Swallow Hall Murder

by Noreen Wainwright

  “Come round the back if you want a quick word.”

  The landlord had come up behind him. Brown just about managed to stop himself from jumping.

  “I couldn’t watch that any longer, lad. It was setting my teeth on edge. If the police are reduced to getting their information from the likes of poor, old Ted, we’ve reached a pretty pass in this country.”

  Brown looked towards the door for a minute as a distraction, wondering how Robinson was getting on out there with Ted. It did nothing to stop his face flushing, though. Presumably, the landlord had meant it kindly, but Brown still felt a fool. He wouldn’t mind betting the pub would be entertained by the tale of his detecting later in the evening.

  “I’m joking lad, don’t take me so seriously. But, you’re wasting your time with him out there. He’s harmless, but he was nowhere in sight when the brains was being handed out if ye know what I mean?”

  Brown nodded. The man was simple—he should have cottoned on straight away, but you couldn’t always tell between someone who just playing tough and someone who wasn’t able to think clearly or express themselves Mind you, the way he kept repeating himself should have given him a clue.

  “Sean Bracken was a regular, in most evenings, a few pints with the occasional… well… blowout session, call it what you want. He came in on his own always. He’d join in with the conversation at times, other times he’d rattle out his newspaper in front of him, and you’d know to leave him alone.” More information from the landlord than they’d have got from old Ted in a month.

  “Did you ever get the impression from him that he was frightened?”

  The landlord laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s not a laughing matter. In fact, I liked him, and it’s a shame what happened, and I hope they string up the bastard who did it. He wasn’t afraid, no.”

  “And there was never anyone in here looking for him.”

  Ah, at last, there was a flicker in the man’s eyes as he looked back at something, remembering.

  “A woman came in here, about a month ago, maybe more, six weeks. Not from around here. Londoner, I’d say, southerner at any rate. Well-dressed and well-spoken and looking for Sean. I gave her directions, which was easy, only a matter of which cottage. He brought her back later.

  We don’t really do food, but the missus will oblige on the odd occasion. He brought the woman in here, and they shared a bottle of claret and a plate of sandwiches. Only time I ever saw him with anyone.”

  This was interesting, a glimpse at the man’s inner life. Brown had very little feel for Bracken from his cottage and little from any one at Swallow Hall, apart from Serena Grant, who was too upset to be very forthcoming—and too busy denying that they were any more than friends.

  “Could you describe the woman…and how they were together, how they behaved…were they…did you get the impression that they were close to each other, sir?”

  The landlord leaned back on the two back legs of the chair until Brown feared it would tip over with his considerable weight. Then he straightened up and got to his feet in a way that indicated Brown’s time was up.

  “It’s a good enough, question, lad. But, I don’t know how much help I can be to you. I’m no agony aunt. They sat in a corner and were deep in conversation with each other for a good hour or more. The one thing I can tell you is that he didn’t take kindly to the bit of teasing about it the local lads started to give him the next time he came in. They soon shut up.”

  * * *

  Ivy only had an inkling that a job might be in the offing; Vera Bishop had told her at the WI, the previous evening. Vera had made a beeline for her, and the irritation about that had made Ivy be a bit off with her. Now, she felt bad that she’d jumped to conclusions, but no-one could blame her. It was just that lately everyone suddenly found her very interesting or wanted to sit next to her.

  If you had the misfortune to be associated in some way with a tragedy, particularly one with mystery thrown in, you instantly became popular as they all tried to get the inside story so they could mull over it and pass it on.

  But, she had wronged the other woman. Before the speaker came on, Vera said in a low voice, “I know you aren’t settled at Swallow Hall, Ivy. Are you still wanting to get a new place?”

  “I am, all the more so now with what’s happened.” The least she could do was to give a bit back to Vera, a nod to show she wasn’t completely against sharing any of the goings on at Swallow Hall.

