by Kate Ellis
‘Of course. Anything.’
‘Please tell me everything you know about Patience Bailey – her background, her family, her sweethearts, everything.’
‘She was brought up in Withington not far from my grandmother’s place. Her parents ran a chemist’s shop but they both passed away some years ago. Patience was only married to Bailey for about eighteen months before he died and he was devoted to her – used to write to her all the time from the trenches. He told me she had a brother and a sister. The brother works at that big prison in Manchester.’
‘Strangeways?’ Albert felt his heart beating faster.
‘That’s it. She told me once he lives near Strangeways with his family but I don’t think she ever visited him; I suppose being near a prison isn’t to everyone’s taste. Mind you, I had the impression they weren’t close anyway. All I know about the sister is that she went to London to follow the bright lights.’
‘Do you know their names?’
‘The brother’s Joseph and the sister … I think her name’s Constance.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘Patience and Constance – qualities we should all aspire to, eh, Inspector. I remember Patience telling me that Constance was very beautiful – a real glamour girl, she said. The type who should be in the moving pictures. Unfortunately I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her so I wouldn’t know her if I bumped into her in the street.’
‘Patience left your grandmother’s employment to become companion to Mrs Jane Ghent in Mabley Ridge. You were friends with Monty Ghent, I believe?’
David’s expression suddenly became guarded. ‘Yes, Monty and I were good friends. We went to school together. Manchester Grammar.’ He paused. ‘Monty was my best friend, Inspector. We were posted to different positions so we didn’t see much of each other at the front. Then I heard he’d been killed … ’ He was fighting hard to keep the emotion from his voice. ‘But that’s war, isn’t it. Poor Monty’s lying in some grave in France and I’ll never see him again but you have to get on with life.’ He looked at Albert’s hand and the scarring on his face. ‘You had a bad time yourself, I see.’
‘At least I survived,’ Albert said quietly. ‘What can you tell me about Patience’s baby?’
David appeared to be surprised at the sudden change of subject. ‘His name was Lancelot – like in King Arthur and his knights. A rather fanciful name if you ask me.’ ‘You realise Vic Bailey couldn’t have been the father?’ ‘Maths may not be my strong point, Inspector, but I’m well aware of that.’
‘So who was the father?’
‘Search me. I thought it impolite to ask.’
‘Can you tell me why Patience moved to Mabley Ridge?’ ‘She seemed happy at Grandmother’s and the old girl didn’t mind about the baby in the least so I must say the move rather surprised me. All she told me was that she fancied living in the country and she thought it would be better for Lancelot. Just shows how wrong you can be.’
‘You got her the job with Mrs Ghent.’
‘I suppose I did. I still visit Monty’s family sometimes when I’m up North so I must have mentioned to Patience that Mrs G was looking for a companion and she asked me to put a word in.’
‘We know Patience wasn’t Lancelot’s mother. Who was?’
David sat in silence for a few moments, as though he was wondering how much to share.
‘Please. Whoever the mother is, she should be told.’
David stood up and went to the small window that looked out on the nearby rooftops. He stood in silence for the while before turning to face Albert. ‘I really didn’t know for sure that the child wasn’t hers but I suppose it explains a lot.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Patience had a close friend called Barbara Nevin. She came from a respectable family and, according to Monty, her parents were very strict so if she’d fallen pregnant – and I’m not saying that’s what happened – it wouldn’t surprise me if they sent her away to have the baby and threatened to have it adopted by strangers. I can just imagine Patience volunteering to take the child on and make sure he was taken care of, which would at least mean that Barbara would have some contact. As a widow, it would be no problem for Patience to have a baby in tow and that would explain why she wanted to move away to a new place because people in Didsbury would have started doing their sums. She told my grandmother she was looking after the baby for a friend but I think Grandmother suspected it was really hers.’
‘But you knew it wasn’t?’
