Madam Geerts brushed past me and faced Alison. ‘It is best you lie down, Alison.’
I stepped between Madam Geerts and Alison. ‘From the way things look here, I don’t believe you are in any position to say what it is best for Alison to do.’
Madam Geerts jutted her chin. ‘Oh? And what do you insinuate?’
‘A hot bath. Alison “falling” down the stairs. A powerful smell of brewers’ yeast, but no baking in evidence. What did you buy in Leeds yesterday? Cohosh? Slippery elm? Penny royal? Something to “restore female regularity”? Your visit was a secret from your husband because . . .’
‘You are wrong.’
‘ . . . he would have asked what you were doing there. He would have connected it with Alison’s stay, and why you are not at the dancing school this morning.’
Madam Geerts turned pale. ‘You know nothing.’
‘On the contrary, I know a great deal. I was in the V A D during the war. Soldiers were not the only casualties.’
‘Alison is in trouble. I try to help.’
‘Shut up, shut up both of you.’ Alison rocked back and forth in her chair. ‘I’ll lie down. I want to lie down.’
My instinct was to gather her up and take her home, but she was in no fit state for that.
Madam Geerts and I looked at each other across Alison’s bent head. It was almost a moment of truce, but I was determined not to let her get the upper hand. ‘You make some tea. I’ll take Alison upstairs.’
‘It is not tea that she needs,’ Madam Geerts barked back, but her bark was sulky. She would do as I said.
‘Strong tea, sugar for Alison, no sugar for me.’
Slowly, I led Alison up the narrow stairs. She plodded, as if hoping never to reach the top. To the left of the small landing a door led into the front bedroom.
‘I’m in here,’ Alison said weakly, turning into a small whitewashed room with a single bed, washstand, small cabinet and a straight-back chair. The room smelled of violets, spearmint and vomit. Its cream window blind was drawn down, but the strong sunshine outside broke through into the gloom and created an unreal air, like a stage set.
I helped Alison into bed. ‘Let me brush your hair.’
She had looked so pristine and jolly, playing her part in the play the evening before. Now her hair lay lank and straggling. I propped the pillows so that she could sit up. First I brushed one side of her hair, then the other, plaiting each side. With the plaits over her shoulders, she looked so very young.
Returning the hairbrush to the washstand, I asked, ‘What age are you?’
‘Twenty-one.’
‘Same as Lucy.’
‘I’m two months older than Lucy.’
‘Alison, I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but everything will be all right. Try not to worry.’
Her hands clasped at her chest. Her round moon face looked pale and drawn. She seemed utterly done in. Her breath was laboured but she had stopped crying. On the cabinet beside her bed was a dish of chocolate bon bons, and a glass of water.
‘I’m expected in work on Monday,’ she wailed. ‘What will I do if I’m like this?’
Carefully, I handed her the glass. ‘Take a sip. You’ll have your tea in a minute and you’ll feel better. Don’t worry about work for now.’
‘If I lose my job . . .’
‘Shush.’
Alison emptied the glass. I took it back from her carefully and slid it into my satchel. With a little luck there might be fingerprints and then I would know whether she had helped Lucy write the ransom note.
I pulled up the rattan chair and we sat in silence.
Moments later, Madam Geerts appeared with two cups of tea on a tray. She set the tray on the washstand and handed a cup to each of us. Alison made no move to take hers. Madam Geerts set it on the bedside cabinet. Making one more effort to pull the wool over my eyes, she said to me, ‘Alison ’ave too much cherry brandy last night and stay ’ere.’
So that was the way she wanted to play it. I took a sip of sugary tea. ‘This is yours, Alison. Take a drink. It will do you more good than Madam Geerts’s cherry brandy.’
For Alison’s sake, I would stay calm, although I felt like pushing Madam Geerts down her own stairs.
Alison began to drink the tea. I wanted Madam Geerts to leave, so I could talk to Alison. I caught her eye, and we retreated to the landing, closing the door behind us.
‘Well?’ Madam Geerts asked. ‘She drank cherry brandy. She fell down the stairs.’