  “Well, my sister used to work at the big house, the Arbuthnots, and she still keeps in touch with some of the house staff. The senior parlour maid, Mary is leaving, getting married, if you please. Out of the blue, must be thirty if she’s a day.” She grinned. “Hope for us all, eh, Ivy?”

  Ivy wasn’t one bit interested in getting married. She’d seen enough of the joys of marriage at home, thanks very much. But, she knew that poor Vera had been badly let down by Michael Benson, and she was well over thirty.

  A fizz of excitement bubbled up in Ivy’s chest. The Arbuthnots—now that would be something. A girl could go far in a big house like that. There might even be trips away with the family—she might end up a lady’s maid to the daughter. Don’t be stupid, she really was getting carried away now.

  Whatever about that, a senior parlour maid was a step up, and it would definitely mean more money. Ivy feared poverty more than anything else. It was hard on her present wages, but she made sure she put a tiny sum in her post office account every month.

  “Thanks a million, Vera. It’s right good of you to think of me. Do you think I’d stand a chance…?” But the speaker had come in through the village hall door, and the president was announcing him, and shushing noises were coming from all round.

  She’d hardly slept with the excitement of it. But there was one fly in the ointment. Sylvia. It would be really mean and selfish to abandon her to this place and the crazy carrying-on of old Mrs. Turner and Miss Elizabeth. The others weren’t so bad, but really, the whole set up was odd.

  What for instance, was Mrs. Beech or as Sylvia sometimes referred to her, as Miss Kate, still doing here? Her husband had died, but surely she’d been provided for in some way? Maybe not, it was hard to see what other reason for staying here there could be apart from lack of money. Not that the gentry’s version of lack of money was the same as, say, her own mum’s.

  Next morning, she took a big breath to get her nerves under control and just dived in.

  “Sylvia, there’s a job going at the Arbuthnot’s. Vera Bishop told me about it last night. I don’t want to abandon you here but…”

  “You want to go for it?” Sylvia stopped what she was doing on the board with the floury mixture and wiped her hands over and over on her striped apron.

  Her face looked different for a second as if a nerve or something in her cheek was jumping. “No, of course you must go for it, Ivy. A chance like that won’t come along again. But, I’m not going to say I won’t be lost without you…no, take no notice of me. You must go and apply. I might get something myself one day, you’d never know. Never say never, as they say.”

  She started pounding the dough, her expression all sorts of rigid.

  Ivy got her clean apron and went upstairs. Why did life have to be so complicated?

  Chapter Ten

  “So your grandmother controls the purse strings?” Nothing like being blunt, thought Edith as Julia blurted out the question to Hester.

  There was still that air of almost gaiety about Julia, an underlying cheerfulness. Edith didn’t have a doubt in her mind that her friend had a secret. A happy secret, which was charged her skin with a glow and her whole demeanour with a springing energy. Was Edith’s own quiet happiness with Henry having that effect on her and could others see it?

  “As far as I know, she does—and she holds them tight. Aunt Elizabeth is so impossible that no-one else would put up with her and maybe deep down, she knows that, so she stays put.”

  “What about Kate?” Edith puzzled about Kate. Sh
e came across as pretty stable and normal, certainly as the Turners went.

  “Aunt Kate shouldn’t be living there. There’s a secret, a scandal of some sort—I think my uncle Reginald fiddled some money where he worked, and somehow she got implicated. Imagine what that would have done to her. But, I don’t know any of this, not really. In that family, it’s all hints and snide comments between them—never a proper discussion. So, she scuttled back to Swallow Hall and grandmother. I’m sorry for sounding like a bitch. They aggravate me, and they are getting odder every time I come up here.”

  Hester stirred her coffee. They had gone out for the day to Harrogate at Hester’s suggestion.

  “You sound like you’re itching to get back to London,” Julia said.

  “I am. I need to put a few hundred miles between myself and the lot of them. But…” She looked from one to the other.

  “It’s really stupid, but I feel this dragging sense of responsibility. A bit like leaving the sinking ship, you know…”

  “You’re going to have to go at some point,” Julia said.

