The Boy Who Lived with the Dead (Albert Lincoln Book 2)

by Kate Ellis

  Chapter 22

  As soon as Albert arrived in Didsbury he asked directions of a smartly dressed middle-aged couple who told him that Mrs Schuman’s address was close to the station. Finding Belfield Road was straightforward enough and when he reached the house he was surprised to see that it was a spacious detached villa, rather large for one woman. And yet, according to Mrs Ghent, Patience Bailey had left Mrs Schuman’s employ because the house was too small to accommodate herself and the new baby comfortably. This had obviously been a lie, which suggested that Patience wanted to get away from Mrs Schuman for some other reason. Perhaps she was a strict and demanding employer and Patience hadn’t been happy there. He was about to meet the woman so he’d be able to judge for himself.

  A neat dark-haired maid opened the front door, looking Albert up and down with curiosity, as though a visiting Scotland Yard detective was a rare and unpredictable animal, the sort she would gawp at during a visit to a zoo.

  She told him her mistress was expecting him and led the way to a bright drawing room lit by a tall bay window which overlooked the front garden.

  Mrs Schuman had been sitting on a chaise longue near the fireplace but she rose as soon as he entered. She was a small, birdlike woman with a wizened face but there was a liveliness about her which belied her years and she looked positively excited at the prospect of a police interview.

  ‘Mrs Schuman. Thank you for seeing me.’

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’

  When the woman gave her maid a nod she left the room, closing the door carefully behind her.

  Mrs Schuman sat down again and leaned forward as though she was about to share a confidence.

  ‘I was so upset to hear about Patience. She was such a nice girl. It’s a dreadful shame she was widowed like that but that’s war for you.’ She gave a sad little shrug. Although her accent was European, German perhaps, her English was impeccable. She examined his face as though she was an artist studying him with a view to painting his portrait. ‘You were injured yourself I see,’ she said, pointing at his disfigured hand.

  ‘I got away lightly compared to many.’

  ‘You’re so right, Inspector. War’s a dreadful business.’

  ‘You lost someone yourself?’

  ‘Fortunately not, thank God. My grandson David came back unscathed but a lot of his friends weren’t so lucky.’ She bowed her head, as if in respect for the fallen. Then she raised her eyes to meet his. ‘Patience’s late husband was one of David’s comrades. That’s why I took her in.’

  ‘And the baby?’

  ‘There was no baby when she first came to me.’ Esther Schuman tapped the side of her nose. ‘I have eyes and ears and I pride myself on being an observant woman but on this occasion … ’

  ‘What did you observe, Mrs Schuman?’

  As she opened her mouth to answer the maid entered with a tray. Albert curbed his impatience as she poured the tea and handed it to him, asking whether he took sugar. He waited until she’d gone before repeating his question.

  Mrs Schuman thought for a few moments. ‘I must confess it never occurred to me that she was … in the family way. Of course she used to go out a lot – used to tell me she was visiting her friend in Cheadle not far away. Come to think of it she was rather quiet during those last few months she spent here, as though something was worrying her, but when I asked her if anything was wrong she said everything was fine. Then a short time later she told me she had to go away for a few weeks. She said her friend was ill and she needed to stay with her.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Esther hesitated. ‘I didn’t hear from her for a couple of weeks but I didn’t worry because she’d told me about her friend’s illness. Then one day she turned up with the baby, saying it was her friend’s but she was ill so she couldn’t look after it. She asked if it could live here with her. Now I’m a sympathetic woman, Inspector, and of course I asked her if she had something to tell me – hoping she’d admit that it was hers. Patience had always struck me as a very … moral girl. But even the most upright of us have our moments, don’t we?’ she said with a knowing smile.

  ‘What did she say to that?’

  ‘She denied absolutely that the child was hers; in fact she seemed rather offended by my question. However she still wouldn’t tell me the name of the friend or the man responsible for her alleged plight.’

