Treated as Murder

by Noreen Wainwright

  “Has he got a job lined up?” was all John asked and their mother gave a vague response about his knowing lots of people and how they would put the word out that he was looking for something. After that, John went back to looking inwards and asked no more questions.

  The whole thing was suspicious. Her father had looked like a person running away from something rather than towards something. And then there was the business with the envelope. She was convinced it contained money. She longed to ask her mother questions because she couldn’t figure out how much she knew.

  But there was something about her mother since dad left that put Cathy off asking her anything. She went about all the jobs as usual. She even went to work at the Horton’s, came home, and cooked a ham pie with yesterday’s leftovers. But, she was going through the motions.

  Cathy couldn’t feel sad about her father going. Look at the way he hadn’t said a proper goodbye to her and said nothing at all to her mother. Cathy didn’t know that much about marriage, but it probably wasn’t like a romantic novel. But the way her parents were wasn’t right. It was impossible, for instance, to imagine them ever being in love, laughing, enjoying their time together, yet, they must have done, once, mustn’t they?”

  Her mother’s behaviour was still odd, too. It wasn’t exactly that she expected her to be jumping for joy her husband had left, but why was she going about looking so sad? Their life together had been terrible, for goodness’ sake. What was there to miss?

  Though the air in the house felt heavy with unsaid things, it was still peaceful. It felt secure, in a way it hadn’t done for a long time. Cathy let herself hope that he would stay away. She wasn’t proud of that feeling and wished it could be different, but maybe it was the same for any child who’d grown up without a father being around. It was like not having one at all.

  Her eyes felt heavy, but her mind was still jumping all over the place and she couldn’t get past a particular chapter in her library book. Her mother was knitting a bottle green jumper for John and she was taking her mood out on the needles, knitting noisily and clicking her teeth when she dropped a stitch. John had already gone to bed, still silent on the subject of his father, still not saying much about anything.

  “I think I’ll go up,” Then Cathy heard a noise. Oh, no. It was her father back, and goodness knew, in what sort of mood. There was a loud knock on the door. Her father wouldn’t knock. Her mother dropped the knitting onto the armchair as she quickly got up. A piece of the green wool got tangled in her apron and she pulled at it impatiently.

  “Answer the door, Cath.”

  Her legs feeling unsteady, Cathy went to the door. With a rare mild swear word, her mother untangled herself and joined her standing at her shoulder. It was Inspector Green and the younger one, the nice one who’d spoken to her in the shop the day he had come to see to the Sowerby sisters.

  “What is it? Oh, God, what’s happened?”

  “Calm yourself, Mrs. Braithwaite. Sorry for frightening you. Nothing has happened. But, we do need to have a word with your husband. Do you mind if we come in?”

  “No, I’m sorry. Of course. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong? What am I thinking of, keeping you on the doorstep like this? Put kettle on Cathy.”

  “Thanks all the same, Mrs. Braithwaite, but it’s your husband we’ve come to see. There’s no need to be going to the trouble of making us tea. Is there Sergeant Brown?” He gave his underling no opportunity to respond. “So, you’ll call him for us, then Missus? I expect he’s round about? Unless he’s slipped down to the Dalesman, or owt?”

  Her mother looked guilty. But she hadn’t done anything wrong, had she?

  “He’s not here, Inspector, I’m afraid—he’s left.”

  “What do you mean, left?” said the inspector.

  He sounded far from happy. In fact, his voice was angry. Her mother was never any good with angry men and Cathy could hear the terror in her voice as she stumbled with an answer.

  “I don’t rightly know, sir, Inspector I mean. Yesterday, it were. He took off like, didn’t say where, or why. Just work you know. He’s not a settled man, I suppose, Inspector, since the war you know…”

  “Oh, don’t give me that, Mrs. Braithwaite. That’s a handy excuse for not being where we should expect to find him, isn’t it?”

