ Mary wound a cutwork linen handkerchief tightly back and forth through her fingers. ‘I’ve given up trying to be a voice of reason. My sister must just work these things through on her own.’
Rather than sit immediately, Alex finished taking off her long, green, down-filled coat and went to the window that overlooked the pretty churchyard abutting the Burke’s back garden. St. Aldwyn’s plain little Victorian church was made beautiful by grand deciduous and coniferous trees. ‘The snow makes things so pretty,’ she said, not ready to start what might feel like an inquisition. ‘But I like to think of all the climbing roses in the churchyard when spring and summer come.’ What she would really like was to get rid of the dread closing in around her.
‘Here we are.’ On a trolley, Harriet brought in small sandwiches, tea and cakes, and the custard tarts on their own pretty china plate. She caught Alex’s eye with sharp intensity. ‘This is going to be a conversation we should have had years ago, but Lily wasn’t ready. I had begun to believe she never would be.’
Alex served Mary and took tea for herself. She didn’t feel like eating.
‘So,’ Harriet said, resuming her seat, ‘what don’t you know?’
‘Everything,’ Alex replied. ‘I don’t know a thing.’ She stood near an electric fire in the grate, presently flanked by Oliver and Max.
‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ Mary said. ‘What we can’t decide is how much of a problem that presents.’
‘What does that mean?’ Alex made herself go to the sofa and sit down. Being with Tony had helped but still she hadn’t slept much last night and there had been too much to take in for the past twenty-four hours.
Since silence had met her question she decided to wait them out rather than push for answers.
Mary’s cup clattered into its saucer, rattling the teaspoon. ‘Please ask questions, Alex. We’ll answer what we can, what seems appropriate – or perhaps I should say the questions we know answers for. It’s not my place to have opinions on other people’s lives but, of course, I do. I hope Lily will want to talk to you herself soon. She’s amazing – very brave – but she’s paid a price for sharing so little with you. She thinks she’s been shielding you.’
‘I’m sure she does,’ Alex said. ‘And she has a right to guard her own feelings but don’t you think it could do harm not to let me know more about myself? At least now?’
‘Yes,’ Harriet said simply and clearly. ‘That’s why I said we hoped you would come to us.’
‘What would my mum say about us talking?’
‘We haven’t discussed it with her. Last night we talked about her mother and let her get some of the sadness out. It was beyond painful to be abandoned, as any abandoned child would tell you. I was surprised – and pleased – when she went so far as to admit she never stopped hoping her mother would come back. I think the fear of totally losing a parent is enormous to a child. When you’re young, the only constant you have in your life is the person, or people, you’re supposed to look to for protection. She lost that.’ She paused a moment. ‘There are far too many children who never feel safe because even if they have parents, they’re not there for them.’
Alex leaned forward, listening intently, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. ‘I was never afraid my mother wouldn’t be there for me. Yes, I had the childhood fears that something could happen to her because my world revolved around hers, but I didn’t think she could stop loving me, or walk away and leave me.’ She set her cup and saucer aside and dug in her pocket for a tissue. ‘She talked to you about her mother?’
Harriet leaned back in her chair. ‘When we first met Lily she was almost twenty. You were about two. She’d spent a good deal of her childhood in foster care and she only has good things to say about the family she was with.
‘She had been here to the Cotswolds from London on some sort of outing – from a summer school camp for young people who hoped to go to a university. That was when she was about seventeen. I should say an outing with the camp which was also in the Cotswolds. As far as we can remember she’s never said where the camp was, but this was the area where she felt she wanted to make a life. Then when she got back to London she found out you were coming along and the foster family couldn’t manage everything, although they tried. She had to go to a place where she could stay until you were born. Lily never doubted she wanted you. What she did fight against was having to give you up for adoption after you were born. She was told she would have to give you up, you see.’
Harriet looked down into her cup and Alex saw her throat jerk.
‘This is awful,’ Alex said, gulping breaths. ‘I mean awful to think of Mum going through it all. How frightened she must have been. But she would never tell me anything about it.’
‘Her mother …’ Harriet looked to Mary, a plea in her eyes.
