Chapter 19
“So why didn’t either of you tell me.” Edith was aware of an uncomfortable feeling in her throat as if something was stuck. She cleared her throat.
They were in Julia’s kitchen; a room where the stove dominated and turned it into a homely and welcoming place, though if you looked at it properly, it was a bit shabby.
“Oh, Edith. Don’t. I’m ashamed. I can’t believe it happened. Telling anyone, least of all you…I just couldn’t. We both just wanted to turn the clock back, pretend everything was normal, I suppose. Pretend it had never happened. Archie didn’t want anything said, especially to you…”
Edith swallowed, tears caught somewhere in her chest. She was damned if she was going to cry, though. Why was she even feeling like this? It wasn’t logical. If you got to the nuts and bolts of it, what happened between Archie and Julia had nothing to do with her–wasn’t her business.
“Well, say what you like now, Julia, but I still can’t believe you said nothing–all these months pretending you were trying to get your marriage back on an even keel, all the hurt wife act…it doesn’t really add up. Do you know something? I don’t even know who or what to believe anymore. I’m the one who was in a mental home, who couldn’t cope with life, embarrassed everyone. My own brother was so ashamed of me he didn’t even want me returning home on leave.”
Edith stopped. Where had all that come from? It had been the opposite of the stance she’d been going to take.
“I’m the one who stood up for you, Edith. I told him it was appalling not to go in to see you more often. I can understand you feel hurt about things going on behind your back, but it honestly wasn’t like that. There was no deliberate decision to keep you in the dark.”
“Can I make some tea?” Edith asked.
Julia nodded, her expression puzzled. “Of course, you don’t need to ask me.”
Edith crossed the room to the sink and turned the tap on. She put her hands, her wrists under the cold running water. She’d read somewhere that doing that cooled your blood. She needed to cool down.
Where had that outburst come from? Coming over here had been a bad idea. If she wasn’t careful, she would lose Julia’s friendship for good. She couldn’t control everything, and she wasn’t responsible for everything. That was something Dr. Uxbridge was making her see.
She filled the kettle and got plain kitchen cups from the cupboard over the sink. Plain kitchen cups seemed right.
She turned and caught a glimpse of Julia with her hand shading her eyes, her shoulders slumped.
“I’ll tell you about it.”
Then, Edith felt prurient. “Don’t tell me about it,” she said quickly. “It really isn’t my business. Archie is right there.”
“No, you’re entitled to know, at least why we felt the need to keep it quiet. After I found out about Giles and after…the accident…”
Edith felt a little shiver, an echo of how she felt when Julia told her about almost driving into a tractor on a narrow lane, after a row with Giles.
“Well, it made me think about what was important and it quashed my rage in a way. So, we tried to get back on track, Giles and I, and I honestly believe, by the way, that he had finished with that woman, whatever she’s claiming now…but, reality set in. The work in the hospital, with the almoner, helped me a bit but not enough. I felt not myself anymore, disappointed, children almost off my hands and deep down, still really angry with Giles. Whatever he said, whatever attempts he made, I just kept dwelling on what had happened and how…how…casual he’d been about the whole thing.”
“Maybe, he wasn’t casual, so much as pretending it wasn’t a big thing,” Edith said.
Julia shrugged. “I was feeling low, regretting my decision to stay with him, I think. It was simple and stupid, in a way. I met Archie in Harrogate.”
Her stomach lurched. She really, really didn’t want to hear this.
“I know this must be difficult for you. I’m sorry, Edith. Indulge me here, just for a minute. We had tea. He let me talk. Though Giles was trying his best with me, with the family, spending more time at home, his mind was still elsewhere a lot of the time and he talked about politics, on and on like he was obsessed with changing the world, like a young man. It was as if he was replacing one thing with another.”
She looked hard at Edith. “I think a lot of what happened, or the reason it happened between me and Archie was due to familiarity. I mean we three have a long history, don’t we? I didn’t have to tell him a lot. I think he understood Giles’s restlessness better than even I could. A sympathetic ear, I suppose…” She laughed.
“Never underestimate it, Edith. But, after meeting several times, the guilt set in and spoilt it. I finished things with him. He hasn’t forgiven me, so you could say a long-standing friendship was ruined as well as everything else…”
Once again, she put her hands to her face and a bewildered expression crossed her face. “It’s like everything I touch at the moment goes bad, Edith. What the hell is wrong with me?”
Edith shook her head and felt like saying that was something everyone felt at times; it was part of the human condition but she held back. “It sounds like Archie took your relationship pretty seriously, then?”
“I don’t know, Edith. Your brother is an enigma. He doesn’t give much away. Maybe he felt that I used him.” she gave a faint smile. “You know, any port in a storm. It wasn’t like that, but I can understand why he might think it, I suppose.”
Edith considered her brother for a moment…his moods, had he been different? Not really. They had been getting on better. Always with Archie, there was an edge, so many subjects taboo. The war, his wife, what he did when he had his weekends away and her hospitalisation, all were squirreled away into some corner of his mind.
That was probably the reason why he was avoiding her like the plague at the moment. But even Archie couldn’t bury his head so far in the sand that he could ignore her finding out about him and Julia.
