Swallow Hall Murder

by Noreen Wainwright

  Her tone was listless, and Ivy thought about kicking a man—or a woman—when she was down.

  “I’m very sorry, Miss Serena, but I’m afraid I’m handing in my notice. I have…I got…I went for a job at Arbuthnot’s.”

  “Oh, dear. Sit down, Ivy.”

  Serena’s make-up was beautifully applied, but it made her look more rather than less worn out. The lipstick and eye make-up stood out, making the pallor worse.

  “I don’t suppose I can persuade you to stay, Ivy? I know it must be a difficult job…my aunts, my grandmother, particularly, Miss Elizabeth. But…”

  All Ivy’s life she’d been pushed around. Not that Miss Serena was pushing her around. She’d always been too persuadable. All her life and she could feel it now. The pressure not to be selfish, and to put other people first. It’s what she’d always done. And there was Sylvia to consider and was this place really that bad?

  * * *

  “Thank you so much for coming.”

  Henry put his arm around Edith’s shoulder.

  “Of course I came. How is he?”

  “I’m waiting to see the consultant. He’s not in pain at the moment. That’s something. It was so terrifying, Henry. I thought the ambulance would never come. It didn’t take long, really. It was just that the time was endless. Thank God, for Hannah. She was wonderful.”

  “She came and fetched me, and insisted she go back to the house and wait. You’re right; she’s a wonderful woman. Was there any warning, Edith? I’ve been trying to think. Maybe being a doctor, it’s stupid, but you don’t think of doctors getting health problems like the rest of us.”

  “I’ve been thinking as well and, yes, it’s crossed my mind many times in the last year or two that Archie wasn’t looking well. Then I’d let myself become distracted from it…didn’t want to face it, I suppose, or I just put it down to tiredness or even a reaction to what happened a few years ago—with Mrs. Butler, I mean.”

  A nurse came in, bringing a tray with a couple of teacups and saucers and a pot of tea.

  “The consultant is with your brother at the moment, Miss Horton. He’s had a look at the ECG results.”

  Edith tried to detect some sort of clue of the outcome of the test written on the nurse’s face or apparent in her voice. How stupid. She probably didn’t even know.

  She poured the tea out, making herself do it even though Henry offered. There was a shake in her hands but by slowing down as Dr Uxbridge had told her to do in times of high anxiety, she managed not to spill any.

  “Doctor Spencer will be with you shortly, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks, thank you very much, Staff Nurse,” she glanced at the name badge, “Murphy.” She put her teacup down. The thought of bringing the tea was kind, but the taste was awful.

  “Henry, I just remembered something. I’m supposed to be going to Harrogate tomorrow with Julia and Hester Turner. I completely forgot all about it.”

  “Not surprising. Look, Edith. Put that to the back of your mind for now. We can ring Julia later. She’ll get the message to Hester.”

  Edith nodded. This room was like a cell; small, painted in a nondescript pastel colour; worst of all it was windowless. Her stomach was churning, and even the small drop of tea she’d taken was making her feel queasy.

  A knock on the door was followed by the entrance of a middle-aged, impeccably dressed man with greying, slicked-back-back hair. She got to her feet and for a second it was as though the world stopped, all outside of this room and this next few seconds, faded away.

  “Miss Horton?” His manner was decisive and reassuring, though it was what he had to say which was important; not his manner.

  “Your brother is resting and pain-free at the moment, you’ll be relieved to hear. However, he’s presented us with rather a puzzle. His ECG is clear, showing no signs of a heart attack which was, of course, my first thought when my junior colleague told me of his admission.”

  “What on earth…?” Edith stopped. The unspoken fact probably recognised by all three of them, is that Archie, as a doctor, would have got the very best opinion of the very best man. You couldn’t acknowledge it because it might throw up some awkward questions, but even in her own limited experience when she’d been a VAD, she knew this to be true.

  “As I say, at the moment, we don’t have an explanation. His symptoms suggested a myocardial infarction to me, and I was surprised to see a normal reading.”