  “I know, but it’s difficult. They’re not above making me feel selfish.”

  “Isn’t Serena able to offer some support as well?”

  Hester shrugged her shoulders. She’d taken her jacket off and the pink cardigan she wore looked expensive.

  “Serena is shattered. She insists she was only good friends with Sean Bracken…but…”

  “You have your doubts.”

  “I do. I can’t push her. She’s very upset, but for some reason, she doesn’t want to admit it.”

  Edith frowned. She envisaged Inspector Greene’s face. He wouldn’t take kindly to being lied to.

  * * *

  The evening stretched out endlessly in front of Greene. If the telephone rang and he was called urgently into work, it would be a miracle.

  He’d taken his coat off and rolled up his sleeves and come downstairs. The temptation of the half-bottle of whiskey was strong, but caution was stronger. Later, was the time to dull the senses when the night would eventually end, and he could go to bed. He’d have to get a couple of things straight.

  The thought of it, though... there was a time when her behaviour had distressed him—hard to believe it, but he would have gone to almost any lengths to stop upsetting her and provoking a storm. Then the avoidance had been because he really couldn’t be bothered with it. That was after he’d got back from France. Bet’s storms couldn’t be avoided though, because she needed them and the drama that surrounded them. He knew how dangerous she was. Funny word to describe someone so dainty and pretty.

  Words, openings, expressions, flashed into his mind. It was a cat and mouse game. If he said nothing, she would assume that he’d secretly wanted her return. If, on the other hand, he told her to go…what was the position really? How could you end a marriage if the other person refused to entertain the idea? Or, only did so, when it suited her purpose. He’d play it carefully, not lose his temper. But neither was he going to be drawn into any pretence of normality.

  Bet was a good cook. Goodness knew where that came from. She’d been far too spoilt to have helped her mother as a child. When Greene had first met Bet, she’d been working at a women’s cosmetics counter in one of Leeds’s department stores, a vibrant and lovely girl.

  He sat down at the table. “I don’t know why you came back, Bet. Neither of us wants this, do we? It’s not good for either of us.”

  She smiled. “You’re only saying that because you’re hurt. I know I behaved badly. But, I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll never let anything like that happen again.” She stretched her hand across the table. “Just give it time, Albert. We can be happy again like we once were. We were happy, weren’t we, Albert? You can’t deny that.”

  He moved his hand off the table and picked up his knife and fork, then put them straight down again. His appetite had disappeared, and a weight had lodged in his stomach. There must be a way out of this, and he’d have a damned good try at finding it.

  Distance, separation, that’s the route he must pursue. Somehow speak to her like she was just a visitor—one who’d be pushing off soon.

  “Are you still at Lewis’s?”

  “No, you must have heard that surely? I left there over twelve months ago. One of the managers, horrible little weed, drooling over me like some sex pest. Honestly, Albert, he was disgusting.”

  “So you’ve been back at Margaret and Stan’s a while?” He wasn’t going to ask her about that poor fool she’d left him for, but according to Margaret that had finished almost as soon as she went off with him.

  “Too long. She’s such a prig, my sister. Never been any different, though. And, I didn’t like the way Stan looked at me.”

  For goodness sake. If there was one thing certain in this world, it was that Stan would not be lusting after his sister-in-law. He’d be wondering if she’d ever go and leave them in peace, more like. In Bet’s mind, every man between nineteen and ninety was making a play for her. He’d believed her to start with, and that hadn’t half caused problems.

  “Are you going to be looking for another job?”

  For all his resolve to have it out with her, he also needed to be careful, though pussy-footing around the edges of what he wanted to say drove him mad.

  She went straight into a huff. “I’m not going to be a drain on your resources if that’s what you’re thinking, Albert.”

  “That isn’t what I’m saying. You know you get bored.”

  “I won’t get bored keeping house. No man knows what is involved in keeping a house straight and cooking and washing.”