  ‘Did you believe her?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘I’m really not sure. I wasn’t aware of her being sick or showing the usual symptoms of pregnancy but this is a large house and with this modern fashion for loose dresses with low waists it was possible she could have concealed her pregnancy until she went away to have the baby. Anyway I pretended to believe her story because that seemed the kindest thing to do.’ She gave Albert a wistful smile. ‘I told her that it was perfectly fine for her to bring the baby to live here. I miss having children about the place and … ’

  ‘Not many employers would be so understanding.’ ‘Maybe not but … ’

  ‘Why did she leave you?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, Inspector, I have no idea because I would have given her and the baby a home for as long as she wanted it.’ The woman sounded hurt. She’d showed Patience Bailey kindness and it had been thrown back in her face; or perhaps that wasn’t the whole story.

  ‘Did she offer any sort of explanation?’

  ‘She said she wanted to move to the country. She found a job in Mabley Ridge and gave me a week’s notice.’

  ‘What about her friend, the one she claimed was the baby’s real mother?’

  ‘All I know about her is that she lived in Cheadle and that she’d worked with Patience during the war. Patience worked in a hospital dispensary and she told me her friend had been a nurse. I asked my grandson David if he knew anything more about the friend and he said he’d met her. He said she was a very nice girl.’

  ‘What was David’s relationship with Patience?’

  ‘She was the widow of one of his men. I think he felt responsible for her welfare.’

  Albert was reluctant to ask the next question but it had to be done. ‘Is it possible the baby was David’s?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I could tell by the way he talked about her … interested but not involved, if you know what I mean. No, I’m quite certain my grandson wasn’t the father. By the time you get to my age, Inspector, you can tell these things.’

  ‘So what was Patience Bailey like?’

  ‘She was a kind girl; the sort of girl who would take on other people’s problems. If the baby was hers, as I suspect it was, she would have done her best for it. I’m sure of that.’

  Albert wondered whether to share what Dr Michaels had told him; that Patience Bailey had never given birth, then decided against it.

  Esther sighed. ‘The constable who broke the news told me how she … Poor Patience didn’t deserve such a dreadful end. She’d had a lot of tragedy in her life, you know.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about her background.’

  ‘Her parents owned a chemist’s shop in Withington not far from here,’ she said, making herself comfortable on the chaise longue. ‘And she married a man called Victor Bailey who was a corporal serving under David. When Victor was killed in action David asked me to take his widow in as my companion because her parents had both passed away by then. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, Inspector, but I was glad to give the girl a home in exchange for some company.’

  ‘Had she any other family?’

  ‘She had a brother in Manchester and I think there was a sister too. I remember David saying she lived in London but Patience never mentioned her, which I thought rather odd. I believe there was another brother as well, who died in an accident when he was a child. As I said, what with that and her parents and her husband, poor Patience had experienced a lot of tragedy in her life.’ She paused for a moment, as if something had just occurred to her. ‘It’s
strange … ’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The family she went to work for in Mabley Ridge – the Ghents – their son Monty who was killed in France used to be a close friend of David’s. They were at Manchester Grammar School together.’

  Albert had often been told it was a small world but, after all his years in the police, he was always sceptical about coincidences. ‘Do you think the Ghents employed her because of the connection?’

  ‘That’s possible, I suppose. Poor Monty was such a clever boy. He was at the university studying … ’ She frowned, trying to remember. ‘Science, I think. Anyway he was halfway through his studies when war broke out. He and David signed up at the same time but David came back and he didn’t. What his poor parents must have gone through doesn’t bear thinking about, does it.’

  ‘You knew Monty Ghent well?’

  ‘Oh yes. My daughter, David’s mother, passed away when he was fifteen and my son-in-law, his father, married again which meant that David spent a lot of time here with me before the war.’ She smiled fondly at the memory. ‘He often brought Monty with him to see me. He was such a polite, quiet boy. Very studious. When I think of what happened to him … ’

  Albert saw that her eyes were shining with tears and he sat quietly, allowing her time to compose herself. After a while she dabbed her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief, took a deep breath and gave him a brave smile.

