Ilene pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the tears that finally fell.
“You said we’re allowed secrets in our lives, Ilene,” Charles said. “Do you have any?”
The young woman recovered her emotions quickly, but looked away when she heard the question. When no answer came, Charles asked, “Were you and your husband going to have children?”
He saw the instant tightening of the muscles in her face and the grief in her eyes.
“No.”
Charles waited before asking, “Did you ever have a child?”
Ilene’s body shook with her first sob. As strong as she was, she couldn’t restrain the ones that followed.
“I…I was…so young, Lord Stewart. We couldn’t possibly…we just couldn’t raise a child at that point,” she cried.
“It was a daughter.”
Ilene turned her teary face to her guest.
“How do you know?”
“Just a guess, Ilene,” he replied. “Tell me about her.”
Ilene shook her head vehemently. “No. I cannot. I will not. Allow me this one secret, please.”
Charles reached over and patted Ilene’s hand as it rested on her knee.
“I will allow that,” he told her. “But you must also know this, Ilene. Lives are at risk at this very moment. The information you gave me helps, but I hope we aren’t too late.”
XVI. Buss’ Bog
The North York moors cover an area of five hundred square miles. It is a heather moorland, with vast areas of heather covering the peat underneath. Peat bogs dot the landscape, consisting almost entirely of water with enough vegetation on top to hide the dangers below.
Visitors to the moors come away with a sense of timeless expanse, along with images of grazing sheep and purplish plants. Walking paths exist and only those persons with deep-rooted knowledge of the landscape venture off of them.
The Meaths and Alistair Cooper were neighbors on the eastern edge of the North York moors, between the villages of Beckhole and Goathland, a few miles southwest of Whitby. They were close enough neighbors that it was a short walk across the moor from one house to the other.
Helen Meath made the walk to Alistair Cooper’s house one evening, as she often did. She was alone.
“He wants his money, Alistair,” Helen said despondently once they were seated at Cooper’s kitchen table.
“Damn it, Helen,” Cooper said, pounding the table with his fist. “Parker can’t keep this up. He knows you can’t pay him forever and there’s only so much I can give you. I’m not rich, you know.”
“But he’ll bankrupt Stuart’s father if I don’t pay him and then we won’t have ANY inheritance. We’ve waited our entire marriage to have that money and live comfortably for a change,” Helen said.
Cooper looked across at the woman, whose beauty was undeniable even with windblown hair and a look of despair in her eyes.
“If I didn’t admire you so much, I’d say you have little to worry about, Helen. Wouldn’t one of your boyfriends be able to rescue you?”
“Alistair! How dare you,” Helen wailed. “I don’t have any….”
“Helen. This is Alistair you’re talking to. I know everything, remember. I can give you names.”
“Stop it!” she cried. “Don’t act so righteous when I’m really in need of you now. And, besides, you know as well as me that Stuart deserves it if I choose to have an indiscretion or two.”
Cooper roared with laughter. “An indiscretion or two? That’s neither the word nor the number I would use.”
Helen’s scowl only made Cooper laugh harder.
She said, “Alistair, listen to me. If I don’t pay Parker soon I can’t guarantee what will happen. I’m truly afraid of him. There’s little doubt in my mind he would hurt anybody that interferes with his schemes.”
Cooper wasn’t laughing when he asked her, “Has he threatened you?”
“Not in so many words,” she replied. “But he…he never lets me forget that he has power over me.”
Helen had risen from her chair and paced the floor by the table. A bolt of lightning in the distance brightened the darkening skies.
“Does he accept other forms of payment from you?” Cooper asked her.
Helen swung to strike him, but Cooper gripped her wrist in his huge hand before Helen’s own hand got to his face. He stood and violently pulled her to him.
“Always think of the inheritance, Helen. Always,” he growled.
Cooper kissed her harshly and pushed her backward towards the table. Helen felt herself losing her balance.
Outside the house, in the growing darkness of late evening, Stuart Meath sat on the ground one hundred feet away, peering intently at the light behind the shaded kitchen window. It was his usual location. Although he never heard the words or saw what happened, he knew his wife was in the house alone with Alistair Cooper.
The wind increased and rain began to pelt down. He pulled the brim of his hat lower and raised the collar of his trench coat. Yet, Stuart did not move. He would wait this night as long as it took.
When the door eventually opened and a disheveled Helen Meath rushed out into the storm toward her own house, her husband followed far behind. He considered going to Cooper first, but decided his initial discussion would be with Helen.
Helen’s mind spun crazily with thoughts of Parker, and Cooper, and the inheritance. She walked as fast as she could in the tempest, guided more by instinct than a visible path on the moor. A few common landmarks passed by, but her house was not yet in view. Another hundred yards of walking and she began to panic. She should be seeing lights from the house, but they weren’t there. Then she realized the ground was growing softer.
Stuart could no longer see her. He put his head down and leaned into the wind.
Helen wanted to turn back toward Alistair’s. But in the pitch blackness of the storm, she had lost sight of his lights, too. She began to run out of sheer terror.
