He had chosen the words of his sermon carefully. It was the season of Lent, a sombre time in the church’s calendar, in any event. The hymn they had sung,
‘Forty days and forty nights
Thou wast fasting in the wild…’
seemed appropriate, telling of Jesus’ temptations in the wilderness. He spoke about the temptations of man, as he had planned to do before the terrible events of Thursday night; the temptations of the world, the flesh and the devil. But Luke was not a rabble-rousing, tub-thumping type of preacher, so he spoke quietly, with sincerity and directness, as he always tried to do. He could see from his position in the pulpit that there were a few women in the congregation who were moved to tears, as handkerchiefs were taken stealthily from pockets and bags to mop at brimming eyes. Walter was not in his line of vision, but Luke had no intention of haranguing the congregation with an appeal to repent of their sins. He had decided that the decision to confess, or not, must be Walter’s alone.
He prayed for the family and friends of Priscilla Meadows that they might, somehow, find comfort in the knowledge that others were thinking about them. He did not pray, as his Catholic brethren might have done, for the soul of Priscilla. It was his belief and the belief of his church that she was already in Paradise. But that was small comfort for those who loved her, he knew only too well.
After the final hymn he stood at the door to shake hands and bid farewell to all his flock. Walter, after changing out of his choir regalia, departed with a brief ‘Good morning.’ Luke had not expected anything different. There was nothing more that either of them could say.
When all the members of the congregation had departed Luke went into the vestry to take off the surplice and stole he always wore for services. One of his church wardens, Albert Carey, was just leaving, but the other one, Tom Allbright, was still there.
‘May I have a word with you, Luke?’ he asked. ‘There’s summat that I’m concerned about, summat that’s puzzling me, and I don’t rightly know what to do about it.’
‘Certainly, Tom,’ said Luke. ‘You know that anything you tell me will not go any further.’ He had already guessed that it might have something to do with the subject that was uppermost in all their minds.
‘Well, it’s about Walter Nixon,’ said Tom, as Luke had thought he would. ‘Him and me, we left at the same time the other night, after the choir practice, and we stood chatting for a while at the end of the path…and Priscilla was with us an’ all. She was a lively lass, Priscilla; we all liked her, especially the men. Now I don’t mean there was owt wrong about it, Luke. We just enjoyed her company, an’ she had that way with her of making you feel good about yerself, as though you mattered, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do, Tom,’ replied Luke. ‘I know just what you mean. Go on… What is it that you’re concerned about?’
‘Well, I couldn’t help but notice, like, that Walter seemed quite fond of her. But I know it was because they worked together on the farm, an’ he’d got to know her better than the rest of us did. Anyroad, like I said, we stood there chatting for a while, then I said cheerio to them an’ I went off home, out of the front gate. And Walter was still there, chatting to Priscilla…’ He paused, shaking his head bemusedly. ‘And now…well, he’s asked me if I’ll say that he left her at the same time as me, that she was on her own; if the police start asking questions, like… And I don’t know what to do, Luke, and that’s a fact.’
‘I see…’ said Luke. ‘And…have the police questioned you?’
‘No, not yet. But they’re sure to, aren’t they? We all thought as how it must’ve been that soldier she was seeing, but now they’ve let him go. Of course, I know it couldn’t’ve been Walter; the idea is just ridiculous. But I suppose he’s panicking, like, in case they get round to thinking that he was the last one to speak to her and they try to pin it on him. You know what the police are like; they’re determined to get a conviction.’
Luke hesitated. ‘They try to get to the truth,’ he said, ‘and if someone is innocent then they should have nothing to fear. A man – or a woman, of course – is innocent until he is proved guilty; that is the law of our land.’
‘Aye, that’s as may be,’ replied Tom. ‘But you know as well as I do that it doesn’t always work out like that. There must’ve been many miscarriages of justice in the past, fellows that have been hanged, even, when they’ve had nowt to do with it. Not that we’re likely to find out; the police keep that sort of knowledge to themselves. But Walter’s a mate, and for the sake of a white lie…’
‘It’s rather more than a white lie, Tom, if you are telling me you left him alone with Priscilla, and you tell the police something different. Tell me; what do you think happened?’
