The whole framework of her existence depended on holding firm. The loss of the boys, the estrangement…well, almost…from Helena and Arthur’s drinking. Someone had to keep the boat straight. If she were to crumple, to show weakness, the whole edifice would collapse. But she could have done with somebody to share this burden with. She read the letter again, trying to find some clues in the words.
“Dear Mrs. Arbuthnot, How do you sleep at night? How do you live your smug, privileged life, knowing what you have done? Knowing what your husband has done? But then, he has a conscience, it seems. Otherwise, why would he spend so much time drowning his sorrows?
Your daughter is nothing better than a whore…and your sons, well you know as well as I do what a big lie all that was based on.
Hold it all together as long as you can, Mrs. Arbuthnot, but we both know that the geese are coming home to roost.”
Hateful words, but Dorothea had read them so many times now she was becoming inured to them. Now, she asked herself, who on earth knew these things about her family? Intimate, shameful things. And why had this person chosen now to show their hand?
* * *
To her surprise, Edith not only slept well, but she woke feeling calmer than she had for many mornings. She supposed it was relief that the truth was finally out.
Her anxiety had been acute last night—the whole range of symptoms, shaking and then feeling hot and cold, pounding heart, nausea, and above all a feeling of wanting to get out of these four walls and into the fresh air, but she couldn’t even do that now, could she? Where was she to go?
Then, the ridiculousness of the way her mind was going forced her to take a step back. She was being stupid. She wasn’t without a home, and whatever had passed between herself and Archie, he wasn’t a monster. He would never turn her out of her home. But, maybe his reaction to her coming home for the weekend would serve a useful purpose eventually. She couldn’t live with her brother forever.
She had once left this village to forge out an independent existence. Maybe the fact that all these years later, she was more or less back where she started had a lot to do with this breakdown. And maybe it was high time she began to explore her options. Because, no matter what, she was going to get out of here and she was going to get better. She had gotten through worse than this.
* * *
Alicia Horton looked about her with compassion. She wasn’t frightened by the damaged souls she saw walking up and down the corridor as she went into St. Bride’s. Some of them were puffing hard on cigarettes and one very thin woman muttered to herself.
What had brought them to this? They had, presumably once been chuckling babies, bright-eyed young girls. She sighed as she knocked on the ward sister’s office. For that matter, what had happened to sane, sensible Edith? The mind was a strange thing.
Banishing these questions, she smiled as she went towards the side-room the nurse had directed her to. “Hello, dear,” she said.
She hadn’t imagined the genuine flash of pleasure that crossed Edith’s face. Alicia was relieved to see Edith was dressed, in a smart skirt, white blouse, and a Fair Isle-patterned cardigan. “Are you feeling better, more yourself?” she asked, going to her niece and kissing her.
“I am, I think. I still have my moments. I suppose what I feel more than anything is embarrassment. I don’t know what happened to me, Aunt Alicia. My memories are hazy. I remember things feeling far away and out of my control…”
“Archie says that what happened to you is what doctors refer to as a nervous breakdown, not a precise term, I’m sure…but…” She saw her niece’s expression and stopped.
“What’s the matter, Edith?”
“Archie. He doesn’t want me home. Who can blame him? What doctor is going to want a mad sister frightening away the patients?”
“Stop it, Edith. You know that isn’t true. He may be struggling to cope with it, that’s all. There are other things going on. He doesn’t open up much. But, I’m not deaf or blind. I know there are rumours circulating about Mrs. Butler’s death and that she left money to Archie. And I know the police are calling on him more often than anybody would like. It’s nothing to do with what people-his patients, or anyone else might think. You know as well as I do, that wouldn’t influence Archie for one minute. So are you sure you got it right? You didn’t read more into something he may have said than …”“No, Aunt Alicia, he definitely doesn’t want me to come home on this weekend leave. Whether because he honestly doesn’t believe I am ready, or what, I don’t know, and I don’t feel I can ask him.”
“Well, I want you to come and stay with me. And before you object, let me tell you that I had already made this suggestion to Archie. In fact, maybe that’s even what he meant…” She was being economical with the truth here, but, in the circumstances, she could be forgiven.
* * *
The laundry was warm, which was a good thing. The walls were a dark green and cream and dripped with condensation. Steam rose from huge boilers and everywhere there were sheets suspended from lines and pulleys and piled high on shelves that ran from floor to ceiling.
The smell of washing soap with that ever-present undercurrent of disinfectant hit you as soon as you went through the big doors. She hoped that they would set her to do some ironing. You couldn’t get it too wrong, ironing and there had always been for her something soothing in the rhythm and repetition.
A laundry maid, Frances, supervised them all, but she was big and practical and took them all in her stride, not looking for problems, and generally, not encountering them. The size of her and the muscles on her arms would have deterred most of the inmates.
She was put to work doing the ironing and even her aching back and legs could not take away the good feeling she got from looking at the pile of ironed sheets and pillowcases and the rails of communal clothes. They would never look pretty, but she could make them look clean and she had always known that cleanliness was next to Godliness.
