by Celina Grace
I poured us both a generous amount of whiskey and made my way back to the drawing room. I proffered a glass to Joe.
“Gosh, thanks. You’re being awfully – I mean, I could understand if you didn’t want to speak to me at all—“
“Joe,” I said as kindly as possible. “Drink your drink.”
He did so, putting the half empty glass back down with a gasp. There was a short moment of silence.
“I’ll never forget the first time Bridge spoke to me,” said Joe, eventually. “I’d done something really stupid and he stepped in and helped me.”
“What do you mean?”
Joe looked down at his hands. “Me and my mate – we’d swapped tags. Stupid really, but we didn’t think.”
“Swapped tags?” I asked, mystified.
“Identity tags. Lads do it sometimes. For luck, you know? Caused a devil of a row though, when my sergeant found out. I didn’t think of the consequences, you know, if you were wearing someone else’s tags and you – you didn’t make it back.”
“No, I suppose so,” I agreed. I shifted position in my chair. “So what did Sidney say?”
Joe smiled. “My sergeant was bawling me out – I mean, really shouting – and I was just young then, and having to deal with the mud and the war and the killing—“ He stopped for a moment and took another gulp of whisky. “I was almost crying. And then Bridge stepped up and said, quite quietly, ‘I’m sure he’s sorry and he won’t do it again. Will you, lad?’” He paused again, took another drink and went on. “It wasn’t so much what he said but the way he said it. Took the wind out of my sergeant’s sails completely.”
I was silent, thinking. I remembered, oh so well, that quiet assurance that Sidney had had. For a moment, I missed him so intently that I could scarcely catch my breath. I leant forward, pressing my forehead into my free hand.
“Mrs. Holt?” Joe sounded anxious. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s all right,” I managed, after a moment. “Yes, it’s upsetting but – I’m glad to hear it. Really, Joe, I am. And please, call me Vivian.”
“Yes, sorry. Vivian.” It was hard to see in the dim lamplight but I thought he might be blushing. “He talked about you all the time. I used to feel like I almost knew you. That was why I wanted to come and see you, afterwards.”
“I’m glad you did.” I smiled at him. A silence fell between us but it didn’t feel awkward. Joe’s eyes went to the photograph on the mantelpiece. I followed his gaze.
“Our wedding day,” I remarked. “The start of our honeymoon, really. We got married in London and took the train down to Dover the same afternoon. Seems like a long time ago, now. I still remember it, though, slipping on the pebbles and looking out at the sun on the water…”
My voice trailed off. With my eyes fixed on the photograph, I could feel my mind turning over, almost jolting awake as everything fell into place and the final connections were made.
“Oh, my God.”
Joe looked startled. “Mrs. Holt – sorry, Vivian? Are you all right?”
I could feel my heart thudding, as strongly as if a small muscular fist was punching away at the inside of my rib cage.
“My God,” I whispered. “So, that’s it…”
“Vivian? Can I help?”
I managed to drag myself back to reality. “I’m so sorry, Joe, but I’ve got a bit of a headache. It’s been quite an exhausting day. Would you mind…?”
He took his cue. “Of course. Of course. You must be very tired. I’ll see myself out.”
“No, don’t be silly. It’s just that I’d like to get some rest now.”
“Of course.” He looked around for a moment and then handed me his empty glass. “Thanks so much for the drink and for – and for listening to me.”
“Joe, it’s me who should be thanking you.” Because I felt a bit bad about turfing him out under false pretences, and because he’d been so kind when I’d been so initially unwelcoming, I said impulsively, “Would you like to come to supper sometime? Perhaps next week?”
“Really?” He looked delighted. “I’d love to.”
“Let’s say next Friday, then.”
We shook hands cordially on the doorstep and he turned away to the night. He looked back at the front gate and raised his hand. I waved back and then shut the door gently, bolting it.
