The Good Wife

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘Interesting indeed,’ Henry agreed. ‘And very interesting that Dr Mason has chosen to return home and reopen his surgery. Mickey, I think we will cut along there before we have supper and we should ask both doctors about Mr Steiff and Mrs Edwards. Well done, Sergeant.’

  ‘Anything interesting from the witness statements?’ Emory enquired.

  ‘A few sightings of Mrs Mason, or who might have been Mrs Mason. One or two look more certain because they describe her as being with another lady and several children. After she left Nora Phillips, there are two that might be worth following up. One describes her as chatting to a couple seeming on good terms and this is about two thirty by their reckoning. The second describes her as arguing with a man and is slightly later. But both are vague.’

  Emory nodded. ‘Will you be following them up, or will I?’

  ‘I think I will decide that in the morning. In the meantime, Mickey and I will go and speak to Dr Mason. You get yourself off home.’

  ‘I think I might get myself a pint,’ Emory said. ‘Drop in at the Last Whistle seeing as it’s almost next door.’

  It was six o’clock when they knocked on Dr Mason’s door. He answered after a few minutes and stood back to let them come inside.

  ‘So you decided to come back home?’ Mickey asked.

  ‘It seemed like the right thing to do. I can’t keep on imposing. Besides I have a practice to run.’

  ‘It’s only been a few days. I’m sure nobody expects you—’

  ‘It’s not about what people expect. It’s about what I need to do. I’ve never been one for hanging around doing nothing. I find it depresses me. And I felt that I was somehow in the way. Not that anyone said anything, of course, but people have their own lives to live and I have mine and I must make shift to manage without Martha. Do you know anything more?’

  ‘Gossip and rumours, mostly,’ Mickey said. ‘But that’s what we’d expect at this stage.’

  Clive Mason opened his mouth as though to ask a question and then closed it again. Mickey guessed that he wanted to ask whether the gossip was about him, but then thought such a question might betray that there was something to gossip about. He was clearly not sure how much information Henry and his sergeant shared.

  ‘A couple of possible sightings of your wife,’ Henry said. ‘She was seen talking to a couple and I have a description. Do you think you might recognize them? The woman had auburn hair and a lot of freckles and the man is described as dark and,’ Henry paused, ‘somewhat swarthy and foreign-looking.’

  Dr Mason laughed, the sound seeming to burst from him so he could not control it. ‘Oh my lord, I know who that is. Swarthy and foreign-looking, goodness that is priceless. Actually, if it’s who I think it is, then he’s part Italian. It sounds like Hazel and Gus Mancini. Hazel does indeed have a lot of freckles, and the most glorious auburn hair. I didn’t think they were back in England yet. They went visiting Gus’s grandparents; I believe they live somewhere just outside Rome. Their first baby is almost a year old and there have been complaints, loud and long, I believe, that the grandparents have not yet seen their great-grandchild. They are a sweet couple but it makes sense, when I think about it, that Gus should have been at the races. I believe he owns a part share of a racehorse. From what he says he doesn’t own much more than the front leg but … but yes, that does make sense.’

  ‘Does Mrs Phillips know this couple?’

  Dr Mason thought about it and shook his head. ‘I don’t believe she does and frankly it’s not the kind of friendship that her husband would approve of anyway. The Mancinis are scrap metal merchants, and so very much in trade, as he would put it. Ephraim seems not to have minded marrying into trade, but increasingly he sets his sights higher. The fact that his wife’s parents have helped financially is, I think, something which grates on his nerves. Over the last few days it has become apparent that Ephraim sees life elsewhere as being more appealing and attractive, somewhere he can escape from his more humble past and cultivate his elderly ladies in peace, without being known as the grocer’s son-in-law.’

  Clive Mason sounded bitter which was not something Henry had noticed in his tone before.

  ‘You had a quarrel?’ Mickey asked.

