by June Francis
Suddenly the silence was disturbed by voices and Mrs Chisholm opened her eyes and smiled at Winnie. ‘You’ve been very kind. But that sounds like the doctor so perhaps you should go. Come again and see me if you like.’
Winnie looked surprised but pleased and said that she’d quite like to do that and left the room with Greta. ‘What a nice old lady! I think she liked me.’
‘I’m sure she liked you,’ said Greta, amused. ‘The question is where’s your mother?’
Both were silent as they left the house and then Winnie said, ‘I don’t trust that solicitor and you seemed to know something about him. I also noticed that he has the same surname as Alex.’ There was a question in her soft brown eyes as she looked at Greta.
‘He’s Alex’s uncle and I know where he lives,’ said Greta, her eyes thoughtful. ‘I wonder what his game is?’
‘Perhaps we should go and ask him. He could be at home as it’s lunch time,’ said Winnie.
Greta grabbed her arm and hurried across the road.
All was quiet on that October afternoon as they approached the front door of the house. The wind from the sea blew leaves from the trees and Michaelmas daisies appeared to huddle together in the garden. Greta hesitated only a moment but then, squaring her shoulders, she marched up the path, with Winnie on her heels.
No one came in response to her first knock, so Greta knocked again but when there was still no answer she and Winnie walked round the back. Greta tried the door in the french windows but the lock had been made more secure. ‘It looks like we’re going to have to come back another time,’ she said.
They were about to walk away when Greta thought she heard a noise coming from inside the house. ‘What was that?’ she said, her dark head tilted to one side.
‘What was what?’ asked Winnie.
‘I thought I heard something. Shush!’
They both listened and the voice came again. ‘Perhaps it’s a wireless,’ said Winnie.
Greta hesitated and then stepped away from the house into the middle of the garden and looked up. It was then she saw the face at the window. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said. ‘Winnie, come and have a look!’
The other girl came and stood beside her and gazed up at the window. She swallowed audibly as the woman’s mouth opened and she called for help. ‘I think it’s Mum! I knew I didn’t trust that Mr Armstrong,’ said Winnie wrathfully.
‘What the hell’s he thinking of?’ said Greta.
Winnie did not answer but hurried over to the french window. Greta followed her swiftly. They both looked at each other. ‘It’s my mum in there,’ said Winnie, and removing a shoe hit one of the small panes of glass next to the lock sharply. Greta’s hands were smaller than Winnie’s, so she slipped one inside the hole and turned the key. She led the way through the room into the hall, up the stairs and along the landing. At the sound of their footsteps, Edith called out for help once again in a hoarse voice. The key to the door was on an oak chest on the landing and within seconds they had the door open.
Edith’s ankles and arms were tied to a chair, her hair was dishevelled and her face bruised. ‘Winnie! Greta! I don’t know how you found me but untie me and get me out of here. That solicitor’s bloody mad!’
Greta untied her hands while Winnie loosened what appeared to be a length of washing line from about her ankles. ‘What happened, Mum?’ asked Winnie.
Edith croaked, ‘He jumped on me when I was walking to the station, hit me hard enough to knock me out and when I came to, I was trussed up like a Christmas turkey. He said he’d killed before and I was to behave myself or it’d be the worse for me. It was like something from an American gangster film. I need a drink. I’ve been shouting for hours.’
She tried to stand up, only for her legs to crumple beneath her and would have fallen if Winnie and Greta had not caught her in time. They led her over to the bed and sat her down. ‘What did he say to you?’ asked Winnie. ‘We’ve seen Mrs Chisholm and she didn’t trust him.’ She got down on her knees and began to rub her mother’s ankles.
Edith licked her dry lips. ‘What did she say to you?’
‘I don’t think that matters right now,’ said Greta hastily. ‘We want to know what he said. You mightn’t have realised it but he’s Alex’s uncle. The one who put him in the orphanage.’