I stood there for a moment in the hallway, finally able to think. I clutched my head, which felt as if it were fizzing like a glass of champagne. Was I right in what I was thinking? Was I?
Part of me wanted to go running up to the manor there and then, and I was even reaching for my raincoat before sanity prevailed. I hung my coat slowly back on the hook. I need to do a bit more digging before I put any plan of action into place. I forced myself to make myself a mug of hot milk and then I forced myself to walk upstairs to the bedroom.
You can’t do anything tonight. Go to sleep. The real work starts tomorrow.
The next morning had me waiting outside the library for it to open, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. It was another grey day, the sky filled with ominous looking dark clouds. Eventually, Mrs, Peters, the librarian, walked slowly up to the front door and looked surprised to see me.
“Good morning, Mrs. Holt. You look as though you’ve been waiting a while. We open late on Thursdays, I’m afraid.”
“That’s quite all right,” I said, concealing my impatience as best I could. “I just have to look something up and I don’t have the correct reference book at home.”
“Could I help you with that?” Mrs. Peters asked, as she unlocked the library front door.
I smiled and shook my head. “It’ll be the work of a moment, Mrs. Peters, so thank you but I’ll be fine.”
I almost ran to the reference section when the door was fully open and ran my finger along the spines of the books until I came to the one I wanted. Who’s Who. I opened it at the correct entry and read, holding my breath. What I read confirmed one of my suspicions, but there were still so many more questions… Still, it was a start. I closed the book slowly and looked across the library room, seeing nothing, thinking hard. What should I do now?
Why did I not go straight to the police? All right, I had no specific evidence, but they’d listened to my suspicions once before. And now Rose had died, they knew they were dealing with a murderer. I can’t explain why I didn’t go straight to Inspector Clegg. I can only think that I perhaps went a little mad.
I rode my bicycle up the drive of the manor, just as I had the first time. As I reached the front steps, the lowering black clouds overhead began to let the first heavy drops of rain fall and soon water was streaming down, forming miniature rivers that flowed down the steps and puddled by the fountain.
I was already wearing my uniform and I walked quickly to the sluice by Ballroom Ward to get what I needed. The manor seemed oddly quiet for a change, although peeking through the door of Ballroom Ward, I could see that it was much as it normally was. The sight of the new soldier in Norman’s old bed still gave me a stab of pain, but I gritted my teeth and strode onwards, even more determined to go through with my plan.
The room I was looking for was on the other side of the manor, the same side as the library. I had taken a jug of water from the sluice room and moved gradually through the rooms I encountered, pretending to top up any flower vases I came across. The room that I was targeting had its door shut. I moved casually towards it and, taking a quick look around to see if anyone was watching me, gently tested the handle. It opened.
Here we go then; it was now or never. I knocked gently at the door. If there was anyone there, I was just going to pretend that I had come to check their flower vase. No one answered. I knocked again, listened and then carefully opened the door and slipped in.
It was a dim room, large and square, much as I remembered it from the only time before that I’d been there. Puzzled as to why it was so dark, I looked across to the one small window and realised that, just lik
e the library, the glass there was criss-crossed with ivy.
My heart was thumping, although I hadn’t actually done anything wrong yet. I moved quickly to the desk, where there was indeed a small vase of flowers. I set the water jug down beside it and turned my attention to the drawers. I tugged at the first one and it didn’t move. Locked, of course. Why had I expected otherwise? I tried the others, which were as firmly locked as the first. Baulked, I stood for a moment, looking about me and chewing my lip. There was a cupboard over on the far wall which looked as though it might contain paperwork. I took a quick look at the papers on top of the desk but they all appeared to be medical records and associated paperwork. I crouched down to look more closely at the desk drawers. Was it going to be possible to force the lock without making too much of a mess?
After a moment, I put my hands to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose. I think at that moment, the mad impulse that had carried me all the way here suddenly died. What on Earth was I doing? What was I hoping to find or to achieve? I made a noise of impatience and pushed myself upright, just as the door to the office opened and someone came into the room.