  Clive Mason dropped his face wearily into his hands and then shook his head. ‘No, nothing like a quarrel. It’s just … You can know someone for a long time but it’s only when you live in close proximity to them that you begin to see all of the things you would ordinarily ignore or simply not be aware of. Nora and Ephraim have been kind enough, but I have been made very much aware of their kindness, if you understand what I mean. It made me uncomfortable and so I came home.’

  Dr Mason gave them the address of the Mancinis but he had no idea who the man that his wife was later seen arguing with could possibly be.

  They asked him about Mr Steiff and his sister, Mrs Edwards, but the names were not familiar to him. ‘Newark is only a short few miles away,’ he said, ‘but that few miles can make a difference in terms of acquaintance. I don’t recall Ephraim making mention of them either.’

  ‘Well, that solves one mystery at least,’ Mickey said as they left. ‘So Martha Mason definitely did see a friend in the crowd, or rather a couple of friends, people she did not expect to be there. And if she knew that Dr Phillips would not approve of his wife’s meeting with them, that explains why she took off on her own. So maybe the Mancinis can fill in something on our timeline, maybe they even noticed where she went after she left them. She can’t have spent long in conversation with them.’

  ‘I found it interesting, what Dr Mason had to say about his friend. So many people seek to bury their past as though they’re ashamed of it.’

  ‘Society is still largely closed to those from humble beginnings,’ Mickey said. ‘I remember your Cynthia complaining that there are some houses that still would not welcome her. Old money, old traditions. However successful her husband is in business, it is still nothing as far as they are concerned.’

  Henry nodded, knowing this to be true. ‘I think I’m hungry,’ he said unexpectedly.

  Mickey rubbed his hands together in great satisfaction. ‘If you recognize that you are hungry, then you must be starving. And I most certainly am. We both think better on a full stomach and tomorrow we’ll talk to the Mancinis and beard Dr Phillips at his lair again.’

  ELEVEN

  News arrived the following morning that threw their plans into something of disarray. A parcel arrived with the first train of the day containing information garnered about M. Giles Esq., solicitor, and also Mr Ernest Conway, private investigative agent. In addition to this was a record of the interviews that had been held with both men, and with some of the associates that worked with them, including a woman called Felicity Bennett, who had known Mrs Mason well before she had married.

  ‘Though it appears that she wasn’t called Martha at all. Her name was Mary Betteridge, and she was employed by the solicitors for three years, initially for general office duties and then also as an inquiry agent. She was then only twenty-one, so she met Dr Mason when she was only twenty-two at which point she left the company.’

  ‘So she changed her name completely. This is definitely a woman who wants to leave her past behind. Interesting that she changed from being a Mary to Martha,’ Mickey commented. ‘Mary being the one interested in finding out about the world, and Martha confined to her kitchen.’

  Henry frowned for a moment, not getting the reference, and then said, ‘Oh, Bible stories.’

  ‘So, will you be going down to speak with them?’

  ‘I rather think I might. You and Emory can deal with things here. But I would like to know in detail just what young Mary Betteridge was involved with and feel I might be able to elicit a better response, face to face. There was a postcard in the desk from somebody called Felicity. I’m presuming it is the same young woman. Interesting that they kept in touch.’

  And so it was that Henry went off on the next train, leaving Em
ory to visit the Mancinis and Mickey to pursue matters with Dr Phillips, and also to again challenge Dr Mason’s knowledge about the lady who became his wife.

  Henry did not notice that one of the press men followed him to the station and hopped on the train in the next carriage. Otis Freeland thought he could guess what was taking the detective back to the capital and wondered what he now hoped to learn from M. Giles Esq. and Ernest Conway.

  Sergeant Emory, enjoying the privilege of car and driver that had been afforded to him by being part of the murder investigation, headed off for a day trip to Mansfield. Mansfield was a small market town only twelve or so miles distant, but Emory had never actually been there. He knew it to be a town with a large market square, several ancient public houses and that mining was a major source of employment. He had hoped to visit the White Lion, the establishment being recommended to him, but was disappointed to find that they would not need to go into the town itself. Instead, they followed the railway line two miles past the station (Emory decided not to report that he could have visited by train) and continued out into the countryside.