When I did not answer, she led me into the other room, well out of Alison’s earshot.
Before she had the chance to tell more lies or try and justify her actions, I said, ‘You asked me not to tell your husband you were on the Leeds train. Now I know why. You were at some chemist’s shop buying what you needed. Monsieur Geerts might choose to believe your cherry brandy story. Don’t insult me with such a tale.’
For once, Madam Geerts seemed speechless. She wrung her hands in a rather dramatic fashion.
Why did I feel so angry? Calm down, I told myself. This is not my business. This foolish woman believes she is doing what is best. ‘You know that what you’ve done is a crime in England? It’s classified as an offence against the person, under an Act of 1861.’
She looked towards the window, as though she might be able to fly away. ‘For the best. I did it for the best.’
‘It’s lucky for you that it hasn’t worked.’ I said that with more conviction than I felt. After all, Alison might still miscarry. And I knew nothing of the circumstances. I thought of Alison’s mother, busy with her preparations for the church fair, disapproving of the fact that half the proceeds would go to fallen women. It would not be an easy matter for Alison to admit to being pregnant. And of course she would lose her job in the solicitor’s office.
Madam Geerts set her mouth in a stubborn line. ‘The young man will not marry her. This I know from ’is father who is against the match, and made this plain to me.’
In an instant I knew that the young man must be Rodney Milner. I could imagine that Lawrence Milner would oppose a match to a widow’s daughter who worked for her living. That would not have suited his plans to rise in Harrogate society.
My feelings towards Madam Geerts softened, but for less than a moment. I wanted to tell her that Milner was dead, but remembered Inspector Charles’s prohibition. Not that it seemed to carry much weight since half of Harrogate now knew of the murder. But not Madam Geerts.
‘I suggest that you empty that bath and clear up any signs of “cherry brandy” . . .’
‘Thank you.’ She breathed a sigh of relief.
‘… because it is unlikely I will be your only caller today.’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just do as I say.’
‘You will not tell?’
‘For Alison’s sake, not yours. Now tell me, please. Where is Lucy Wolfendale? She came here last night with Alison.’
‘She walked with us yes, and came in only for a moment.’
‘Who else was with you?’
‘Rodney and ’is friend, a fellow who was at the bar. I forget ’is name. ’is father keeps a public house and sometimes the young men play cards there when the place is shut.’
‘Did they come in?’
‘No. They just escorted us home.’
‘Did Lucy leave with them?’
‘She came in for a few moments. Drank a quick cherry brandy, far too quick. Then said she would catch up Rodney and this other fellow and ask them to walk her home.’
So I would need to call on Rodney Milner. That was not a task I relished.
The only person Madam Geerts had not mentioned was her own husband. That did not look good for him.
‘And Monsieur Geerts?’ I asked. ‘He did not escort you home?’
‘He came later.’
‘Alone?’
‘Why all these questions?’
She was right, of course. It was up to Inspector Charle
s to find out about Monsieur Geerts’s movements.
‘I don’t like being asked to convey lies. Last night, Lucy asked me to give her grandfather a message. Captain Wolfendale was meant to believe Lucy stayed with Alison, just as Alison’s mother believed she was with Lucy.’
Madam Geerts’s brow creased with puzzlement. ‘She say . . . I do not remember exactement. I swear I thought Lucy would go home.’
‘Unless she is found soon, there will be a major police search.’
Madam Geerts looked genuinely surprised. She shook her head. ‘Yes, I lie to you for Alison. But I do not lie now. If the police come . . . I empty the water.’
Without another word, Madam Geerts hurried down the stairs to empty the tin bath.
When I went back into the small whitewashed room, a cat had found its way onto the counterpane. Alison stroked its head. In a sudden instant, I felt that the words I had spoken to her before would come true. Everything would be all right. Alison’s gaze fixed on her hands, and on the cat. Slowly, tears formed. One began to trickle down her cheek. I produced a hanky. She dabbed at her eyes and wiped her nose.
‘Do you want me to take you home? I can fetch a taxi cab.’