‘I reckon he walked along the path with her, to make sure she was safe. It’s dark down there between the trees; it was dark there even before we had the blackout. And then…well, I dunno. I suppose she must’ve met somebody, either somebody she knew or a stranger; we all knew she was a friendly lass. We thought it was her boyfriend, but it seeems he’s in the clear. It’s a problem, Luke, an’ it gets worse the more I think about it.’
‘What did you say to Walter?’
‘I said I’d have to think about it; that it was a serious matter to lie to the police. But he looked so bloody scared – pardon me language, Luke, in church an’ all, but it’s enough to make a saint swear, all this lot – he looked so scared that I more or less said, “Aye, all right then.”’
And none of us are saints, thought Luke; not Walter, not Tom, not Luke himself. ‘If you are asking me if I think it is permissible that you should lie, then I’m afraid I can’t give you that assurance, Tom,’ he said regretfully. ‘But you know that, don’t you?’
Tom nodded. ‘Aye, I reckon I do.’
‘All I can say is…just do as you feel you must; it is a matter for your conscience. It has to be your decision and no one else’s. But I think you have known that all along, haven’t you? You just needed someone to confide in; am I right?’
‘You’re right, Luke, as you always are.’
‘Not always, Tom. None of us are always right, nor do we always know what is the right thing to do… I want Walter to be innocent of this crime just as much as you do. He certainly seems to have got himself into a dreadful predicament.’ And that was no more or no less than the truth. It was an evasive answer, maybe, but it was true that he, Luke, did want Walter to be innocent. He was the only one, though, apart from Walter himself, who knew of the man’s guilt. Even Maisie did not know for certain. The burden of his knowledge was not getting any easier to bear, but bear it he knew he must. Otherwise it would mean he had to betray a trust, and be partly responsible for sending not a wicked, but a vulnerable and morally weak, man to the gallows.
‘I’m real sorry to have bothered you,’ said Tom. ‘I can tell by your face that you are deeply troubled, aren’t you, Luke?’
‘Yes…I am.’ Luke nodded. ‘There has never been anything like this before. I have had plenty of ups and downs in my ministry, but nothing has affected me the way that this has.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Come along, Tom; let’s go home. We both have happy homes to go to, and that is a comfort.’ They left the church together and walked along the path to the gate.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t say this,’ said Luke, ‘but I am relieved that I don’t have to face the ordeal of Priscilla’s funeral. That, I feel, would have been too much…’
‘Oh, I see. It’s going to be in her home town, is it? Leicester, wasn’t that where she lived?’
‘Yes, her parents live in Leicester. It’s a terrible tragedy for them to bear, but when the police release…the body, she will be going home to her family and friends… God rest her soul,’ Luke added.
‘Aye, God bless her,’ said Tom. ‘And whichever way you look at it, Luke, there’s nowt we can do – or not do – that’ll bring her back.’
‘That’s another lead that’s taken us nowhere,’ said Inspector Davies to his serge
ant, midway through the following week. ‘That Walter Nixon; it all pointed in his direction. But Mr Allbright swears blind he was with him, chatting to the lass, then they left her and went off together. He even said that he walked with Nixon as far as the back gate of the churchyard, because they were deep in conversation; talking about the anthems they were singing for Easter, he said, when I wanted to know what they were talking about that was so important. And then he saw Nixon go along the lane that leads to his farm. Mrs Nixon said her husband came in at more or less the same time as usual; happen a few minutes later, but that’s because he was talking to Mr Allbright. And he’s a church warden, is Tom Allbright, so I can’t see him lying.’
‘It doesn’t always figure, though, sir,’ said Sergeant Taylor. ‘They’re not bound to be speaking the truth, just because they’re church folk. It’s funny how many of ’em there seem to be involved with this case.’
‘That’s because she’d just been to choir practice and they were the last people to see her.’
‘Aye, an’ it were the men, weren’t it, who said what a nice lass she were; real friendly and suchlike. Walter Nixon’s name came up a few times, but they all spoke well of him, said he was more like a father to her because she worked on his farm.’