  The Mancinis occupied a tall and somewhat sprawling stone-built house, next to the breaker’s yard and scrap merchant which kept the family occupied. He was fascinated to discover everything from rusted locomotives to cars and trucks that had evidently been engaged in a game of chicken that didn’t end well. He paused to study the front end of an Austin Seven that had lost an argument with a tree. He knew it was a tree because branches still protruded through the window. The front windscreen was smashed and the engine block shunted into the passenger compartment. Emory doubted anyone had walked away from that one.

  Until this moment he’d not given much thought to what happened to vehicles written off in accidents, or for that matter where old locomotives came to die. Now he knew.

  A tall man with his shirtsleeves rolled up, wearing a moleskin waistcoat, ambled across to where Emory stood.

  ‘Do something for ’un?’ he asked.

  Emory introduced himself and explained that he wanted to speak with Mr Gus Mancini and his wife. The man turned and shouted over his shoulder ‘Gus, polic’n for’un.’

  A young man came out of what looked to Emory like a glorified shed. He was slightly more smartly dressed, but only slightly. It was clear that even for the members of the family this was a hands-on business.

  Emory introduced himself again. And then told the young man, ‘It’s about Mrs Mason. I’m sure you’d have heard.’

  His statement was greeted with obvious puzzlement. ‘Martha? Heard what?’

  ‘Ah …’ Emory paused, wondering quite how to approach this. He went for the direct method. ‘I believe you saw the lady in question at the races, back on bank holiday Monday. Unfortunately a little while after you’d spoken to her she was killed. Murdered. So as you can imagine when interviewing anyone who—’

  ‘Murdered. Martha? You must be mistaken. We only spoke to her—’

  ‘And unfortunately only a short while after that … She was found about four o’clock. Been bashed over the head.’

  ‘By a bag snatcher? I’m not sure I understand.’ The man gestured vaguely, waving both hands as though trying to grab hold of the truth. ‘You’d better come to the house,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure I can believe this.’

  The man in the waistcoat had been following the conversation with interest but now he wandered back to whatever he had been doing before Emory arrived and Gus Mancini led Emory into the house next door. It had been built, Emory noted, so that the wall facing the scrapyard was completely devoid of windows and the main aspect of the house was turned away, so that the actual front door did not face on to the road but rather round the side. It was reached through a pleasant garden full of bedding plants, along a brick-paved path and the front door itself was quite large, black with the big brass knocker. Gus led him past the door with an explanation: ‘You mind if we go around the side, then I can take my boots off in the scullery.’

  Emory followed him around the next corner and in through the side of the house. A small porch led into a scullery which in turn led into the kitchen. Gus removed his boots in the scullery, dropping them on to a rack and putting on a pair of carpet slippers. ‘My mother always insisted. Said that it had taken her long enough to get carpets and now she had them she didn’t want them ruined.’

  It struck Emory as being a very sensible point of view but there was no suggestion that he follow suit. He followed Gus into the kitchen where three women were working, two at a table rolling pastry and one at the stove stirring a pot from which emanated a rather wonderful fragrance of beef stew. The woman stirring the pot had auburn hair and freckles and Emory remembered the description of Gus’s wife.

  All three women turned as Gus came in; he was clearly not expected at this time of the day. And certainly not in company with a policeman. The older woman at the table was introduced as his mother, the one slightly younger and slightly less grey as his aunt and the younger as Emory had guessed was his wife. Emory stood awkwardly in the doorway as Gus explained the situation in a mix of rapid Italian and less rapid English. To Emory’s amusement he switched from one to the other mid-sentence and then back again. It seemed that all three women were familiar with both languages, but Gus in his slight shock and excitement found it hard to settle on one.