  I haven’t done so badly. But, he bit the words back. He had to be careful. Already the conversation was taking a turn he didn’t like—her assumption that her return was a given fact. They needed to take a few steps back.

  “Bet.” He kept his gaze and his voice steady. “I don’t want you to be unhappy. But, we both know deep down that it doesn’t work between us. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for me. We have tried, God knows.”

  Her expression darkened, and he waited for the eruption of her fearsome temper. But, her words when they came were spoken with a calmness that matched his own. “I’m back, Albert, and you’d better learn to like it because I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me go, and if you try, I will cause so much trouble for you that you will wish you were dead. You know I can do that.”

  His heart felt like a painful, heavy stone in the middle of his chest. He pushed his chair back from the table and left the room without another word.

  * * *

  Aunt Alicia’s smile made Edith smile too.

  “That’s the best news I’ve heard this year. Oh, let me ring for Vera. She’ll be delighted too.” Edith had a pang when she thought of Vera’s own romantic history. Mind, the other way of looking at it was that she had had a very lucky escape from the nasty piece of work that Michael Benson turned out to be.

  “It’ll be a quiet wedding. It’s what we both want. But, you’ll be the guest of honour. We were thinking of September.”

  “A beautiful month. The trees with their autumn leaves and that golden sunlight.”

  Or, it could be raining. But, Edith kept that thought to herself. Instead of being more nervous since they’d set the date, it had had the opposite effect. With her whole heart, Edith was looking forward to marrying Henry. They’d work out the whys and wherefores of her role at Archie’s surgery and at the house. Imagine, it would truly be Archie’s house then. They’d had a bit of an awkward conversation about her share and whether she’d want him to raise some money for her to set up in her own house. She had no intention of pushing for anything like that in the foreseeable future. Neither she nor Henry was about to embark on an extravagant life together.

  “Is this one going with you?”

  Aunt Alicia bent down and stroked Max. He rolled his eyes up at her and wagged his tail languorously.

  “Yes, no doubt he’ll be backwar
ds and forwards a bit. You should see Archie with him, Aunt Alicia—a big softie.”

  Vera came into the room and looked genuinely pleased when Aunt Alicia told her that Edith and Henry were getting married. It was humbling. Edith hadn’t been so gracious herself when her friends were getting married. She had harboured some ungenerous thoughts, sometimes even about Julia and Giles. It was shaming to think that now.

  As if she read her mind, Vera said, “That’s so lovely, especially as Mrs. Etherington has met someone else as well now.”

  She must have seen it in Edith’s face because she put her hand to her mouth and said,

  “Oh no. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said. I wasn’t thinking. I’m gossiping. It’s…”

  Edith got up and crossed to where Vera was standing by Aunt Alicia’s chair and put a hand on her arm. “Please, Vera. Don’t worry. I knew there was a sparkle in Julia, and I’m pretty sure she’ll get around to telling me in her own good time, and I know you didn't mean to be indiscreet.”

  It rankled a bit, though.

  It was as always, these days, restful, here at Aunt Alicia’s.

  “What do you know about the Turner family, Aunt Alicia?”

  Though her aunt had worked down south as a teacher for decades, she had grown up here and she’d also been back here a long time now.

  “I heard that a young man’s body was found at Swallow Hall. I can’t say I know the younger generation of Turners, though they aren’t so young now, but the mother, Muriel…now that is a very different story. I knew her all right.”

  Max was at her feet and Edith bent and petted him. Sometimes people talked more freely when you weren’t in direct eye contact. Aunt Alicia was younger than Muriel Turner but of a similar age group.

  “She was in school with my sister, my much older sister. I shouldn’t say it…not that it matters now, I suppose.” Aunt Alicia gave a little laugh.

  “My goodness, it really was a lifetime ago. Muriel was a wild girl. Outrageous, especially for those days. Naughty and badly behaved at school and then, when she found boys, which happened, I may add, at an unusually early age…well like I say. She was wild, Edith, disappearing with whatever lad took her fancy. Didn’t matter whether he was from the village.”