Truth Will Out

by Pamela Oldfield

  She heaved herself over on to the other side, pulled the pillow into her neck and decided to sound Maude out on the subject.

  Click.

  Biddy froze. ‘What on earth . . .?’ She sat up, peering round in the darkened room. There were a lot of clouds and very little moonlight.

  Click. Click.

  The sound came from the window. Something was tapping at the glass!

  ‘Dear God, help me!’ she whispered. Was someone throwing stones at the window?

  Gathering all her courage she clambered out of bed and tiptoed across the bare boards. When she reached the window she stood to one side, eased back the edge of the curtain and tried to see out without being seen.

  ‘Can’t see a blooming thing!’ she grumbled. Below her the lawn was cloaked in sinister shadows and for a moment nothing could be seen, but then she thought she caught a movement just below the window and a sudden break in the clouds revealed what she thought was a man. It was only a glimpse but she saw him quite clearly. He wore a long duster coat and a broad-brimmed hat that hid his face. Then it was dark again and Biddy’s heart was racing so fast that she dared not move from the spot for fear she might faint. She clung to the window sill until she recovered and then made her way unsteadily to the room next door and opened it.

  ‘Alice! Wake up!’ She crossed to the bed and shook the sleeping woman, who sat up in alarm.

  ‘What?’ cried Alice. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘There’s someone in the garden. Get up quickly and look. He’s been throwing stones up to my window.’

  ‘But who would . . .?’

  ‘Get up and see for yourself! Hurry! He’s wearing very strange clothes – a long coat and . . .’ She followed Alice to her window and they looked out together on to the gloom of the garden.

  ‘I can’t see anyone,’ Alice said.

  ‘He was there, Alice! I saw him. His clothes were . . . Look! There he is – running away into the shrubbery. You must be able to see him.’

  ‘Well, I can’t.’

  She sounded shaken, thought Biddy. There was something odd about her voice. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘I had to wake you. I’m sorry if I frightened you but . . . Who could it be? Not Jem, because he’s dead.’

  Alice said, ‘You imagined it, Biddy. There was no man in the garden. I’d have seen him and I didn’t. I didn’t see anything.’ She climbed back into bed while Biddy stood indecisively by the window.

  ‘Alice, you must have seen him.’

  ‘Go back to bed! It was too dark for anyone to see anything.’

  ‘But I saw him. I know I did.’

  ‘You thought you did, Biddy. Maybe you were having a nightmare and got out of bed and imagined it all. Maybe you were sleepwalking. Just go back to your own room and get into bed.’

  ‘It may have been the man who killed Jem!’ Although they were her own words, they sent a shiver down Biddy’s spine. ‘I’m going to telephone Maude and tell her to tell DC Fleet.’

  Alice glared at her. ‘If you do I shall telephone her and say you were having a funny turn and there was no-one there.’

  ‘A funny turn! You wouldn’t dare!’ Biddy was shocked. ‘You’re in no position to tell me what I can and can’t do, Alice Crewe! And I don’t have funny turns! What’s got into you?’ Her chest heaved with indignation. The words ‘only a paid companion’ hovered on her lips but common sense prevailed and they remained unsaid. Instead she said again, ‘I’m sometimes forgetful but I do not have funny turns! I know exactly what I saw and someone ought to be told.’

  Alice sighed loudly. ‘Very well, Biddy. I take back what I said but look at it this way. I think poor Maude has got enough to worry about without you making it worse. If you tell her what you think you saw she’ll start worrying about us as well. She knows we’re unprotected here and she’ll imagine us being murdered in our beds. Leave the poor soul in ignorance – and let me go back to sleep.’

  Biddy left without another word, too confused to argue further and half persuaded by Alice’s point about Maude’s other problems. She went back to bed but didn’t lie down. Instead she sat up, trying to focus her mind and trying to convince herself that she had seen a man in the garden and he had been throwing stones up at her window for some unknown reason. Either to frighten or to wake her or to warn her about something . . . Suppose he had been a friend instead of an enemy . . . But if he had been a friend he would never have run off.

  ‘Too late now!’ she told herself. ‘And I did see something and it looked like a man in a long coat with a hat with a wide brim. A bit like a highwayman!’ Which made no sense.

