People Say I'm Different: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery

by John E. Conley

  People Say I'm Different: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery

  by John E. Conley

  © 2016 John E. Conley

  Table of Contents

  Out at Night

  Distrust

  Lord Stewart Takes a Holiday

  People Say I'm Different

  The Headmaster

  The Brampton Hotel

  The Assignment

  Dead of Night

  Footprints

  Change in Assignment

  Third Floor Rooms

  Ghosts in the Attic

  The Housekeeper

  Excursions

  The Shed

  Unknown Past

  The Package

  Confrontation

  Revenge

  Anna

  Out at Night

  Alnmouth, Northumberland, England

  July 1930

  Anna Walker liked the darkness because the darkness hid what made her different. She moved about in the darkness and nobody knew or cared. They did not look at her and call her things she did not understand; things like ‘barmy’ and ‘potty’ and ‘off her trolley.’ People were mean, except for John Clarke. Mr. Clarke was nice to her and never called her things she did not understand.

  Anna got out of bed, fully dressed, and slid open her bedroom window. It was dark and quiet, just the way she liked it. Anna sat on the ledge and swung her bare feet out into the night air. She knew from the dozens of times she had done this before that the ground was nearby. She dropped down almost without making a sound and then crept away from the cottage.

  She felt free again, unhindered by people and their words. In the darkness, Anna was free from Martha’s cursing and slapping. She walked quickly and silently between the houses and shops of tiny Alnmouth; past the hotel and Mr. Williams’ store. The sounds and smells of the North Sea were stronger at night than in the day. At least, they were to Anna, as she made her way to her favorite place; the safest place in all of Alnmouth for the eighteen-year-old girl.

  It was not hard to maneuver about Alnmouth, situated as it was on a triangular piece of land with the North Sea on one side, the Alnmouth River on another and the flats of Northumberland opposite the river mouth. The village was small and the houses and shops packed closely together, with thick clumps of trees taking up what little space was not already occupied.

  Anna weaved her way through the maze until a wooden shed was in sight. Sitting on the edge of the village, just a short distance from the river, was an abandoned storage shed once used by fishermen. It now provided shelter to the girl who needed a place to escape the confusing world she lived in. The shed consisted of one rickety door, one window without glass, one glass jar, and one wooden chair. A shelf lined three walls of the inside where fishermen used to clean fish and mend their gear. Now, only Anna and the occasional rat ever saw the interior.

  The girl lit a candle sitting on the shelf with a match from a box of matches that would soon need replacing. She opened the jar, grabbed a few kernels of corn, and threw them on the ground for the rats. Anna enjoyed listening to them scurry about, taking the treats, and disappearing through a corner hole.

  It was quiet in the shed and Anna sat without moving, staring at the blank walls and the rats. She sat for half an hour like that in total comfort. Then, she rose and stepped over to the window that let her look out onto the village. Stone houses and shops were barely visible in the moonlit night. Some had windows with lights on and Anna peered intently at them, hoping to see the movement of a person inside. It pleased her to be able to watch somebody without being watched herself.

  However, this night was uneventful. Another thirty minutes passed without anything for Anna to watch. The last of the corn was taken from the floor and the girl’s imperfect mind determined there was no more reason to stay.

  “Goodnight, little mice,” she said softly. “I will come back to feed you again.”

  She closed the door behind her and crossed Northumberland Street. Now she was among the buildings again and her eyes shot from one window to another, waiting for any sign of movement that would make her stop in her tracks and watch. Anna walked down the alley behind the shops that lined the street.

  “Can’t go to the hotel tonight,” she muttered quietly, passing the back entrance to the hotel. “Already went to the shed. Can’t go to the hotel.”

  The only thing that interested Anna almost as much as people in their windows were voices in the darkness. Voices fascinated her when she was out at night and Anna’s hearing was exceptional. Sometimes they spoke loudly and angrily, like Martha. Other times they whispered and Anna had to creep very, very close to hear them.

  She was just beyond the hotel when a man’s voice made her stop. It came from between Mr. William’s store and the shop where Martha bought her medicine. Anna did not understand what the man was saying, but he sounded mad. Then a woman’s voice very quietly answered, “No, I won’t do it.”

  Anna moved against the back of a building, the stones feeling cold through her dress. The man’s voice was even angrier now.

  “You’re gonna have to at some point.”

  “I won’t,” the woman replied.

  Anna heard a slap. She recognized the sound from the times Martha hit her. Anna’s heart raced as the sound reinforced in her mind how she felt when Martha slapped her.

  “This can’t go on,” the man said. “He’s going to find out sooner or later.”

  The sound of rapid footsteps going away from Anna, followed by the slamming of a door, made her think the people were gone. When a light inside the next building went out, Anna stepped away from the wall and continued on her way.