‘Patience had been devoted to her husband so I can’t see her taking up with another man so soon after his death. And she was very … moral. In fact if I was being uncharitable I would describe her as a little prudish. Not that she didn’t have a good heart – just a keen sense of right and wrong.’
‘What was Monty’s relationship with Barbara?’
David considered his answer for a while, reminding Albert that he was a lawyer in the making. ‘They were sweethearts. His family knew nothing about her but I’m sure that in time … if he’d survived … Mind you, I know one thing for sure. If the baby was Barbara’s Monty couldn’t have been the father because he died just before the end of the war. Again, the sums are all wrong.’
‘Tell me about the relationship between Patience and Barbara?’
‘They’d been close friends since they’d worked together as VADs in the war. They both worked at Stockport Infirmary for a while; Barbara as an auxiliary nurse and Patience as a dispenser – she was brought up in a chemist’s shop after all. She wanted to do her bit while Vic was away fighting.’
Flora had been a VAD in her local military hospital and for a brief moment David’s mention of Barbara’s work revived the memory. Then he composed himself, hoping David hadn’t noticed the look of shock that must have appeared on his face.
‘Did you play Cupid and introduce Monty to Barbara?’ ‘I can’t deny it.’
Albert guessed that David had been brought up not to lie to the police. ‘What’s Barbara like?’
‘She’s small with fair hair and a turned-up nose. Pretty girl and sweet-natured – kind. Lives in Cheadle – that’s a village not far from Didsbury. When Monty and I were on leave I used to ask Patience out for walks in the park because I felt responsible for her somehow, and on a few occasions she came along with Barbara and I brought Monty. They seemed to hit it off right away.’ He smiled. ‘They were rather jolly walks, Inspector. Making the most of the time we had and living for the day. A chance to forget about the horrors we had to go back to with a couple of nice girls.’
‘So you and Patience … ’
‘Like I said, she was Vic Bailey’s widow so it wouldn’t have seemed right.’
‘But Monty and Barbara … ?’
‘You’ll have to ask her, Inspector. I know she’ll be absolutely devastated to hear about Patience. She lost Monty and … Then there’s the baby. If she is the mother she’ll be … I don’t know how she’s going to face it.’
Albert knew that feeling – enduring the news of death after death until it numbs the soul. ‘You haven’t told her about Patience yet?’
He shook his head. ‘I did think about contacting her but, to tell the truth, I didn’t know what to say. Probably pure cowardice on my part. Perhaps I should have … ’
‘I’d like to tell her myself. I promise you I’ll break the news gently.’
‘If the baby is hers, how do you tell a mother her child’s dead?’ David Cohen was no longer trying to hold back his tears. They were coming fast now, trickling down his face.
‘There’s no easy way but I’m a policeman so it’s something I’ve had to do before. All part of the job.’
David Cohen gave him a pitying look. ‘You’d think with the war being over … ’
‘I don’t think it’ll ever be over, Mr Cohen. Not truly.’ David walked to the window and stared out at the rooftops and Albert watched him in silence, giving him time to come to terms with what he’d just learned. Then he spoke.
‘
I’ll need Barbara’s address. Does she still live with her parents?’
‘As far as I know, although it’s a while since I’ve seen her. You will be discreet, I trust? If the baby was hers and her parents happen to be within earshot then I imagine the subject won’t exactly be a welcome one.’ He tore a scrap of paper from a notebook lying on the table by the window, scribbled down an address and handed it to Albert. ‘You will give her my best wishes, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
‘And tell her I’ll come and see her when I’m next up there.’
There was an anxiety in the young man’s voice which told Albert that Monty Ghent hadn’t been Barbara Nevin’s only admirer. He took his leave, wondering whether to catch the tram or the tube to his home in Bermondsey. He decided on the tram. It was slower and would give him more time to think.
Chapter 38
According to Esme Ghent’s friends, playing hard to get was the only way to keep a man’s interest – and she wanted to keep Sydney’s interest more than anything else in the world.
