by Lorna Gray
I bet he did, I thought darkly. Mrs Woods made sympathetic noises before reaching gamely for another treat from the waiting trays. “That sounds so awful. You poor thing, and poor dear Sir William. And of course you mustn’t talk about it, if you’d rather not.”
“Oh, but it upsets me so. No matter how hard one tries, it is impossible to be strong all the time.” The lady of the house blinked rapidly and fixed a heroic smile on her immaculately made-up face, and I had to swiftly turn my head away as her gaze scanned the room to check that everyone was noticing just how brave she was being. Satisfied, and with a belated nod to secrecy, she lowered her voice. “We’re not even safe in our own home now. That revolting man obviously has no respect for the lives of perfectly innocent people, no respect at all. The men my husband hired to keep us safe went after him of course but he got clean away.”
“Oh my dear! That’s just ghastly. Did Sir William—”
“I know I shouldn’t ask,” she swept on seamlessly, “but does the Inspector really have no idea of where he is? Bill says this nightmare really can’t carry on much longer. That odious man! Of course he is the son of that horrible woman, so I suppose one shouldn’t expect much better – to think that we went to school with her … Ugh, it makes my skin crawl! Dear Bill still smarts about what she did…By the way, thinking of Bill, did I mention our plans? The dear man thinks that we’ll finally be able to get the summer drawing room done up in the new style…”
I couldn’t listen to any more. In daylight I might have found her silly fussing amusing but now feeling tired and I suppose rather lonely, I really didn’t want to hear it and so instead, abandoning the cauliflower delights, I took myself off to find my wrap.
Hugging the soft woollen shawl about me, I slipped away from the unpleasantly overheated rooms, out under the arched arcade with its impressive wide terrace and sloping beds, and down onto the sodden lawn. The dark night sky was thick with cloud and there was a smell of change on the air. Drifting past a few people smoking cigarettes, I found myself in the lower garden and, heedless to the icy wetness beating through my flimsy shoes, I wound my way down to the cold seclusion of the boundary at the bottom. A slim mulberry stood overlooking the low boxed hedge, growing cheek by jowl with two great sculpted evergreens which formed a gateway at the limits of the garden. It waited there, silent and inviting, and, leaning back against its solid trunk, I took a deep steadying breath of the crisp night air; and with it drew in the sickly sweet smell of the nearby yew. I shut my eyes and allowed my mind to still for a while.
A delicate little thing, he had called me; the sort that wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I had been younger and more dependent than even I knew. And perhaps the dreadful prospect of his own future had been enough to make him feel unable to face the responsibility of deciding mine. It was suddenly easy to perceive that if I had listened, had truly listened, I might at the very least have proven myself ready to cope with more than he believed. I could still remember his face as he said:
“A penny for them.” No, that definitely wasn’t it. He had said …
Then it dawned on me that this was not memory, but had come very softly from somewhere to my right.
“Matthew?”
“No, don’t look round. I wouldn’t want you to get a reputation for having liaisons with dubious men.”
I leant back against my tree again and smiled. “Trust me, I’ve already been labelled a mercenary baggage tonight; one more mark against my character really wouldn’t make one jot of difference.”
“Poor girl,” he said, but I could tell he was smiling too. “But you are enjoying yourself?”
“Which would annoy you more? My enjoying myself without you or that I want to be at home with you and I’m stuck here?”
“Definitely the former.”
“In that case – I’m having a wonderful time, thank you.” I jerked suddenly out of the pleasant haze that seemed like an extension of last night’s dream and dragged myself rather painfully back to reality. “But what are you doing here?”
“You have previous form for avoiding crowds if you recall. I thought I would take a chance that some things haven’t changed.”
“I …” Surprise made me falter. But then I mastered myself. It pleased me that he remembered. “What if they see you?”
“Worrying about your honour again?”
“The Inspector is here.”
“Ah.”
I shivered suddenly. My wrap was rapidly proving to be very little protection against the breeze wafting across from the woodland now that the uncomfortably heady heat from the stifling rooms had faded. And now that I was fully immersed in the present.
“Are you cold?”
“Oh no, not really.”
“Liar.” His voice came from the depths of the evergreen. “Close your eyes.”
“Pardon?”
“Close your eyes. Go on; I’m serious as it happens. I want you to be able to honestly say that you haven’t seen me.”
Hesitantly, I shut my eyes, feeling absurd as I stood there leaning against my tree. My fingers jumped as they were caught in a warm grip. Then, with a fresh admonishment to keep my eyes shut, I found myself being tugged away from my tree and on into the lee of the nearest yew.
The scent of the tree was sharper here. I was caught and firmly enfolded in the flaps of a coat and somehow, with my eyes closed and my cheek turned against his shoulder, it didn’t feel so strange anymore to be close to him like this. Hands rested lightly on my waist as he held the coat around me and the touch was a world away from the calculated grasp that I had recently received from another.
“There. Is that better? Good. Now we can talk properly. I’ve got the car back, by the way, so you don’t need to kill me.”