She changed the subject, feeling that they couldn’t go any further with it at the moment. She and Julia were talking again, and actually, that was the most important thing for now. “Do you know when Giles’s funeral will be?”
Julia drew her shoulders back and sat up a bit straighter. “Yes, it’s to be next Thursday. The cause of his death is not in question, who did it, is a different thing, but the…the body…” Her body shook suddenly, convulsively. “Next Thursday it will be the funeral.”
Edith crossed the room and laid her hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Jules,” she said.
Chapter 20
Everything about their surroundings spoke of power and class and Brown’s confidence plummeted. He was as out of place here as a Yorkshire farmer in a posh shop on Knightsbridge; in the Army and Navy store, say. His mother had told him to look out for the place. One of her friends, who had been in service and who had embraced the ways of her employers, never stopped talking about it.
He and Inspector Greene stood in a wood-panelled room that gave Brown the feeling of being enclosed in a secure and warm place–a place that shouted out money and power. Though they’d been invited to sit down, neither had. They were waiting to be shown into see Sir Julian Knowles.
As they had passed through reception in the wake of an austere, well-tailored middle-aged receptionist, Brown could almost swear Sir Herbert Samuel had passed them. He’d looked at the inspector to see whether any signs of recognition passed his face, but Inspector Greene hadn’t registered anything, and curious as Brown was,, he didn’t risk asking.
He told himself now not to be over-awed, was annoyed with himself for feeling like a country bumpkin, but couldn’t help it.
The room the woman showed them into was huge and the man behind the desk looked at home here. He stood and came out from behind the desk and shook hands with each of them, indicating two leather chairs, not armchairs exactly, Brown thought they were called carver chairs. Sir Julian went back to his own seat, the
desk between them.
The man was in his mid-fifties and was dressed in grey and pinstripe, with a glimpse of dazzling white at the cuffs and collar and Brown wondered just for a second if he had one of those manservants to make sure he left his mansion every morning bandbox neat. That he lived in a mansion, Brown had no doubt.
“Thank you for coming in, Inspector,” he nodded at Brown. “And you, of course, Sergeant.” His voice reminded Brown of one you heard on the Home Service, a voice belonging to an actor or a politician.
“It isn’t that we have a huge file on the deceased.” He indicated a buff folder on the desk in front of him. “But he has come into our sights.”
Greene coughed and when he spoke, his voice sounded strained. Maybe, even he was feeling out of his depth in surroundings like this.
“We’d appreciate any background information on the deceased. There are a few lines of enquiry and we can’t overlook anything in the man’s past that might have some bearing.”
Sir Julian nodded. “I have spoken to Britten of the Met. He filled me in on some of the salient points. Poignant, I thought, being killed with a service revolver, given his exemplary war record. I cannot help feeling that the mode of death was significant.”
Sir Julian drew the folder close to him almost protectively. He touched it with a delicate hand, a long-fingered hand and it was a strange gesture. “But, indeed Inspector, far be it from me to tell you your job. You and your men are best positioned to decide on what is or is not significant.”
Brown was almost mesmerised by the man’s manner of speech and wanted to listen to him all day, something his superior was clearly not feeling.
“Thank you, Sir Julian, of course we appreciate your views. Just for now, though, as I say, we’re pursuing a few different lines of enquiry. The deceased led a complicated life,”
There was a slight nod of the man’s well-groomed head. “Indeed, so Inspector so what exactly can I tell you?”
Greene cleared his throat; he looked disadvantaged, just for a moment before he was back to himself.” “This party or movement or whatever they call themselves? I’ve spoken to Sir Eric Chapman out in Sussex. They must be in your sights for some reason. From what I see, they’re doing nothing wrong, not operating outside of the law. I believe there’s been a few skirmishes, but nothing more than you’d get in the small town stumps up in Yorkshire at election time.”
Sir Hugh folded one hand over the other and placed them under his chin. He narrowed his eyes and looked to be deep in thought. “You’re right, Inspector. At this moment, we have nothing specific to point a finger at with these chaps. If anything, we are keeping a watching brief. There are always elements in the country who are, let us say, dissatisfied with the status quo.”
Greene still looked uneasy and disappointed him when he decided to play the blunt Yorkshire man. “Well, Sir Hugh, it’s all a bit of a mystery to me, I would have thought Giles Etherington and others like him would just be happy to have come home in one piece. They’re in a privileged position compared to many. There’s plenty, goodness knows, with cause to complain.”
“That’s it, my dear man,” Sir Hugh interjected, his voice quite animated now. “You have uttered the mot juste, or, if you prefer, hit the nail on the head. There’s unrest in the country. Amongst the working men who were promised a land fit for heroes and amongst the better off because they despise what they see as the weakness of the national government. Then, there is the Bolshevik threat. Whether you are aware of this in the north country, Inspector, many perceive the communist threat as being much more dangerous than almost all other ills in society. Indeed, this is why these Union chaps are garnering such support as they are…or one of the reasons.”
This was interesting, so much so that he couldn’t wait to be on his own to think about it, talk to his mother about it. She would be fascinated by this conversation, being really interested in politics. He must remember every snippet he could and report it back.