  ‘Unless . . .’ Her eyes widened suddenly. ‘Unless he was trying to awaken Alice and chose the wrong window.’ No, that was impossible. If Alice had a young man she had kept him very quiet all this time for no good reason. Maude had teased her once or twice about finding a nice young man to marry but Alice had always laughed it off, saying she found men conceited and self-centred, and she had no intention of marrying.

  ‘So . . . did she recognize him? No, surely not!’ No self-respecting suitor would come dressed like that, Biddy assured herself.

  She got out of bed again and crossed to the window to see if the intruder was still out there. Peering into the darkness she could see very little, and nothing that moved or resembled the figure she had seen earlier, yet the memory of what she had seen remained stubbornly clear in her mind. Suddenly she came to a decision. She would face Alice with the question once and for all. If Alice convinced her that she had imagined it then where did that leave her, Biddy? She did not want to believe that her mind was beginning to play tricks on her. Senility was a word she feared because she had seen her mother slip into that confused state that robs people of their personality.

  ‘And all their memories!’ she murmured. Biddy’s mother had ceased to recognize her own daughter, had existed in a world that she no longer understood, and for that reason Biddy had been glad when she died.

  ‘But I’m not like that – I’m just a little forgetful!’ she declared.

  Acting on impulse, she went back along the passage and knocked on Alice’s door. When no-one answered she turned the handle and went in. ‘Alice! I have to talk to you.’

  There was no reply and, moving closer, Biddy realized that the bed was empty. So where had she gone? Down to the kitchen, perhaps, to heat a cup of milk.

  The kitchen was empty too, but the back door was open. Primmy was fast asleep in her basket, which was odd. Hastily Biddy stepped back from the doorway. So Alice did have a young man! Biddy was engulfed by a feeling of deep disappointment. Alice, lying to them. Alice of all people! She sat down on a stool and waited, trying to decide what exactly she would say when Alice returned.

  A moment later she heard footsteps and Alice appeared in the doorway. She looked shocked when she saw Biddy – as well she might, thought Biddy grimly.

  ‘So I was right!’ said Biddy. ‘I did see someone in the garden. Your young man!’

  Alice hesitated, disconcerted.

  Biddy said, ‘You could have told us. We’re not ogres. Why did you lie to us, Alice?’

  Alice closed the door quietly then turned to face Biddy. ‘I went out to make sure there really was no-one there. I didn’t want to frighten you so I went out on my own with this.’ She held up a torch. ‘I wanted to reassure us both. There was no-one out there, Biddy. There was no man in a long coat with a big hat. So please, don’t alarm Maude. I’m sorry, but it was all in your imagination – or else it was a nightmare and it was very real to you.’

  Biddy’s mind whirled. She was relieved that Alice had not lied to them about a young man but now she worried about her own confusion. She said contritely, ‘I’m sorry, Alice, but what else was I to think? You should never have gone out into the garden alone. If it had been someone you might have been attacked! You might have been killed! At least you should have taken Primmy with you. Her mad barking would have scared him off.’

&
nbsp; ‘I called her but she didn’t want to leave her basket. She just wasn’t interested. She seems to be very tired tonight.’

  ‘Tired? That doesn’t sound like Primmy. She usually has too much energy! I hope she’s not ill.’ She crossed to the basket and patted the dog. ‘Primmy! Wake up!’

  The dog made a muffled sound then slowly opened her eyes. Her tail flopped twice by way of a greeting but she didn’t even lift her head. The two women exchanged worried looks.

  Alice said, ‘She ate all her dinner. She can’t be ill.’

  ‘Maybe she’s eaten something that’s upset her.’ Biddy sighed heavily and got to her feet. ‘If she’s like that in the morning I’ll call the vet. We can’t let anything happen to Primmy. That would be the last straw.’

  Leaving Primmy to recover, Biddy and Alice turned off the kitchen light and made their way up the stairs. As they parted company on the landing Alice said, ‘If we don’t get some sleep soon it will be time to get up!’

  And face another day, thought Biddy, and wondered what news that would bring. Nothing good, she thought unhappily and sighed deeply. She was beginning to doubt that there would be a happy resolution to their troubles.

