by AJ Wright
‘Then I must disappoint you.’
‘Or perhaps a one-eyed man who’s been asking questions about you and Molly Haggerty.’
‘Ah.’
‘He would be hard to miss. He wore an eyepatch.’
Again, a slight hesitation. ‘Why would he be asking questions?’
‘I think you can guess that, Mr Morris.’
He watched his fingers intently, concentrating on each delicate touch of the keys. ‘You mean my father paid him to?’
‘I do.’
‘Well, then. What is there to say? You know we argued over Molly. He expressed a desire for me to marry a girl I have met a handful of times but whose father is a man of immense wealth. I often wondered how he found out about us. Now you may have solved a puzzle.’
‘And created a much larger one, I’m afraid.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where were you last night, Mr Morris?’
‘Last night? Why?’
‘Please answer the question.’
‘What time?’
‘Oh, let’s say from five onwards.’
The pressure on the keys became suddenly greater, a heavy pounding that was more suited to high drama.
‘I was out.’
‘Where?’
‘At the colliery.’
‘And what were you doing there?’
‘I had a meeting.’
‘I see. With whom?’
He gripped the lid of the piano and slowly closed it. ‘Before I answer any more of your questions, can you tell me what this is all about?’
Brennan looked at him carefully before responding. ‘The man I mentioned earlier, Mr Bragg, was found last night. Murdered.’
Andrew turned pale. ‘Murdered?’
‘He was found on the ice, near a canal boat.’
Andrew nodded, as if the news had merely confirmed something. Then he smiled involuntarily at the surreal nature of the detail. ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. You’re saying you now have two murders? And you think they’re linked?’
‘It’s too early to tell.’
‘Good God.’
‘So can you tell me who you were with last night at the colliery? And what time you returned home?’
He walked over to the fire and stood with his back to the flames. ‘I was with a man named Frank Latchford and a friend of his.’
Brennan assimilated the information with no trace of the surprise he felt. What on earth were these two men, from opposite sides of the dispute, doing last night? ‘Who was the friend?’
Andrew smiled weakly. ‘A priest.’
Now he did express surprise as his eyes opened wide. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Frank Latchford met me in the manager’s office with Father McFarlane from St Mary’s Church.’
‘I thought Mr Latchford would have reason to dislike you?’
‘He does. Besides the current situation with the dispute, he used to be with Molly. Before I came along.’
‘So what on earth was he doing meeting you last night with a Catholic priest? Waiting to give you the last rites?’
At this Andrew laughed out loud. ‘Nothing as fatalistic, I assure you. Mr Latchford is, as you know, a very – shall we say – disingenuous member of the Miners’ Federation. He combines altruism with an eye for the main chance. I gather he’s something of a champion of the labouring classes.’
Brennan recalled the incident outside the house of Jem Muldoon, and Latchford’s intervention.
Jaggery, who was now lost in a sea of unfamiliar vocabulary, began to watch the flames, looking for the devil as he used to as a child.
‘He has, of course, known about Molly and me for a while. Biding his time, I suppose. Now, he is blackmailing me.’
At that emotive word, Jaggery glanced up.
‘How?’ Brennan asked.
‘A simple matter, really. He will make it common knowledge in Scholes and the wider Wigan area that Molly Haggerty is not only seeing the son of the demon Morris, but she and her family have been granted generous funding to tide them over the hardships of the time.’
‘Is this true?’
‘No, Sergeant. It’s a complete lie. Molly is a proud girl, and, although at first I admit I made a small offer of support, she almost chewed my head off. Apparently there’s a relative in Liverpool who provides support. But you see? If the gossip about Molly and me were made known, then the lie accompanying it would be accepted as truth. And you know what would happen to the whole family then.’
Sadly, he did.
‘So he wanted money?’
‘Well, yes and no. He certainly wanted money, but not for himself. That was the reason Father McFarlane was there. Latchford wanted me to provide relief funding for the miners and their families to the tune of five hundred pounds.’
