Treated as Murder

by Noreen Wainwright

  “Oh, I don’t know, Auntie Alicia. I think you are taking it too much to heart. That is the way they question, their method. To hear Archie, they asked him the same things, with maybe a slight variation, time after time—that was what infuriated him, he didn’t feel that the questioning was serving any useful purpose at all apart from them letting him know that he wasn’t trusted. You know Archie, doesn’t suffer that sort of thing…I don’t suppose he made things any easier for himself.”

  Aunt Alicia put her cup down and went to lift the teapot to pour them out another cup. Edith stopped herself from intervening, recognising that it was important for Aunt Alicia to feel in control in her own home.

  Actually, it must be quite horrible for her, having a woman who was less than congenial, foisted upon her and then feeling she should have been more observant. It made her angry at the police for making her aunt feel like this and at Henry Wilkes for bringing the woman here in the first place.

  “I told them that as far as I knew Esther had gone to Brighton. That’s what she told me. A visit to Brighton to an old school friend who kept an antiques shop with her husband, a last bit of sea air before the winter, that’s what she said. I had no reason at all to doubt her word. I told the inspector so. I didn’t have an address or telephone number for the friend—well, why on earth would I? But somehow, I was made to feel that was somehow remiss of me. They spent an age in her room, took a bag of things away with them. I tried to object, but they just said they would give me a receipt, that it could be important evidence.”

  Edith decided eventually to stay the night and rang Archie with a brief explanation.

  “Bloody officious man,” was Archie’s comment when she tried to explain to him about Aunt Alicia’s visit from the police.

  * * *

  Giles sat across the table from Julia. Beatrice was in bed. To Julia’s relief, she seemed oblivious to what was going on between her parents. Knowing Beatrice, though, she may well be choosing to ignore her mother’s comings and goings. For now, though it certainly made things easier. Giles, though, wasn’t making things easy for her. He had an impatient look on his face, and a rigid, don’t touch me, posture.

  Julia was conscious that it was one thing being calm and resolved when walking across the moors with Edie. It was different and an awful lot more difficult when face-to-face with an intractable Giles. A part of her wanted to shout at him that none of this was her fault. This situation was not of her making. But she’d solemnly promised herself that she wasn’t going to argue with him. She had heard or read that as soon as you became angry, you’ve lost the argument, and this was certainly the case when you were dealing with Giles.

  “Giles,” she said, determined to keep her tone steady. “Something needs to be resolved. Well, you know that.”

  He said nothing.

  Julia wished the beat of her heart would slow, and that this sick feeling would go.

  “Help me out, a bit here, Giles. I’m trying to resolve things in some way. But, I can’t do it on my own. Do you even want me to stay?”

  He shrugged his shoulders “You’ll have to please yourself about that.”

  The man was being impossible. What was he trying to do to her? She struggled to keep her equilibrium. A lot depended on it, so she succeeded for now in fighting down the hurt and rage. “Are you prepared to give up this Amanda? I can’t be expected to put up with that, Giles, not that humiliation.”

  She thought a flicker of compassion, or regret crossed his face. Maybe it was wishful thinking. But there had been at least a flicker on the surface of his composure, and she didn’t think it was just at the prospect of losing his lady-friend. For the first time since she came into the house, she felt a flicker of hope.

  “I’ll talk to her,” he said.

  Julia suddenly felt very tired, the last few days, the accident and the strain of this conversation…it was all catching up with her. “I’m going to look for something to do, something outside the house, I mean. The children are growing up, the boys away at school. Even Bea doesn’t need me so much anymore.” She expected objections.

  “You’re not trained for anything,” was all he said.

  That’s not quite the case. All that nursing experience must count for quite a lot. But she chose not to mention this. “The charitable organisations are always looking for volunteers,” she said, not quite sure this was true. But she was freefalling now anyway. She had no idea what had made her come out with the statement she was going to do something outside the home. In fact, it was only as she was saying the words that she realised she meant them, that it had become important to her.

  Chapter 23

  “I thought you’d gone ‘ome, Sergeant.”

  “I was going, sir, but there’s someone here to see you.”

  Brown’s voice was low and urgent. Greene sighed and pushed the paperwork away across the desk, until he had to moderate its movement a bit to stop it falling off the other side. This had better be worth staying on for. He had had a long and fruitless day, and for once he was actually looking forward to getting home, if only for the change of scenery.

  “It’s Mr. Arbuthnot, sir, says it’s important and that he wants to speak to you, in private.”

  “Not three sheets to the wind, is he?” Greene hoped not, this was the most promising thing he’d heard for a while and it was better than the frustrating search for two fairly unremarkable people, who may have gone anywhere in the country and who may or may not be together. “Wheel him in, Sergeant and then be off with you before I change my mind and keep you here to help me with the report writing.”

