There was nothing for it. He’d got to speak up now. Mark took a deep breath.
‘I used to go and see Mr Morton,’ he said. His lip trembled. Why were they all so angry? His mother was furious, he could tell; he’d seldom seen her really cross, and though she was sometimes short with him when she was tired, she was never unfair.
‘He lent you books,’ his mother stated.
‘Yes.’ That wasn’t wrong, surely?
‘I thought Ivy lent you those,’ his mother said.
‘I never said so,’ Mark replied.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about Mr Morton?’
‘You might have stopped me going there, and I liked him,’ answered Mark.
‘He was an old man, and he was your friend,’ said Miss Darwin. ‘You told me that, Mark.’ She turned to Susan. ‘Mark had a book Mr Morton lent him just before he died. One by Arthur Ransome, wasn’t it, Mark?’ She looked at him, her gaze steady behind the dark-rimmed glasses which she did not always wear. Mark had worked out that she put them on when she was concentrating very hard, and when she did that work of hers, with the cut-out flowers and patterns.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, warily.
‘Mark came to return the book, believing that the house was empty,’ she told Susan. ‘I was out at the time, but I returned while he was replacing it, and we made friends.’ Miss Darwin spoke firmly; she had directed women like Susan in her working life. ‘We’d met before, hadn’t we, Mark? In the park when you and Terry were having trouble with some older boys.’
Mark nodded. ‘Yes,’ he muttered.
‘I was living in a rented bungalow then, Mrs Conway,’ said Miss Darwin. ‘While I looked for a house.’
Now Richard was the startled listener. Miss Darwin had not, on Christmas Day, mentioned meeting the boys, and nor had Terry. She might not have recognised him, but surely he would not have forgotten her?
Susan remembered that it was from Terry’s stepfather that she had heard of the old woman who had told the motorists that Mark and his friend were not responsible for damaging their cars. What else had he been doing that she didn’t know about?
‘You missed Mr Morton, didn’t you, Mark? You were sad when he died,’ said Miss Darwin, firmly leading her witness.
‘Yes.’
‘But you knew you should return his book.’
‘Yes.’ Mark spoke more confidently now.
‘Miss Darwin’s video and her portable radio and some other things were stolen last night, while she was out,’ said Richard, thinking it was time they got to the point. ‘You didn’t take them, did you, Mark?’
Susan began to bridle but before she could defend her son, Mark answered for himself.
‘No. How could you think so?’ he said, on a wail, and the tears began to fall, though he tried hard to blink them away and did not sob.
Miss Darwin frowned at Richard.
‘We didn’t, Mark, but we needed to hear you say so,’ she said. ‘You see, you had a key, and whoever was the thief didn’t break in. There was no sign of a forced entry.’
Mark knew then who was guilty. It was Steve.
‘I shall change the locks,’ said Miss Darwin. ‘And you will still come and see me, if you want to, and if your mother says you may.’
She glanced across at Susan, who knew herself outmanoeuvred.
‘Of course. It’s kind of you,’ she managed.
While all this was going on, Terry had sat there silently, but now it was his turn.
‘So you knew nothing about this either, Terry,’ Richard said.
‘No.’ Terry was completely mystified.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Richard said, not altogether truthfully. Terry could have been an accomplice of whoever did it, if it was a youngster: one of Justin’s dubious friends, for instance. But it could have been someone connected with the painters; he was unable to think of anyone else who would have been able to enter the house without leaving any signs of how it had been done. He had seen Miss Darwin lock up before she left; he’d even asked her if she’d checked all round, so used was he to Verity’s slapdash ways. Miss Darwin wasn’t careless; she would not have left any window insecurely latched. He hoped having an aura of suspicion, however fragile, directed at him would not make Terry disappear again. Mark was the one in possible hot water, for visiting without his mother’s knowledge. He saw that she could not wait to pitch into him. He’d take them home; then she could get it over.
But Susan didn’t give him the opportunity.
‘We’ll be going now,’ she said, standing up. Then, turning to Miss Darwin, she added, ‘Thank you for not mentioning Mark’s name to the police.’