  Anna would never fully grasp how the world worked for the majority of people. Her world was confusion mixed with a small number of familiar people and events that repeated themselves. She knew, for instance, how to climb back through the window of the cottage she and Martha occupied, and how to close the window, and how to get into bed in complete darkness. It had been a good trip to the shed and back. Anna was satisfied and slept well.

  The following morning brought one of those events that Anna was far too familiar with.

  “I heard you go out last night, Anna,” her fifty-year-old aunt and guardian said loudly. “You probably woke up the Smythes slamming that window the way you did.”

  Anna was seated at the kitchen table while Martha stood next to her. Anna looked up without any emotion.

  “I know you’re not seeing anyone,” Martha continued. “So, what do you do? Where do you go?”

  Anna replied, “I walk to the river, Aunt Martha. I feed the mice.”

  “You’re an imbecile.”

  Martha raised her hand as if to strike the girl and Anna turned her head, raising her own hand in defense.

  However, Martha did not strike her this time. In frustration, she said, “You’re going to be the death of me, lass. Or the death of yourself. You’re going to come down with the fever going out like that. Look at your feet! They’re filthy from walking and never washing them. At least wear shoes like a normal human being.”

  Martha stomped out of the room and Anna stared at the cupboards, wondering if there would be anything in them to eat today. She eventually found a tin of biscuits and ate enough to eliminate her hunger before finally putting on shoes and running out the door. Anna followed the path she had worn from her many trips to see John Clarke, the headmaster at the free school. She liked and trusted John Clarke, more so than Martha or anyone in the village. His massive beard was not to her liking, but little round glasses made him look wise. If Anna understood such
things, she would have known that he was, in fact, an intelligent, friendly man.

  He came to Alnmouth a year earlier, unknown to the residents but with high recommendations, according to the council that hired him. John was already popular with the students—not an easy task at any school—and that made him popular with the parents. He was highly visible in the village and volunteered his time for any activity he was asked to participate in.

  Anna adopted him as the father she did not have and John accepted the role, treating her with equal doses of strict supervision and encouragement. The arrangement worked for both of them, as neither had a family.

  The school was a one-story, stone building with three classrooms, some storage space, and an office for John. Prior to his arrival, Anna seldom approached the building that reminded her of sadder days when she was a student and would be hit on the hands with a stick by a woman unwilling to tolerate Anna’s condition. The school was now another safe haven for the girl.

  Anna burst in through the front door and ran breathlessly down the hallway to John’s office. The echoing of her hard shoes on the floor announced her arrival.

  “Good morning, Anna,” John beamed when she stood in his doorway. “Do come in and sit and rest. Why do you insist on running here every time, Anna?”

  She flopped into the chair and caught her breath.

  “I want to see you, Mr. Clarke, and Martha might be behind me. So I run fast. I can run fast, Mr. Clarke.”

  John smiled and said, “I know you can, Anna. You are a very good runner. Did you eat this morning?”

  Anna nodded. She knew he always had food in another room if she wanted it, but she liked to eat at home.

  “Good. And what are you going to do today?” he asked her, stacking some papers on his desk.

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Clarke. Do you have a job for me?”

  “I think we can find something,” John answered. “I need help moving some books and I need you to go into the village for me. Can you do those things for me, Anna?”

  Her dark eyes shined with delight.

  “Yes, sir. I can.”

  John looked at Anna with a tinge of sorrow, knowing that she could be an attractive young woman under different circumstances, with her flowing brown hair and strong facial features. Anna was capable of taking care of her own appearance, but without nearly constant direction, she would either forget or prefer to take care of other priorities first. Martha Wright, meanwhile, paid little attention to the niece she was awkwardly put in charge of.

  Like most people in Alnmouth, John knew little about the special efforts needed to properly care for a child with a mental disorder. Poor patients, such as Anna, often ended up in asylums and at least Anna had been spared that unpleasantness. Village residents mostly accepted her, albeit sometimes with bitter words and actions. At the very least, they understood she was incapable of doing anyone harm.

  “Let’s start with the books,” John told her. “They’re in room two and need to go into the storage room next door.”

  Anna led the way out of the office and down the hall, opening the door to the classroom. John walked to the teacher’s desk, which was piled high with books. He handed three books to Anna, who cradled them in her arms in front of her.

  “We’re taking these to the storage room,” he reminded her. “That’s my girl.”

  As she walked out, John grabbed a tall stack of books and followed.

  As soon as the books were stacked, John asked, “Do you think you can do one more trip?”

  “Sure, Mr. Clarke. That was easy.”

  They returned together to the classroom and repeated their tasks, clearing the teacher’s desk until the start of the next term. Anna beamed with pleasure at the headmaster’s approval of her work and he pulled a small piece of hard candy from his desk to further show his appreciation. The girl quickly put it in her mouth, savoring the fruity flavor.

  “Now, I need you to go to the market and get me a small bag of apples, Anna,” John said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s enough money. Put it in your pocket.”

  He watched her drop the coins into the side pocket of her dress and look up at him.