  “But…” Edith had lost all coherent thought and must be coming across as an inarticulate muddle-head. She needed to pull herself together, and again apply Dr Uxbridge’s injunction to slow down.

  “This must be good news?”

  Henry saved her from looking a complete fool. That’s what she should have said. But, she hadn’t dared to think it.

  “It’s too early to say that yet, Reverend and we will repeat the ECG. We need to carry out further tests, including bloods and a chest X-ray. I’ve had a word with Doctor Horton, and he doesn’t report any history of breathlessness, no residual lung damage from gas, anything like that. So, as I say, we’re rather in the dark at the moment.”

  “Would it be possible to see him for a few minutes?” Thankfully she managed to get that much out without stuttering and stumbling.

  “No reason, why you shouldn’t—a few minutes only or I’ll have the ward sister on the warpath. Then, if I were you, Miss Horton, I’d return home. If you want to bring back a pair of pyjamas and so forth, you’ll find visiting time begins at six. Whatever the problem turns out to be, I don’t think he’s in any immediate danger.”

  Her whole body exhaled, and if she hadn’t struggled against it, she would have sagged, maybe even crumpled to the floor. The physical effects of relief hit her in a way she’d never before experienced. She mustn’t get carried away; the doctor said they weren’t out of the woods, and something had caused that chest pain and pallor.

  As she and Henry walked down the corridor; she composed herself and tried to think of a quip to lighten the tone when she went in to see Archie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “So you didn’t get to hand your notice after all? Oh, Ivy.”

  They were sitting by the warmth of the stove, in the kitchen. The departing winter had decided to make a sullen last stand against the approach of spring, and the dankness and murk of the day chilled all who had to go out in it.

  Every day, after lunch, when they’d cleared up, and before they had their sit-down, Ivy went for a walk. Sometimes it was hard to push herself out the door when she could sit here and drink tea with Sylvia after a hard morning’s work, but she almost always made herself go. She’d been today, just to the edge of the village and back. A car had slowed, and Hubert wound his window down.

  “Do you want a lift, Ivy?”

  She didn’t and even if she had, she would have hesitated before getting in with Hubert. Hey! Where had that thought come from? She was imagining frightening things now. The body found in the garden had shattered her nerves. That job coming up—well, it couldn’t have come at a better time.

  “I’m going for my constitutional, Hubert, so thanks all the same, but no.”

  He’d grinned, and raised a hand to touch his tweed cap, and pulled away smoothly. Come to think of it, where had he been going anyway in the middle of the day? He was always busy. Whatever else you might say about Hubert, you couldn’t accuse him of idleness.

  “I’m still going, Sylvia,” she said now. “But, I came to a compromise with Miss Serena. She’s even going to have a word with the housekeeper at the Arbuthnot’s, see if they might keep the position open for a few weeks. I mean they have more staff to play about with, there.”

  Sylvia got up and pushed the whistling kettle back a touch on the hob.

  “At least you didn’t let yourself get talked around. I’m glad. I can’t be so selfish as to want to hold you back, Ivy.”

  “It’s only for a few weeks. She’s trying to get someone else. Said she’s seeing Miss Horton
in the morning; that she might know of someone. Apparently, she’s sorted out quite a few young girls in the village, getting jobs for them, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, the doctor’s sister. But she might have a problem. The doctor’s been carted away in an ambulance. Really serious. That lad who delivers for the butcher just told me. What a shame. Looked real bad, they say. The Sowerby sisters saw it all, worried that he wouldn’t survive the journey at all, he looked that bad.”

  “Oh, what an awful shame. Mrs. Turner’s doctor, too. He always had a nod and a smile for me if I met him in the corridor. Imagine, he at death’s door and only middle-aged and there’s Mrs. Turner, going towards a hundred and not a bother on her.”

  Sylvia sat down again and shook her head. “No justice in the world, girl.”

  Ivy had been on the verge of telling Sylvia about the row she’d overheard, or the snatch of a row, between Miss Serena and Miss Hester but it didn’t seem quite right now with this terrible news about the poor doctor.