‘I can believe it,’ said Edith harshly, rubbing her wrists where the cord had bit in. She groaned. ‘I’m desperate for a drink and a ciggie! He’s mad, quite mad. From the wild things he was saying I think he got it into his head to marry her to get his hands on her money.’ She attempted to stand up again. ‘Come on! Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to be here when he returns. Help me down the stairs.’
They did as she asked and had just reached the front door when it opened from the other side to reveal George Armstrong. He stared at them and then slammed the door.
Greta could not take her eyes off him. Edith was hanging on to her daughter’s arm on her other side. ‘If you were thinking of killing us, people know we’re here,’ said the woman in a high-pitched voice.
‘Back up!’ he rasped, a nerve twitching at the corner of his eye as he gestured with his hands. They did not move.
‘There’s three of us to one of you,’ said Greta.
‘We-We could jump him,’ cried Winnie, her head going from side to side. ‘One, two … ’
Before she could reach three, he shoved her aside and rushed into the music room. They were just in time to see him take something from a drawer. He swung round to face them with an old service revolver in his hand. ‘Oh my God! He’s going to shoot us,’ shrieked Edith, and collapsed in a heap, dragging the girls down with her.
On her hands and knees on the carpet, Greta was just about to launch herself at his legs in a rugby tackle when a voice said, ‘Put the gun down, Uncle George!’
Greta felt relief and fear in equal measure. ‘Alex, be careful! I think he killed your sisters!’ she cried.
‘I don’t think so, luv,’ he said, without taking his eyes off the gun in his uncle’s hand. ‘According to his partner, Uncle George doesn’t know where they are and neither does the school.’
‘But he told Edith he’d killed before!’ said Greta.
Winnie nodded. She was slapping her mother on both cheeks trying to bring her round. Alex made no comment but asked his uncle again to put the gun down. Suddenly Edith gained consciousness and began to weep. Alex said, ‘Get her out of here, both of you. Leave this to me.’ His face was set.
Greta helped Edith to her feet and she and Winnie half-carried her from the room. Alex’s uncle made no effort to stop them. Greta left Winnie tending her mother in the drawing room, having concluded that Alex had got into the house through the french windows. She tiptoed to the music room and was about to enter when she heard his uncle speaking and paused in the doorway.
‘I’ve made a mess of everything,’ he said, dropping the gun and sinking into one of the chairs.
‘You shouldn’t have sent me away! You should have spoken to me,’ said Alex angrily.
George reared in his seat. ‘For God’s sake, boy! You were only eight years old! How could I explain it to a child. Besides, I didn’t know what you’d heard and I didn’t want you blurting things out to your mother or the police. As long as Abby and that maid of hers believed that your father would never have killed himself and played their part then I was home and dry. Abby would get the insurance money and I’d still be in business.’
Alex cleared his throat. ‘You’re trying to tell me that you helped Dad kill himself?’
George did not look at him. ‘I killed him. I gave him the fatal dose.’
Alex stared at him and then picked up the gun.
Hell! thought Greta. Alex is going to kill him! She burst into the room. ‘Don’t do it, Alex!’ she gasped. ‘He’s not worth it … but if you do I’ll lie for you and say it was self-defence.’
Both men stared at her in astonishment. ‘I’m not going to ki
ll him,’ said Alex.
‘Why not? I’d want to kill him if he killed my father.’
George sighed and sat down heavily on a chair. ‘Perhaps Alex has guessed. My brother had a terminal disease which he was determined to keep from his wife and children. He was in terrible pain. Having lived out East for years he believed in herbal medicine and thought it would heal him. I told him he was a bloody fool and should see a proper doctor but he refused.’
‘That’s what you were arguing about that time Dad brought me here,’ said Alex.
George nodded. ‘He was a stubborn man but he was my brother. I couldn’t bear to see him in pain. I had a close friend, who was a doctor. He owed me a favour.’
There was a silence.
Greta was astonished. ‘It’s still murder. Mrs Chisholm didn’t trust you. She hid her pills and said you were after her money … and you hit Edith over the head and tied her up.’
George swayed in the chair and, for a moment, Greta thought he was going to faint. Alex said swiftly, ‘Have you any whisky … brandy, Uncle George?’