  Cathy had enough. Without stopping to think, she said. “Don’t you be bullying my mam, Inspector. She’s done nothing wrong,”

  Cathy paused for breath and to try to calm her pounding heart. She didn’t want to come across as a common girl—what her mother called a fishwife. She mustn’t raise her voice and she must try not to sound too countrified, dropping aitches all over the place and saying were instead of was. Nevertheless, she was going to fight her mother’s corner.

  No one spoke, but they were all looking at her in surprise, especially the inspector. You could say his mouth was open.

  “My dad left. God knows why. We don’t have a lot of say over when he goes or when he comes and that includes my mother. He says what he’s going to do and that’s the end of it, no discussion. So, it isn’t right to be getting on at my mother.” Her voice trailed off as if she had lost all her spark of spirit. She felt like a frightened child and couldn’t quite believe the way she’d been speaking.

  The inspector was the first to speak. “Now, lass, there’s no bullying going on at all, far from it. I’m sorry if that’s what it sounded like. I speak my mind, that’s all. Put both feet in as my wife used to say. We want to speak to your father though, and I may have been a bit frustrated when I heard he’s flown the nest.”

  Cathy’s confidence soared back. Imagine a grown man, an Inspector, no less, taking her seriously like that.

  “And you’re a good girl to stand up for your mother.”

  “She’s a good girl, Inspector. I’m lucky with my children.”

  Her mother sounded more normal than she had since her father’s departure. Maybe that little exchange with the inspector had done her mother good, brought back her spirit.

  Hannah Braithwaite rinsed out the big brown teapot. They were seated at the kitchen table, the sugar bowl that had always been there, on the centre on the new oilcloth her mother had brought from the market for last Christmas. Hannah put a plate of cake and the teacups in front of the two men. It was clear she was again in charge in her own kitchen.

  “If he’s gone, he’s gone, I suppose,” said the inspector. “Though I won’t pretend it hasn’t made our job a lot more complicated. But we do need to talk to you anyway. Mrs. Braithwaite.”

  Chapter 17

  Hannah Braithwaite looked at her daughter.

  “Go upstairs to your room, please Cathy,” her voice was calm, once more back in command of herself as well as her home.

  “No,” The word was out before Cathy realised she was going to say it, but she meant it. She was not going to be sent upstairs like a child. “Sorry, mam, if that sounded rude, but I mean it. I’m not a child. I’m sixteen. You can’t always keep everything a secret.”

  Her mother sat heavily down on one of the kitchen chairs and Cathy felt guilty but she didn’t waver. “All right, but you won’t like what you hear.”

  Cathy’s heart pounded and she wished she had gone upstairs. Once you heard something, knew something, you could never go back to how things were.

  The inspector put his cup back onto the saucer, and glanced at her before looking properly at her mother. “We know he has a criminal record, your husband, and we know now that he has spent time in prison.”

  Cathy sat rigid, a load of horrible possibilities crowding into her mind in what seemed like a few seconds.

  “He’s always been fond of money, Inspector, too fond.”

  “He did time for blackmail, extortion, and theft, quite a list.”

  “He’s a complicated man, Inspector. I’m not defending him, but he also got a medal for bravery in battle, risking life and limb to rescue two wounded comrades trapped in the line of fire. Differ
ent, you see. Reckless courage, in some situations, but also reckless in other ways.”

  “You could be right there, Mrs. Braithwaite. But, in the light of what’s been going on in Ellbeck, all this information is very important and we could have done with knowing it before now.”

  Cathy was reeling after what she’d just heard and she had a load of questions to ask her mother when the police had gone. She knew what blackmail was, or she had a vague idea. But, what was extortion? The envelope flashed into her mind. Should she say something? Maybe not for the moment.

  “Inspector, I don’t think my husband could have had anything to do with Mrs. Butler’s death. Why on earth would he? He wasn’t left anything in her will like some of the other employees were. He hadn’t been there all that long, and he was fairly casual like. As for the letters, I’d be more than surprised…not his style at all. I barely got a line once a month from him when he was overseas. He’s not a letter-writer, Inspector.”

  “But, you’re aware that there have been these letters going around.”

  Her mother nodded and then looked uneasy.