Last time she’d seen him he’d been distant, as though he had something on his mind. And he still asked about her mother each time they met, making the questions sound casual, even playful. What did Jane Ghent do all day? Who were her friends? Were there any men sniffing around? When she’d quizzed him he’d made the excuse that he was just interested in her family because everything about her fascinated him. But she suspected there was more behind his interest, although she could hardly ask her mother what it was. Or perhaps she would. Why not?
Her mother was still complaining of pains in her stomach and her father was spending so much time at his club in Manchester that she hardly saw him. He often telephoned her mother early in the evening to say he wouldn’t be home and on one occasion Cook had looked puzzled when she received the news that there’d only be two for dinner. When Esme’s curiosity got the better of her and she asked if something was wrong, Cook said she’d seen Mr Ghent in the village earlier, although she did admit that she might have been mistaken.
Not that Esme saw much of her father when he did deign to turn up. He kept disappearing into the door next to the stables which was always kept frustratingly locked. She wanted to know what was in there and she wondered whether Sydney knew how to pick locks because Sydney seemed to know everything.
Her mother had taken to her bed again, holed up in the room that was once performed by eau de Cologne but now smelled of vomit, so Esme crept out of the house. Sydney had promised to meet her by the gates in the Alvis and she wondered where he was planning to take her. Into Manchester for lunch at the Midland perhaps; she really hoped so because she’d put on her new shoes, which were hardly suitable for a walk on the Ridge. Sydney seemed obsessed with that sinister place, but Esme was tiring of their alfresco picnics and love-making on the damp car rug.
Sydney turned up at eleven as arranged and as soon as she saw him her planned aloofness vanished in the thrill of the moment. He offered her a cigarette from the packet and she took it gratefully, her eyes meeting his as he lit it with his gold lighter. He’d told her it had been a present from someone who’d once been special to him but he’d never divulged the identity of the giver.
‘Can we go somewhere nice?’ she asked as she climbed into the passenger seat. ‘Lunch in Manchester, perhaps?’
‘Manchester’s out. Sorry.’
‘I fancied the Midland.’
Sydney shook his head. ‘It’s full of fat businessmen talking about the price of cotton. I thought we’d go back to my place? I’ve found the recipe for a new cocktail. You’ll love it.’
Esme tried to hide her disappointment. She wanted to show off the new dress she was wearing. She wanted to walk into the Midland’s plush restaurant on Sydney’s arm and be addressed as madam by obsequious waiters. She wanted to be treated as a grown-up. ‘As long as we don’t end up on the Ridge again.’
‘No danger of that. Looks like rain.’
He lit another cigarette and she felt the need to fill the silence with talk. ‘Cook says the village is swarming with police again. Some old woman’s been murdered.’
He sucked on the cigarette and blew out a perfect smoke ring. ‘I heard someone saying they’ve found that baby too.’
‘Dead?’
‘Well, it wasn’t dancing a jig.’ His lips turned upwards in a slow, mocking smile. ‘You’re not frightened are you? You don’t think there’s a lunatic going around killing women and you’re going to be next?’
‘You seem to think it’s funny.’ Even though she hadn’t had much time for Patience Bailey in life, her death, and that of her baby, had been no joke.
He started the engine and pulled away. ‘Someone once called murder one of the fine arts, darling. Or you can think of it as a game – the brilliant artist of murder pitching his wits against the collective denseness of our renowned police force.’
‘Stop the car and let me out.’
‘Don’t be a silly girl.’
‘Stop the car.’
The car shuddered to a halt with a screeching of tyres, throwing her forward so that her head almost hit the polished wood of the dashboard. She scooped up her handbag from the footwell and climbed out inelegantly, slamming the door behind her to make a point. His words had frightened her and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to see him again. On the other hand the excitement she felt when she was with him made all the other men she knew – those who’d survived the war – seem desperately dull in comparison.