‘Bloody ’ell, that’s some tune!’ Jaggery said, preceding his interjection with a whistle.
‘You aren’t going to hand over such a sum, are you?’
Andrew sighed. ‘I actually think it’s a master stroke from Latchford. He will tell the Federation that I gave the money with good heart, out of a sense of shame at my father’s wickedness, and that the gift is a result of delicate negotiations he has undertaken to persuade me to such a philanthropic act. Thus giving him a reputation as a skilful mediator, a saintly defender of the downtrodden, and a rising star in the Federation firmament. It also paints me as someone they can do business with and paves the way to opening further negotiations. It’s masterful. I have already passed him the money. In banknotes.’
‘I see. Well then, that can’t be helped, unless you wish to lodge a formal complaint.’
‘Which would produce the very effect I am anxious to avoid.’
‘Of course. So, if we return to yesterday evening. You left the colliery at what time?’
‘Around seven o’clock. I actually gave them both a ride back into the centre of town.’
‘That was most gracious. That would be seven-fifteen or thereabouts?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you arrived home at what time?’
‘About half past eight. The going was quite hazardous and I had to stop several times for the horses.’
Enough time to travel to the canal boat and commit murder, Brennan thought.
Isaacs was waiting for them as they entered the hallway. He handed them their outdoor coats and stopped at the doorway.
‘The note you gave me, sir. From the chief constable.’
‘Yes?’
‘May I commend his memory.’
‘So there was a maid who worked here named Bridie?’
‘Yes, sir. Bridie Hanlon.’
‘And she was dismissed?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What was the reason?’
‘“Gross insubordination” it says in the servant book.’
‘You weren’t here at the time?’
‘It was nineteen years ago, sir. No.’
‘Is there anyone on the staff who was here back then?’
‘Yes, sir. Mrs Venner, the cook. I anticipated your question and have arranged for her to meet us down in my office, below stairs.’
Because she was away from the place she knew best – her kitchen – and instead sitting on a small chair in the butler’s office, Mrs Venner looked much less comfortable. Her red hair was still neatly tied back in a bun, but there were traces of flour in the red hair that gave her a flustered look. Besides, it was obvious that she wasn’t looking forward to the interview.
‘Mr Isaacs tells me you knew Bridie Hanlon?’
‘I did.’ She sat erect, primly, and with her lips pursed.
‘Do you know what her married name was?’
‘No. Only that he was Irish. They don’t make good workers, the Irish. They’re feckless.’
‘My father was from Cashel,’ said Brennan, barely able to conceal his anger. Or his pride. ‘That’s in Tipperary.’
‘Yes. Well. I take folk as I find ’em.’ Sh
e clasped her hands together and at least had the decency to blush.
‘So. Isaacs tells me she was discharged for – what was it – “gross insubordination”?’
‘Yes.’
‘That covers a multitude of sins, does it not?’
She looked him straight in the eye. ‘Can I ask what this has to do with the master’s murder? The foolish girl was dismissed nineteen years ago.’
‘Please humour me.’
‘Very well. Bridie Hanlon made some very serious and damaging allegations.’
‘About what?’
She held her back even straighter. ‘She made a complaint to Mr Booth. He was the butler back then.’
‘A complaint about what?’
‘There was a Christmas celebration here. Young master Andrew was four. Everyone was having such a good time. Then the Hanlon girl came running down those stairs.’ She threw a nod behind her. ‘Told Mr Booth she’d been attacked.’
‘Attacked?’
‘That was the very word she used. Screaming like a wildcat she was.’
‘Who had attacked her?’
‘No one, of course.’
Brennan breathed out patiently. ‘Who did she claim had attacked her?’
‘It was slander of the most wicked kind. She said it had happened in the laundry room where he had tried to … force himself on her.’
‘Who? Arthur Morris?’