  “But, you haven’t had one?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe that could be seen as a bit strange in itself.”

  Hannah didn’t rise to that one. “Well from what I’ve heard Inspector, it seems more the gentlefolk round about that have had the nasty letters. Maybe the likes of me and my family aren’t worth anything to anybody, or maybe we don’t have as much to lose.”

  So far, the sergeant hadn’t said anything, now he dared to speak, “So, have you no idea where your husband went when he left…yesterday, wasn’t it, you said?”

  “No, we had very short notice indeed that he was going. He came back and instantly started packing in a hurry. He said that if anyone came looking, I was to say that he had gone down south in search of a job.”

  “He got the train?” The inspector spoke again.

  “As far as I know, he gave me that impression and he left here about half after six in the evening, yesterday. He said he was walking to the station.”

  “Twenty minutes’ walk at least…train down south, right, lad, get down to it,” the inspector had moved on, it seemed. He stood, the sergeant hurriedly mirroring his movement, “The minute you hear anything, Missus…I don’t need to tell you how important it is that you let us know.”

  Hannah nodded, “I’m not expecting to hear anything any time soon, like I say, he isn’t the best to keep in touch, but yes, if I hear anything, I’ll be in touch.”

  Cathy couldn’t wait until the policeman left to speak, but her mother put her hand on her arm, and shook her head. That was unusual in itself, her mother touching her like that.

  “Cathy, I know you have a hundred and one questions to ask, but not now, love, please not now. It’s all too much.” Her voice shook and her mouth began to tremble. Cathy couldn’t bear to see it. “Don’t worry, mam. It’ll keep. Can I get you anything? More tea?”

  Her mother seemed to make a big effort and smiled. “No, pet, I’ve had enough tea to sink a ship. Tell you what. Pour us both a glass of my damson wine. Mind you make it two good big glasses.”

  * * *

  “So, do you feel like coming over? A walk? Bit of a picnic? Some supper afterwards…your aunt too, if she’d like.”

  “I’ll ask, but I doubt it. She’s been encouraging me to see people, go out and about. In fact, I’ve tried to get hold of Julia but she hasn’t been answering her telephone. I’ve left a couple of messages with her housemaid. It’s a bit strange that she hasn’t got back to me, but she’s probably busy, what with the children’s half-term coming up. Anyway, I’m gabbling on. The answer to your question is, yes, I’d love a walk. I need to call in at…at home for my walking shoes and I’ll be with you, about three. Is that all right, Henry?”

  “Perfect, see you then, and wrap up. It’s an unpredictable time of the year, autumn, sunny one minute and a storm the next.” Henry answered.

  Edith’s heart was lighter than it had for a long time, when she put down the phone. Again, she tried to avoid reading too much into the feeling, but maybe learning to live for the moment was part of the cure. Perhaps just enjoying the good times when they came along. The idea of going for a walk with Henry Wilkes, going to supper with him felt good and normal—even though it wasn’t something she’d ever done before.

  It was strictly as pals though. That went without saying. Never, ever again was she going to get obsessed with any man. She had steered clear for several years and that’s exactly what she intended to do in the future. Whatever Dr. Uxbridge’s theories about the distant past were, it was a relationship with a man that brought her to a breakdown. Even if she looked upon Henry Wilkes in that way, which she did not, she was never going to risk any romantic entanglements again.

  “That sounds like a lovely afternoon out, dear. But no, not for me—you young people enjoy yourselves. The moors should be lovely, though unfortunately you’ll have missed the blooming of that wonderful heather.”

  Edith smiled at the “young people,” but to her aunt they probably were…well, younger, anyway.

  Henry called at quarter to three, the following day. Aunt Alicia had driven Edith down to the village to call home for her walking boots and warm trousers and jacket. She’d been glad Archie wasn’t in—he’d gone into Harrogate for the day. He had come round to Aunt Alicia’s on the Friday evening.

  “Splendid idea, fresh air, you can’t beat it. That is exactly what you need, old girl. Blow the cobwebs away and get you back on your feet.”