  * * *

  “How are you fixed for some overtime, lad?”

  Brown swirled round from the paperwork. This was different—to be asked. Normally, he was expected to be there when required. He liked the sound of overtime; it sounded like it might have money attached, and as if he had some importance. Maybe things would, after all, take a turn for the better after the arrival of Robinson. Not for Inspector Greene, though, who still went about with all the troubles of the world on his shoulders. Brown’s cold was still hovering and probably by tomorrow he’d be stuffed up and sneezing and coughing his germs all over the place.

  “Eamon Bracken is arriving at Harrogate station later this evening. He may be bringing his sister if she can get someone to look after her children. They want to take the body back to Ireland for burying. That can’t happen for the time being, of course. It will be interesting to get a feel for the man. Sean, I mean. Up to now, I don’t feel as though I’ve had that. Will o’ the wisp stuff; poetry, some sort of relationship with Serena Grant, I don’t doubt, despite her dramatics and her denials.”

  It was true, that. He was ephemeral; that was a new favourite word of Brown’s. The Irishman was an unknown quantity. You could definitely feel his anger and disillusionment in reading his poetry. That couldn’t be the sum total of the man. Although, there were a lot of damaged souls walking about whose lives had ended in the war, even if they had managed to come back. But, they had had lives before them, at least. They knew nothing about this man’s life before; his life back in Ireland. Maybe, they would soon know more.

  “Get off home, lad. Be back here at 7 o’clock ready to drive to Harrogate. We’re meeting them at the Crown hotel.”

  * * *

  A savoury smell filled the cottage, but instead of pleasure, the smell made Greene feel sick. His appetite had gone west since she’d come back. For the hours at work, he could put the whole sorry mess out of his mind, but the minute he came back here, there was no escape. It was an impasse. She had the means to ruin his life and wouldn’t hesitate in wreaking revenge if he insisted she go.

  How could he insist anyway? He’d already dismissed the possibility of physically putting her and her suitcase out on the doorstep. Margaret was his only hope; a slender lifeline. He should have been more receptive and less on the defensive when she’d come to see him at the station. But, it had been a shock. She’d brought a whole lot of unwelcome memories with her, and it had been a case of shooting the messenger. Then, there had been the debacle with young Brown almost crashing in on their conversation. That had put the tin hat on it.

  He would go and see Margaret and Stan. She was a reasonable woman, and she was one of the few people who had the measure of Bet. Maybe she could help him, advise him, because one thing was certain. He couldn’t live in this situation for much longer.

  “I’ve done a lovely stew, Albert, been in the oven simmering away for the last few hours; and I’ve boiled some potatoes to go with it,” Bet said now. “Here, give me your coat. There’s a whiskey poured, and I’ve even put your slippers in front of the sitting-room fire. I can’t say fairer than that, eh, Albert.” She gave a small laugh. Was there a trace of nerves on the edge of it? Probably not.

  “I’m not all that hungry…and I have to go out again. Work.”

  He felt a mean, little spurt of satisfaction at saying the words. But, that was hateful. What was it doing to him as a man, having her back, being reduced to this sort of petty one-upmanship? Nothing good, that’s for sure, and anyway, he’d been down this road before. Maybe, if he tried once more; tried to get her to see that this was no good for her either. It had to be soul-destroying to be with someone who made no bones about not wanting you there.

  It wasn’t the time, now. He had to go out and interview Bracken’s brother and possibly, his sister too. Too many times in the past he’d left this house, upset and riled and no matter how hard he tried, unable to completely shake those feelings off all day; a bit like a nightmare that depressed the mood. He’d sit quietly and eat the bloody food. Bet’s tongue could be vicious. She’d held it since being back this time, but there was no trusting that she’d continue to do so, particularly if she realised she no longer had anything to lose.

  * * *

  “It doesn’t seem right, sitting here, eating cheese on toast, with Archie still in the hospital.” Edith was hungry, though, despite the stress of the day. After a lot of discussion, she’d persuaded Hannah to go home. “I’ll tell everyone I meet to spread the word that he hasn’t had a heart attack. Honestly, the telephone calls I’ve had. This village takes the biscuit for making a mountain out of a molehill.”