“So, Inspector, harmless politicking or a grave threat to our nation? The jury is still out.” Now, he opened the manila file and drew out several sheets of paper.
Greene gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, “Was he what you would call a rising man in this Union Party, Sir Hugh? I mean as you have a file on him…”
“We were interested, let me leave it like that for now. As I explained, the Union Party is respectable at the moment–support from the highest quarters in the land–maybe not in massive amounts but significant enough. Lord Beaverbrook to name but one influential person. It might be a nine-day wonder or it might be something more significant in the life of the nation,”
He took a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles from an inside pocket and put them on. “There was a fracas after one of the meetings. You may already know about this?” He peered at them over the gold rims.
“Yes, infiltrated by the other side, a lot of shouting and pushing, didn’t amount to much,” said the inspector.
Sir Hugh smiled, a tight ghost of a smile. “No, indeed. Maybe that is even part of the attraction, the so-called rough and tumble. You have a lot of angry people in the country, I often think. That can lead quickly to a combustible situation. But then, Inspector, that is more your department than mine. There is one other thing.”
The inspector visibly perked up. “Yes, sir?”
“You probably already know this but there was a mistress, a Daphne Sheridan, married to John Sheridan, a criminal barrister in the Inns of Court. A powerful man in his own field of influence.”
Inspector Greene drew in his breath. “We’ve seen Mrs. Sheridan, she claims Giles Etherington was the love of her life. The hysterical type, if you ask me. She was adamant we shouldn’t talk to the husband but in all fairness, I think that’s going to happen whether she likes it or not.”
Sir Hugh glances at a big watch on his wrist. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but a meeting calls. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been of more help and of course should you think of anything further.”
Brown couldn’t stop thinking about the room in Whitehall, the man they’d spoken to, the manila folder. Had he told him anything, really? They were on the train back to Harrogate and every so often, Brown’s thoughts were swayed by his urge to close his eyes. He could so easily fall asleep.
“I thought I’d cut along to the buffet car, sir. Could I bring you back a drink?
“Coffee, no sugar. You look like you need some yourself, Sergeant.”
Brown tried to ignore the comment and went to fetch the drinks. “Strange life, that chap in Whitehall” he dared to say on his return.
“One way to put it,” Greene said. “We learned that M15 had their eye on Etherington. It’s all very unlikely to be pure coincidence, war record, mistress, shot with his service revolver.”
Greene had closed his eyes. Maybe the warmth and the sound of the train were affecting him too. “Were you in the Herdsman the other night when there was talk about Mrs. Etherington? Sergeant?”
Bill Brown’s heart jumped right up into his throat and he swallowed hard before answering. “I heard something. It was gossip. They were all speculating about the murder, wallowing in the gory details. I didn’t…I wasn’t sure what was chit-chat and what was fact.”
Greene looked at him steadily, and his features tightened in a way that made the feeling in Bill Brown’s throat worse. “So, you took it upon yourself to try to separate the wheat from the chaff? Is that right, Sergeant?”
Brown opened his mouth to reply but thought better of it. They were in a separate carriage. He’d thought it a stroke of luck that they’d found one, got a nice comfortable seat each and a table between them for the cups and the newspapers. Now, it didn’t seem such a good idea. There was nothing to buffer the Inspector’s rage. He’d seen this side of the Inspector before and it wasn’t pleasant.
“If there’s one possible benefit to your drinking in a local pub, something I have advised you against, it’s that you might keep your ears cocked
and bring back anything that might help us with the case. I can’t believe that you would keep something like this to yourself.”
Bill Brown held his head erect, though his instinct was to bow it. This knowledge had been smouldering away inside the Inspector’s head for what? Days? His hands tightened together under the table. He wanted to sip his coffee but didn’t trust himself to lift the cup. He knew what was coming.
“So, Sergeant what’s the explanation? Don’t give me the codswallop about not knowing whether or not the talk in the pub was true. We both know that applies to every piece of information we come upon, so saying that’s the reason you kept it to yourself just won’t stand up, I’m afraid, lad.”
Brown scrabbled about in his racing mind for a plausible lie. Nothing came to him. He couldn’t tell the Inspector he had a crush on Julia Etherington. He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. So, he said nothing and prayed to anyone who might be listening that he wouldn’t be put under any more pressure.
“Well, Sergeant Brown?”
He wanted his pound of flesh, then. “I’m sorry, sir. It just seemed like gossip as I said. Nothing that seemed to move things forward for us, I mean.”
“Let me stop you there, lad before you dig yourself any deeper. I don’t think you are anywhere near the point in your career where you decide what will and what will not take us forward in the case. I’m going to say no more about this for now. But it had better not happen again. Is that clear Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir.” Bill Brown felt like he had been pulled back from the edge of a cliff. For whatever reason, Inspector Greene had decided not to pursue his motives for keeping quiet any further. Someone must have been listening to his prayer. Now, he willed the train to go home faster. The thought of sitting, listening to the wireless while his mother knitted one of those toys she sent to the Red Cross seemed like heaven.
Death at Dawn Page 12