‘Whisky in the drawing room,’ said George hoarsely. ‘Glasses, too.’
Alex looked at Greta. She hurried out of the room. Edith and Winnie watched her opening cupboards. ‘What are you looking for? What’s happening?’ asked Edith, visibly shaking.
‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ replied Greta tersely, having found the whisky and a tumbler.
She rushed out the room, not wanting to miss any of the conversation between Alex and his uncle. She watched Alex half-fill the tumbler and hand it to George. He drank and, slowly, the colour returned to his face.
‘That Edith woman is out for what she can get. I recognised her sort and it made me angry,’ said George. ‘I suppose I went a bit mad. I’ve had a few problems like that since my wife … died.’ He hung his head and clasped it in his hands. ‘As for what Mrs Chisholm said … she’s another like your father, Alex, and needs protecting from herself. Her nerves have been in a delicate state since her first husband was killed in the Great War. Then this war hasn’t been kind to her. I feared she’d get muddled and take an overdose of her tranquillisers.’
Greta shot a glance at Alex. It sounded perfectly plausible but was it true? Alex shook his head as if in disbelief. ‘It was a crazy thing to do! She’s got every reason to have you arrested,’ he said.
George moaned. ‘Perhaps we could do a deal with her. If you explained to her that I’d get my partner to see Mrs Chisholm, he could deal with the will and have Lawrence’s name removed and the daughter’s included.’
Alex nodded. ‘I’ll tell her.’
Silence.
‘Is that everything then?’ asked Greta, still not convinced of George Armstrong’s innocence.
Alex took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I don’t think we’re going to find out where the girls are here.’
George looked up at him piteously. ‘My wife took them away from me … wouldn’t tell me their address. It was a cruel thing to do. She said they were in Wales but I can’t find any trace of them.’ His eyes darkened and when he spoke his voice was harsh. ‘She had no right to lie to me! I’m their uncle! They were in my charge. I tried to make her understand that … that what I felt for them wasn’t what she thought … b-but she turned her back on me and … ’ A nerve twitched beneath his left eye and he clenched his fists.
The silence that followed was almost tangible. Neither Alex or Greta could think what to say. Then George cleared his throat. ‘They loved me and would do anything to please me. Why couldn’t she tell me where they were?’ His eyes bored into Alex’s. ‘Perhaps you really do know where they are, boy. Why don’t you tell me?’
Alex felt a cold shiver pass through him. ‘Have you forgotten that I came here looking for them? Strange that they’ve never written to you, Uncle George, if they loved you that much.’
George swallowed convulsively. ‘They could be dead for all I know. I can’t bear that thought. I feel lonely in this big house all on my own. You … You wouldn’t consider making this your home, would you?’
‘No thanks!’ said Alex, his voice strained. ‘Let’s go home, Greta.’
21
‘So what are you going to do, Alex?’ Rene gazed across the breakfast table at her house guest. She had to repeat her question before he lifted his head and looked at her.
‘About what?’
‘Tracing your sisters and mother, of course! I know you’re putting a brave face on things … especially when Greta’s around … but I hope you’re not going to give up. How old are your sisters? Younger than Greta according to her.’
He nodded.
‘With your mother in America and their aunt dead and an uncle who they don’t appear to want to keep in touch with, I’d say they need to be found.’
‘I wouldn’t argue with you, Rene, but I’m out of ideas of how to find them, if they don’t want to be found.’ He pushed back his hair from his forehead with an impatient gesture.
‘There must be some way. There’s something wrong about this whole thing. I mean why did your aunt not tell him where they were going when she took them to Wales? They were his nieces.’
Alex felt heartsick about the whole thing and there was no way he could voice his suspicions but before he could come up with some kind of response, there was a hammering on the door. Rene frowned, ‘I wonder who that is? It can’t be Harry. He’s not due home for another five days. I hope it’s not Jeff! I’m in no mood to see him.’
The noise came again. ‘They’re impatient, whoever they are,’ said Alex, and rose to his feet. ‘If it’s Jeff I’ll tell him to get lost.’