Mrs Venner did a double take. ‘Oh no, sir. Not the master. If you must know, she said it was Mr James Cox, and him only recently married and all.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Beats me, Sergeant.’
‘What does?’
The carriage and driver that Andrew Morris had kindly made available to them was having great difficulty negotiating the tight bend in the road at the Boar’s Head. The snow, which was now falling in sharp bursts made all the more stinging by the strengthening wind, had built up along the tram tracks, and large ridges of churned up slush had earlier been created by the trams and the farmers’ carts, laden with heavy milk churns, stubbornly making their way towards the town’s market square for the weekly market.
‘I mean, this James Cox. He’s rollin’ in cash, got a wife and children, an’ ’e tries it on with a kitchen maid.’
‘It was nineteen years ago. He would have been around thirty then. No children.’
‘But just married. Takes all sorts, I suppose.’
‘What concerns me is where the hell he fits in. I mean, is it just a coincidence that he was a guest at Morris’s dinner? He’s an old friend, he told me that, so it’s hardly surprising he was invited to the farewell dinner for Ambrose Morris last week. These businessmen tend to stick together. And then Arthur Morris receives a letter which sends him haring up to Scholes.’
‘Why didn’t Arthur Morris tell anyone what was in the letter?’
Brennan shrugged. ‘Maybe he didn’t want any of them to know – whoever sent the letter must have been known to him, otherwise where did he expect to find the sender once he’d got to Scholes? And if he wished to keep this person’s identity a secret, well then, there must have been a reason for doing so. His wife, remember, was there.’
‘You sayin’ it could’ve been a woman?’
‘Could’ve been. Or a veiled threat, the significance of which only he would know.’
‘All the more reason for him to tell somebody. His brother, or Cox, his old friend. Again, why keep it to himself?’
‘It’s one of the key questions, Constable. Why go there at all?’
Jaggery thought for a moment, letting the heave and sway of the carriage calm the swirl of ideas in his head.
Finally he said, ‘Did Cox go home when the dinner broke up?’
‘No, he says he went to the Conservative Club. His wife then travelled on alone.’
‘So he could’ve done the dirty deed, eh? If he left straight off. Could’ve gone to Scholes, stabbed meladdo an’ then back to the Con Club for a stiff brandy.’
‘He could. But why? What would his motive be?’
‘’S always summat to do wi’ business with that lot, Sergeant. You mark my words. Or summat to do with Bridie Whatsername. She was fired and no bugger believed ’er. He tries his hand an’ gets burnt, so to speak.’
‘But why wait nineteen years? And if it did have anything to do with Bridie Haggerty, surely James Cox would’ve been the one with a knife sticking out of his chest? It doesn’t make sense. Although I’m convinced the Haggertys have some connection with this thing. Otherwise why would Bragg be asking questions about them?’ Brennan shook his head. ‘No, it’s a curious thing.’
A thought suddenly struck him.
‘Constable. Tell the driver we wish to go to Scholes.’
Jaggery rubbed his head in despair. ‘Bloody ’ell, Sergeant, we might as well take up lodgings in that bloody place. Remember last time we went up yonder?’
When he saw Brennan glaring menacingly at him for daring to question an order, he tapped on the trap above his head and passed on his sergeant’s instructions.
It took them another twenty minutes of slipping and sliding through the thick snow before they got as far up the hill leading into Scholes as they could.
‘It’s no use, sir,’ the coachman called down to them. ‘It’s too deep up here. This is as far as the horses can make it.’
Brennan called out his thanks and stepped down from the relative warmth of the carriage’s interior, Jaggery slumping down with ill-concealed displeasure. There were few people on Scholes, the street that gave the area its name. Some of the shops were still open, their lamps lit inside, giving them an eerie and haunted look, and they could see clusters of beshawled women standing at the various counters making what few purchases they could afford and entertaining each other with the trivia of gossip. A small, ruddy-faced group of children were screeching delightedly as they hurled snowballs at all and sundry – including the large uniformed policeman across the road – and it was obvious that they, at least, were making the most of the terrible conditions and making merry whenever they could, even if it were at the expense of the local constabulary.