‘Her mother had no childhood to speak of.’ Mary carried on for her sister. ‘Angela, her name was. We don’t know the last name because when we met Lily she was already using Duggins and she avoided her real name. Later on she changed it legally – said she found the name in a children’s story about a poor family that never thought they were poor because they were never afraid and they got by.’
Alex rubbed her eyes and covered her face. Was this harder because it was all coming now, when she had accepted there was nothing she would know about the past?
‘Lily’s early years were spent in some sort of commune. She was brought up by a group of young people her mother had gravitated to. Lily said they all treated her like their child, more or less, until there were other elements that turned your grandmother’s life … it got bad.’
‘Just tell me about it,’ Alex said. She had imagined so many scenarios about Lily’s life and about her own early life, but not this.
‘Lily talked in a kind of code but we understood there were drugs and alcohol and Angela got drawn into a bad place. Lily with her. Eventually Child Protection Services were alerted and intervened. Lily was taken away from Angela then.
‘As she more or less admitted in front of you last night, Lily had hoped she and her mother would be back together one day. When she was ten, she saw Angela for the last time. We’ll probably never know what life was like for her after that. Lily doesn’t even know for sure how she was tracked down with the letter from Angela she showed us last night. She has to go to an office somewhere – in London, I think – and sign for some final effects. We doubt there’s much, but Angela expressed wishes that after she died – and I gather she was ill for a long time – her letter was to be sent to Lily who would decide if she wanted to collect the things her mother left behind. Obviously, she hasn’t decided yet but we think she will go.’
Alex didn’t bother to wipe away the tears. She cried silently while her throat burned and ached. ‘What about … do you know anything else about my mother – and her mother?’
This time the silence went on and on and when she looked from one sister to the other, each of them kept their hands in their laps and their eyes downcast.
‘Perhaps that’s for another time?’ Alex said when she couldn’t stand the heaviness a moment longer.
‘Yes,’ Harriet said. ‘Forgive us.’
‘Forgive Lily,’ Mary added.
‘There’s nothing to forgive.’ Alex got up. ‘I’d better get back. I’ve already been gone too long.’
‘Of course.’
She’d never seen Harriet cry but tears were close now. ‘We’ll make sure the three of us talk soon, Alex. Allow us to think about this.’
‘Yes.’ Alex started for the door. She wanted to escape, to get into the clean cold fresh air and empty her mind.
Heavy footsteps hurrying up the stairs startled all of them. ‘Let’s not talk about any of this now,’ Alex said. ‘You’ve done the right thing.’
A sharp rap on the door surprised them all into silence.
The knock came again and Harriet cleared her throat to call out, ‘Come in.’ She stood up and so did Alex. Mary made a move toward her cane then changed her mind.
Tony.
Lowering his head beneath the lintel, Tony stepped into the room. He wore blue scrubs and had forgotten to take off his soaked shoe covers. His hair was wet. When he saw Alex, he shook his head. ‘I’ve looked all over for you. And according to Bill Lamb, so have the police. Be grateful they didn’t alert your mother.’
‘I didn’t know you needed to keep tabs on me,’ she said, but didn’t have the heart or the energy to sound cross.
‘Give me a moment to calm down. Bill Lamb called me and actually said they thought they should try not to worry Lily. Amazing. He’s the last touchy-feely candidate I’d think of.’
Harriet poured a cup of tea and went to press it into his hands. ‘Sit. Now. And tell us what all the fuss is about.’
He sat on the couch and took a long swallow of tea. ‘I don’t even know if I’m supposed to repeat anything. And I don’t know what it means anyway.’
Harriet gave him a narrowed-eye look.
‘Tell us,’ Alex said. ‘You can’t rush in like this and not tell us what you know.’
‘I don’t know anything – not a thing. Bill Lamb asked us to wait for him at the Black Dog. That could take a long time. His words, not mine, but I think they may be onto something important. When he’s ready, he expects to find you there.’
EIGHT
Wood, which was dusty and gray with age, covered the hall floor inside the Winchcombe cottage door on the High Street, and continued up the stairs. Threadbare and haphazardly rolled pieces of carpet all but blocked a passage to the rest of the downstairs which must formerly have been a shop.