  “Thanks, Hannah—for everything. I’ll take over the telephone duty from now on.”

  “Let it ring,” Henry said after the second interruption to their supper. She couldn’t—a symptom of the anxiety that never quite left her and also she didn’t want to be rude to people who were good and concerned enough to telephone.

  “I can’t work out what it could be—not at all. I was so sure it was a heart attack, Henry. All the symptoms, his appearance and most of all the lack of other things it could be.”

  They had had this conversation, she’d said these very things over and over.

  “We’ll have to…”

  The doorbell rang, and with a glance at Henry she left the kitchen and went along the hall.

  Julia and, to Edith’s surprise, Hester Turner stood on the doorstep.

  “Come in. You’ve heard about Archie?”

  “Oh, Edie…are you all right?”

  Julia gave her a hug, months of awkwardness gone in seconds.

  Hester stood in the hallway, looking awkward.

  “It isn’t a heart attack. They don’t know what happened, he definitely had some sort of a “do” but two ECG recordings show none of the changes that you’d get in the case of a heart attack.”

  Julia smiled. “Thank God for that.”

  “Look, come into the kitchen. I’m glad to see you both. Henry and I just keep talking about it over and over. It will help to have a diversion.” She assured them that she meant it and no, they weren’t disturbing them, and anyway, Henry had a meeting shortly with a couple who wanted to get married in the summer.

  “I’ll make us some tea…or shall we have a drink?” Maybe not the best idea in the midst of stress and tiredness, but she suddenly really wanted the edges smoothed.

  She poured three glasses of claret, and they went through to the large sitting room; comfortable, shabby, homely. There had been a time when she’d wanted her own sitting-room as some sort of half-baked gesture of being her own woman, separate from her brother; as if life ever worked out as neat and tidy as that. Her “own” sitting-room was now in danger of turning into a junk room.

  “Look, come into the kitchen. Henry and I were having cheese on toast. I’m glad to see you both. It will help to have a diversion.” She assured them again that she meant it and no, they weren’t disturbing them and any
way, Henry had that meeting.

  “It’s good news that it wasn’t a heart attack, Edith but haven’t they given you any clue of what it might be?”

  “No. I suppose they’re running through all the other possible causes. Things like a respiratory problem… something with the lungs—they’re doing a chest X-ray.”

  “How likely is that, though?” Hester had been quiet, preoccupied and had mentioned that she needed to go back to London shortly. Her boss had a trip abroad coming up, and not only was she to accompany him, but there was a lot of preparation beforehand.

  “I don’t think it’s that. He hasn’t had a cough or shortness of breath or any other symptoms that I’ve seen. But I don’t know.”

  Henry left, saying a quick hello and goodbye to Julia and Hester. “I’ll telephone you later,” he said to Edith.

  “Could it be a nerves thing?” Julia’s tone was almost challenging, and Edith looked at her.

  “Why would you say that?” Archie was the very last person on earth…he hadn’t been all that understanding a few years ago when she’d had a breakdown, and ended up in St Bride’s. They never referred to it. Edith thought that Archie despised “nerves”, and associated anything like that with weakness.

  Julia looked from one to the other, and there was a defiant look in her eyes. Edith couldn’t understand the turn the conversation had taken.

  She glanced at Hester, who was looking at Julia, her forehead creased.

  “All right. I’m going to say it, Edith. Mention the forbidden subject. I had a brief…thing…with Archie. It was after Giles died, Hester. I was lost and angry, and Archie was a familiar presence, and it seemed like the right thing at the time. Of course, it wasn’t.”

  Edith’s face was hot, and keeping still was hard. What she really wanted to do, was to get up and go out of the room, out of the house and just walk. She might even go and see Henry who wouldn’t be with his young couple all night. Better still, maybe, just take Max, put his lead on, and take him for a walk through the lanes, out into the countryside.