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

by Kate Ellis

  She walked down Ridge Lane towards Ridgeside Lodge, hoping to find Sydney at home. He hadn’t been answering his telephone but she needed to tell him about the room by the stables and ask his advice. He’d been through the war so he was bound to understand.

  To her relief she saw the Alvis parked in front of the house and she smoothed her hair and checked her lipstick in the small mirror she kept in her handbag before lifting the door knocker. As she waited she experienced a flutter of nerves and her palms felt clammy as the possibility that he hadn’t been in touch because he was growing tired of her crept to the forefront of her mind. Suddenly she couldn’t think of anything worse than losing him and being plunged back into the dull routine of village life after glimpsing the world outside.

  The door opened and as soon as he saw her he smiled. A few weeks ago she would have been taken in by the apparent warmth of his greeting but now she could see a coldness in his eyes.

  ‘I just had to get out of the house. Got anything to drink?’ she said with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. She needed the warm numbness of alcohol to give her courage. Accusing your own father of attempted murder was a serious business.

  Without a word a bottle of champagne was produced along with two glasses.

  ‘Something the matter, darling?’

  ‘You could say that.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I found something rather horrid at home. My father keeps stuffed animals in a locked room. They’re arranged in some sort of battle scene and they look as if they’ve been blown to pieces with their legs and arms hanging off and … ’ She shuddered. ‘It’s too gruesome.’

  ‘You said you thought he was up to something.’ Sydney opened the bottle with a satisfying pop and began to pour the champagne.

  ‘That’s not all. He’s poisoning Mother.’

  Sydney stood open-mouthed as the champagne dribbled on to the tray.

  ‘I found some arsenic and I don’t know whether to tell the police. He’s fallen for some cheap little actress who lives in the village and—’

  ‘You can’t go to the police.’

  The knock echoed through the house. Twice, three times, like a portent of doom. Sydney froze and for the first time in their relationship Esme thought he looked unsure of himself.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she asked.

  When the knocking started up again he returned the bottle to its ice bucket, staring at the door as though he was planning his escape.

  ‘They’re not giving up. Shall I answer it?’

  ‘No,’ he barked. ‘Stay where you are. Did they follow you here?’

  ‘Who?’

  The charming war hero had been replaced by a hostile stranger.

  ‘Answer the front door and keep them talking,’ he ordered as he began to sidle out of the room.

  She obeyed without question; obedience to his whims had become a habit. When she opened the front door she saw Sergeant Stark standing there with a young constable, their expressions serious. Whatever they were there for she knew it must concern Sydney. But she also knew the police often persecuted the innocent so she’d do her best for him.

  ‘Is Sydney Rich at home?’ Stark asked.

  Before she could answer in the negative she heard a car engine start up. He’d made it to the Alvis.

  The two policemen looked at each other and ran towards the car. Then the engine died and she heard Sydney swearing as the constable hauled him from the driving seat and pinioned his arms behind his back.

  ‘Charles Woodbead, I’m arresting you in connection with the murders of Patience Bailey and Joan Pearce.’

  The thing that hurt Esme most was that Sydney never looked back in her direction when he was escorted away.

  Chapter 54

  Albert was horrified by Monty Ghent’s revelations about Charles Woodbead. He himself had suffered in the war and he knew what pressures the men had been under, but for an officer to shoot two of his own men in cold blood because they’d inadvertently witnessed him shooting himself in the foot to get a passage home was a despicable act.

  War, as Albert was only too aware, could provide a perfect cover for all manner of crimes and Woodbead might have got away with it if Monty Ghent hadn’t been a third, unseen, witness. Woodbead hadn’t realised he’d been watching from the trees at the edge of the clearing where it happened or he would have ended up with a bullet in his head as well, an enemy sniper being the perfect scapegoat to receive the blame.

  Instead, in spite of suffering shell shock, the chaos of battle had allowed the traumatised Monty to swap identities with a dead comrade and make his way back to Blighty. There were those who would have called it desertion or cowardice in the face of the enemy; but witnessing Woodbead’s crime had been the last straw that had tipped the young officer over the edge into despair.