  ‘I’d like to speak to your grandson. If Patience confided in him he might know something about the friend she used to visit in Cheadle. Does David live near here?’ Esther shook her head. ‘He’s in London studying law. He’s going to be a solicitor,’ she said with grandmotherly pride.

  Albert’s spirits sank at this new obstacle that had appeared in his path. But all was not lost. ‘May I have his address? I’d like to send one of my colleagues in London to speak to him. If he served with Patience’s husband he might be able to help me find her family. They need to be told about what happened.’

  Esther gave a gracious nod. ‘Of course,’ she said before reciting an address in Bloomsbury. ‘I’m only sorry I can’t be more help.’

  ‘While Patience was living here did she visit her brother in Manchester? Or maybe he came here to see her?’

  ‘He never came here and she never mentioned visiting him. Perhaps they didn’t get on.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I asked her once what he did for a living and she said he worked for the government but there was something about the way she said it, almost as though she was ashamed.’

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  ‘It was Joseph, I think.’

  ‘What was Patience’s maiden name?’

  ‘She did tell me once but I can’t remember.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Now what was that chemist’s shop called?’ She opened her eyes again and sighed. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t remember. If you ask in Withington someone’s bound to know, I’m sure.’

  ‘Did you ever meet the Ghents, Monty’s family?’

  ‘I can’t say I did but David used to visit them regularly before the war.’

  ‘Do you know whether he’s seen them recently? Did he ever visit Patience while she was there?’

  ‘Not as far as I know. I’m sure he would have mentioned it.’

  Albert paused before he asked his next question. ‘Have you been told that the baby’s missing?’

  Her hand went to her mouth as if to suppress a silent scream. ‘No. Poor little thing.’

  ‘We’re doing everything we can to find him.’

  ‘Do you think he’s still … alive?’ He could hear the anguish in her voice.

  ‘I hope so, Mrs Schuman, I really do.’

  There was a long silence before she spoke again. ‘I’ll tell you one thing, Inspector. If Patience died because of some secret she was keeping – I’m sure it has something to do with that baby.’

  Chapter 23

  Mallory Ghent drove home from church with his wife sitting silently in the back seat while Esme gazed out of the window. Over the past few weeks she had been distant, as though she was nursing some private and potentially explosive secret, but father and daughter had never been close so her thoughts were a mystery to him.

  Though Jane Ghent still seemed preoccupied with the violent death of Patience Bailey, Mallory himself could feel no grief for the young woman who’d lingered around the house; always watching and, he suspected, always disapproving. She’d been too inquisitive for her own good. Once he’d even found her trying the door to his private place, although she’d pretended she’d wandered into the stable yard looking for toys that might have been left in the outhouse by previous generations. He knew it had been a lie – but now she wasn’t around any more he had other things to worry about.

  His wife had no inkling that he was pursuing Dora Devereaux and he wanted it to stay that way because it was his business and his alone. To his dismay Dora showed no sign of abandoning her relationship with Leonard Parms. He knew he had no right to be possessive but the thought of sharing her, of not being able to buy her exclusive company with gifts and trinkets, nagged at him like a physical pain.

  Every time he closed his eyes and imagined Dora and Leonard together writhing in her bed, he wondered how it would feel to eliminate his rival forever. In his imagination he watched Leonard Parms draw his final breath and saw the horror in his eyes when he realised that offending Mallory Ghent had brought about his death, and as he enjoyed the mental picture he felt power coursing through his body. But he and Parms were gentlemen, prominent members of Mabley Ridge society, so whenever they met he treated him as a friend. He’d had plenty of practice at burying hatred behind good manners.