‘How much did you say they paid for this?’ Dan asked, pulling on the blue disposable jumpsuit one of the SOCOs had given him.
Slightly hunched to avoid tearing the suit that was too short for him, Detective Sergeant LeJuan Harding – Dan was still getting used to the newly minted sergeant bit – said, ‘Don’t know the actual figure but the uniforms outside reckoned they heard you could buy several spanking new houses with all the fancy trimmings for less and the negotiations for the bottom floor where there must have been a shop aren’t even finished yet.’
‘It’s probably a listed building,’ Dan said, climbing over a pile of grungy carpet scraps. ‘For all we know, King Charles II and Nell Gwynn slept here.’
LeJuan chuckled behind him and they climbed the hollow-sounding stairs. ‘From the stories, they slept just about everywhere else. But this might be a bit downmarket for him, I’d say.’
At the top of the flight, a uniformed constable stood outside an open door and a shaft of glaring white light shone out and across the landing. Voices inside the room were muted. SOCO went about their tasks with quiet efficiency. Apart from the occasional spot of black humor, the task consumed them.
Not so much silence for police surgeons. Dr Molly Lewis’s sharp voice rose above the rest, incisive and often cutting.
Dan heard his name but shut out what was said. Instead he asked the copper at the door, ‘What room is this?’
‘One of those all-in-one things, sir. All new – or all new old, if you know what I mean. Sitting room, dining room and kitchen. I reckon they were working down from the top of the house, redoing as they went. Won’t make any matter now. Not to her anyway.’
‘Thanks,’ Dan said. He didn’t need to ask what he’d find on the other side of the doorway.
LeJuan preceded him and made an immediate overall canvass of a room which, despite being the result of several spaces combined into one, was still a compact area. Cozy, or it would be without the surprisingly small corpse of a long-haired brunette lying partly face-down with her head on the hearth in front of a long-cold fireplace. From the waist down, her body rotated to face upward, legs clad in blue w
orkout tights and bare feet splayed.
‘No smoking,’ Dr Lewis barked.
Dan had a violent urge to bum a fag and light up, which was odd since he rarely, if ever, smoked. ‘What have we got, Molly?’ It was always best to attempt jollying her along.
‘What do you smell?’ she shot back.
He didn’t have to sniff. ‘Petrol.’ And given the putrid stench in the room that meant more than a few drops of fuel.
A petite blond woman, Molly Lewis pushed her hood away from her forehead and wiped at some sweat. ‘Glad you could join us.’
He let it go. Molly had troubles she had never shared with anyone, even though it was widely known that she drank too much whenever she wasn’t working.
Dark hollows underscored her eyes. ‘I just want you to take a good look at this in case there’s something being missed.’ She indicated a winged armchair upholstered in green tartan tapestry, blotched tapestry now, with a garment, probably a coat, crushed in a sodden heap at the back of the seat. ‘It’s been photographed from every angle. Once you’re satisfied I want it taken to the lab. I think almost all the petrol dumped out is on the coat, not that I’m an expert on things like that.’
She was an expert on most things. ‘Right.’ He looked at it from all sides and checked photos a technician showed him. ‘How about under the cushion? And the coat? Anything identifying on that?’
‘Could we get it out of here first, Dan?’ His old friend Molly showed through for an instant. ‘That’s a smell that gets to me. If it all goes up in here …’ She was afraid of fire, he realized, more than afraid.
‘There isn’t all that much petrol here but you’re right. Preserve the integrity and get it to the lab, boys and girls. They’ll know how to deal with it. Any idea how long—’
‘Don’t even go there,’ Molly said. ‘You know I don’t guess at these things.’
‘I wasn’t asking about the time of death, Molly,’ Dan said calmly. ‘I was thinking about how long the petrol or whatever has been here. Probably makes a difference to how flammable it is after a while. Better get the carpet from underneath, too.’ To his untrained eyes the rug looked valuable, old maybe, possibly Chinese. But what did he know?
Whisper the Dead Page 5