As she marched back towards Gramercy House she began to realise that she’d overreacted – perhaps he’d just been teasing her and she’d played right into his hands. She turned her head to see if he was still there but he’d gone.
Chapter 39
Mrs Ghent was indisposed again, lying in bed with a sick bowl beside her. Daisy knew she’d be the one who’d have to deal with it but her late mother had always said that some unpleasant things had to be faced for the greater good.
She waited for Miss Esme to go out before she checked on Cook who was taking her afternoon nap, snoring in her chair. She had taken the key from Mallory Ghent’s desk first thing that morning, reasoning he wouldn’t miss it while he was at the mill. When she’d finished she planned to replace it exactly where she’d found it. She’d done it before and he hadn’t suspected a thing.
Her hands shook as she turned the key in the lock, which clicked smoothly. She knew it was kept well oiled because she’d seen John Rudyard, the gardener, with the oil can. The door opened silently and she saw a narrow staircase rising ahead of her, the treads bare splintery wood. She tried to visualise Mallory climbing these stairs but failed; these were servants’ stairs, not masters’. When she closed her eyes she could almost smell his pomade and feel his hands on her breasts. He was so much older than she was, far older than the boys she’d fooled around with before she came to Gramercy House, but he was rich and money excited her more than the thought of firm young flesh.
She knew Mallory would soon be free and if Miss Esme didn’t like how things were going to be, she could go off with her man in the Alvis; the one who hung around the house trying to look into the windows without being seen. The man who’d asked for the mistress that day, saying he was an old friend.
She climbed the stairs, her heart pounding as she opened the door at the top. She was the only one who knew Mallory Ghent’s secret and that gave her the advantage.
She slipped into the room and allowed her eyes to adjust to the gloom before tiptoeing past the horrors on display and helping herself to what she needed.
Chapter 40
Albert felt guilty that he hadn’t gone straight home as soon as he’d arrived in London; and the knowledge that he probably wouldn’t have made the journey if he hadn’t needed to speak to David Cohen made him feel even worse. Still, he was there now so it was time to make amends.
He took his door key from his pocket but then had second thoughts and knocked instead. Mary wasn’t expe
cting him and he didn’t want to surprise her by barging in without warning, especially as she wasn’t well.
He waited for a while, listening for sounds from within. Eventually he heard footsteps tapping on the linoleum and the door opened to reveal Mary’s mother, Vera, wearing a disapproving scowl on her face. She was a large woman with a cascade of chins beneath a face mottled by time. Her faded crossover apron strained across her midriff and she folded her beefy arms in a gesture of challenge.
‘About time too,’ were her first words. ‘She’s been asking for you.’
‘How is she?’
‘Good of you to ask,’ she said with heavy sarcasm, keeping him waiting on the doorstep. ‘No better. I wanted to fetch the doctor but she won’t have it.’ Her expression suddenly softened. ‘Maybe you can talk some sense into her. She won’t listen to me. Keeps saying she’d rather be with little Freddy. The Reverend Gillit says he’s so happy but … ’
This was the first time Vera had appeared to be anything less than enthusiastic about the Reverend Gillit’s influence over her daughter.
‘You’ve been encouraging her in this Gillit nonsense, haven’t you?’
Vera stood aside to let him into his own house and he shut the door behind him.
‘He gives her a lot of comfort. Which is more than her husband does.’
‘I do my best.’ Albert was well aware that he’d dealt with Frederick’s death by burying himself in his work. Even so, he felt obliged to defend himself against his mother-in-law’s accusations of neglect. ‘Where is she?’
As if on cue, he heard the sound of coughing from the direction of the kitchen and experienced another stab of guilt. At least, he thought, Mary had no idea about Flora and what had happened on his last trip up North in 1919, and what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. There had been a time when he’d been tempted to tell her – to tell the world – but circumstances had put a stop to that.