  SIX

  It was almost four o’clock the next morning when the call finally came. DC Fleet held up a warning finger and then beckoned Maude outside to the telephone, which was in the hall on the reception desk. Maude had decided against retiring to her room. Knowing she was hardly likely to sleep in the circumstances, she had dozed on and off in an armchair in the lounge. The detective had sat opposite her, lost in thought as he studied his notes.

  Maude’s hand shook as she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear. ‘Yes. Who is this?’

  ‘Mrs Brent?’

  ‘Yes.’ She frowned. The voice was tinny, unlike a real voice, she thought, but the words were clear enough.

  ‘The money must be in used notes. Place it in a carpet bag or similar—’

  ‘Used notes in a carpet bag. Yes . . . Whoever you are, I want to speak to my husband. I want to hear his voice. How do I know you have my husband? You could be anybody.’

  As though she had not spoken, the tinny voice continued. ‘At ten minutes after two tomorrow night leave the bag tied to the hand rail at the entrance to the pier – left-hand side—’

  ‘Ten past two tomorrow on the hand rail, entrance to the pier, on the left,’ she repeated. ‘Now may I speak to my husband? Please!’ She tried to keep the desperation from her voice but already tears were pressing against her eyes and her lashes were wet.

  At last she heard his voice. He sounded strained but the words were clear enough. ‘Maude, do what he says!’

  ‘Oh God! It’s you, Lionel!’ She turned to DC Fleet. ‘It’s him. I know his voice. He’s still alive! Oh God! Thank you!’

  The tinny voice resumed. ‘Satisfied?’

  ‘Yes!’ she cried between sobs.

  ‘Now I must speak to the policeman.’

  She stared at the receiver in surprise. How did he know DC Fleet was with her?

  As if reading her thoughts the kidnapper said, ‘Credit me with some sense, Mrs Brent. The affair is plastered all over the Hastings Gazette. Of course the police are involved.’

  Wordlessly, Maude handed the receiver to the detective. As he listened carefully Maude tried to pull herself together. She told herself that Lionel was alive and before too long they might, God willing, be reunited. The end was in sight.

  DC Fleet said, ‘But when will we see Lionel Brent? Will he be . . . No! That’s most unsatisfactory. If the money is delivered . . . Forged money? Certainly not. Mrs Brent is determined to give you the full amount and . . . No! First we have to know when and how Mr Brent will be returned. That’s not open for discussion . . . Hello? Hello . . . Damnation!’ DC Fleet replaced the receiver. ‘He’s hung up. You have to deliver it,’ he told Maude. ‘You have to take a taxi to the pier, fasten the bag to the railings, walk back and get into the taxi and be driven away. If anyone is with you the kidnapper won’t collect the money.’

  ‘And Lionel?’ She almost held her breath.

  ‘You’ll never see him again. But that’s simply a threat, Mrs Brent. To frighten you into complying.’

  ‘They’ve succeeded, DC Fleet. I’m very frightened indeed.’ Maude put a hand to her heart, which was beating painfully fast. ‘You must allow me to collect the money and deliver it as instructed. I’ve spoken to the bank manager. It’s all arranged. I know you don’t want me to hand it over but you don’t understand how I feel. How can you? I have to have Lionel back or my life as I know it is over. He means everything to me. Please don’t fight me on this.’

  His expression was unhappy in the extreme. ‘The kidnapper won’t say how or when your husband will be released, Mrs Brent. I find that extremely worrying. That’s why I—’

  ‘But he’s alive! I heard his voice. There were times when I thought . . . when I suspected that he was already dead. But I spoke to him. It was Lionel!’

  ‘It’s suspicious. You have to understand, Mrs Brent. He might take the money and kill your husband anyway. Such things are not unknown, believe me. He could make utter fools of us. Will you at least think—?’

  Maude interrupted him. ‘Forgive me but I don’t want to discuss it, DC Fleet. I just have to hope. I can’t go on like this. I simply want us to bring things to a close. I want my husband and my well-ordered life back.’

  He shrugged. ‘My superiors won’t like it but it’s up to you. If you do insist on going through with it I would ask you not to raise your hopes too high. I’ll be delighted if all goes smoothly but please be prepared for possible . . . disappointment.’

