He shook his head, slowly.
“I could be wrong though,”
Then Henry asked Sheridan a question which struck Edith as being very odd - in the context of the conversation.
“What position did you hold in the War, Mr. Sheridan? I assume you served?”
“Of course, I served in the Inns of Court Regiment, went to Gallipoli… Saw action…of course…did my duty… Straightforward days, I sometimes think.”
Edith just stopped herself from gasping, exclaiming.
“Oh, I know it’s becoming fashionable to wring our hands and become mawkish at Armistice time. But, never seen the point of that myself. Your country calls, you go and you do your duty and you return and get on with your life. All this writing of poetry and vulgar displays of so-called commemoration is just turning us into a race of namby-pambies, in my view.” Edith’s indignation must have been obvious in her face because Henry caught her eye and there was just something in his expression that made her reconsider the conversation. She might disagree profoundly with the man but his views were none of her business not relevant to the matter at hand at any rate.
She changed the subject and asked the question that she’d hesitated to bring up.
“Did your wife have a maid from around here, from Yorkshire?”
John Sheridan looked irritated at the change of subject and Edith caught her first real glimpse of how formidable he must be in court. He would always expect to dictate the pace.
His frown deepened and he sighed.
“I think so, yes, Elsie somebody. Why on earth is that relevant to anything?”
“I have no idea, Mr. Sheridan. A young friend of Elsie’s happened to mention to me the other day that Elsie had got a job in London with your wife and I had thought it a bit of a coincidence.”
“Well, it seems that my wife has been spending some time on this part of the world, doesn’t it? She often refers to the fact that girls from the country are more biddable and easier to train than London girls…look as I say, I don’t think this is particularly relevant…my biggest concern at the moment is Daphne’s safety; closely followed by the worry that she’ll turn up at Etherington’s funeral and cause distress to the man’s family.”
Edith thought John Sheridan was rattled but it was impossible to tell; he could have just been irritated at her seemingly random change of topic.
“Does that mean that you’re going to stay in Yorkshire overnight, in case your wife has decided to attend the funeral?”
Edith saw John Sheridan take in a deep breath and saw his hand tighten on the handle of the teapot.
He’s under real strain here, she thought. It was so difficult when you were dealing with a man’s whole job, his day-to-day success depended she on his seeming utterly in control and confident.
“I have brought an overnight suitcase and booked into The Old Swan for that very reason. It isn’t ideal but one privilege, I suppose, of reaching a relatively senior rank is that I can, on occasion, delegate; unless, I’m due in court and luckily, this week, that is not the case. My junior can deal with the briefings and preparation, it will be something for him to cut his teeth on.”
The white and black clad waitress came and enquired if they wanted any more tea and Edith thought she saw a look of hopefulness cross his face as he raised an eyebrow enquiringly.
Though they both refused, the thought crossed her mind that John Sheridan might actually dread being left on his own with his thoughts and worries about his wife and what she might do.
On impulse, she said.
“If you like. I’ll explain the situation to Julia, Giles’s wife…widow. Then, if you come to St. Ethelbert’s church at 11 tomorrow, or a bit earlier, you’ll be able to…” Her words ran out. What could he actually do? Was it even possible to stop someone causing a scene if that’s what they had set out to do?”
“I’ll come. I have already enquired at The Old Swan about a taxi cab. I don’t really expect her to turn up, you know.”
He looked from one to the other of them.
“She always just stops short, if you know what I mean. She applies the brakes at the crucial moment. As I said, she has a strong survival instinct and I just hope that will prove enough to make her think how foolhardy it would be to show her face tomorrow.”
He ran a hand through his tightly cut and groomed greying hair.
“That’s what I’m hoping but to tell you the truth, both of you, I don’t really know. She’s always pulled back from the brink in the past, but that doesn’t mean that she’s not capable of making some dramatic gesture tomorrow.
“I hope Julia doesn’t have a houseful of people visiting,” said Henry.
They were on their way to see her. Edith wasn’t so much dreading telling her about the meeting with John Sheridan. The time for all that pussyfooting and hurt feelings was past. They had both kept things from the other for reasonable reasons and more important considerations prevailed.
“No, the family, Giles’s relatives, have left, gone back to their own homes; given her some time with the children to prepare, as much as she can, for tomorrow.”
“Henry.”
He glanced quickly at her taking his eyes off the road ahead for a second.
“You’re going to ask whether I believed John Sheridan? I think I did, but with the element of doubt. You know, the knowledge that he’s extremely well versed in presenting his case, as it were…”
Edith sighed. He’d put her own thoughts into words.
“And from what I’ve seen of Daphne, the opposite applies. She’s highly strung and while she does make you feel some sympathy while you’re with her, at any rate, all the time you’re wondering. But, Henry, what he said about the war; you know about coming back and getting on with life and having no truck with regrets or commemoration - that really jarred, Henry. Maybe that showed another side to the man altogether–a more callous side.”
She was surprised that Henry didn’t immediately assent.