Richard stood up too, looking at her with some admiration. She was thin – not scraggy, like Verity, but slim; her expression was alert. She was a capable woman with a lot to manage, a strong person much the same age, he guessed, as Verity, though she looked younger. He wondered idly if she had some man in her life.
‘I’ll drive you back,’ he said.
‘No – please don’t bother,’ she said. ‘It’s not far, and it isn’t raining.’
They let her go. Richard saw her to the door, Mark following behind her, head cast down. Terry seized his chance to escape, and when Richard returned to the drawing-room, Miss Darwin was alone.
‘She can’t wait to give that child the telling-off of his life,’ she said.
‘No,’ Richard agreed. ‘Poor kid.’
Mark still hadn’t surrendered his key to The Willows, but his mother would soon take it from him; that was certain. There must be another one elsewhere, or someone with the skill to enter undetected: whatever the answer, Marigold knew she must call a locksmith in without delay. Mortice locks, she thought regretfully, like she’d had in London, with security catches on all the windows. She believed Mark’s story, but he would have a nasty time when he reached home. His mother should have known about his visits to Mr Morton; they had been frequent, over quite a period of time – some months. Mrs Conway had been shaken by today’s revelations, and was angry; there must be a way to smooth her down, make things easier for Mark. Marigold resolved to try.
Susan did not speak to Mark until they arrived home. She held him by the arm all the way, and he was frightened. He always tried so hard not to be a nuisance, and she knew she could trust him.
But this was exactly what Susan now accused him of betraying: her trust.
When they reached the house, she sat him down opposite her in the sitting-room and began.
‘Now, Mark, what else have you been doing that I don’t know about?’ she asked. Ivy would have to answer some important questions, too, but Mark must first tell her everything.
‘Nothing. Ivy knew I was at Mr Morton’s,’ Mark said, his face averted as he studied his sturdy shoes.
‘Every time?’
‘Yes.’ Mark knew she hadn’t known he was at The Willows after Mr Morton died, but that wasn’t what his mother had asked. Until then, he and Steve had gone there with her blessing and often on her instructions. ‘She looked after him,’ he added.
‘Looked after him?’
‘Cleaned the house. Left meals for him. He couldn’t hardly walk,’ said Mark. ‘Steve did shopping for him,’ Mark went on. ‘He couldn’t, you see. He could only go out in a wheelchair. He was going to get one with an engine in the summer. They run on batteries like some milk vans.’
He hoped she wouldn’t ask about the time when Mr Morton died; he knew she wouldn’t like to hear that he and Steve were there. Susan, however, was calming down.
‘Why didn’t you tell me about him?’ she persisted.
‘I don’t know.’
Because there wasn’t time, she was thinking guiltily. She was always in a rush. She asked him about school and homework, gave him messages for Ivy, but seldom sat down and heard about his day.
‘You were lucky Miss Darwin believed you about last night,’ said Susan.
‘I’m not a thief,’ said Mark indignantly. ‘
She knows that.’
‘Even so, if she’d told the police about you having a key, we’d have had them round again,’ said Susan.
‘I’d done nothing wrong then, either,’ Mark protested.
Susan’s head was ringing with propaganda about the children of single mothers being doomed to lives of crime. It did not have to be like that; she’d always said so. Look at widows’ children; no one condemned them out of hand. Or did they? Anyway, they had had fathers, men they knew about, and some of whom, like murdered policemen, were heroes.
‘I know, but if your friends want to do wrong things, you mustn’t join in,’ Susan warned.
‘They don’t,’ said Mark. Steve did wrong things, but he wasn’t exactly Mark’s friend and it was nice not having to stick with him any more. ‘I liked Mr Morton,’ Mark affirmed. ‘He was like a granddad might be, I thought.’
‘Oh, Mark!’ At this, Susan suddenly burst into tears, rushed over to him and hugged him.
Mark felt most uncomfortable. Why was she crying, when he had done nothing wrong except have a secret? Was that so bad?
‘Don’t cry,’ he implored, patting her anxiously.
Susan soon regained her self-control.