  Gus’s wife, Hazel, turned down the heat under the pot. Her mother-in-law hugged her, clearly concerned that the young woman might be upset and she glared at Emory as though it was all his fault. The young couple led him through the kitchen, along a short corridor and into a small sitting room. Emory had the sense that the house was actually larger than he’d first thought, and it seemed that it was home to an extended family. The corridor was dark, oak-panelled and with red, white and black tiles on the floor, but the small parlour was decorated in cheerful yellows and pale greens and light flooded in through the window. There were watercolours on the walls and a lot of books.

  ‘This is our little sitting room,’ Gus told him. ‘Sit down and tell us what happened. Aunt Edie will bring some coffee and biscuits in a moment.’

  Quickly Emory filled them in on what had taken place on the day they had seen Martha Mason. ‘And you’ve not heard about this?’

  ‘No, but then I don’t think I’ve looked at the local paper. And it always takes me a few days to catch up with the national papers. As you may have gathered, this is a family business – if I’m not in the yard I’m in the office. We employ five people, but it’s still all hands on deck.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Hazel said. ‘We’d not seen Martha in an age, and it was so funny running into her at the races. We only decided to go at the last minute. We’d been travelling and went to visit family in Italy. It was so wonderful; I’ve never been so far in my entire life. We came back just over a week ago but when Mama offered to have Daisy, that’s our little girl, so that we could go out for the day, I’m afraid I rather jumped at the chance. We don’t get much time on our own and we actually got to see Gus’s horse run.’

  ‘Well, I think I might own the front leg, maybe even the hoof as well,’ Gus said. ‘But yes it was rather wonderful, not that we placed or anything – but this isn’t about us, this is about Martha. What on earth could have happened? You really don’t think it was a robbery?’

  ‘Almost certainly not. Her bag was found, nothing had been taken.’

  ‘What kind of sense does that make?’

  They were interrupted by the aunt bringing in a tray with a pot of coffee, one of hot milk and a plate of what looked to Emory like plum bread.

  Once she had gone, Emory said, ‘I don’t think there is any sense to it. But I want you to tell me about Mrs Mason. How did she seem? Did she seem concerned about anything?’

  The young couple looked at one another and shook their heads. ‘She said she didn’t expect to see us there. That she was at the races with friends and she gestured back at somebody I couldn’t see. The crowd was thick. But
she said it was another doctor’s wife and their children. She wanted to know how we were, what we’d been doing. It must have been six months since we last saw her. Gus’s father made a donation to a charity and so we went along to the … Well, I suppose you’d call it a ball, if you’re being kind. I suppose I’d call it a dinner and dance. Anyway, Martha was there and we happened to be on the same table, and that’s how we met. I don’t think we really know her – I mean not really know her. But she was lovely.’

  ‘Was Dr Mason present?’

  ‘Yes, yes, he was, and we liked him too. We talked, and we danced. There were two other couples on our table and we all got along like a house on fire. To be truthful I’d been dreading the whole thing, but in the end it turned out to be really enjoyable. So often you get stuck at these things with some vicar and his wife.’ She put a hand to her mouth as though suddenly realizing she’d made a faux pas. ‘What I meant to say is, a lot of the people that turn up at these things are very boring.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Emory told her. ‘Did Mrs Mason talk about her past, about where she had lived before she came to be married?’

  ‘She said she lived in Brighton. I said I’d always wanted to visit. I’d like to see the Royal Pavilion. I have a book about it somewhere.’

  ‘There aren’t many things you don’t have a book about,’ Gus laughed. He gestured towards the bookshelves. ‘But no, I don’t think she talked much about that. We danced rather a lot, and I have to admit we drank rather a lot, and we chatted rather a lot, but none of it seemed very important.’ He looked at his wife for confirmation.

  ‘I think we were all a little giddy,’ she confirmed. ‘We talked about the work the charity did for all of about five minutes and we all asked each other what our husbands did for a living, and that sort of thing, and then it was all men talking politics and women talking about what we’d seen at the cinema and then at some point in the evening I think it switched and it was the other way around.’ She shook her head, the pretty face growing suddenly serious and rather sombre. ‘I can’t believe it, she was such an alive sort of person.’