Rene followed him out of the kitchen and was just behind him as he opened the front door. Her heart seemed to turn over in her breast as she saw a policeman. He wasn’t alone. Edith stood beside him. ‘This is Alex Armstrong,’ she said, a suppressed excitement in her voice.
‘What’s this about?’ said Alex.
‘You’re Mr Alexander Armstrong, nephew of Mr George Alan Armstrong?’ asked the policeman.
‘Yes!’
‘Perhaps I can come in, sir? I have news of a disturbing nature for you,’ said the policeman.
Alex glanced at Rene, who nodded, her heartbeat having steadied now she knew the officer’s appearance had nothing to do with Harry.
Edith followed them in, plonking herself next to Rene on the sofa and lighting a cigarette. ‘I reckon this has something to do with my refusal to be bought off by that swine of an uncle of his,’ she whispered, as the policeman seated himself at the table across from Alex. ‘Assault and abduction, those are the charges I’ve brought against him.’
Rene glanced at her sidelong. ‘I don’t blame you! But if it was then surely he’d be interviewing you and not have asked for Alex?’ she said in an undertone. ‘How did they know where to find him, anyway? Did you give them his address?’
She shook her head. ‘Alex must have given it to his uncle’s business partner, Mr Simmons.’
‘I see.’
They both fell silent, hoping to overhear the conversation between the two men at the table, but could only catch the odd word.
It was not until the policeman stood up and left the room, that the two women discovered the officer’s reason for being there.
‘Uncle George is dead,’ informed Alex, appearing pale beneath his tan. ‘He shot himself.’
Neither women spoke for a moment, then Edith asked, ‘Did he leave a note? Was it the shame of it coming out about what he’d done to me that pushed him over the edge?’ She drew on her cigarette.
‘That might have been the last straw.’ Alex’s face felt stiff with shock. ‘He confessed not only to my father’s murder but, also, that of my aunt. I could scarcely believe it when the policeman told me that. She wasn’t killed in the blitz after all! My uncle strangled her because she took the girls away and hid them from him. He lost his temper when she wouldn’t tell him where they were. He dug up the lawn and burie
d her in the back garden.’
‘Oh my God!’ whispered Rene, and getting to her feet she put her arm about Alex’s shoulders.
He wondered whether she was thinking the same terrible thing that had tormented him since that final conversation with his uncle. ‘Greta said he had the look of a villain out of a gangster film and she was right,’ he said huskily.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Edith.
Alex squared his shoulders. ‘I’ve got to see his partner. Apparently my uncle left a will.’
The women exchanged glances but did not say a word.
Greta entered the house like a whirlwind, expecting to find Winnie and Edith there but Rene was also sitting at the table, talking and drinking tea. ‘Have you seen this?’ Greta demanded, placing that evening’s Echo on the table. ‘I can’t wait for Alex to see it. I didn’t get an answer at yours, Rene. D’you know where he is?’
Rene made no reply but snatched up the newspaper. She read Crosby Solicitor Confesses To Double Murder! Beneath the headlines was a photograph of George Armstrong.
‘He’s dead!’ cried Greta to no one in particular. ‘He shot himself!’
Rene glanced up. ‘We know, luv. A policeman called and spoke to Alex. He’s gone to see his uncle’s partner.’
Greta stared at her, wide-eyed, and sank on to a chair.
Winnie beamed at her. ‘It could be that Alex’ll be rich. His uncle left a will, which, in my book, means he must have money to leave.’
With sparkling eyes, Edith said, ‘Maybe we’ll be rich, too, one day. Lawrence’s sister was insistent that I visit her again. I think I’ll go tomorrow. It’s a pity that Joyce had to go back to camp but maybe she’ll drop by soon. The old lady’s going to be shocked by what’s happened and will need her family round her. I mean, she could have been his next victim.’
Winnie’s face stiffened. ‘You mean you and our Joyce when you say family, don’t you, Mum? I’m not stupid, you know, I have got a brain. Joyce is your Mr Lawrence’s daughter, isn’t she?’