I froze, staring across the room at Doctor Clift, who was standing in the doorway and looking surprised to see me. Even while my mind was screaming at me to pick up the jug of water, to look as if I was doing something legitimate, I remained frozen to the spot, my eyes wide for a moment of molten time.
“Mrs. Holt,” said Doctor Clift, frowning a little. “What can I do for you?”
I managed to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “I was just – I was just – just—“ I stammered, turning, too late, to the water jug. I knocked it over as I reached for it and water flooded over the side of the desk like a waterfall.
Doctor Clift clicked his tongue in exasperation and began to walk forward.
“Don’t worry,” I said desperately and shrilly. I began to scurry towards the door. “I’ll fetch a cloth and have that cleaned up in no time.”
I was almost level with the doctor when he reached a long arm out and pushed the door shut. Then he stepped back to stand in front of it, looking at me with his arms folded across his chest.
“What were you doing, Mrs. Holt?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing,” I said, too quickly. I could feel the blood burning my cheeks. “I wasn’t – I was just—“
“You were looking for something,” said Doctor Clift, just as quietly. “Weren’t you?”
I felt something I hadn’t expected to feel – shame. I’d been so fired up with my secret mission, with the knowledge that was burning a hole through my head and my heart, that I hadn’t stopped to think about what it might look like to someone else.
“No, I wasn’t,” I blurted. I took a tiny step forward, hoping he would relent and open the door for me. He didn’t move.
We stood and stared at one another across the dark room. Outside I could hear the rain pattering steadily down through the ivy leaves that crossed the window.
I had the oddest sensation then. For a moment, I felt both Norman and Sidney, as if they were standing beside me, one on each side, their shoulders touching mine. As if guarding me. I could almost feel the warmth of their bodies, as if they were really there. I even turned my head a little, just to see out of the corner of my eye. Of course, there was no one there. But that momentary feeling of having them there – of having their protection – made me bold.
I took a deep breath. “What’s your name, Doctor Clift?” I asked.
Doctor Clift frowned. “Andrew,” he said, after a moment.
I felt a leap of something inside – he’d just confirmed what I’d read this morning, in Who’s Who.
“Is it?” I asked. We were still staring at each other, mesmerised as lovers.
“You don’t believe that I know my own name?”
“Oh, I think you know it,” I said. “But it’s not the one you just gave me.”
“What are you talking about?” Doctor Clift’s tone was just the right side of bored and irritated, but there was something... a tiny thread of something underneath it all that made me think I was on the right track.
“I don’t think Andrew Clift is your real name,” I went on. “How about Percy Willett?”
Even in the dim light of the shaded room, I could see a flash of some emotion cross his face. I clenched my fist in triumph.
“I don’t know what on Earth you’re talking about,” said Doctor Clift. “Clearly the events of the last few days have been more of a strain than I’d imagined. You’re confused, Mrs. Holt. Don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “I may not have a medical degree, but I know the truth. You don’t have a medical degree either, do you, doctor?”
“What are you talking about?”
I took another deep breath. “There were three young men who went to war in 1914. Norman Winter, Andrew ‘Chalky’ Clift, and Percy Willett. One day, all three were injured by a shell exploding. Andrew was killed and Norman and Percy were injured.”
Doctor Clift didn’t say anything. He continued to stare at me as I continued to talk.
I went on. “Andrew and Percy had swapped identity tags that day. For luck. They hadn’t told anyone. So when Percy woke up in hospital, the medical crew thought he was Andrew. Did they call you Andrew? Did you think about the great wealth that you were due to inherit? That Andrew was the last of an old family and that there was no one left to recognise that you were, in fact, an imposter? No one, apart from Norman Winter, who you made sure never set eyes on you again after the war… until two weeks ago, when you visited his ward and he recognised you. He recognised the name of his dead companion and perhaps he thought it was an odd coincidence – and then he actually saw you and realised who you were. And you couldn’t be exposed as a fraud and an imposter, after all these years, could you? So, you killed him.”