‘The women weren’t too sure about her, though, were they?’ remarked the inspector. ‘I reckon they were a bit jealous; a pretty young lass – a newcomer an’ all – getting all the attention. But none of them, neither, would say a wrong word about Nixon. And let’s face it, Mike, we’ve nowt much to go on, except that he knew her better than the others did, and he seemed a bit shaken up, but then I suppose he would… There’s no material evidence to link him to it. No finger prints, no blood; it’s not as though she was stabbed; there would have been more to go on if she had been. And she hadn’t been raped; there were no signs of sexual activity. She didn’t seem to have put up much of a fight neither; no scrapings under her finger nails…’
‘And no footprints neither; the ground was dry. If this was one o’ them murder mysteries we were reading, there’d be a nice little clue at the scene; a cufflink or a shirt button.’
The inspector nodded. ‘Aye, you’re right. But this isn’t Agatha Christie, and it seems that neither of us is Hercule Poirot. We’ll have to release the poor girl’s body now and let the family get on with what they have to do. And we’ll have to go on searching and questioning folk even though the trail’s gone cold.’
‘I can’t help thinking though, sir, like I said before, how much the church is involved in this little lot. It was the verger that found her, wasn’t it, and then the rector? All the folk concerned are church folk except for that boyfriend we had in, Jeff Beaumont. And who was it who gave him an alibi? None other than the rector’s wife.’
‘You’re not accusing her of lying, are you, Mike?’
‘No, of course not. She’s a lovely lady, is Mrs Fairchild. You only have to look at her to know that she’s sincere. No; I was only thinking that maybe the Lord looks after his own, or summat like that. I dunno; it’s a rum sort of how d’you do…’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Life at the rectory gradually returned to normal, although Maisie continued to brood and to look sad from time to time. The murder of the land girl had been a nine days’ wonder at the school; some of the children had known Priscilla, but a lot of them hadn’t.
Then it was the Easter holidays and the school broke up for almost two weeks. Maisie was able to spend more time with her mother at Tremaine House, and with her little brother and sister whose company she now enjoyed much more than she had when they were in Armley. Those days seemed a long long time ago. Bruce, also, was home from boarding school, and that was an added pleasure to Maisie.
She had to share his company, though, with Audrey and Doris. He seemed to enjoy being with the three girls although they were a few years younger than he was. He had lots of friends at school, but those boys, like him, had all gone home for the holidays; and being away at boarding school he had not had the chance to become acquainted with many of the boys in Middlebeck.
He suggested to the girls, as they chatted together one day on the green in front of the rectory, that they should all go on an ‘expedition’, as he called it, to the ruined castle on the hill. Doris, being a local girl, had visited it before, but Maisie and Audrey, although they had often looked at its grey towers from the rectory windows, had never ventured so far.
‘We’ll take a packed lunch and have a picnic,’ said Bruce, taking it upon himself to do the organising. ‘If you all bring sandwiches, I’ll ask Maisie’s mum if she will let us have some of her special ginger cake and rock buns. They’re scrumptious! She’s getting to be a dab hand at baking, Maisie, is your mother, with looking after all our land girls.’
Maisie smiled at him. She was pleased that her mother was happy and enjoying her job so much. She had told Maisie that she was happier than she had ever been in her life; since Maisie’s dad had died, that was, she had added. Lily certainly looked very fit and healthy, and younger, rather than older, since coming to live in Middlebeck. She looked just as young as some of the land girls she cared for.
‘And I’ll bring some lemonade and Tizer for us to drink,’ said Bruce. ‘I’ll carry that in my haversack, ’cause it’ll be a bit heavy for you girls. You don’t mind drinking out of the bottle, do you? Unless you want to bring a cup… Yes, perhaps that would be a better idea.’
‘Can Timothy come?’ asked Audrey. Since she had been told that the little boy was to be an adoptive member of the Fairchild family, as she was, she had become very protective of him.
‘Do you think he will be able to walk so far?’ asked Bruce. ‘It’s about four miles.’
‘Oh yes; I’m sure he will,’ said Audrey. ‘His leg doesn’t bother him now, and I’ll look after him. Anyway, he’s getting bigger now. He’s eight, and he’s not such a baby as he used to be.’