  “Lovely mix of metaphors there, Archie. So, you’re a believer in the stoical, cold bath, fresh air, and exercise school of medicine, then?” Edith hated the caustic tone in her voice and laughed, “I daresay you have a point. Maybe they do know what they are talking about, all those Teutonic types with the belief in healthy minds in healthy bodies. The strange thing was that it did work, though not at first. At first, the slight uphill trudge was tiresome and hard going and Edith’s mood was made worse by the realisation of how unfit she had become. It was the last thing she needed to feel, and she was angry with herself for being so irritable and ungracious.

  She tried to keep it to herself, which was easy enough, as she had no breath left to speak. She grew very warm and this added to her discomfort. She was determined to persevere, to prove something.

  Eventually, Henry said, “Do you feel like a stop? I’ve brought a bit of refreshment—nothing very fancy. Lizzie is off for the weekend, so I’ve done it myself, I’m afraid.”

  They found a sheltered spot under an overhanging rock and sat on their coats. Henry produced a roughly packed lunch of cheese and pickle sandwiches, cake, and a couple of apples. Even better, he had brought a thermos and poured them both out some tea.

  “I think that is a strong contestant for the best cup of tea I’ve ever had in my life.

  And there are a few in the competition.”

  “You seem an awful lot better, Edith,” said Henry.

  At that moment, she did feel better, too.

  When Edith took her boots off and sat down in the armchair as Henry set a match to the fire, the tiredness she felt was of a different ilk to the weariness she’d felt for the previous weeks, even months. This was a pleasant drowsiness. That other had been a bone-weary ennui that had robbed her of her essence, making her a shadow of the woman she’d previously been. The company—-Henry was a restful and undemanding companion—was part of it, but it had also been the fresh air and the walking. The exhaustion and boredom had eventually given way to peace and a sense of achievement.

  “Shall we have our supper on a tray?” asked Henry.

  Lizzie had left a pan of stew and all he’d had to do was heat it up and butter some bread. “Sounds the perfect job,” said Edith. “But, I should go out there with you and lend a hand instead of lazing in here.” She was just being polite. In fact, lazing by the fire was exactly what she felt like doing.

  �
�No, stay where you are. I’m perfectly capable of buttering a few slices of bread and shoving a bit of warmed-up stew into two bowls.”

  Edith smiled. She could get to like this. Not seriously, not in a relationship way, or anything, but in a friendship way. Then she remembered Julia with a twinge of worry. Tomorrow, before going back to St Bride’s she was going to have to track down her friend.

  There was a loud hammering on the door and she almost jumped out of her skin, panic burgeoning. So, her sense of relaxation was very tenuous indeed, it seemed. She’d instantly assumed the caller had something to do with her.

  She stood up and went to fetch Henry from the kitchen, though there was no way he could have not heard the noise. Edith couldn’t help herself going to stand by Henry as he opened the door. That a slightly muddy and dishevelled woman standing alongside the vicar at the door might look odd didn’t occur to her. Nor did it dawn on her that, as Henry was the local vicar, it was likely the call had nothing at all to do with her.

  They had drawn the curtains in the sitting room against the darkening night and had been concentrating on the fire and food with the smug feeling of entitlement that followed a good bout of exercise. So, they hadn’t realised it had begun to rain. Not torrential rain, but cold, shivery rain that chilled you to the bone and the woman standing on the doorstep looked both cold and distraught.

  Edith strained to make her out for an instant and then saw it was Miss Sowerby, the quieter, less colourful of the sisters. The one who, according to Archie, had taken herself off a couple of days ago.

  “Much ado about nothing, I daresay,” Archie had passed it off with a laugh. “Pair of old maids living together, working together, bound to go at it like hammer and tongs sometimes, stands to reason.”

  Edith hadn’t taken a lot of notice of it, accepting that what Archie said was probably true, even though she didn’t much like the way he put it.

  “Mr. Wilkes, oh, Mr. Wilkes. May I come in and talk to you…I’m in such trouble and I’ve behaved so badly. Help me, oh, please help me.”