There was a long silence. I repeated my last sentence softly. “You killed him.”
There was another period of silence. In it, I could hear the soft roar of the rain outside.
Doctor Clift still hadn’t spoken. His silence was beginning to unnerve me but I was on a roll, now. I couldn’t stop.
“You gave Norman an overdose of morphia,” I said. “It would have been so easy to do – you’re a doctor, or at least you’re pretending to be one. No one would have noticed you doing it or, if they had, they wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Did Rose see you give Norman the morphia, Percy?” His face flickered again at the sound of that name. “Did she see you doing something suspicious – taking the photograph from Norman’s locker, perhaps? She saw something, anyway, and she blackmailed you. That was an expensive coat she was wearing when she died. Did she ask you for a little too much or could you just not risk her talking—“
Doctor Clift moved so fast he was a blur. In a second, his hands were around my throat and I was pressed back against the wall, his face inches from mine. I couldn’t even scream, it was so quick. His bulging eyes were inches from my own.
“What do you know about it?” he hissed. I scrabbled uselessly at the hands that were fastened, strong as an iron band, around my throat. I could feel the relentless pressure of his fingers growing stronger and stronger as he spat his words into my face. “What do you know about it? Do you think you can send young men off to be killers and expect them not to kill? I deserved that money. I earned it! That was my reward, that was what was due to me—“ He brought me forward a little and then slammed me back, cracking my head against the wall. His hands slipped, just a little and I gasped in a tiny mouthful of air before his fingers fastened back around my throat. Doctor Clift went on. “I couldn’t be Percy anymore, not after the war, I couldn’t… I couldn’t. It wasn’t just the money—“
I was weakening. Over the oceanic roar of the blood in my ears, I could hear my heartbeat begin to slow, to falter. Blackness was beginning to bloom at the edges of my vision. I tried once more to tear his hands away from my throat, but my fingers scr
abbled uselessly. I may as well have tried to move a circlet of stone. I was dying then. For a moment, I wasn’t scared. I would see Sidney again. I would see Norman again. I wouldn’t be alone.
Then, quite suddenly, they were there again at my shoulders, just as they had been before. I heard Sidney say something like, don’t you follow me, my girl. It’s not your time, yet. Don’t you dare. And then Norman said in my ear, clear as day over the rush of blood, what you waiting for, gel? Get your bloody knee up!
I gathered the last remaining scrap of strength and did as he said, as hard as I could. Dimly, I heard Doctor Clift cry out in pain and then, thank God – thank God – the pressure around my throat fell away and I gulped air into my burning lungs. I could barely see, just the dim shape of the doctor, hunched over and I thought, I must run, I must run. I couldn’t seem to get my legs to obey me. Doctor Clift looked up through streaming eyes and bared his teeth.
I held my hands out before me, uselessly, but in the next moment, there was another voice in the room, oh, thank heaven, a strong young voice. “Oh no you don’t.” Another shape was grappling with the doctor and then there was only the chaos of lots of voices and running feet and shouting.
My legs finally gave way beneath me. I slipped to the ground, my hands up to the ring of fire that encircled my throat. I felt quite calm now. The last thing I saw was the sparkle of emerging sunlight on the window pane across the room, turning the ivy leaves into translucent green jewels behind the drops of rain that had run like tears across the glass.
*
“Well, Mrs. Holt,” said Inspector Clegg. “How are you feeling now?”
“I’ll be fine,” I croaked. I rubbed my throat. “It hurts to talk.”
“I’m not surprised. Hopefully you won’t have to say much, but I do have some questions that must be answered. You’ll bear with me, I’m sure.”
Joe’s arm tightened around my shoulders. I leant my head against him, exhaustedly. “She’ll only answer if she’s able to,” I heard him say, quite sternly.