  Quivering and barely aware of what he was doing, by good fortune and the kindness of strangers it had taken him more than a year to find his way back to Mabley Ridge, sleeping rough and stealing to eat.

  By the time he reached his destination he had recovered sufficiently to realise that going home to his parents wouldn’t be the wisest move so instead he hid out in a concealed cave on the Ridge that he’d discovered during his childhood. It was part of some ancient mine workings and it had once been his secret place; somewhere he’d played with David Cohen when David had stayed with him at Gramercy House. He’d toyed with the idea of letting David and Barbara Nevin know he was still alive, but he’d been reluctant to burden his friend and his sweetheart with the dangerous knowledge. Besides, with those visions of battle which left him a shaking husk, he wasn’t the same man he’d been when he’d known them.

  Albert had sent Stark to pick up Woodbead, reasoning that if he was left alone with Monty he’d be more likely to open up if they could speak man to man: soldier to soldier.

  ‘I’m scared I might have been responsible for Patience’s death,’ Monty said so quietly that Albert had to lean across the table to hear him.

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘If Charles Woodbead learned somehow about the link between me and Patience he might have assumed I’d told her what he did during the war. He might have killed her so she couldn’t give away his secret. Maybe if I’d warned her about him … ’

  Albert, seeing the look of despair on Monty’s face, assured him he wasn’t to blame and promised to let Barbara Nevin know he was safe. Monty shot Albert a grateful half-smile. He looked gaunt and ill and Albert wasn’t inclined to make him spend the night in a cell. Stark might object when he found out what he planned but he was determined to deal with the matter in his own way.

  ‘Let’s get you home,’ said Albert as he stood up, offering Monty his hand. Monty hesitated before taking it and when they shook hands Albert noticed that his fingernails were filthy and his grip weak.

  They received questioning looks as they left the police station together but nobody dared to challenge the man from Scotland Yard.

  The two men walked to Gramercy House in silence and when they reached the drive Albert asked the question that had been on his mind since Monty’s revelation. ‘Do you really think Woodbead killed Patience?’

  ‘I can’t think who else it could be.’

  ‘What about Mrs Pearce?’

  ‘Perhaps she saw him that night when she went to the graveyard to leave the food and he wanted to make sure she didn’t give him away. To think I just took it … ’ Tears began to roll down his face. ‘If I’d known … ’

  His thoughts echoed Albert’s. And yet Charles Woodbead couldn’t have killed little Jimmy Rudyard in 1914. Albert had hoped to find a connection between that and the recent murders but it looked as though he was wrong.

  ‘You don’t have to see Woodbead if you don’t want to but we will need your testimony.’

  Monty nodded. ‘I realise that.’ He paused. ‘What’ll happen to me? Will I be handed over to the military authorities?’

  ‘Not if I’ve got anything to do it.’

  The front
door of Gramercy House was in sight. Albert allowed Monty to go on ahead while he hung back and watched as the door opened. He could tell by the expression of disgust on Daisy’s face that she thought he was a tramp who’d had the temerity to come begging at the front door, then he saw her expression change when he told her who he was. She moved to close the door in his face but Albert stepped forward.

  ‘He’s telling the truth, Daisy. Let him in and tell your mistress he’s here.’

  Daisy, suddenly meek, did as he told her and Albert was at Monty’s side when he entered the drawing room and took his mother in his arms.

  Chapter 55

  Peter

  The police have caught the Shadow Man and I know they’ll hang him or shoot him at dawn because that’s what he told me they’d do if they ever found him. Miss Davies was crying. I’ve never seen a teacher cry before.

  Mam sent me to bed early and I can hear the baby screaming downstairs. It never used to scream but Mam says it’s teething. I don’t like the baby. I wish it had died instead of our Jimmy.

