Greene answered, “Yes, a Daphne Sheridan. I had reason to talk to the woman myself, recently, in connection with Giles Etherington. They were having an affair.
Brown decided he definitely didn’t like the doctor when he heard his next comments.
“Aw, playing away from home, was he, old Giles…I say, and this was the young lady in question?”
It wasn’t the words, but the snide intonation and Brown felt his face flush.
He had no opportunity to speak to his boss until just before they set out for St. Ethelbert’s. He’d wondered at the wisdom of what Greene purported to do–allow the funeral to take place then bring Mrs. Etherington in for questioning. He had many questions himself–principally why would Mrs. Etherington risk her freedom, her life, for goodness sake for the sake of an affair that no longer existed? Her husband was dead. What did it matter now? Her children only had one parent left. It would be insane to risk being taken away from them; maybe when the affair had been at its height and she had been distraught–maybe then but surely not now.
She echoed his words to Inspector Greene when he returned to the kitchen.
“Why would I stab the woman? What could I possibly gain now?”
“There’s no point in directing rhetorical questions at me, Mrs. Etherington. I don’t know what would motivate you. The reasons people carry out such deeds are often a mystery to others. Did you see her last night?”
She had started slightly at the question and Brown saw her glance shift, she looked at Inspector Greene, at him and then down. He knew that there was a flash of time where she’d considered lying to them and who could blame her, he thought. She must be in a panic as she recognised the position she was in. Don’t lie, he told her silently. If the woman came here, someone will know about it or someone will have seen her.
“I saw her, yes. She came to the house. I couldn’t believe it, really. She got a taxi cab from Harrogate and came out to the house. She sent the taxi away and insisted she wanted to walk down to the village, that she had booked a room at the Fox.
“What was her reason for coming to Yorkshire?”
“She said she wanted to come to Giles’s funeral. I told her I didn’t want her there. I couldn’t understand what she was trying to do. It gave me hope in a way, though Inspector. I thought the fact that she came and told me about it meant that she wasn’t sure, hadn’t really decided.”
Inspector Green let a silence develop until Brown felt uneasy.
“What time did Daphne Sheridan come to your house last night and how long did she stay?
“It was about eight o clock. Both boys were in Charles’s bedroom. They hadn’t wanted to stay downstairs. They were dreading the funeral and I think just wanted to be by themselves. Bea had gone to bed. I can only thank God for that. I don’t know what I could have done if she’d come while they were there.”
Brown saw Julia Etherington hang her head as if it was too heavy for her shoulders. She sat dejected for several seconds then, making an obvious effort, she raised her head and pulled back her shoulders. She had a beautiful complexion, one of those where colour ebbed and flowed. Now, her skin looked almost mottled and tiredness had drawn a brush across her face, making her features fade and the bones prominent. Brown thought she was so beautiful.
Greene only allowed Julia seconds to compose herself before he was questioning her again on exactly what Daphne Sheridan had said.
“Apart from talking about coming to the funeral, did you have any further conversation about her relationship with your husband, Mrs. Etherington? I mean it must have been fairly galling for you to have her fetching up on your doorstep, like this for the second time.”
She didn’t seem to consider her words just answered in what seemed to Brown to be absolute honesty.
“I was furious the first time she came here; last night I was more worried, worried sick actually as to what she would do today.” She hesitated and Brown tried to send her a mental message to be on her guard.
“Furious…worried, Mrs. Etheridge, indeed; and who could blame you? The question here is whether or not you really couldn’t tolerate the thought of her coming to the funeral and upsetting your children, when they are already upset–to say the least.”
“I didn’t stab her. I don’t think I’m capable of it and I’m definitely not capable of following her out of the house and doing something like that in a cold and calculated way.”
Greene thrust out his bottom lip and then he frowned causing deep grooves in his forehead.
“You nursed in the war?”
Now, Brown saw that Julia too frowned.
“Yes, in the VADs, but for most of the time back in England, in a hospital.”
“I know but thinking just for a minute about the set-up in France. Pretty brutal, eh?”
Julia’s tone of voice rose and Brown thought she was angry.
“Of course, but I don’t see…”
“No, maybe you don’t, but it was a fair example of what people are capable of, given the circumstances.”
She gave him a glance that, to Brown seemed contemptuous and he agreed with her; it was below the belt. That was Inspector Green, though–the end justified the means when it came to a case and sewing it up.
“The woman’s husband is in the area. Surely he would have at least as much of a reason as me to have stabbed Daphne–more reason.”
She gave a short mirthless laugh.
“Scratch that out. I can’t believe I even said it. I know nothing whatsoever about the man.”
Greene held a hand out in a curious gesture, almost, thought Brown as though he was being conciliatory.
“Trust me, Mrs. Etherington. John Sheridan will come under every bit as much scrutiny as you.”
But, Bill Brown wondered. The man was a barrister and as soon as they had found out he was in the area and went to see him at the Old Swan hotel he was on the telephone to one of his professional colleagues. Any further questioning would have to be carried out even more carefully. “One hand tied behind my flaming back,” Greene had muttered on the way back to the station.