‘No! Please don’t. Mother mustn’t see me like this. I’ll stay here a little longer. Mother thinks I’m with Lucy.’
‘Does Lucy know why you are here?’
Alison shook her head. ‘Not properly. She thinks I’m just late. First she said I missed my bleeding time because I was nervous about the play. We usually have the curse at the same time. That’s how I know I’ve missed two.’
‘But she’s your friend. Couldn’t you confide?’
‘She said I could not be pregnant. It was just once, you see. And she felt guilty because she had left the two of us alone. And when we told Olivia, Madam Geerts, she knew what to do to bring me on. We thought it was just some blockage sort of thing,’ Alison said miserably. Her hands went to her belly.
I resisted the urge to reach out and touch Alison’s hand.
Her eyes met mine. ‘You haven’t to say, not to anyone. Swear you won’t.’
‘I won’t say anything.’
‘Thank you.’ She blew her nose. ‘Madam Geerts wanted to help. She explained that I could be pregnant, and that with me in this condition, Rodney could not have married me because of the disgrace.’
‘Did Rodney say that?’
‘No. He doesn’t know. But it is true. His father . . . you see . . . they have a position to keep up, Madam Geerts explained that. Well, so do I have a position to keep up, and my mother.’
‘Some things are more important than appearances. Don’t give up hope. If Rodney loves you, you will marry, and sooner than you think. Trust me.’ Even to myself I sounded a little like a gypsy whose palm has been crossed with a silver threepenny bit.
She looked at me, puzzled. ‘Did I say Rodney’s name? I didn’t mean to.’
‘Babies can be premature. People might talk, but they would soon forget.’
Her eyes lit with hope. It would be better not to mention that people certainly would talk if Rodney Milner married five minutes after his father had been murdered. ‘Don’t let Olivia Geerts give you anything else.’ I reached for the witch hazel from the dresser, along with some cotton wool. ‘Dab at your bruises, wherever they’re coming up. And if you throw yourself down those stairs once more, I shall personally put an announcement in the Harrogate Advertiser about it.’
‘But . . .’ Her fingers played an agitated tune on the counterpane.
‘No buts. Start dabbing. And talk to me about Lucy.’
‘Why?’ She looked genuinely surprised to be asked.
‘I just thought she’d stayed here with you last night. Where is she?’
‘She walked here with us, stayed a few minutes, and then went home.’ Her eyes widened with alarm. ‘Has something happened to her?’
‘No, I’m sure not. It’s me getting the wrong idea.’
So Dylan knew nothing, Monsieur Geerts knew nothing, and now Alison knew nothing. My confidence in my ability to uncover any information slipped to the soles of my feet. What did I know? I had taken Alison’s photograph, watched her act the part of Beatrice Sutton, never guessing that her chubbiness may not have been entirely due to a passion for chocolates. I had to get out of here before I started lecturing, losing my temper with the poor girl, telling her someone would have adopted her baby even if that swine – not that one should speak ill of the dead – did want to prevent his spineless offspring from marrying the woman he loved. I found it hard to believe that Rodney did not know about Alison’s condition. But now wasn’t the time. And it was not my business.
You are not here to pity, or to judge, I told myself. Think of why you are here, Kate Shackleton.
‘Did you and Lucy and Madam Geerts walk here alone last night, Alison?’
‘Rodney and his friend George walked us to the door. Lucy only came to keep me company. She said she would run and catch up with the boys.’
‘Don’t be alarmed, Alison, but Lucy didn’t go home last night. Do you have any idea who else she may have stayed with?’
Alison shook her head. ‘I can’t think who, not old school friends, because then it would have come out that I’m not with her.’
‘I’d better go. Just stay calm. Be well. And don’t worry about Lucy.’ There is no greater way of helping someone to worry than telling them not to. So I lied. ‘I’ll track her down soon enough. She’s probably just being mysterious.’
Madam Geerts sat at the kitchen table. A large ashtray held dozens of pearl beads. She was rethreading a necklace. In a flat voice, she said, ‘I wish I ’ad nothing to do with it.’
‘Then why did you?’
‘It was for the best.’
