Death at Dawn

by Noreen Wainwright

  WWI is over but its echoes are still felt in the 1930s. Giles Etherington was a brave officer who also had a darker side. He does not return from a lone morning’s shooting for grouse on the “glorious 12th”. Is his death an act of revenge for his actions during the war, or as a result of his behaviour since? Edith Horton, his wife’s best friend finds herself drawn into the quest for his killer.

  DEATH AT DAWN

  Edith Horton Mysteries, #2

  Noreen Wainwright

  Tirgearr Publishing

  Author Copyright 2015: Noreen Wainwright

  Cover Art: EJR Digital Art (ejrdigitalart.com)

  Editor: Sharon Pickrel

  Proofreader: Barbara Whary

  A Smashwords Edition

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  Thank you for respecting our author’s hard work.

  This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  DEATH AT DAWN

  Edith Horton Mysteries, #2

  Noreen Wainwright

  Prologue

  Revenge is a dish best ate cold–was that how the saying went?

  Anyway, it was a thought, a distraction. Nights out with the boys always led to odd feelings the next day; the alcohol led to panic and a sense of impending doom. Nights out in the pub with old comrades–the thought of going was enticing, but the reality was different; watching while they all got on with their lives…Stephen, Ben, Michael, while his own had stopped somewhere in a trench in France. That wasn’t just self-pity; that was fact.

  The pace was too manic now, the physical signs of panic becoming too overwhelming–the heart racing, the damp hands and tingling over the upper lip, prickling cold with sweat. The strange weakness. Now, in addition, there was a rushing noise, like that sound when you pressed a seashell to your ear.

  This was no good. Much more of this and he would postpone it–that would lead to self-hatred and the depression that went with it. Already there was an echo of the lacerating feelings, the venomous self-talking–“you are useless, couldn’t even do this, coward.”

  No, the panic would have to be faced, borne. Look at what other people had had to face. Look at the terrors overcome in a spirit of comradeship and bravery. That is supposed to be what bravery was, after all—feeling frightened but going ahead regardless.

  Nausea rising in the throat, sweat breaking out now on the brow.

  Limping across to the window. Deep breaths. Pushing the window open. Drawing in the air, which was warm but freshened by a slight breeze, and it was clean, clean air, life giving. Close the eyes, take in deep breaths. Conjure images of steel in the backbone.

  Turn quickly now. Resolve coming from somewhere. Reaching for the steel of the revolver. Steel in the pocket now, steel in the backbone and…Please, steel in the mind.

  Chapter 1

  “Today’s the day the teddy bears have their pic…nic…”

  Beatrice was timing her singing to the sound of Frankie’s hooves. He was walking on now as they had got to the wooded part of the farm.

  She liked it here, though you did have to watch the branches. Once she’d been hit by a branch on her face and her mother had said, several times, “it could have had your eye out.” That had been a bit too descriptive for Bea. Mummy had been a nurse in the war, ages and ages ago, in somewhere called a rest station, in Boulogne, France and then back in London. It had been a different life–imagine, her mother having a completely different life before Bea had existed. It was so crazy to even think about it and as for Dad…

  “What’s up, Frankie? Walk on. Come on, boy.”

  Her pony had stopped dead and put his head down; he was whinnying too.

  Bea gave him a gentle kick keeping her foot in the stirrup. He was playing up.

  “Frankie!” She made her voice firm as Miss Bates, from Riding School, had told her to do. It was no good.

  Bea’s head began to swim, there was a choking in her throat, and her chest tightened like it was being squeezed. There was red, splashes of red and something on the grass, slumped by a tree.

  “Daddy!” Sobs turned into shrieks as she dismounted, Frankie standing patiently, still whinnying every few seconds.

  Just before she reached her father, she heard hard breathing and her own breath stopped, terror replacing shock.

  A man stood behind the tree, just behind daddy’s body.

  He had a white face and a torn sports jacket of a green tweed. Something else happened in Bea’s mind and everything slowed right down. This scene would stay in her mind’s eye forever.

  “Little girl?” His voice was harsh, a little more than a rasping whisper.

  “Yeees, yes.” Bea’s teeth were chattering together, all her attention on the feeling of that now. The feeling and sound of her teeth clashing together so harshly.

  “You have a mother, right? Brothers.”

  Again, Bea heard her own voice saying that strange drawn out “yes.”

  “You say nothing about seeing anybody here, near your father, right? Or they’ll be next.”

  The man said something she couldn’t catch but she heard a bad word. He laughed and then he went.

  Bea flung her arms, the top half of her body over Frankie seeking comfort from the touch of his warm back and then she slumped to the ground.

  Edith’s new feeling of well-being was still shiny…glittering and new, and she still appreciated every waking minute of it. Never again would she be tempted to take her psychological health for granted. Those were the terms they were beginning to use now. Less of terms like mental case and lunatic, more talk of mental health and psychology and less talk about cowardice and more about shell shock. One small, good development from disaster and carnage, she supposed.

  She looked at her aunt, who sat in her garden, a book discarded alongside her striped deck chair.