‘Little bastards!’ Jaggery yelled as a snowball struck him squarely in his left ear.
When they reached the Rose and Crown on the corner of Scholes and Scholefield Lane, Brennan gave a sideways glance through the window, just in case anyone there should show an interest in Jaggery’s uniform, but the place was empty, and the barman was leaning on the bar smoking a pipe and reading a newspaper.
When they knocked at the door of number 7, it was Bridie Haggerty herself who answered.
‘If it’s Molly ye’ve come to see, she’s out.’
‘No, Mrs Haggerty. It’s you. May we come in?’
She looked at Brennan curiously, but ushered them both inside. ‘Ye’ll be givin’ me a bad name, police ’ere again.’
‘It’s just a few questions, Bridie.’
‘Well ye’ll have to ask ’em as I’m workin’.’ She made her way through to the tiny kitchen, where a mound of dough was waiting to be kneaded. ‘My wee lad is out on the street with his pals.’
‘Aye,’ said Jaggery, rubbing his left ear. ‘I think I spotted ’im.’
Bridie began to press forward, kneading the pliant dough with firm fists. ‘He likes a nice cob o’ hot bread. Soakin’ up the butter. Well, margarine, but it’s better than nothin’. We make do.’
‘Bridie, I want to ask you about the time you worked for Arthur Morris.’
For a second the fluid movement of kneading was broken. She gave a blank look, then continued.
‘It’s about the time you were … let go.’
‘Sacked, ye mean?’
‘Yes. What happened?’
She lifted her head and rested her hands on the dough. ‘I was, as they say, “grossly insubordinate”.’
‘You made allegations against Mr James Cox.’
‘Allegations!’
She gave a sneer, then began t
o shape the dough into a large ball. She busied herself placing it gently in a cracked ceramic bowl before placing a towel across its exposed rim. Then she brushed past the two policemen and went into the front room, where she bent low to place the bowl in front of the fire, which was glowing with no sign of a flame.
‘Will ye pass me that bucket?’ she said as Brennan stood beside her. He reached to the left of the hearth where a coal bucket lay half-filled with coal slack.
Bridie held it, took out the iron poker that lay inside, and emptied some of the contents onto the glowing coals. Immediately, thick smoke billowed out and she waved it from her face, giving a little cough in the process. Then she gently prodded the coals, prising some of them apart to allow the glowing embers beneath to breathe.
‘There. That’ll give a fair blaze in a while. It’s needed, ye see, to make the dough rise.’
‘Bridie?’
She stood up, wiped her hands on the makeshift apron she was wearing, and gave a slow nod. ‘I was asked to fetch some clean linen from the laundry room. I heard someone’s steps on the stairs but I thought it was another of the servants. Then the door swung open an’ he was stood there.’
‘James Cox?’
‘Aye. Said he had little time an’ could we please forego the pleasantries. Sure I hadn’t a bloody clue what he meant but I knew what he wanted. Then he reached out an’… he touched me. Where he shouldn’t.’
‘What happened then?’
Bridie gave a bitter laugh and swung the poker in the air as if she were conducting an orchestra from hell. ‘D’ye want me to paint you a picture?’
Brennan paused for a second, then said, ‘What I’m about to suggest … I can assure you, it won’t go any further. But there’s something I need to know. It might have a bearing on this case.’
‘Go on.’ Bridie licked her lips.
‘Is James Cox the father of your daughter Molly?’
There was a gentle knock on Frank Latchford’s door, and when he looked through the window he saw three men shifting from foot to foot with their hands stuffed deep in their pockets. Thick mufflers hid their faces, but he knew them right enough. He opened the door and, without a word, ushered them in.
‘We thought tha’ should know,’ said one.