* * *
“Back to London, then, to interview Bertie Wooster and his sister. If there’s one thing I will not tolerate, Brown, it’s being lied to. Well, I know we get told porkies all the time by your common as muck criminal. But it’s these supercilious bastards who think we’re too stupid to cotton to them who get on my goat. We won’t ring ahead this time. I don’t think we should have much of a problem finding Butler in, if we go when the rest of the bloody world is working.”
Brown felt a tiny spark of pity for the two Butlers.
* * *
“Esther, thank you for making up the bed in the spare room for Miss Edith…it’s that…never mind…”Alicia decided that she would deal with it herself. How could she begin to tell this dour woman she wanted the room particularly nice for Edith, not just clean and dusted? She would do it herself.
Alicia was unaccountably nervous about this weekend, and she couldn’t understand why. Edith’s mental state didn’t frighten her and anyway, she was a lot calmer and obviously better, otherwise they wouldn’t be letting her out. She hated to admit it, but it probably had something to do with the presence of Esther Kirk in the house. There was something creepy about her.
And the woman had been less than gracious when told Edith was coming for the weekend. Alicia had been persuaded against her better judgment to give the woman a home and a job in the first place.
Henry Wilkes had come to see her shortly after Mrs. Butler’s death. “I know you need someone to live in ideally, and you haven’t been able to get someone since that young woman of yours, Grace, left to get married.”
Alicia laughed, “Oh, Henry, I was very lucky to have Grace for as long as I did. It was always going to happen, a lovely young woman like that. She was going to get snapped up. You know she was the daughter of a friend of mine. And also my goddaughter. Grace lost her husband in France literally a few weeks after the wedding. I didn’t want her to bury herself here in the country with me, but for some reason, she seemed to want it, to hide away from the world a
nd heal, I suppose. I never ever thought she would stay as long as she did.”
“Well, Esther Kirk is a different proposition from your Grace. But, I know she’s very keen to stay in the area. She once had family in the dales, but they are long since dead and gone. You are looking for someone to live in, and to tell the truth, it would be a real act of kindness. She’s been at Mrs. Butler’s for so long…”
“Will you let me have a day to think about it? I’ll telephone you.”
Alicia had a tendency to rush into kind deeds and live to regret them. After all, having someone live in the house was completely different from employing them to come in during the day. She did think about it, but how could she know about the woman until they tried?
She had seen on her on the odd occasion, when she called on Mrs. Butler, but she had taken little notice, just thought the woman was somewhat colourless. In the end, she decided to trust Henry Wilkes’ judgement and assumed Mrs. Butler wouldn’t have kept her on if there had been any serious problems. But now, she wasn’t so sure. Esther Kirk had obviously not liked the idea of anybody else sharing the house and had shown this by doing the bare minimum to the room. Sighing, Alicia went out to the garden, to see what she could find to put in a vase for Edith to look at when she woke in the mornings.
Chapter 7
“I don’t like being lied to, Mr. Butler. I don’t like being made a monkey out of.”
Roderick Butler drew himself up, emphasising his height and his lankiness.
“Now, look here Inspector, draw it a bit mild. You were not lied to. I cannot always remember where I went, or when. I go to the country practically every weekend, if I’m not abroad—three weeks, six weeks. I’d forgotten, that’s all.”
“And your sister, had she forgotten, as well?”
“I can’t speak for Caroline, Inspector. But, yes, come to think of it, we did visit mummy together and it probably wasn’t quite as long as I thought before she died.”
“So, you’re suddenly remembering it now? All coming back, is it? Well, that’s a bit of luck. Can you remember what your visit was about?”
Roderick shrugged. “Well, I suppose it cannot have been for the races, then?”
Greene shook his head.
“No, well then we made our ordinary social visit. As I told you before, we did so several times a year. Mummy was getting on a bit. She used to say that she liked having young people around, to liven the place up.”
He didn’t believe one word of it, but he let it pass for now. He sincerely hoped this wasn’t going to be a wasted journey. As it was, they’d had to beard Roderick in the lair of work, so obviously they had chosen one of the rare days he graced Butler & Co with his presence.
“You checked with your sister? She is at home? She knows we are calling.”
“Yes, Caro thinks it’s all a bit of a hoot. It’s almost as good as being one of those gangster pictures. He laughed in that braying way of his.
God, give me strength. Caroline was a different proposition. She didn’t look happy to see them; much less, that she thought it a hoot. She shared a flat with some other girl who was apparently studying at the Slade. The word flat hardly did it justice.
Greene cast his eyes round at the experimental décor, and particularly at the size of the place. Somebody had been experimenting with colour. The ceiling had been painted a dark blue with star shapes to give, he supposed, the impression of night. There were a couple of those statue-type things…busts they were called.
“How did you find me, inspector?”
She was wearing a striped blue and white dress that reminded Greene of a deck chair. The huge sailor collar made her look out of proportion, almost sinister, which was ridiculous. How could a woman in a summer dress be sinister?”
“Your brother gave us your address,” Greene answered shortly.