“I don’t know, Edith. I think his view is much more prevalent than we might imagine. I’ve read newspaper articles. For every voice calling for memorials and cenotaphs, there is an opposing one, decrying the whole thing; wanting to move on.”
Edith shook her head, genuinely bewildered.
“I don’t understand. What about all those left behind? They have little enough left to them. Aren’t they entitled to something?”
“I agree with you Edith. Of course I agree with you. I could hardly stand in the pulpit on a Sunday morning, if I didn’t agree with you. But there is an Establishment view, perhaps you could call it, which says the opposite; a belief, that it is maudlin and more than that, I think, if you pare all that away, something deeper, perhaps. To go down the road of commemoration involves questioning and introversion and there are those who think that is somehow emasculating. Same mentality as some of the brutal treatment meted out to those who ran away or even inflicted minor injuries on themselves because they couldn’t face any more.”
Edith felt her mood plummet and despair threaten at the corners of her brain.
“Edith, it isn’t all about man’s inhumanity to man, you know. There is also good in the world, good people and good deeds.”
“I know,” she said, reminded of the walk in the garden in St. Bride’s.
She gave herself a little shake.
“Anyway, we have more immediate things to worry about.”
Chapter 28
Julia was calm, but Edith saw that it was a surface calm.
She spoke more quickly than usual and didn’t sit still, constantly re-arranging books on the coffee table, fiddling with the curtains, ringing for tea.
“You’ll be a bit better when tomorrow has passed,” Edith said, not altogether sure whether it was an appropriate thing to say, but needing to say it, all the same.
“You’re right, Edith. I just keep telling myself that I need to get myself and the children through the next twenty-four hours. John’s sis
ters and brothers-in-law, particularly Angus will help. It will help too, you being there, Edith and you taking the service, Henry. I can’t tell you both how reassuring that is.” Her voice shook and once again she got to her feet and bent down to stroke the snoozing dog on the hearth rug.
Edith’s heart went out to her and now they were going to have to add to her worry.
Before either she or Henry could speak, however, Julia left the dog alone and came to perch on the arm of a chair opposite Edith’s.
“The funeral tomorrow, Henry.”
She hesitated and Edith saw a tremor in her hand as she reached up and pushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
“Yes Julia?” Henry’s voice was gentle and Edith thought once again how absolutely suited he was to his role.
“What we discussed, Henry; the hymns and the reading, just as I…we…want it, nothing else, please.”
Edith frowned, not having any idea what Julia could be talking about.
“I had a telephone call from a Sir Eric Chapman wanting to deliver some sort of eulogy in the middle of the service. It took me a while to figure out exactly who the man was. I thought he was an old army comrade. A fellow officer; in which case, maybe I might have considered it. But he wasn’t. He belonged to this New Party or whatever they call themselves.”
Henry spoke, sounding concerned.
“How much did you know about these political interests of his, Julia?”
She sighed. “Little, if anything. I wish I’d paid a lot more attention, now though. I was just glad to see him full of life, though it did worry me too. I was glad that it wasn’t because of another woman–I think that was the case, anyway. I really paid no attention on the few occasions he tried to tell me about his political beliefs.”
She turned her glance on Edith for a second, then focused on Henry again.
“Do you think this politics had something to do with his murder? Inspector Greene seems to thinks so, if his line of questioning is anything to go by.”
“I don’t think it can be discounted,” Henry said.
“I haven’t heard anything particularly bad about this new party, but there will be some who won’t like it.”
Edith almost spoke, but held her tongue…not liking something and being prepared to kill someone because of it were poles apart–well, they were in peace time, at any rate.
The longer they were here without mentioning Daphne’s disappearance and John Sheridan’s arrival in Harrogate, the more uneasy she was feeling.
“We have to tell you something, Julia. Please don’t get angry with me, at least listen before getting angry.”
She told her about the telephone call from Daphne, her non-appearance and then the arrival of her husband.
“Oh God,” Julia wasn’t angry, but she was in absolute despair and Edith’s heart lurched in sympathy. If Daphne Sheridan had been in front of her at that moment…surely the police could actually do something? Surely an irrational, drama-seeking woman couldn’t just be allowed to invade something as sensitive and fraught as a funeral party and cause a scene?”
She could see Julia make an effort as once again, she got up and moved across to the window.
“Thank you both for coming to see me. It can’t have been easy; I suppose I should be grateful to the man. What an absolute nightmare though.”
Edith was thinking about asking the question when Henry did it for her.
“Have you said anything to the boys about their father and Daphne?”
Julia winced and for a second, put her hands over her eyes and rubbed so hard, Edith thought she must be trying to cause herself some pain, maybe to deflect from the mental torment she was going through.
“No, I haven’t and I know that’s cowardly of me.”
Edith gave an involuntary little cry of dissent, but Julia continued.
“No, Edith, I should have done something, particularly now, when it’s looking likely the bloody woman will actually turn up.”
Julia sat back down on the arm of the chair and Edith noticed that she had definitely lost weight.