  Once at Gramercy House he parked outside the front door and when Jane climbed out of the car he noticed her holding her stomach as though she was in pain. He didn’t bother to ask her how she felt. Whenever Jane intruded on his thoughts he compared her to Dora and found her wanting. Dora was beautiful. Dora was vivacious, with a zest for life that filled him with new energy when he was with her. Dora was amusing and her imitations of his fellow Cottontots and their dull wives never failed to make him laugh. Jane hadn’t laughed since Monty died and now she appeared to have assumed the role of invalid, barely eating and surviving on the beef tea Daisy brought her at regular intervals.

  Dora had told him she couldn’t see him that evening because, in her words, she had something tedious to do. Tedious was one of her favourite words and she could damn anything with those three syllables. He suspected the tedious thing was Leonard Parms and he was tempted to loiter outside her house to discover the truth. He couldn’t help feeling like a lovesick schoolboy though he realised that such behaviour would hardly befit a man of his standing.

  He needed a distraction so he turned to Jane. ‘Tell Cook I’ll be in for lunch,’ he said tersely before leaving her side and walking round the side of the house to the stables.

  The key was in his pocket. During morning service he’d put his hand in there to feel it and think of its comforting promise as the vicar droned on about loving your neighbour as yourself – a challenge in Mabley Ridge where the neighbours were business rivals all bent on outdoing each other socially and financially.

  When he arrived in the cobbled stable yard he glanced back and saw that Esme had caught up with her mother. The two women were making for the front door, a double portrait of misery, and he waited until they were inside the house before tiptoeing past the kitchen door where he could hear pots and pans clattering and Cook singing a hearty hymn at the top of her voice: ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers’.

  After crossing the yard he unlocked the sturdy door beside the stables. Once the door had swung open silently he stepped into the gloom, careful to lock up behind him before he climbed the stairs to the upper room, aware that his heart was beating fast. He rarely had a chance to visit during the day and he was grateful for the light streaming in through the dusty skylight above his head as he breathed in the heady odour of death.

  He st
ood for a while gazing on the tableau of dead flesh and with every breath he took he felt comforted. But there was a lot more to do before his work was finished.

  As soon as she returned from church Esme Ghent left her mother and retreated to her room. Her father had left the car at the front of the house and she wondered whether he intended to go out again. He spent a lot of nights at his club these days – or so he claimed. Esme sometimes wondered – when she could be bothered to wonder about her parents at all – how her mother felt about his regular absences. Since Monty’s death Jane no longer betrayed her emotions; it was as though something had died inside her when he was lost and she was no longer capable of feeling pain.

  Her mother had gone straight into the drawing room and shut the door and Esme knew she’d be in there until lunch was served. When Esme reached her mother’s age, she hoped her behaviour wouldn’t be so predictable.

  At least the police were no longer there, trampling all over the house and nosing into everyone’s business, she thought as she reached the sanctuary of her room. She closed the door behind her and began to sort through her gramophone records; the ones Sydney Rich had given her. Sydney was older than the young men she’d known before the war, many of whom she’d grown up with, and she found it hard to believe how innocent she’d been before she met him.

  She looked back on her naivety with embarrassment. Sydney had introduced her to the pleasures of sex and he knew the best music, the best restaurants, the latest cocktails – and other means of oblivion. Before she’d met Sydney her life had been restricted and humdrum, filled with dull girlfriends and even duller parents and relatives. Following the war young men were thin on the ground and many who’d returned were wounded or damaged in some way, not always with scars you could see.

  All of a sudden Esme’s musings were interrupted by a primitive cry of distress coming from downstairs followed by a loud keening; the same noise her mother had made when the telegram had arrived to tell them that Monty was dead. She abandoned the records and rushed out of her room, hurtling down the staircase to the drawing room. When she pushed the door open, fearful that something terrible had happened, she saw her mother slumped on the floor by the unlit fire, her face wet with tears and her body shaking with sobs. There was something in her hand; something that looked like a photograph together with a handwritten note, scrunched up in her fist.