‘Rodney Milner should not get away with it. She’s a respectable girl. It would be a reasonable match.’
A pearl rolled onto the floor. She dived down and scrambled about, looking for the lost bead. I waited. She came up for air and set the bead with the others in the ashtray.
‘Lawrence thinks . . .’ Madam Geerts stopped.
‘What does Mr Milner think?’ I asked.
‘A lovely man, quiet, gentle, a widower you know. ’e says Rodney is not the father. Alison is trying to make a good catch.’
‘I find that hard to believe when she has not even told Rodney that she is pregnant.’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps I listened too much to Mr Milner.’
She most certainly had listened to him too much. ‘He asked you to do this?’
‘It was for the best, I thought. Now I change my mind. I believe Alison. Mr Milner, perhaps ’e is mistaken.’
Mr Milner, he is dead, but it is not up to me to tell you.
‘Madam Geerts, do you have any idea where Lucy may have gone?’
She pursed her lips. ‘If I know I tell you. I know nothing. Lucy is good at secrets.’
‘So am I, and so are you. We have a secret that could find you disgraced, on trial, your dancing school finished.’
She picked up a handful of beads, and then slowly let them trickle through her fingers back into the dish. ‘I think Lucy ’as been offered a place at a drama school.’
‘Really? Where?’
Madam Geerts shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. I ’eard ’er and Meriel, they talk in a corner. I add two and two. If she run away, I am glad for ’er.’
I bet you are, I thought, and glad for yourself, too. Particularly since Mr Milner couldn’t keep his eyes or his hands off Lucy.
The four young people in the play, Alison, Dylan, Lucy and Rodney, had formed a tight little band at last night’s party. Perhaps Lucy did catch up with Rodney and his friend, and they would know where I could find her. A chilling thought struck me. Lucy had shown such disgust at being pestered by Milner, perhaps she had been the one to stab him through the heart. Or it could be Rodney, if he had worked out that his father had come between him and Alison. It was time for me to speak to Rod
ney.
It would be distasteful to question a young man who had just lost his father. On the other hand, offering condolences would be entirely acceptable.
‘Where would I find Rodney Milner, Madam Geerts? Perhaps he’ll be able to help me find Lucy.’
Madam Geerts hesitated.
I prompted. ‘If Lucy has decided to leave home, then that is up to her, but at least her grandfather should know. Or would you prefer that the police search for her?’
‘The Milners live on Cow Gate Road,’ Madam Geerts said. ‘Number 12. But if you seek Rodney, go to the motor car showroom. On Saturdays ’e is always there. Lawrence, Mr Milner, ’e takes Saturday off, to play golf.’
‘Thank you.’ Soon Olivia Geerts would learn Lawrence Milner’s golf club swinging days were over. He would be taking Saturdays off, and every other day, into eternity.
I left Madam Geerts’s house with the speed that anger gives. My old-lady shoes pounded the pavement as I almost broke into a run, needing to get away.
And then it hit me. I realised where the anger, the throbbing in my heart, had come from. My head had not worked out what was going on when I kicked into the steaming tin bath in the Geerts’s kitchen, and heard Alison’s cry. My body told me. I was back to that fateful day when Gerald had his army letter, telling him where to report. Should I break the news that I am expecting a child, I had asked myself? He went to work. By the time he came home, the question did not arise. I never spoke about my miscarriage. ‘What’s the matter?’ he had asked. ‘Oh it’s nothing, just not so very well today.’ ‘You’re upset because I’m going,’ he had said. ‘Everything will be all right.’
That was the nearest I came to bearing a child, something that I put behind me, like a bad dream. Even as I thought of it, a pain splashed somewhere deep inside me, breaking in angry waves like the rush of a stormy tide.
Everything will be all right. The words I had used to Alison. Gerald’s words.
No, Gerald. Everything was not all right.
Before reaching the Milner house, I had to sit on a wall and take deep breaths to steady my nerves. That was then. This was now. No longer a young bride, I was a widow, to all intents and purposes – with a job to do.
A Medal For Murder: A Kate Shackleton Mystery Page 14