  Maude, however, was determined not to be discouraged. ‘I have a good feeling about it,’ she told him. ‘Hearing his voice . . . It’s going to be all right.’

  ‘How did he sound? Distraught? Angry? Frightened?’

  She thought about it. ‘None of those – but then he’s not the type to panic. Tired maybe. I would say he’s facing up to the ordeal very well. He’s a strong personality. He’ll come through.’

  Unconvinced, DC Fleet announced that he would go back to the police station to consult with his immediate superior. ‘Detective Inspector Merrit won’t be too pleased about your decision but we’ll have a look at the site and see if we can place some of our people in and around – incognito, of course. We might be able to follow the taxi . . .’ He gave her a wan smile. ‘We’ll do our best, Mrs Brent. Everything in our power, in fact.’

  ‘I have faith in you, DC Fleet.’ She smiled. ‘I can’t wait for tomorrow night.’

  Friday morning surgery started at nine o’clock and Biddy was there in good time. She hated to sit among too many other patients in case she caught something from one of them. She had chosen a seat in the corner and anyone who ventured near was rewarded with an unflinching glare that persuaded them to sit elsewhere. Biddy was the second person to be called and she settled herself nervously on the upright chair as the doctor glanced at her file.

  ‘What can I do for you, Miss Cope?’ he asked. ‘I don’t see you very often.’ Doctor Courtney was a small bespectacled man who, in Biddy’s infrequent meetings, came across as calm and reliable to the point of blandness. His expression of friendly interest rarely wavered. Now he regarded her with slightly raised eyebrows as she tried to recall the speech she had prepared. As she struggled for her opening line, he waited patiently.

  At last she said, ‘I’m sixty-nine, Doctor Courtney. Would you expect me to be . . . a little forgetful?’

  ‘It would be fairly normal. Yes.’

  ‘What about sleepwalking?’

  He hesitated. ‘Not as a new phenomenon. If you have done this before then not surprising.’

  ‘I’ve never done it. Not to my knowledge.’

  He nodded.

  Biddy swallowed. ‘Suppose I . . . I started to imagine things . . . things that weren’t there?’ She clasped and unclasped her hands.

/>   He gave a little shrug. ‘Imagining things? That might worry you a little but it would depend on the circumstances.’

  ‘What would they be – the circumstances?’

  He rolled his eyes thoughtfully. ‘In times of great stress the mind can play tricks. It could well be a temporary aberration. Nothing to suggest a serious problem.’ He sat back and steepled his fingers. ‘I’m sixty-five, Miss Cope. I forget things. I don’t think I sleepwalk but since my wife died I wouldn’t really know. Who would tell me?’ He smiled. ‘I might wander back to bed and know nothing about it in the morning.’

  Biddy took a deep breath. ‘Last night I clearly saw a man in our garden. I saw him, Doctor Courtney. It wasn’t a vision or . . . or a mirage. It certainly wasn’t a ghost. An odd-looking man in a long coat with a big wide hat. But . . . Alice Crewe was with me and she saw nothing. Nothing at all! How could that be unless . . . Was it a hallucination, Doctor Courtney?’ She closed her eyes. ‘I’m afraid . . . that is, I think I may be . . . losing my mind!’

  ‘Ah! I see your problem, Miss Cope, but let me try and set your mind at ease. A hallucination is most unlikely but the moon throws strange shadows. Did this strange man speak?’

  ‘No. Or if he did I didn’t hear him.’

  ‘Do you know anyone who might wear an outfit like the one you’ve described? To me it sounds rather like a poacher. Do you know any poachers who might sneak through your garden?’

  ‘A poacher? Certainly not!’

  ‘Is it possible?’

  ‘Anything’s possible, I suppose, but . . .’ She fell silent. She had come for a straight answer but was obviously not going to get one – which meant that she would not go home reassured, but neither would she feel confident to pass on what she had seen to the police for fear they laughed at her.

  The doctor studied her thoughtfully. ‘I know the problems you have at the moment – the kidnapping. It was in the paper, of course, but there are always rumours. All extremely upsetting for you. I speak for the whole village when I say we sympathize with you all. Poor Mrs Brent! My heart bleeds for her.’