John Sheridan had been urbane, articulate and seemed to have an alibi–of sorts.
“I had dinner here in the hotel, abandoned attempts to track my wife down until the morning. Quite frankly, I didn’t want to alert her to my presence here, thought any sort of confrontation would be better avoided and if we were to meet at all I thought the nearer the time was to the funeral, the better the chance of dissuading her from causing upset.”
Brown could see that his boss, though trying very hard to hide it, was intimidated by John Sheridan. He could tell by the way, Green spoke slowly, more distinctly than usual and he lacked some of his usual bluster. Bill Brown actually felt a bit disappointed by this. He’d honestly believed that Inspector Greene would be above this–feeling intimidated by the man’s job. Then he listened to Greene question the man about the previous night and he wasn’t so sure any more. Was Greene intimidated or was he just watching his step, careful not to put a foot wrong and have his investigation hampered by the power of a man like this? Brown knew enough to know, that they were dealing with someone who could easily exploit the slightest breach of etiquette, and use it to either stop them in their tracks or at least delay things.
Bill Brown believed the man was shocked when they knocked on the door of his hotel room and he admitted them. The room was spacious and tidy and he’d clearly been at the writing desk in the far corner.
“I presume this is about my wife. What has she done?”
Unless he could act well, he really didn’t know what had happened to her.
Greene had clearly rehearsed what he was going to say.
“She hasn’t done anything, Mr. Sheridan, but I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Very serious news.
The man’s expression froze.
“What’s happened?”
“I’m afraid your wife’s body has been discovered in some local woodland. Some
one has stabbed her.
“She’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so, sir and I know you will appreciate that in spite of the tragic situation, we still need to ask you some questions.”
The man didn’t speak for a moment, but he pulled a chair to towards him and sat down. He clasped his hands together and placed them on his knees. Brown saw he was clasping them very tightly. He was an austere-looking man, though handsome, not a spare inch on him. Brown judged him to be in his forties, but at this moment he looked more than that and Brown felt a stab of pity.
Then, John Sheridan took a deep breath and began to speak.
“Let me be frank with you Inspector…”
He looked towards Brown and nodded.
“And you too, Sergeant. My wife and I weren’t on the best of terms. To be even more frank, I think our marriage was over. She’d had an affair with Giles Etherington. I’m not sure when it ended, but then it turned into something else. I suppose the best way to describe it is to say that she became obsessed with the man. She was beside herself when he died.”
Brown looked at Inspector Green, who hadn’t interjected, just allowed the silence that followed to go on until Brown felt his own heart pound with tension.
“I’m not sure I understand where you fit into the picture, here, Mr. Sheridan? I mean most men would react in some way to this sort of…carry on. Divorce is becoming more acceptable since the war, but…”
Brown saw a spark of anger cross Sheridan’s face and could almost hear the words–that’s none of your business, form themselves in the man’s face,, but he restrained himself.
“It’s rarely so simple, is it, Inspector? I wanted to avoid scandal. My wife is, or I should say, now, was, very unstable. She could have caused me a lot of damage. Indeed, I suspect she has already done so. I know she’s been saying things. We move in a small circle really, as much as we do socialise. It doesn’t take a lot to make people think the worst. I was trying to manage the situation.”
But, now you don’t, Brown thought, He would give a pound to a penny that the same thought had crossed his boss’s mind.
Sheridan got up and crossed the room to the window. He looked out and then back at them. His face was in the shadows.
“I will formally identify my wife’s body. Presumably, you want me to do that?” Greene nodded.
Sheridan continued, “I’ve told you everything I know and I am more than anxious to get back to London. As you can imagine I have urgent things to deal with there. Is there any reason you need me to stay in Harrogate?”
Greene shook his head and Bill Brown saw that he was uneasy.
“No reason for now, sir.”
Chapter 30
“Tell me again what this Daphne said to you about her husband?”
Edith fought down anger. She and Julia had spent a terrible night. Neither of them had slept for more than a couple of hours and in her case that sleep had been deep and un-refreshing, and she’d woken with a dry mouth and a headache. Julia had looked exhausted this morning and so fragile that Edith was worried. Her friend had always had a vibrancy, a resilience that she’d sometimes envied. But, there was only so much one woman could take and Edith felt her friend was reaching her limit.
Greene had arrived early, the Wolseley police car crunching the gravel outside the French windows.
This time it wasn’t her that he had come to see.
“You do seem to find yourself in the middle of violent death on a regular basis, Miss Horton.”
She held her temper and her tongue and was so glad that Archie wasn’t here.
She felt that for now, the only way to get through this was to tell him the straight truth and rein in her anger. As she had repeatedly told Archie, he did have a job to do, but the supercilious tone he took with her set her teeth on edge. Not, only that, it reminded her of last year and it seemed to bring an echo of that time and the feelings she’d had then and an echo too of the distress of that time.