‘Mark,’ she said, now speaking firmly. ‘You haven’t got a grandfather because my parents are dead. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he mumbled.
‘Lots of children don’t have grandparents,’ she told him. ‘But lots of children don’t live in nice houses or have parents who can afford to buy them mountain bikes or computer games. Lots of people haven’t got jobs, you know.’
‘Yes,’ Mark repeated miserably. ‘I know that. It’s all right, Mum. I just liked him being there,’ he said.
He liked Miss Darwin, too, and she had said that he could use the room where the books had been. Something told him that he had better not repeat this to his mother. As he came to this conclusion, the telephone rang.
With a mutter of annoyance, Susan released him and went to answer it. He saw her expression of surprise, irritation, then a tiny thaw.
‘Yes,’ she kept on saying. ‘Yes. Yes. Well . . . I don’t know . . . no, I am free tomorrow. Thank you. Four o’clock.’
She replaced the receiver and turned to Mark.
‘That was your new friend, Miss Darwin,’ she said. ‘She’s invited us to tea tomorrow afternoon. I couldn’t very well refuse.’
Tomorrow afternoon, thought Mark. That would give him time to see if Steve had done the robbery. That is, if his mother would let him go round to Ivy’s.
She did. They went together. She meant to cross-examine Ivy about the licence she permitted Mark while he was in her care.
Ivy still saw Susan frequently, but not as often as when Mark had had to be escorted back and forth. Susan paid her weekly, and when Mark stayed overnight there were cooperative washing arrangements regarding his clothes. Ivy rendered an account which Susan checked against her own record of the hours Mark had spent with her, and the meals she had provided. They respected one another, got on well, and had never had a serious difference of opinion.
So when Susan arrived, wearing a frown and with Mark beside her looking thoroughly abashed, she sensed trouble.
Susan did not beat about the bush, following Ivy into the kitchen where Kylie was spooning a soggy mixture into the willing mouth of her nephew. Sharon was working at the supermarket.
‘Mr Morton, Ivy,’ Susan said. ‘Who was he? Mark says you let him go visiting?’
‘I did. He was a nice old man – very lonely after his wife died,’ said Ivy. ‘I cleaned for him and left him meals, but I was anxious about him at night. He’d had a stroke and could only walk with difficulty. Steve and Mark used to spend time with him. He taught them chess, and that. It was good for them to be with such a gentleman. Why?’
‘Mark never told me he went there,’ said Susan.
‘Perhaps he thought you wouldn’t be interested,’ Ivy stated. ‘There was nothing wrong, Susan. He was a good old man. The boys helped him – they kept him company and did shopping for him.’
‘I’m not suggesting there was anything wrong,’ said Susan. ‘I just think I should have known about it.’
‘You don’t expect me to tell you every time they’ve gone to the park to play football, or Mark’s been to see one of his friends, do you?’ asked Ivy, drawing herself up and adopting a combative expression. ‘I always know where he’s going. Don’t you trust me to look after him?’
‘Of course I do, Ivy.’ Susan had to retreat a fraction. She could not afford to lose Ivy’s goodwill; where would she find someone to replace her?
‘Mr Morton was a good influence,’ said Ivy firmly. ‘A man in their lives, two fatherless boys.’
At this point, Adam began to wail because Kylie had allowed some of his pappy meal to go up his nose. Ivy, almost without seeming to move, wiped his nostrils clear, patted his back so that he ceased his cries, and spooned in another portion.
‘Take Mark into the lounge, Kylie,’ she said. ‘Susan and I have to talk. We can do that and see to Adam.’
Mark and Kylie left the room at speed.
‘Those two get on well,’ Ivy said as they left. ‘They do jigsaws together and play cards. Steve’s gone a bit past Mark now, being that bit older.’ She wouldn’t tell Susan that she was anxious about Steve who, one night recently, had come back reeking of petrol. She’d caught a strong whiff of it from his discarded jeans. Next day she heard that a barn had been set alight some miles out of Haverscot. Challenged about his clothes, Steve said he’d helped a mate put juice in his car and they’d spilt some. Was it true? Ivy could not be certain. She knew that Steve missed his father; Joe would soon have found out the truth. When Steve was down at Tom’s, she had never worried about what he was up to.