In less than ten strides, she was in Buss’ Bog. Ever since moving to Yorkshire, she had heard stories involving the bog; of all the sheep that wandered into it and never returned and the occasional farmer in search of sheep who was lost.
She sank to her shins almost immediately. Any struggle to lift her legs caused her body to sink lower. She felt the watery muck around her knees.
Helen screamed. And then again, only louder. She didn’t know to whom she screamed or how they would hear her above the wind, but she persisted.
She reached out her hands for anything solid to grasp; a log, a rock, anything. Instead, Helen sank lower.
Stuart Meath heard the screams and walked quickly but carefully, testing each step, until he knew he was within a few feet of his wife.
Helen gasped when she saw him.
“Stuart! Oh, thank God. Get me out, Stuart!”
He could see her from the waist up. He could see the look of terror on her face. He saw her arms stretched out to him.
Stuart did not move.
“You shouldn’t be out on the moor on a night like this, my dear,” he said calmly.
“Stuart. Pull me out, please,” she begged.
“And why, Helen? So you can see another man on another night? Why should I save you?”
“We’ll talk, Stuart. As soon as we’re home, we’ll talk,” Helen panted. “Please save me.”
Stuart slowly removed his trench coat and moved closer. Helen reached out in desperation, the bog nearly up to her armpits now.
“They never find bodies in this bog, Helen.”
“Stuart. I beg you. Please,” Helen beseeched him.
After what seemed to Helen as an interminable delay, Stuart threw the coat toward her, holding onto one sleeve.
“Wrap the sleeve around your arm. Tight. And hold on.”
Helen obeyed and Stuart pulled, struggling to find firm footing on the wet turf.
It was only after several hard tugs that Helen’s body began to rise. Nearly a minute passed before she was able to
crawl onto solid ground and lie there motionless, sobbing uncontrollably.
Not a word was said between the two. Finally, Stuart began to walk and Helen weakly followed.
He gave her time to wash and change clothes before sitting with her in their house. Distant thunder signaled the passing of the worst of the storm outside, but there was a definite sense of gloom inside.
“Stuart, it’s not what you think,” Helen finally said. “I had a very good reason to be at Alistair’s tonight. A reason that benefits you.”
“And all the other times?”
“I swear, Stuart. I’m trying to protect you,” she said. “To protect both of us.”
“Tell me,” Stuart demanded.
Helen made a fist and struck the arm of her chair, saying, “I can’t. Not yet. Don’t make me, Stuart. Everything will be fine in due time.”
“Damn it, Helen. I have every reason to take you out and toss you back into the bog. Your actions don’t warrant much trust from me, you know. Besides Cooper, I believe you’ve traveled during the day to meet other men. Is this all done to protect me?”
The frustration on Helen’s face was obvious. She replied, “Am I to ignore your constant flirting with every woman in Yorkshire? This is not the time to keep score, I would think. I’ll be able to explain everything I’m doing very soon, Stuart. Haven’t I earned at least that much respect from you over the years?”
Stuart glared at her and answered, “If you are in danger, I need to know. All the money in England is not worth risking your life for, Helen.”
XVII. Daphne Considers the Future
Inspector Silsbury sat in the golf course clubhouse, surveying the tide table for the night Archibald Levering was murdered.
“High tide was six minutes past four in the morning,” he murmured. “Low tide was a little after ten o’clock, a couple hours before the body was found. That seems to fit.”
He leaned back and lit a cigarette.
“So, Parker was blackmailing Levering AND Colonel Humphries,” he continued. “Parker meets with Helen, who brings with her a bayonet from her husband’s collection. Parker uses the bayonet on Levering, who, like the Colonel, refused to pay anymore. Parker keeps the weapon for the next victim and will leave it in that person…somebody Stuart Meath has good reason to kill. After Stuart is convicted, Parker divorces his wife and leaves the country with Helen and the cash.”
Silsbury looked out the window at the sea and said, “But what did Parker know that Levering would pay to keep private?”
With a grin he added, “And won’t Parker be surprised to find out the sheet he threw into the Colonel’s fireplace didn’t completely burn.”
At Bishop’s Market, Daphne worked feverishly on the fresh spinach that had just arrived. She had washed it and was in the process of putting it on display when she heard the creaking of the front door.
“Oh, hello Malcolm,” she said after turning to look. “This is the first batch of spinach we’ve had. I’ll have to tell old Mrs. Cabot I have some for her.”
Malcolm Leatherby approached Daphne with the customary wide smile when he was in her presence. They never shook hands or otherwise touched when they met, acting instead more like brother and sister or any other close acquaintance.
“It should be a good season with all the rain we’ve had lately,” Malcolm offered.
“Yes, it should be,” she agreed. “The fields look lush right now.”
She looked up and added, “What brings you to Danby today?”
“You, of course.”
Daphne blushed and told him, “You’ll not make much money spending your time talking to me.”
“Some things are more important than money, Daphne. And too much work just makes you feel old. A young woman like you shouldn’t spend her time working.”
Daphne made final adjustments to the spinach and said, “What should I be doing, Malcolm?”
He had heard the same tone in her voice before, when she was listening to him but in no mood to be swayed.
“You should be raising a family,” he suggested.