“That’s a relief. It would be messy.” My voice was muffled by his shoulder; I felt him smile a little against my hair.
“I dropped in at the farm too and we were right; they’ve moved. There was no sign of the Turford boys, in fact I would be hard pushed to prove they’d ever been there at all. I couldn’t tell if anything had gone, things looked pretty much as they were last night. Something was different but I couldn’t for the life of me tell what it was; it’s very frustrating. Oh, but I did find one item of interest.”
You did? What was it?” I could smell the sweet scent of horses on the rough coat that had belonged to my father and was now becoming Matthew’s.
“I went to my house.”
“And you found out what they’ve taken?”
“I think so, but this isn’t that.” His hand lifted from my waist to reach into a pocket. “Turn around. Be sure to keep those eyes closed, mind.”
Clumsily, I turned my back to him and wondered what he was going to do. Then my skin shivered sensitively as I felt his arm come around me; it was followed by the sudden cold shock of metal against my throat and I gasped and lifted a hand. It found a thin cold chain with a tiny pendant hanging loose. His fingers lightly brushed against the hairs at the back of my neck as he fastened the clasp.
“What is it?” His grip felt warm through the fabric of my dress as he turned me back to face him.
“Can’t you tell?” He was smiling again, I could sense it.
I ran my hands over the necklace again, trying to remember. The pendant wasn’t metal, it was smooth and rounded, like a pebble. A pebble … I remembered then. “But this is my necklace …”
My father had given my mother this necklace when they were married. It held a stone from the beach where they had met, he had carried it as a little treasure until the day she became his wife and then, when she died, I had kept it and loved it almost as much as she had. It was a beautiful little stone, dark and speckled like an egg, worn smooth by tide and skin.
“Where on earth did you find it?” I stepped a little blindly as he drew me gently back into the warm folds of the coat once more. “I lost this years ago.”
“Well, you didn’t actually lo
se it,” he said slowly. Oddly, he sounded faintly guilty. His mouth was muffled against my hair as he quietly added, “I found it a few days after you … After we parted that final time. I had always intended to give it back but somehow it came with me to France. It’s silly really but I carried it all the time I was out there. It kept me safe, and reminded me of you.”
I could not speak. I just stood there, leaning into his shoulder, with the little pebble warming in my hand.
“I found it today as I was looking over my house; I had forgotten that I had it. I was just shifting my kit bag and it fell out onto the floor – I thought you might like it back.”
After a very long time, I finally found my voice. “I do, I do like having it back. I can’t believe you took it all the way to France.”
“You’re angry with me.”
“No!” I said emphatically into the coarse fabric at his shoulder. I lifted my head and almost looked at him but then I remembered and simply allowed my cheek to touch briefly against the rough texture of his jaw before speaking again. “Never angry, not that.”
Then absurdly, irrelevantly, I added, “Are you enjoying the life of a vagrant too much?”
“Pardon?”
I smiled at my own flustered nonsense. “You haven’t shaved.”
“Ah, I see.” He laughed suddenly. “No, I’m just not man enough to brave your father’s lethal blade. In actual fact I’ve collected a few things – razor included – from my house so I should be more presentable by the next time you see me.” His hands shifted to my arms and he held me away from him a little before saying lightly, “Whereas you look very presentable right now. Very lovely indeed, in fact.”
I felt myself instantly become shy and, ignoring the rush of cold against my skin, turned aside for a moment. “Hardly,” I said tightly, suddenly feeling oddly sad.
“My dear,” he said gently, “I don’t want to embarrass you, but with a figure like that …”
I turned away completely so that I could open my eyes. The dim shape of the valley with its thin silvery strip of the last lake was just visible under the heavy cloud. “… I could get mistaken for a boy, I know.”
I could sense that he was close behind me. He was standing so close that I could almost feel the warmth of his body against mine. If I leaned back I would be able to rest my head on his shoulder; if I turned, I …
A sudden noise from somewhere near the house made us both jump. Matthew gave a soft laugh.
“Well, I think that’s a sign I had better slink away like a thief into the night. I presume you’re staying?”
Then, in a totally different voice, he added, “I wasn’t teasing just now. One day very soon I’m going to make you take a good long look at yourself.”
And on that patently threatening note, he stepped away.
I stayed blinking at the distant valley for a moment and then suddenly remembered. I turned and made an urgent whisper into the dark. “Matthew?”
But my only companions were the heavily scented yew, the distant sound of music and the bright shimmering lights from the house with all the impenetrable mess of its tangled secrets.
Chapter 23
It was probably just as well that Matthew left before I could tell him what had been said; he would almost certainly have tried to stop me from going back into their lair. But given that as soon as I rejoined the heat of the crowd, I was passed and beamed at by Sir William and then passed and scowled at by the Colonel, to have so conspicuously fled would have been incriminating in the extreme. So instead I simply watched the dancers in a dreamy daze and my only worry was that I had to keep reminding myself not to toy unnecessarily with the necklace.