‘All right then,’ agreed Bruce. ‘It’ll mean there’s another boy to keep me company as well as all you girls. And Prince, of course. I can’t leave Prince behind.’
‘What about our Joanie and Jimmy then?’ asked Maisie, feeling just the teeniest bit jealous. Audrey had well and truly laid claim to Tim as her own little brother just recently. ‘Joanie’s started school, you know, now, and Jimmy’ll be going in September.’
‘Oh, I don’t really think they can come,’ replied Bruce. ‘Do you, honestly, Maisie? They would be too much of a responsibility,’ he added, in a very grown-up manner. Bruce, of course, was sixteen, which seemed to her to be terribly grown-up. The only other boy of that age that she knew at all well was Ted Nixon, Doris’s brother. He was sixteen too, but he seemed far more mature, even, than Bruce. Ted worked on the farm and had done so ever since he had left school more than two years ago. There was no chance of him coming with them, though, on their outing, as he would be working. Bruce and Ted, she thought to herself, were just about as different as they could be; like chalk and cheese, she had sometimes heard grown-ups say.
‘Yes, p’raps you’re right, Bruce,’ she said now, ‘I don’t suppose me mum’d let the little ‘uns come anyway…’ And even if she did, then she, Maisie, would have to look after them. As Bruce said, it would be too much of a responsibility.
‘What about you, Doris?’ asked Bruce. ‘Your mum will make sandwiches for you, will she?’
‘I’ll make me own,’ said Doris. ‘Me mum’s busy, extra busy, you know, since Priscilla…’ She stopped for a moment, biting her lip. None of the others made any comment; they tried not to talk about Priscilla now. ‘We’ve got another land girl to help Jennifer,’ Doris continued, ‘but we’ll have to get another one as well, p’raps two, because there’s only me dad and our Ted now, since Joe joined the RAF.’
‘Yes, my father told me that your brother had joined the airforce,’ said Bruce. ‘Where is he stationed?’
‘Oh, somewhere near Lincoln,’ replied Doris. ‘He fancies himself as a pilot, d
oes our Joe, but I don’t think they’ll ever let him fly aeroplanes. You have to be real brainy to do that, don’t you, Bruce? I ’spect he’ll just get a job mending the planes, seeing that the engines are working properly an’ all that. That’s what he was good at; he always looked after the tractors for me dad.’
‘Yes; I expect he will be one of the ground crew,’ said Bruce. ‘But they are just as important as the fliers in their own way… I would like to join the RAF,’ he went on, nodding confidently. ‘I would really like to be a pilot…but of course I’m not old enough, am I? Not yet.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘Now, is it all settled? We’ll set off in the morning at ten o’ clock. We’ll all meet by Doris’s farm gate. Is that OK?’
‘Yes, great,’ they all agreed. ‘Cheerio then; see you tomorrow…’ They went off their separate ways, Doris and Bruce heading for the path to the farm and Maisie and Audrey to the rectory gate.
Bruce, in the RAF? pondered Maisie. Her little heart had given quite a jolt at the thought of it, remembering Miss Mellodey’s fiancé and countless others who had been killed. Thank goodness he was not old enough, and surely the war would be over, wouldn’t it, before he was?
It was one of the first really warm days of spring when the three girls, two boys and Prince, the dog, set off on their excursion to the castle on the hill. Maisie realised she was almost happy again as she felt the rays of the sun warm on her face. It was not a day for sadness, although it still came over her sometimes when she thought about the dreadful thing that had happened to Priscilla.
Had Walter Nixon killed her? Or had they just had an argument, and then she had gone off and met somebody else? Maisie knew that they had talked to Priscilla’s boyfriend, Jeff, and then they had let him go, because they must have decided he hadn’t done it. And they – the police – didn’t seem to have latched on to Mr Nixon at all, although Doris had told her that they had been to the farmhouse asking her mum and dad a lot of questions. She had felt really awkward talking to Doris just after it happened, with that awful secret burning away inside her. But it was gradually getting a little bit easier to bear as the days and weeks went by, and talk of the murder, which had been on everybody’s lips at first, began to die down.
Above the Bright Blue Sky Page 37
