No Known Grave

by Maureen Jennings

  She glanced over at him. “Life doesn’t necessarily parcel out grief like a fair-minded teacher. One for you, one for you. We have to deal with what we are given.”

  These words might have sounded pretentious and sanctimonious, but coming from her, they came across as matter of fact and real.

  To Tyler’s eyes, Shirley McHattie’s belly seemed more swollen than it had yesterday. The cotton smock was tight. Perhaps she was close to delivering her baby. Her mother looked drawn and wretched. She didn’t appear to have even combed her hair. They were finishing up their breakfast. They did not seem to be talking. When he and Sister Rebecca entered, he felt the tension seize both of them. Mrs. McHattie abruptly put down the cup of tea she was drinking.

  “Something else has happened, hasn’t it? The nuns have all disappeared and I can tell just by looking at you two, there’s trouble.”

  There was no point in beating around the bush. Tyler told them.

  “Sister Ivy! I can’t believe it. She was always so cheerful,” said Mrs. McHattie. “Killed herself?”

  “That’s what appears to have happened,” said Tyler. He phrased his answer carefully.

  Shirley had gone very pale. “I think I’m going to be sick, Ma. I need to go to the toilet.”

  “I’ll take you, Miss McHattie,” said Sister Rebecca. Too late. Shirley suddenly vomited onto her plate. Her mother and the nun both reached towards the table for a serviette to hand to her and Tyler waited for her to wipe her face. Sister Rebecca whipped away the plate and carried it to the sink, where she quickly rinsed it off. Then she poured a glass of water for the girl and brought it back.

  Shirley gulped it down. “Sorry,” she whispered to Tyler.

  “No need to apologize. I regret I had to deliver such shocking news.”

  “Surely she didn’t do it because of what happened to Jock?” asked Mrs. McHattie.

  “So far we haven’t discovered anything which might explain her reasons.”

  “Not that we knew each other, really. We all worked together to get the hospital in order when it opened,” she continued. “But other than that, you might say we were only casual acquaintances. The sisters keep to themselves and so do we.”

  “I can let you go to Wem if you’d like,” said Tyler. “Do you think you can stay with your relatives for a few days?”

  He could ill spare the constables who would have to remain with them, but he couldn’t bear to see their fear and misery.

  “I’m sure Ethel will put us up,” said Mrs. McHattie.

  “No, I don’t want to go to Auntie Ethel’s.” Shirley’s tone was sharp. “For one thing, she’s always looking down her nose at me. For another, I feel safer here with the sisters and the inspector.”

  Her mother stared at her doubtfully. “All right, suit yourself.” She turned to Tyler. “What will I tell Charlie? He’s still sleeping. I don’t want to get him all upset again.”

  “I would recommend not saying anything for the moment. Keep him with Hughes or yourselves so he doesn’t overhear anything accidentally.”

  “All right.” Mrs. McHattie scowled at Tyler. “Is that all, Inspector? We wouldna mind finishing our breakfast in peace. Or do you have some other cheery news you want to tell us?”

  Her tone was belligerent and Tyler almost snapped back at her. It wasn’t exactly his fault that they had been interrupted.

  Shirley put her hands on her big belly. “I still think I might be sick.”

  “Sip the water,” said Sister Rebecca. “I’ll go and fetch you something to settle your stomach.”

  For some reason, this offer irritated Mrs. McHattie. “The only bloody thing that’ll settle her stomach is when the bebbie is out of it.”

  Tyler could see tears spring to Shirley’s eyes, but she tightened her lips and didn’t cry. He didn’t miss the look of fury that she flashed at her mother.

  “I’ll come back later,” he said, and left the two of them to their unhappiness. A sorrow he could not alleviate.

  38.

  DR. MURNAGHAN ARRIVED AT ABOUT TEN O’CLOCK. He was driving his own ramshackle Ford.

  “The ambulance will be here in about half an hour,” he said to Tyler. “Somebody forgot to get the petrol ration and we were almost on empty.”