  “Let me get out of this chair and get you a drink, dear. Anyway, you caught me out, snoozing. This heat is becoming a bit oppressive. A good shower of rain is what we need.”

  “I agree,” Edith said. “I’m not a big fan of this heat. But let me get the drink. I’ll bring it out to you.”

  “Thank you, Edith…but, no, time I came in. I want to talk to you properly and I can’t do that while I’m slumped here like an old woman.”

  Edith put her hand out. “Let me give you a hand up, then.

  “And by the way, I never think of you as an old woman. You are just you, and it always cheers me up to call here. Come on, we’ll go and get in the shade, and I’ll come back for your trappings.” She looked around; trappings was the word. How on earth had her aunt managed to bring a knitting bag, a book, glasses, a fringed white shawl, a newspaper, and the chair, across the garden like this? She hadn’t been helped by the girl who’d been acting as her current companion because she’d left for London from Hawes station, and they were, therefore, back at square one again.

  They were making their way across the lawn, Edith, heavily laden, when the sound of a motor car made them both look towards the drive. There was no mistaking Archie’s green Austin 7. Edith’s heartbeat and breathing quickened. Something must have happened to bring him out here. He hadn’t mentioned anything about it when she’d last seen him, not long before she left home.

  He strode quickl
y across to them and said to Edith, “You need to come home now, there’s an emergency.”

  Through her panic, Edith frowned. Archie had completely ignored their aunt. “What on earth’s the matter, Archie?”

  Then, he looked at Aunt Alicia, went over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  Her smile forgave his bad manners.

  “Sorry, sorry, Aunt Alicia. But, I need to talk to Edith privately.”

  Edith felt torn between making him tell her what had happened and the need to protect her aunt from shocks.

  Aunt Alicia wasn’t having it, though.

  “For goodness sake, Archie, spit it out. Whatever it is, I’m not about to faint. Tell the poor girl.”

  “Right, Giles Etherington has met with an accident. He’s dead, Edith. A shooting accident. Apparently Julia is in a state and wants you to go to her.”

  Edith’s mouth went dry and black spots grew in front of her eyes. There was a seat in front of a huge oak tree; just yards from where they were standing. If she could make it to the seat…

  Archie’s hand supported her elbow. “For goodness sake, I knew I shouldn’t have blurted it…”

  That was enough. The faintness receded. She’d be all right. “I’m fine. Sorry, just a bit of a shock and with this heat.”

  “Well, sit down for a minute, anyway,” Archie sounded relieved.

  “What else do you know?” They were on the country lane leading away from Aunt Alicia’s.

  Archie had offered to take her straight to Julia’s. It was better that she didn’t drive her own Morris Minor. She could leave it at Aunt Alicia’s for now.

  “The only thing I know–and it’s bad, Edith, is that Bea found him.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “I know. She’s in a bad way. She didn’t actually get back home for ages. Neither of them came back, neither Bea nor Giles.”

  “What, they’d gone out together?” Edith was struggling to piece it together.

  “No, no, I’m not sure of the whole story, but Giles had gone out early, into the woods, shotgun in hand–the Glorious twelfth, you know, start of the grouse shooting season. Bea went out some time later, for a hack on that pony of hers. If only animals could talk…she hasn’t said a word since she came back. But, she came back in a state.”

  “It’s a nightmare,” Edith said.

  As they got nearer to Julia’s, they both grew quiet. For a minute, Edith worried about her initial reaction to what Archie had said, the feeling faint and out of control. Then, she remembered some of her sessions with Dr. Uxbridge, trying hard to recall everything he’d said about letting things go, drift away from her mind. Anxious, worried feelings were normal–part of everybody’s life. It was holding on to those feelings and dwelling on them that made you ill.

  Just because she’d had a breakdown didn’t mean she couldn’t be strong when it was needed, and it was certainly going to be needed in the next hours and days.

  Chapter 2

  Julia met them at the door. Edith took in the pallor, the freckles standing out on her face, the blues of Julia’s tea-dress and the rigidity of her stance. She put her arm around her friend’s shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said

  “It must have been an accident with the guns…Giles, he’s dead–he’s been shot,” She shook her head like someone trying to clear water after swimming. “It was grouse shooting…this morning. He went out early…the twelfth, you know. I should have been worried…but, I didn’t notice the time, not at all.”

  Her face contorted, suffused and tears came.

  “The worst of it, Edith…the very worst of it is that it was Bea who found him. She was out on Frankie, hacking, just like every other day of the school holidays and, oh, Edith.”

  Edith took her into the kitchen, an arm around her waist and gentle pressure. The many questions could wait until she had Julia sitting on a chair with a drink of some sort in front of her.

  “Where’s Bea?”

  “She’s upstairs, in her room, Lottie is with her. “Would you come up to her, Archie? I’ll take you.”

  “I’ll make tea,” Edith said. In this house, there were people to do that sort of thing, but Edith needed the comfort of doing something familiar.