“Wouldn’t that mean getting married?” she said, facing him directly and wiping her wet hands on her apron.
“It would,” he replied.
“Are you proposing to me, Malcolm?”
“Daphne Bishop, you are the least romantic woman I’ve ever known,” Malcolm said in exasperation. “You’ll know it when…or if…I propose to you. In the meantime, you don’t really intend to run a market your whole life, do you?”
“I enjoy this,” she said, gazing at the rows of fruits and vegetables. “I might consider someday doing this while married. If I ever get married.”
She was getting great enjoyment out of watching her suitor become increasingly irritated at her attitude. She thought, correctly, that Malcolm was not truly going to officially propose to her at that moment.
“You could travel with me,” Malcolm said. “As my responsibilities grow, we can see more of the country, and Scotland, and Ireland. You can hire somebody to watch the market when you’re gone.”
Daphne sat on the edge of a table and said, “Malcolm, it’s very kind of you to consider my future in such a way, and to propose to me even if you think you aren’t. But, I’m not ready for that yet. The day will come eventually. Not now, Malcolm. Not now.”
The pleading in her eyes convinced Malcolm to try again on another day. She had not refused him forever. There was hope.
Soon after Malcolm left the market, Ida slowly walked out from behind the counter and put her arm around Daphne, who was startled but quickly grinned.
“Were you listening?” Daphne asked her teasingly.
Ida said, “I heard the door and checked to make sure you were here.”
“And then you stayed and eavesdropped.”
“Oh no, Daphne. I would never do that,” the old lady replied. “But if I ‘ad, and I heard a young man so desperate to have a young lady, I’d ask ‘er why she wouldn’t take an honest, ‘ard working man like Mr. Leatherby.”
“You would, would you?”
“Yes, I would.”
Daphne unwound herself from Ida’s hug and held the old woman’s hand, saying, “Then you heard my reply to him. I’m not ready for that, just yet.”
“Young ladies don’t get many chances to marry a good man, Daphne. You should really consider what ‘e said to you. You could see the country, maybe even the world.”
Daphne shook her head very slightly. “That all sounds wonderful, but it’s not what I want to do NOW. I love Yorkshire and the people here. I don’t need to see the world…until later. Maybe someday.”
“Promise me you’ll give it serious thought, Daphne. I want you to be ‘appy after what you’ve been through.”
Daphne kissed Ida on the cheek. “I will, Ida. I promise.”
The same day that Malcolm was in Danby visiting Daphne, Lord Stewart and Inspector Silsbury were summoned via telegrams by the firm of Lee and Bell. The late afternoon meeting was characterized in the cables as an ‘update of the late Colonel’s affairs.’
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Mr. Lee said to open the proceedings, which were held in the same smoky, cramped office they used when they first met. “My partner and I believe it’s time to consider the disposition of Colonel Humphries’ estate, including Stichen Manor. We continue to work under the assumption there is no will. Do either of you know differently?”
Silsbury and Charles assured them they did not.
“Now, as you both know, a manor the size of Stichen provides employment to a large number of people. It affords housing to them and it feeds them. The Colonel was also a patron of the local school, which will suffer from his passing.
“However, increased taxation began to bite into the Colonel’s wealth,” Mr. Lee stated. “The death duty on a manor that size would also be a substantial burden on an heir, should one be established. But that seems unlikely at this point.”
; His audience listened intently and silently.
“An option that I believe is most suitable in this situation is to surrender the estate to His Majesty’s Treasury. This can be done, and perhaps should be, in lieu of death duties even if an heir is found. We could also, with the aid of a London agent, find a wealthy American or two willing to buy the interior woodwork and fittings. It’s being done all the time these days.”
Mr. Lee paused, and then said, “That is our proposal, gentlemen. We are open to further discussion.”
Silsbury was first to speak.
“Thank you for the summary, Mr. Lee, but on behalf of my department we must ask that the process you outlined be delayed. I say this because I am confident the arrest of a suspect in the Colonel’s murder is imminent.”
The solicitors and Lord Stewart both looked at him with some surprise.
“Please give us a few days, if not a couple weeks, to wrap up our investigation and make the arrest,” Silsbury said.
Mr. Lee looked at Charles, saying, “And Lord Stewart, do you have any objections?”
“I appreciate your offer to be included in the discussion, gentlemen,” Charles said with a bow of the head. “I am only a friend of the Colonel’s, an acquaintance of yours, and a casual observer. The news of a pending arrest intrigues me. My only question to you, Mr. Lee and Mr. Bell, would be this…on a related topic. What are the procedures for putting a child up for adoption and have they changed in the past, say, fifty years?”
Mr. Bell leaned forward and replied, “Actually, Lord Stewart, I’m currently working with a local member of the House of Lords on an act regarding child adoption. The practice is unregulated and has no legal status at the moment. For too long, it has been an informal process.
“The parents who adopt have no rights, as such, and any natural parent can appear and demand the child be given up without notice. Records are basically non-existent in most cases.”
Charles nodded. “That’s what I needed to know. Thank you, sir.”
XVIII. Diamond Mines
The Enemy in Our Midst: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery Page 11