  “How are you feeling?” Tyler asked. Murnaghan had a livid bruise on his cheek and bloodshot eyes.

  “I’ve still got a headache, but I’ll be all right. I was planning to do those other post-mortems this morning.” He gave a rueful grin. “Never rains but it pours, eh, Tom. Let’s have a look at what you’ve got for me today.”

  Tyler led the way upstairs to the men’s ward. Dr. Murnaghan was moving slowly. “Banged my hip,” he said in answer to Tyler’s look.

  Constable Mady was at the far end of the hall staring out of the window. Tyler had the impression he was keeping as far away as possible from the corpse.

  “Go and get yourself a cup of tea, there’s a good chap,” said Tyler to him. “Come back in half an hour.”

  “Yes, sir.” His relief palpable, Mady scuttled off.

  Dr. Murnaghan removed the sheet.

  The two men gazed down at the body. Then Murnaghan picked up the vial of chloroform.

  “Assuming it was a full bottle, she’s inhaled enough to kill a horse. But it’s not an easy way to kill yourself.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Tyler. “But there’s no indication she struggled, so if somebody else put that mask on her face, she submitted passively, which doesn’t make sense.”

  The coroner pushed at the left arm where her head was resting. It was already stiffening and the underside had turned purple with lividity.

  “She’s been dead about eight or nine hours. I’d estimate she died in the early hours of this morning.”

  Tyler pointed at the silver mug. “She was in the habit of making herself a nightcap at a quarter past two. It was her tea time. From her position she looks as if she was asleep or resting. Whether naturally or unnaturally, it’d be good to find out. I’d like you to analyze the contents of the cocoa mug.”

  Dr. Murnaghan pursed his lips. “Would you believe I knew Ivy Packwin many years ago? I was a G.P. in Hereford at the time. She always struck me as a sensible woman. Salt of the earth type. She didn’t leave a note or anything, I gather?”

  Tyler indicated the ink stain on the nun’s finger. “She was writing something before she died. It may have been her report – I’m not sure. But we found no note.”

  “I’ll just wait here until the ambulance boys arrive,” said Murnaghan. “I’ll need to supervise them. They’re both totally green at the job.”

  “Do you want me to have a cup of tea sent up?”

  “That would be grand.” Murnaghan went over to the empty chair and sat down wearily. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always loved my work. Still do when it comes along. But when I see something like this, it brings me down.” He flapped his hand in Tyler’s direction. “Don’t mind me, Tom. I’m getting old is the problem. A nice hot cup of tea will fix me up.”

  Tyler sighed to himself. He wished it were that simple.

  39.

  DAISY STEVENS COULD SEE SUFFICIENTLY WELL TO report to the others of the Rub-a-Dub Club what was happening outside the window.

  “They’re taking out the stretcher.”

  “I hope the damn things aren’t rationed,” said Melrose. “At the rate we’re using them, they’ll run out.”

  Prescott burst out with a snort of laughter.

  “I do wish you wouldn’t make jokes like that, Melly,” Daisy scolded. “It’s not funny. I’m scared to death. I think we should be moved as soon as possible.”

  “That won’t do us any good if the killer is one of the residents,” said Melrose. “Don’t forget the story of the Trojan horse.”

  Prescott’s mood turned immediately. “What’s that? A posh pub in Soho? Overrun with cockroaches, was it?”

  “Come on, Eddie,” said Daisy. “I know what he’s ta
lking about. We studied it in school. The Greeks built a wooden horse and sent it as a gift to their enemies, the Trojans, who took it inside the walls of Troy. During the night, the Greeks who were hidden inside the horse jumped out and let in the rest of the army. They won the war.”

  Melrose clapped his hands. “Well done, Miss Stevens. And the lesson is? Never trust a Greek? I knew some Greeks who lived on my street. Two brothers, both queer as frogs and would steal your trousers out of the privy if you were taking a shite.”

  “Hey! Watch it.” Jeremy was jolted out of his distraction. “Don’t use language like that around Daisy. I’ve told you before.”