  Brown felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. He was curious as to what the old man might have to say, but he had also earmarked a couple of pints and a few games of darts in the Wheatsheaf Inn, which was in a village seven miles away from his home. He was beginning to see the Inspectors’ point about socialising in The Dalesman. He wanted to relax and fit in on his night out, not stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Thank you for seeing me and I’m sorry for coming so late in the day. While I’m in the way of apologising, may I also offer my thanks for bringing me home from the local hostelry that night. My wife told me you were very kind. Regretfully, I can’t remember a great lot about it. Rest assured it won’t happen again.”

  Greene accepted the apology and passed off the incident as nothing much, but as he cast an eye over Arbuthnot he could see something had changed. Maybe the old duffer was going to swear off the sauce. Stranger things had happened—probably.

  “Anyway, that’s not the main reason I’ve come to see you and at a time where I hoped I would not attract too much attention. I don’t want to embarrass my wife any further. I want to tell you a story, Inspector, one that has its seeds a long time in the past and one that most definitely doesn’t reflect well on me.”

  Now, Greene was all ears and sat back in his seat opposite the chair he’d offered Arbuthnot. Who would have thought it? Talk about the idle rich. What debauchery and hypocrisy. Still at least some effort had been made to help the girl; she hadn’t quite been cast out into the snow in the manner of a Victorian novel.

  “My wife got one of those disgusting letters, but you know about that. What you don’t know though, Inspector, is that I was approached too, by someone who knew the whole story and demanded money.”

  “What did you do about that?” Greene asked.

  Arbuthnot looked across the desk at him. “I paid,” he said.

  * * *

  Cathy sat on the other side of the kitchen range from her mother. John was still out with some lads from the village, and probably up to no good, his mother had proclaimed. But, she had said it in a light-hearted way, as if she knew in her heart and soul that John wouldn’t do anything wrong.

  It was incredible they were sitting here peacefully, in the circumstances. There had still been no account of her father and the police were taking his disappearance very seriously. There seemed to be a hint, too tha
t he had taken off with that pale-faced woman, who’d once worked with him at Mrs. Butler’s and who now was a companion to the doctor’s aunt. Well, that’s ludicrous. She loved expressive words like ludicrous. She smiled to herself and at that moment, her mother, who was intent on turning the heel of a grey school sock for John glanced at her.

  “What are you smiling to yourself about, Cathy? The last time I looked, you had a long face on you, like the whole world had gone wrong. Then again, that’s being young, one extreme to the other, eh?”

  It was said kindly and where once Cathy might have jumped down her throat, she didn’t now. She also was a bit embarrassed about smiling. Her father was missing and it looked as though he was in trouble with the police. “I shouldn’t be smiling, I suppose, what with dad still being missing. But, I was just thinking how stupid it was of the police to think that he might have run off with that Esther woman.”

  Her mother didn’t smile though. “You’re probably right and I certainly hope you are, but I think I’ve got to the age where not much surprises me anymore.”

  Cathy frowned—surely not.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, love. Are things better down in the shop? I’m not gossiping but I suppose I’m bound to be interested, aren’t I. Poor old Miss Prudence, taking ‘erself off, like that.”

  This wasn’t so easy to answer. “I suppose they are better…sort of. Miss Prudence hasn’t been in the shop much, she’s in the kitchen a lot, baking, cleaning. Miss Marjorie seems to go back to check on her every five minutes and she’s on edge, Miss Marjorie, I mean. She told me today it was like a breath of fresh air having me in the place. And she gave me a book by Wilkie Collins, a nice bound copy, to thank me for helping her on the morning Miss Prudence had gone missing. She was on about bringing you flowers, too. All that is very nice, but in some ways I would prefer it all to go back to normal.”

  “I know what you mean, lass. Normal is what we all want. I suppose it’s getting back to normal too, back at the doctor’s. They both look much better. I’m going in a bit later tomorrow. Miss Horton suggested it. I think she’s planning to do something in the morning with her friend, Mrs. Etherington. Then she wants me to help her do out the attic. Absolutely full of stuff it is. A big job, but maybe the best medicine for us both right now.”

  * * *

  Edith had a sense she wasn’t herself as she drove up the avenue leading to St. Bride’s. She had read of an out-of-body experience and this was probably the closest she would come to that. It was good, in some ways. Better than a dry mouthed, palpitating heart, a full panic attack. It was bound to come though, being back in the confines of this place was bound to hit her at some time.

  It didn’t come though, that rush of panic. As soon as she was sitting at an angle from Dr. Uxbridge, looking at his reassuring face, the opposite happened. Her heart rate slowed and she actually felt safe—imagine, feeling safe within the walls of this place.

  “It doesn’t feel too bad being back here, albeit not back on the ward. I was dreading it.” All her holding back was gone. She found she could talk to Dr. Uxbridge as a wise friend, though she knew that wasn’t what he was. He would be looking at her, assessing her reactions, gauging how she was doing, now that she was out there in the world, on her own wobbly feet.

  “Not as bad as you feared then, coming back here?”

  “No, not at all. I was dreading it. But, for some reason it isn’t at all the same, not at all like when I was a patient in here.”

  “How have you found it, being out, back at home?”