She told him about the encounter when Daphne had called on Julia and she’d been a witness.
“Very peculiar thing to do to telephone you and ask to meet you; I mean you were a friend of a Giles Etherington’s wife. Some people would say the woman who was her arch rival,”
Again, she heard some undercurrent and wondered, not for the first time, how much time he had for any woman, not just her.
“I thought it was strange too. I was wary, but felt that by agreeing to meet her I might actually help, deflect her attention away from Julia. She just said that she loved Giles that she was the person he really wanted to be with, that she was frightened of her husband…”
“She said that, she was frightened of her husband; her exact words?”
Edith closed her eyes for a few seconds, took herself back to the meeting with Daphne. Those had been the words, more or less and certainly the sentiment.
The implication hit her quickly. John Sheridan was in the area when his wife had been killed. He’d be the obvious top suspect and Edith was glad that maybe that might take Inspector Greene’s attention off Julia, if only for a while.
Her mind wandered. John Sheridan–was it possible? He had spoken very starkly about the war, presented the image that any weakness should be dealt with swiftly and harshly–no shilly-shallying. Would that apply to a wife who had stepped out of line once too often, was causing him serious trouble?
She couldn’t be sure. All of a sudden she was desperate to be out in the fresh air, to breathe deeply and to think in a place where she didn’t have to guard her every word. She also wanted to speak to Henry. Somehow, he was in this with her–he had met Daphne and John Sheridan and he was one of the best judges of character she’d ever met. She didn’t want to abandon Julia, but she would do her best to get out for a while.
The Inspector and Sergeant Brown who had remained more or less silent, throughout the interview, left shortly after this.
“I’m going to talk to the boys,” Julia said.
Edith set out for the village, her mind racing. The day had turned cooler and she was glad of that. She was due to see Dr. Uxbridge tomorrow.
Sometimes, she felt she was taking up his time that could be better spent with some of the poor souls she had met while at St. Bride’s. But, then, that sort of guilt-laden thinking was no good. What use was she to herself or anyone else if she tipped back into that state that had brought her to her breakdown?
Strange word, breakdown, real layman’s terms, but perfectly descriptive of the state where you were shaken out of your existence and reassembled–if you were lucky– later in a different way, maybe sadder but also wiser. She was wise enough now to know that she had to remove herself from Julia and her house for a while. She was desperate to speak to Henry. This antipathy she was feeling for the inspector was no good.
If she wasn’t careful, she would be antagonising him and making life more difficult for herself and maybe Julia was well. This was ironic as she had chided Archie for his attitude towards the inspector. There was something about the man, though…unless she was getting it very wrong. He treated her as a silly woman–that was it. Either he spoke to all women with that note in his voice–of a headmaster admonishing a dim child, or it was all just in her mind and it was related to her time at St. Bride’s.
She’d known she’d never leave it behind her; not really. The only way she might move on would be to do that–literally move. But, all that needed to be put away for another time. Now, she needed to remain sharp minded and strong.
Henry was in the church as she’d known he would be at this time. He’d heard about the murder of Daphne Sheridan; already before she’d telephoned him from Julia’s. It was still customary in these parts for the vicar to be called when something grave happened in the area. There were still people who derived comfort from the presence of a priest or vicar.
“Do you want to come back to the vicarage for a cup of tea?”
“No, I’m happy to stay here with you, if I won’t get in the
way.”
He smiled.
It was restful in here and calming whether or not you believed in a higher power. They were also unlikely to be disturbed.
“I thought I’d call on Julia later this evening. I suppose it’s a stupid question to ask how she is. How can she be? This happening on top of everything else.
“I left her just about to tell the boys about everything; their father’s affair with Daphne Sheridan; her death…”
Henry turned away his back to the chancel and the gold light lit through the stained glass window casting him into shadow and light and for a moment, Edith was dazzled.
“How absolutely dreadful for her…what a task.”
“I know. She’d planned to tell them before the funeral but she couldn’t go through with it or maybe she didn’t want it casting a shadow over the day; clouding the way the boys felt about their father…I’m not sure. I can see why she didn’t, but now, with what’s happened to Daphne, she has to tell them to prepare them, I suppose.”
Henry sat down in the pew just in front of hers on the other side of the aisle.
“I can’t imagine Inspector Greene seriously thinks she’s responsible for Daphne Sheridan’s death.”
Edith shook her head. This had been preoccupying her. She had no doubts, but she knew Julia. If you took John Sheridan out of the picture though–who else in Ellbeck even knew the woman let alone had any motive to kill her?”
“I think the fact that John Sheridan was in the area and obviously the police will be questioning him is probably the only thing standing between Julia and a police cell.”
Henry moved so she could now clearly see the expression on his face.
“Are you serious, Edith? Do you really think that there’s a chance she will be taken into the station?”
She shrugged, “I think there’s every chance. She’s already been in touch with her solicitor. Think, Henry. There is no one else in the place with a connection…”
Death at Dawn Page 18