  “And what word did you object to, pray tell?” said Melrose. “Trousers? Privy? Oh, I know, I should have said something more refined, like ‘if you were in the middle of defecating.’ ”

  Daisy actually laughed. “For some reason that sounds worse.”

  Jeremy reached up his hand so she could hold it. “I get your point, Melly, but I don’t think it fits. Nobody’s a traitor here and there’s no war among us.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “Well there isn’t, is there?” continued Jeremy. “Eddie? I know you are always fighting the battle of the subjugated peasants but you wouldn’t shoot Jock for some imagined slight, I hope. He was hardly upper class anyway.”

  “Of course it wasn’t one of us,” exclaimed Daisy. “Somebody got into the grounds. That’s what frightens me. I want to go somewhere else, where we can be safe.”

  Clark had taken the chair next to Melrose, who reached out to him.

  “Anything you want to say, Vic? You can write it down if you like and I’ll utter the words for you.”

  Clark shook his head and mimed wiping at his eyes.

  “Sad? I’ll agree with you on that score,” said Melrose.

  There was the sound of a thud from the hall.

  “What was that?” asked Bancroft.

  Daisy went and looked out. She returned to stand beside Bancroft. “It was the ambulance men negotiating the stairs. They’ve just taken out Sister’s body.”

  Melrose sat down in an armchair abruptly. “I liked her. She never seemed prissy like some religious can get. I don’t understand why she would commit suicide … if she did, that is.”

  Daisy eyed him. “Melly, don’t say that.”

  Melrose slapped his hands on the arms of his chair. “I’m going in search of some alcohol to drown my sorrows. Anybody else want to come? Sister Rebecca might take pity on us and take out some medicinal brandy.”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Eddie. “I’d rather have a Guinness, but brandy’ll do if that’s all they’ve got.”

  “Daisy? Jeremy? Coming?”

  “Too early for me,” said Bancroft. “I was hoping you could wheel me to the river, Daisy.”

  “Of course I will. Let me get my hat.” She stopped in front of Melrose. “Don’t get too drunk, Melly. It’s not worth it.”

  “Fat chance of that with the amount Sister’s going to dole out. We’ll see you when you get back. You’re coming for a drink, aren’t you, Vic?”

  Clark made one of his gurgling noises. Prescott got to his feet. “So that’s where you are. Lead on, will you, chum.”

  Clark turned so that Prescott could put his hand on his shoulder and they lurched off, Melrose behind them.

  “Have a good cool off, you two,” he called to Bancroft and Daisy.

  There was a little silence, then Bancroft said, “Daisy, have they gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s nobody within earshot?”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “Come close so I can whisper in your ear.”

  She giggled, leaned forward, and blew lightly on his cheek so he would know. “What do you want to say?”

  “Daisy, will you let me make love to you?”

  Involuntarily, she jumped away.

  “Jeremy! We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, you’re engaged.”

  “Lydia doesn’t want me. I’m doing her a favour. I’m disengaging myself.”

  “I—”

  “We were never intimate. She wanted to wait until we were married.”

  “So what makes you think I don’t feel the same way?” asked Daisy.

  “Daisy, dear, don’t be insulted. I don’t mean that you’re easy. It’s just that … Well, with what’s happened here, I thought, my God, I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like to be with a woman.”

  “Jeremy! Why are you talking like this? You’re not going to die.”

  “All I’m saying, Daisy, my love, is that we never know, do we? A bomb? A crash? A maniac stalking the halls?” He managed to grasp hold of her hand. “I’m sorry, Daisy. You’re cold. I don’t want to scare you any more than you’re already scared. Forget what I just said.”

  “All of it?”

  “Yes. Just go and get your hat and we’ll simply go into town. I apologize for being out of line.”

  Daisy didn’t move for a moment, then bent over again and put her cheek next to his. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad that you even, er, desire me. I’m not much to look at anymore.”

  “What?” He chuckled. “Can’t say that bothers me. It’s you who should be put off. I can tell I’m pretty ugly.”

  Soft as new love itself, her kiss touched his lips. “Good thing everything is blurry then, isn’t it? You look handsome to me.”