  “Actually, I spent last night at my aunt’s. She was upset by a visit from the police. They are looking for her companion, who seems to have disappeared in strange circumstances. So, I suppose I was back in the comforting role last night.”

  “A role you feel comfortable with?”

  Edith looked at him, expecting more, but that was clearly all he was going to say. “I think so, yes.”

  She tried to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. She had a lot of faith in Dr. Uxbridge, but she hoped he wasn’t going to write her off as another unfulfilled woman—another of those a newspaper article had referred to as “surplus women.” Her hackles rose at the idea.

  But, Dr. Uxbridge was asking her to describe what she’d been doing since her discharge. She was relieved to see he was concentrating on today rather than her childhood and all that time that was far better left where it was, in the past.

  The war had been her escape. That traitorous thought came from nowhere to intrude on her and she flushed, hot with that horrible intimation of panic, the crawling, hair-on-end feeling in her skin. Her heart pounded loudly and she tried desperately to distract herself and to hide it from the psychiatrist.

  Sweat broke out on her top lip as she focused on his narrow, good quality blue tie with the little pattern on it. She deliberately slowed her voice down and focused on the words coming out of her mouth. “Since my brother learned that my relationship with Matthew was not a figment of my imagination, we are getting on better. Dr. Uxbridge looked satisfied and nodded. Thank God, he hadn’t noticed the fact she was having an acute attack of nerves, there in front of his eyes.

  “I’ve been walking, spent time with my friend, and started a big clear out with my housekeeper, so it’s been very busy, but that’s good, isn’t it?”

  “It is good, yes. But be careful of taking on too much. It happens sometimes, in recovery. Patients feel back to normal and in an effort to put it all behind them, they busy themselves almost too much. Getting back to normal, daily life is good, but, having quiet time, to reflect is also part of that process. Do you understand?”

  Edith nodded. She’d stopped taking it all, focused now on what had happened to her. The intruding thought about the war changing her life and not all for the worse, and how it had brought on that horrible panic. If she’d been on her own, she would have sunk her head into her hands and wondered if she was ever truly going to be back to the woman she’d been before all this had happened.

  * * *

  She felt calm, all sorrow and all passion spent. She didn’t regret the years since she had attempted to do away with herself; not even the years being locked away in a mental institution. Only one thing was bothering her and that was the cold. She’d never liked to be cold. That probably came from childhood where the only sympathy you’d get if you complained of being freezing, or about your chilblains was to be told to put on another jumper.

  This was different, completely different from that other time. There was no despair, this time. There was a feeling of having come round a full circle from that day all those years ago, back to this point again. This time she wasn’t doing it because she couldn’t face what was happening in her life. This time she was doing it because it was the right thing to do, the natural conclusion.

  This time there was no gnawing pain that made her bend double with the strength of it. Even her grief had subsided and anyway, she would see him again soon. She was sure of that. This time, no hands would pull her out back into the world.

  She was ready to leave it and somehow she knew God would understand. This world was no longer the right place for her to be. There were things that had brought her a bit of solace, but they were no longer possible and they would no longer work anyway—she now saw them for the petty, worthless distraction they were. As for the man—well, that had been a pipe dream too. She could smile about that, at how stupid she had been and how little he mattered in the great scheme of things.

  There was a sheltered space under a rock, not quite a cave. She put the note into a plastic bag; she laid her shoes and her coat on top and looked around her at the deserted beach. It was well away from the main strip of shingle. Apart from early morning dog-walkers, it was a safe enough bet, at this time of day, at this time of year she would be unobserved. She shut her eyes tight and whispered. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord. My soul to keep…”

  She walked steadily into the sea.

>   Chapter 24

  “A body washed up, not far from Brighton—middle-aged to elderly female. Note, coat, and shoes left in a small cove, clear as day, meant to be found. No question, it’s the Kirk woman and no question she did it deliberately. Exactly the connection with our business here, and me laddo, Braithwaite, we’ve yet to find out. While, I’m at it, Arbuthnot, last night….he’s being blackmailed over an affair he had years ago which resulted in a son. By the way I hope it isn’t the signs of a hangover I’m seeing?”

  Oh ‘eck this is too much. He’d just come through the door to have all this fired at him, from the boss who was looking chipper, considering the doom and gloom he was imparting. But, that was Greene, all out. Truth to tell, Brown was fighting one of the worst hangovers he’d had for a long time. Curse that Parson’s real ale, it had tasted yeasty and full of hops and was slightly warm, slipping down the throat with dangerous ease. He felt as rough as the inside of a tramp’s boot, this morning.

  “Bacon, sausage and a nice bit of fried bread?” his mother had asked him this morning, just before plonking the plate down before him. In the knowledge it would likely kill or cure him, he’d ploughed through it and it made him feel better, at least for a while, but he was aware it might yet clash badly with last night’s ale.

  “We’re off to Brighton, then. Bring your bucket and spade. We’ll collect the doctor. Let him identify the poor old girl as all inquiries about living kin have led us nowhere.

  I wonder what Horton will make of that? They hadn’t actually gone out of their way to court his friendship and cooperation.