  “Good girl. A small bag of apples. And then come right back, you understand? There’s no need to run this time, Anna,” he said.

  “Yes, Mr. Clarke. I’ll get really good ones for you,” she replied.

  Anna turned and rushed down the hall.

  “Don’t run!” John yelled.

  Anna was never happier than when she was on a task for Mr. Clarke, so it did not even bother her that she would have to mingle with people in the market during daytime. Hopefully, the ever-patient Mrs. Barlow would be working this day and Anna’s time at the counter to pay would be routine.

  The field Anna walked across gave way to a line of houses and, eventually, the street. She heard her name once or twice as she passed people, but her eyes were focused entirely on the entrance to the market at the end of the road. Anna hurried past the hotel, Mr. Williams’ shop, and the shoe store without even slowing to look. She put her hand in her dress pocket to make sure the coins were still there. A moment later, she was at the market.

  Anna came to a complete stop, as she always did, when confronted with the sights and sounds of the busy store. It took all her courage and limited abilities to accept the mayhem it represented in her mind and to find her way to the produce. Again, she heard her name without acknowledgement, intent on finding a bag of apples for Mr. Clarke.

  She smiled when the initial task was completed and she stood in front of several bags. Anna took a deep breath and looked down into each one, looking for just the right one to buy. Several long minutes later, she had Mr. Clarke’s bag of apples in her arms and turned toward the counter to pay.

  A smiling Mrs. Barlow greeted her.

  “Hello, Anna. Apples it is today?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Barlow. They’re for Mr. Clarke. A small bag,” Anna said.

  “That will be two pence.”

  Anna pulled out the coins from her pocket and noisily laid them on the counter. Mrs. Barlow took the appropriate amount and pushed the rest back toward the girl.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Barlow,” Anna said as she collected the coins and put them away. “Good day.”

  “Good day, Anna. Say hello to Mr. Clarke for me.”

  “I will,” Anna replied, holding the apples like the precious cargo they were and hurrying back into the street. She smelled the apples and hoped they would meet with Mr. Clarke’s approval, although he had never once scolded her upon returning from a trip to the market.

  Anna turned down a lane that let her avoid the people in front of the hotel. She knew the house to her left belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Hall. Anna did not especially like either of them. They were among the people that most often called her the names she did not understand. Anna knew Mr. Hall was an important man, although she could not tell you what his title meant. Irene Hall seemed younger than Mr. Hall, Anna thought, and she was very pretty. But not very nice.

  Just before passing the back of the house and into the field next to the school, Anna heard loud voices. She slowed and finally stopped when an open window far above her provided a chance to better hear the talking.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Irene?” a man was saying angrily. “That man doesn’t deserve your attention. He is so far below you…I…I just don’t understand it.”

  “Stop judging people simply by the size of their bank account, Donald,” a woman replied.

  “Oh, listen to you. The girl that had nothing until you married me. I’m not sure you’re in any position to criticize anyone.”

  “I can criticize anyone I please, including my husband,” she said. “And I can see anyone in this village that I want. He means no harm to you.”

  “He’s a petty shop-owner that will never amount to anything, Irene. I insist that you not talk to him anymore.”

  “I’ll do whatever I damn please.”

 
; “Come back here!” the man shouted.

  The voices gradually faded away and Anna continued on her way, wondering why people seemed to always be angry at each other.

  Distrust

  If Anna had stayed, she would have seen Irene Hall storm out of her house and walk briskly in the direction of Edward Williams’ general store. Irene crossed the street, holding up the bottom of her long dress to keep it out of the dust, and then took the alley next to the store. She entered through the back door, as she always did.

  The heels of Irene’s shoes clomped loudly on the wooden steps as she ascended. Inside his office, behind a closed door, Edward Williams heard the clamor and waited. The door burst open and then closed with a crash.

  “I’m going to kill him, Edward. The man is abominable,” Irene said.

  Edward looked up at the rosy glow in the cheeks of the beautiful woman and tried to withhold a smile.

  “I suggest you try leaving him first, before resorting to murder,” he told her calmly.

  “He deserves to die, the lout. I swear he thinks it is still the eighteen fifties and he can order me around like a Victorian woman,” Irene said, throwing herself into a chair across from Edward’s desk.

  “What were you fighting over this time, my dear?”

  “You.”

  Edward’s eyes widened. “Me? Really? You don’t have murderous intent with me, do you?”

  “Of course not, Edward. You are the last person I’d want removed from my life. I truly couldn’t go on if you left me.”

  Edward put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and said, “And Donald knows that?”

  “He suspects that, quite unnecessarily.”

  Edward laughed.

  “Irene, you can’t have it both ways. You can’t stomp in here and proclaim I mean everything to you and then try to tell your husband I mean nothing. And besides, I don’t believe for an instant that you’d give me a second thought if I disappeared tomorrow.”

  “That’s not true,” Irene declared. “You do mean something to me.”

  Edward laughed louder and stood up, walking toward her.