“But, when it came down to it, I chickened out. I even thought of asking a man, Angus, I thought, my brother-in-law. A man, at least just being there would it help, maybe? What do you think? Either of you?”
Henry answered.
“I can see why you think that. They’d feel able to express themselves maybe and perhaps you’re right about their uncle Angus. He’s a calm and kind man and is close enough but not too close, not like you.”
Julia nodded and looked momentarily restored as if something, at least, was falling into place.
Henry continued. “You can’t do it now before tomorrow, Julia. Well, you can, of course, but I don’t advise it. Let tomorrow be their day to say good bye to their father not hampered by something like this.”
Julia nodded and a strange silence filled the room for several seconds. Edith thought it was a mixture of suspended tension and support for Julia. Out of the blue, she wondered what Archie would make of all of this. She pushed the thought away. He would be at the funeral tomorrow in his role as local doctor and family friend. What he and Julia spoke about now was none of her business.
Chapter 29
Everybody spoke about the weather as they waited outside St. Ethelbert’s. It had turned unseasonably cool and had already rained with a thin drizzle that felt like nothing until you realised how wet your clothes and hair had become.
Edith could not see any sign of John Sheridan. She stood outside with Archie and eventually when the conversation, that strange irrelevant, distracting talk about the weather had ground to a halt and the bell rang loudly and compellingly they went into the church, to silence broken by shuffling and the odd whisper and rustle of hymn books. The air was heavy with the smell of damp clothing and heady lilies. The congregation was going to exceed the room and Edith noticed that Archie or the churchwardens had made provision to seat extra people in the choir stalls and even on the path outside the church.
Her heart was with Julia and the children and for their sakes, she wanted this bit to be over. Anew, the thought of a possible appearance from Daphne Sheridan struck her and this time, in the reality of St. Ethelbert’s at this moment, the thought that it might happen was insupportable. Surely, nothing like that would really happen? She closed her eyes tight and prayed that Julia and the children would be spared further hurt. Maybe her husband had waylaid her before she’d actually got as far as St. Ethelred’s
The shuffling stopped as the funeral party approached the church door and Henry’s voice rang through the church. People fought the urge to look at Julia and her family, but inevitably their eyes were drawn to the widow who was walking behind the coffin up the aisle, holding Beatrice’s hand. The boys, looking painfully young and scrubbed were directly behind their mother and sister. Beatrice was crying and Julia looked straight ahead, her face set.
In spite of the solemnity and the stark reminder of what had happened, Edith felt the tight band in her chest, loosen a bit; perhaps it would actually be all right. The singing of “Eternal father, strong to save, The day thou gavest Llord has ended,” and presumably as a nod to Giles’s war service,” I vow to thee my country,” blazed loudly through the church. It was as if the congregation felt some release through the act of singing the familiar hymns; were soothed by the traditions and solemnity. The disorder of the deed that had been perpetrated on Giles Etherington was partly assuaged by the orderliness and dignity of this service.
A few times, Edith thought she heard something and stomach tightening in dread, looked behind as discreetly as she could.
The end of the service approached, but Edith didn’t allow herself to relax. There was still time for Daphne to appear.
The buzz of talk outside the church, before they went to the adjoining cemetery grew loud as the relief that follows a funeral church service began to make itself felt.
Edith stood with Archie, unsure of whether or not to go to Julia. Be
atrice was now standing with her cousin Daisy, from the farm and Edith noticed that still she was not talking though she clutched a velvet handbag close to her and the tears had ceased, at least for now. The boys were quiet, standing very close to their mother, shaking hands with people who came to pay their respects to them and Julia.
Something in the air changed and Edith felt a shudder at the nape of her neck. The chatter of voices had abated and she could clearly feel that the topic had changed by the whispers and the urgency.
Edith turned to look behind her and saw Inspector Greene and Sergeant Brown and her knees actually wobbled in relief. For an awful few seconds she’d been sure that Daphne had turned up after all. But, then she looked more closely at the two men and was instantly aware that something was very wrong. It was no surprise that they were here. She and Archie had even discussed it and Archie had said that it was normal for the investigating officers to attend the funeral of a murder victim.
“Partly respect, perhaps, but also part of the investigation, I’m sure.”
Until this moment, probably because of her fixation with Daphne, Edith hadn’t given Archie’s comments another thought.
But, this was different. They hadn’t turned up for the funeral; though they were in time for the burial. But, in Greene’s face, in particular, Edith could see something clearly written. He was taciturn, at the best of times but now his expression was grim, even beyond the solemnity of the occasion.
She glanced at Archie, who stood very still at her side. His jaw-line was set and, though he’d shaved, this morning, his face looked dark and at the same time, pale and she felt an echo of the worry she’s felt when she’d looked at him days ago and noticed his unhealthy hue.
She actually saw Julia become aware of the policemen’s presence.
Shock made her eyes widen and Edith could see where she had applied the rouge, this morning, as the natural colour now left her face.
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