  He caught her chin and held it so he could kiss her again. His hand moved up to caress her neck and moved down to her breast. When he let her go, they were both breathing hard.

  “Didn’t you have a question?” she asked softly.

  “So I did,” he whispered. “Can I make love to you?”

  “I’d rather like that, Mr. Bancroft. But where in heck are we going to do it?”

  Daisy seized the wheelchair handles and pushed Jeremy out of the house. She turned rather sharply at the bottom of the ramp, bumping him onto the driveway.

  “I’m glad you’re eager, Daisy, my darling, but I don’t mind if you go a little slower.”

  “Sorry.”

  She made herself slow down.

  “Have a good walk,” said the constable who swung the gate open for them. Daisy glanced over her shoulder. Inspector Tyler was standing at the front window of the common room, watching them. He waved in a friendly fashion. When she’d asked his permission to go into town, he hadn’t demurred. He said he understood their need to escape the confines of the hospital. Daisy thought he couldn’t possibly know what they were planning, but she had a rather uncomfortable feeling he suspected.

  Suddenly, Daisy felt a sharp spasm of alarm. In spite of everything, the hospital was a place of security and she shrank from leaving it, however briefly.

  Jeremy reached his hand up. “What’s going on, Daisy mine? You can change your mind if you want to.”

  She grasped his clawlike fingers. “I don’t want to. It’s just that you’re a lump to push and I’m not even going to try getting up the hill. We’ll have to settle for the Wheatsheaf.”

  “That’s okay with me. I haven’t been in it, but if it was good enough for Catherine of Aragon, it’s good enough for me.”

  Daisy spluttered with laughter. “Catherine of Aragon? Where did you hear that?”

  “She did reside at the castle. She must have gone somewhere for a quiet pint while she was waiting for her fate to be decided. I’m guessing it was the Wheatsheaf.”

  Daisy shivered. She couldn’t help herself. Perhaps it was the words he used, waiting for her fate to be decided. She knew that Henry VIII’s first wife had spent time in the castle when she’d been married to Henry’s older brother, Prince Arthur. Legend had it that she had walked around the grounds of the keep. But Daisy hated the idea of always waiting for somebody else to make decisions for you. Before the accident, she had been fiercely independent, choosing to leave home when she was just eighteen, much against
her mother’s objections.

  “Daisy?”

  “Yes?”

  “I can hear the weir.”

  “That’s right. We’re just going past it.”

  “Will you stop a minute?”

  She pushed the wheelchair to the side of the road and into the shade of the trees.

  “Daisy, do you realize I will be dependent for the remainder of my life? I won’t be able to make the decision that I’d like to go for a swim, or a walk up to the castle on my own.”

  “Don’t be silly, course you will be able to. What do you think the rope’s for? You just follow it and it will take you to the river.”

  “That’s just here in Ludlow. At some point, I’ll be shipped back to Canada. I live in a big city. There won’t be any handy ropes guiding me to the lake.”

  She wanted to brush off what he was really saying, but she couldn’t. She’d been having identical thoughts.

  “I understand. I don’t like to need people either, but there’s not much we can do about it, is there? No more fine sewing for me or for you.”,

  “What? What on earth are you talking about? Fine sewing?”

  “You know what I mean. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

  He chuckled and his frozen grimace widened. “I liked to make model boats when I was a kid. My mother still keeps them stored in my room. I guess I won’t be adding to the collection.”

  “Nope.”

  He turned his head in her direction. The bright light accentuated the raw scars of his ravaged face.

  “Sometimes the thought of what lies ahead is almost unbearable, Daisy. If I could figure out a way to do it, I’d throw myself off the bridge.”

  “That wouldn’t work. You’d probably just hit the riverbank. Then you’d likely be crippled and that would be worse. Blind and crippled.”

  “May I remind you, I am blind and crippled.”

  “No, you’re not! You’ve been making progress. Your legs are getting stronger every day. You’ll be walking by the end of the summer, I guarantee.”