‘Does Mark see much of Terry Gardner?’ Susan asked.
‘Quite a bit,’ said Ivy, who was not altogether sure.
‘Have you met his mother?’
‘No. Some sort of artist, isn’t she?’ said Ivy.
‘Terry ran off one night and hid. He was reported missing,’ Susan said. ‘The police came to us and woke Mark up, wondering if he knew where Terry might be. He didn’t, of course.’
Ivy had not heard about this.
‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Why did he do such a thing?’
Susan told her what she knew about the incident.
‘Now Mark’s visiting this Miss Darwin at The Willows,’ she went on. ‘She was burgled last night. She thought Mark might have done it because he had a key.’
Ivy’s glance flew to the dresser hook from which hung a batch of keys. She went to check them, though she could already see the distinctive yellow label on Tom’s, duly returned by Steve after his escapade. But how had Mark got hold of one? Perhaps the old man had given it to him.
‘It wasn’t Mark, of course,’ Susan was saying. ‘But it wasn’t nice having him suspected and then not knowing about his visits there.’
‘I can see that,’ said Ivy. ‘I should have told you, Susan, but I didn’t realise Mark hadn’t mentioned it.’ By the same token, perhaps Susan should have reported Terry’s disappearance, which was a significant event in the children’s lives, but Ivy thought it wiser not to say so.
‘Well – we’ve cleared things up now,’ said Susan. She thought of seeking more assurances, but decided not to; until Mark was older, she needed Ivy. Unless she let things run on with David: part of her thought how easy it would be to give up the struggle to carry on alone – part of her wanted to remain independent.
Meanwhile, Kylie had shown Mark a pretty box that Steve had given Ivy. It was exactly like the one he had admired which Miss Darwin had decorated. He had known that his mother would love a box like that. If proof were needed that Steve had been the thief, here it was.
His mother, resolved to take more interest in how he spent his time, asked what he and Kylie had done while she and Ivy had their talk.
‘Kylie sho
wed me a box Steve gave Ivy,’ he said. ‘It was all covered with pictures of flowers, stuck on. This size.’ He made a shape with his hands.
‘How nice of him,’ said Susan.
Mark could not say any more. He couldn’t tell on Steve.
20
None of her guests wanted to have tea with Miss Darwin. Even Mark and Richard would have preferred a different occasion without their families, though both saw that attendance was unavoidable.
When Verity returned from the exhibition, she was animated, looking almost pretty; she had enjoyed herself and met several acquaintances who had asked how her work was going. Richard recognised the fey charm which had originally drawn him to her, her air of helplessness. He decided to tell her about the invitation before her mood changed, as, inevitably, it must.
‘I won’t go,’ she said. ‘Miss Darwin’s your friend, not mine.’
‘It’s an opportunity to meet Mark’s mother,’ said Richard. ‘Mark’s Terry’s friend. I think you ought to be there.’
‘What was all that about this morning?’ asked Verity. ‘She was here then, wasn’t she? Mark’s mother?’
‘Yes. Miss Darwin was burgled during the choral society’s rehearsal,’ said Richard. ‘She knew Mark had often visited Mr Morton, who lived there before, and wondered if he knew who could have got into the house without forcing an entry.’
‘You mean she wondered if Mark was the thief, because he might know how to get in,’ said Verity bluntly.
‘She thought it possible, but unlikely,’ said Richard.
‘And she decided Terry could have been his accomplice. Thanks very much,’ said Verity. ‘I’m certainly not going to tea if she suspects my son of stealing.’
‘She doesn’t. She never did,’ said Richard. ‘She wants to make friends with Susan Conway herself, and she thought you would like to meet her because of Terry.’
‘Are the boys invited too?’
‘Yes.’ Richard thought the tea party was doomed in advance, but saw no way to prevent it from being held.
‘Mark seemed a nice enough boy,’ Verity conceded. ‘What sort of person is his mother?’
Serious Intent Page 20