I danced with an old friend from school and a farmer’s son from the village, and suddenly, unexpectedly, I was in grave danger of actually starting to enjoy myself. It was funny how much pleasure there was in the spinning and whirling confusion of the dance floor when partnered by one who knew how to politely place his hands. On that subject, I caught a glimpse of John and Sophie very occasionally, mingling with wine in hand or dancing. Every time I saw them it seemed like it must have been mere moments after he had said something amusing because she was constantly laughing and looking up into his face with the same wide-eyed adoration that was typical of his usual conquests. She looked lovely and every bit the perfect companion for him; I pitied poor David wherever he was.
As the evening wore on however, my tolerance for insubstantial chitchat and loud music wore rather thin and I drifted through the thinning crowd, idly wondering just how rude it would be to ask the farmer’s son I had just danced with to drop me home. With this thought in mind, I allowed my feet to weave a path towards the entrance hall but as I waited for a tangle of people to organise themselves into their coats and out of my way, I felt a light touch upon my arm.
“Miss Phillips. Have you time for a quick word?” It was the Inspector once more.
Mutely, I followed him away from the noisy mêlée. My nervousness increased tenfold as his route took us to a secluded corner near the coat rack. He turned to face me and this time his demeanour was much more businesslike, with lowered brows and grey eyes that were scarily alert. The policeman was most definitely back on duty.
“Miss Phillips. I have to thank you for your information of the other day. It has proven to be very useful.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” I said. “What information was that?”
“Would it surprise you to learn that Simon Turford spent a good few months of his younger life at a prison in Hull? And that although his brother has never been convicted, it is widely believed that whatever the one does the other is sure to follow?”
My throat went dry. I said hoarsely, “And what is it exactly that they do?”
The Inspector looked at me appraisingly, hesitating. Then he sniffed and said; “He was convicted of a minor arson, but there was some evidence that a spate of violent robberies were by his hand. I’m not telling you this to scare you, understand, particularly given what you told me about their little visit, but I did think you might be interested to know that this new information has cast serious doubts as to the validity of my two most important witness statements…”
I had the strong impression that our earlier conversation had gone some way to making up his mind to tell me this. I said cautiously, “They were the people that found Jamie’s body.” I already could guess at the answer.
“The very same.” He nodded approvingly. “They reported the incident, and when we arrived they told a very convincing story.”
“And has no one else been able to confirm what they said?”
“No other witnesses have come forward to corroborate their account, other than to give statements about Croft’s recent movements; certainly nobody else was at the scene. And to further compound the mystery, when I interviewed them I was not given Turford as a surname.” The eyebrows contracted abruptly. “Since learning this, I have had my detectives visit the address they gave, and guess what they found.”
“That it was wrong?” I was a little late in asking the required question. The gift of this information was making me increasingly apprehensive. I did not know what he would want in return.
“More than wrong, Miss Phillips – the address I was given was 42 Norfolk Street in Gloucester and this house, as it turns out, was something akin to a brothel before it was reduced to rubble in the blitz.” The Inspector’s jaw set into a rare frown as he added, “Our Turford brothers have been making a fool of me, Miss Phillips, and that will not do. That will not do at all.”
I could well believe it. Finally I plucked up the courage to ask, “Why are you telling me this, Inspector?”
In an instant, his attitude snapped from hawk-like consideration to lax inattention and he was suddenly giving a very good impression of one who was just passing the time of day. “No reason really, I just thought you would be interested to hear.” He flicked another glance at me and smiled. He seemed to become peculiarly intereste
d in the condition of his fingernails as he added, “I’ll be stuck in my office all day tomorrow, you know, from about nine o’clock. I’m at the Gloucester branch.”
He paused, now seemingly fascinated by a scarf hanging on the rack behind him. Finally he said indifferently, “It is a shame that no one knows the whereabouts of your man Croft. In light of this new information, it really would be very interesting to speak to him …”
“It would, wouldn’t it,” I agreed weakly, trying frantically to decide if his use of the term my man Croft had been accidental. On the whole, I suspected not.
He reached out suddenly and patted my hand. “Ah well. I’m glad we’ve had this little chat, Miss Phillips. I’ll doubtless be seeing you again soon. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Inspector.”
I emerged from the coat racks in something of a shaken state. After an evening of upset and insult, the sudden hope of Matthew being believed after all was a delight I had not expected. And yet, for some indefinable reason, I felt more afraid for him now than I had ever been before. Surely the Inspector meant what he said. Surely this could not be a perfectly laid snare with me playing the part of the naïve and unwitting decoy …
“What did he want?” John’s demand cut crossly across my apology as I almost walked into him. His face bore that sulky scowl once more and I wondered with a faint impatience what had put it there this time. Then I saw that Sophie was standing with him and, I noticed with some concern, not looking nearly so blooming as she had been. Her lipstick was smudged and she wore an agitated air as she pushed past me to retrieve her coat.