  Unwilling images flooded Edith’s mind, as she filled the kettle. The kitchen was empty. Mrs. Sugden and the girl who helped her must be elsewhere in the house. Lottie, the mother’s help, was upstairs with Bea.

  Edith wanted to ask so many questions. Gunshot–where, where in his body? Had he been dead…or …even worse…dying…when Bea found him? She pushed her shock away. She couldn’t indulge in that now.

  But, there was a familiar feeling in her throat and sweat prickled on her face. Not anxiety, not depression, to feel like this was normal. Anyone would react like this, wouldn’t they to news like this? Edith took a few deep breaths as Doctor Uxbridge had advised. This was not about her. She could not give way; she must help Julia.

  Archie and Julia came down to the kitchen; the tea had been brewing for several minutes.

  “Oh Edith, she looks dreadful. Do you know she hasn’t spoken one word since she came back and she won’t even talk now, will she, Archie?”

  Archie shook his head as Edith handed him a cup and saucer. They sat around the big kitchen table. Though the Aga stove ran all year round, even in summer, the sash window was open wide and the air felt fresh.

  Over the stove, a wooden clothes airer was draped with striped tea towels and white bed linen. Such domesticity, now into it, this horror.

  “She’s had a real shock, Julia. Don’t expect too much yet.” Archie’s tone was urgent, as if trying to instill hope.

  Julia was gripping her cup so tight Edith worried the delicate, white handle would snap. They were Crown Derby, one of the many household accoutrements Giles and Julia had inherited from his parents.

  I know it’ll take her time. I don’t know how she will get over this, though. She worshipped the ground Giles walked on and then, to find him like this…”

  “What happened?” Edith asked. “Did she come straight back.”

  A look crossed Julia’s face. “No, she didn’t. Well, I don’t think so. Both she and Frankie looked as though she’d been riding him hard. Giles’s estate manager, you know, Jock McGuinness, was here, waiting to see Giles. I heard a noise outside, heard sounds of a horse. To be honest, I hadn’t really missed her or noticed how long she’d been gone, nor Giles.”

  She looked from Edith to Archie. “What does that say about me? Obviously so wrapped up in my own trivial concerns that I didn’t realise my eleven-year old child and my husband had been gone far too long.”

  Edith interrupted, firmly now. She wasn’t going to stand by while Julia went down that futile road. “Look, Julia, you must stop this. It isn’t going to help anyone and its nonsense. Hindsight is a marvellous thing. It was just a normal day with everyone behaving as usual. It’s the school holidays, isn’t it?

  Julia nodded. “Yes, my brain knows you’re right, Edith. It’s nothing for Bea to go off for a long hack and then it’s down to the village to play with the other children or off to the farm to play with her cousins…never in the house, never still for a moment…just like her father.”

  She put her hands over her eyes and Edith saw Archie looking at her. Did he think she needed some sedation?

  Mrs. Sugden, the housekeeper came into the kitchen, nodded a quick hello to Edith and went straight to Julia’s chair.

  “The police, Mrs. Etherington, they’re wanting to speak to you.”

  She looked at Edith and there were tears in her eyes. This struck Edith as strange. Giles wouldn’t have been the sort of employer to inspire such affection. But then, this, the violence of it and the suddenness–it was hardly surprising that even this sensible woman would be rocked.

  “Bring them in here, please. Mrs. Sugden, and thank you.”

  She looked across the table at Edith. “Please stay, Edie, will you, it’s awful
of me to ask you, but…” Julia touched her hair, the hand shaking.

  “Of course I’ll stay. You don’t even have to ask.”

  Archie nodded to both of them. “I need to go back to the surgery. I’ll come back though. Ring me when you need to come back, Edith. She was at Aunt Alicia’s.” He turned to Julia. “We left her car there.”

  Inspector Greene raised his bushy eyebrows. “Miss Horton. Well…are you well? But if you don’t mind, we need to speak to Mrs. Etherington, in private preferably.”

  Edith looked at Julia and thought about getting up and leaving the kitchen. Inspector Greene had an effect on her. She wasn’t frightened of him–perish the thought, but he made her uneasy. He’d been witness to her at her most vulnerable.

  “I want Edith to stay with me,” Julia’s tone was flat, but implacable, and the inspector was going to have to work hard if he wanted things to go his way with her.

  The inspector shrugged, apparently indicating she could stay if it was so important to Mrs. Etherington.

  An accident. Was this the normal procedure in the case of an accident? Surely, not?

  “Very well, Mrs. Etherington. I am very sorry to hear about your husband’s death.”

  He said this in a let’s get the formalities over with, sort of way. There was probably a police guidebook somewhere with certain phrases that should be uttered in this sort of situation.

  “Is there a male relative of your husband’s to, erm… identify the body, formally, I mean.”

  “I’ll do it. I want to do it.” Julia’s voice was small, and she cleared her throat and spoke more decisively.

  “My husband has two sisters, twins, in fact. One of them lives on the other side of the dales on a farm…Giles was the only male in the family. So, no there’s no-one. My two sons are too young…”