“Well, I must say, I think it’s a bit much, Inspector. You could almost say we’re being hounded. What is it this time?”
“There is a discrepancy between when you told us you visited your aunt and the time at least one witness saw you visit.”
“So what? Not a crime, surely?”
Right defensive, she is. “With all due respect, Miss Butler, it’s better not to go down that road. No one is saying it’s a crime to visit your stepmother, or even a crime to get the timing of the visit wrong. But wasting police time with misleading information is a different thing which can have serious consequences.”
Obviously undaunted, she shrugged narrow shoulders, her slenderness emphasised by the shape of the dress.
“Do you remember the visit now, Miss Butler?”
“Yes, I think so. It’s not easy when you’re being badgered…”
Greene gave a big sigh, indicating a patient man who was reaching the end of his tether. “No one is badgering you, Miss. It’s because of the suspicious circumstances surrounding your stepmother’s death, we have to delve into her life in the preceding weeks and months. You said yourself, most emphatically that there was no way that Mrs. Butler would have taken her own life. So, someone else must have given her an overdose. Those are the stark facts. I’ll ask you again whether there was anything different about her when you visited, whether she mentioned any callers, or guests who had stayed with her?”
She shook her head
“We will be visiting her solicitor obviously, to look at her will, in more detail. I believe you and your brother came in for sizeable legacies?”
For the first time Caroline’s expression changed. She stepped down from her high horse and looked uncomfortable. “Yes, Inspector…but no more than we expected. Daddy left our stepmother a wealthy woman. Some money was tied up in trusts for Roderick and me. It was always an unspoken understanding that after mummy’s death, the bulk of the estate would come to us. After all, she didn’t have anyone else. There were legacies to her staff, to a cousin and a goddaughter and a not so small legacy to Doctor Horton.”
That was a long speech and it may be she was trying to deflect the next question.
“So, would it be fair to say, Miss Butler, this legacy came in useful?”
She once again shrugged the thin shoulders. “I’m sure most people would agree, Inspector, that money is always useful.”
As they sat once again at the station café, waiting for the North Country train. Brown was surprised at Greene’s good spirits. He’d been expecting a tirade on the visit being a waste of time.
But, as he looked with pleasure on his iced, sticky bun, Greene said, “Now that’s what I call a good day’s work, lad. Now I feel as though I am getting to the heart of matters. Money, never underestimate the power of money.
* * *
Edith had not known what to expect at all on this weekend out. As she sat in the passenger seat of Aunt Alicia’s Morris Traveller, she reflected that the whole business of where she was actually going had been a distraction from the big thing—the big step out of the hated, but secure doors of St Bride’s. Now the time had come, she was most conscious of a ball of tension somewhere between her stomach and her chest and a dry mouth.
What would they do over the weekend? Suddenly the whole weekend pass seemed an ill-conceived idea. Archie, as usual, knew what he was talking about. Would it be terrible if she were to ask Aunt Alicia to take her back? They were only through the big gates and a few hundred yards down the lane. If she just came out and said it, that she didn’t feel ready and could she take her back, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. The sky would not fall in.
“Aunt Alicia” she began. She stopped. No. “My mouth is dry. Nerves, I expect. You wouldn’t happen to have a boiled sweet in the glove compartment?”
“Oh, dear, I’m sorry but I haven’t…I have an idea, though. The Old Schoolhouse?”
Edith nodded. The Old Schoolhouse was just that, but it had been turned into a country tearoom several years ago, by a couple who wanted to try country living. Rumour had it the man had been gassed in the war and shell-shocked. His nerves had
been affected, and he developed an aversion to noise, smoke, and city life. The wife was a sweet woman who did most of the work at the front of the shop while he helped with maintenance and the heavy, behind the scenes work.
Edith’s heart slowed and the knot in her insides loosened. This would be perfect. A bit of a stepping-stone between the hospital and home. It would give her a half an hour to adjust a little.
She stirred her tea and looked at her aunt who was chatting happily. You could have thought she was prattling to fill the gaps and stay any awkwardness. But, Edith didn’t think so. Her aunt did not seem discombobulated at the situation. In turn, this was making Edith relax. Suddenly, whether Archie’s reasons for fobbing her off on Aunt Alicia were or were not disingenuous didn’t matter. Maybe, it would actually turn out to be a blessing.
“Archie thinks he may be able to come for dinner tonight,” said Aunt Alicia.
Edith smiled. “It will be nice to see him, nice to have a meal in a proper dining room and have a real conversation.
* * *
Archie Horton checked his wallet one more time and secured the house. He had spoken to Maybury, who had agreed to deal with any emergencies. It was about time he returned a favour.
All day, Archie had been restless, felt the need to get away from this infernal countryside. Strange, how the very thing that normally soothed and sustained the spirit, could sometimes drive you out of your mind. London wasn’t only calling at him, it was shouting. He wanted to smell the smog and the traffic, feel the grime on his skin and the rush of people who neither knew him nor cared about him. He craved that feeling of melding into the crowd. That was not all he craved. But, it was probably all part and parcel of the same need.
Treated as Murder Page 6