  Ernie and Jack won’t come to bed for a while so I kneel on the chair by the window looking out at the graves. I can see Jimmy’s ’cause it’s close to the house. Mam puts flowers on it and Dad tidies round it every time he mows. Sometimes I see Jimmy standing by his grave smiling at me like he’s still alive but Ernie says I’m making it up.

  Nothing’s happening in the graveyard ’cause it’s not dark enough for owls and bats so I lie on my bed and when I close my eyes I can see Jimmy. He looks like me and I always know what he’s thinking, even though he’s dead.

  I felt safe up on the Ridge with the Shadow Man but now he’s been caught I don’t think I’ll go there any more. Jimmy says I shouldn’t. He says it’s a bad place.

  I’ve got my eyes tight shut and I can see a shadow next to Jimmy but it’s not the Shadow Man – nothing like him. I told everyone I couldn’t remember what happened the day he died and that was true. But now I sometimes see things … like the knight who got our Jimmy. I saw him with a lady before I ran away but if I told Mam she’d say I was lying.

  At school today Miss Davies made us read that play about fairies again. It’s stupid. There’s a man who turns into a donkey and people rushing around putting stuff in other people’s eyes so they fall in love. Our Ernie says it’s daft too. I don’t know why Miss Davies likes it so much.

  When we read it out loud she made me play Oberon who’s the fairy king. I didn’t want to be a fairy king but I read like she asked. Then when I’d said, ‘I do but beg a little changeling boy to be my henchman,’ she made me stop and asked if anybody knew what a changeling was.

  Robert from Verity Farm puts his hand up. He’s clever and knows everything. ‘It’s a baby the fairies swap for a human baby, Miss.’

  Robert’s not the only one who knows things so I put my hand up too. ‘Our baby’s a changeling, Miss. It looks different now so the fairies must have swapped it.’

  Ernie gave me a nudge that really hurt but Miss Davies smiled and asked me to go on reading. But I wasn’t lying. Why does nobody ever believe me?

  Chapter 56

  Esme stumbled home with tears streaming down her face, leaving dark rivulets in her face powder. Sergeant Stark, who’d always been a comforting presence in the village, especially for families like her own who had a lot of property to protect, had just hauled the man she loved off to jail like a common criminal.

  She’d overheard the words ‘arresting you for the murder of Patience Bailey’, yet Sydney hadn’t even known Patience. Why would he have killed her?

  She wondered whether to go to the police station and find out what was going on but she told herself they’d soon realise their mistake and let him go. Besides, she’d never been inside a police station and she imagined they were frightening places, teeming with criminals in handcuffs.

  She let herself into Gramercy House by the back door, hesitating in the passage next to the kitchen. She took the little mirror from her bag to check her makeup and when she saw the devastation she realised she needed to wash her face before her parents saw her and began to ask questions. She could hear no sounds from the kitchen, which surprised her because Cook was usually hard at work preparing the dinner at that time of day.

  All of a sudden the door at the end of the passage burst open and she saw Cook standing there, sleeves rolled up and breathless. Her face was glowing, not with the heat from the oven but with delight, as though she’d just received miraculous news.

  ‘Oh Miss Esme, have you heard? He’s back. He’s alive.’ Esme saw tears in her eyes but she didn’t like to assume they were tears of joy until she knew more. ‘Who is?’

  ‘Your brother. Monty. He’s come back.’

  Esme stood stunned for a few seconds. ‘What do you mean? Where is he?’

  ‘With your mother.’

  Without another word she barged past Cook and burst through the door to the hallway, hardly aware of her legs moving towards the closed drawing-room door. Cook was wrong. Monty was dead.

  But when the drawing-room door opened with a crash he was there, sitting on Mother’s chaise longue, bending over her tenderly like an angel she’d seen once in a painting. He was thin and filthy and he smelled of rotting vegetation but, despite all this, she recognised him at once. Monty had come back to them. She flung herself on him, weeping hot tears as she clung to the coarse cloth of his greatcoat.

  *

  Monty was reluctant to let go of his mother’s hand. She looked so fragile with her parchment skin and bloodshot eyes. In his father’s absence he’d ordered the maid to call Dr Michaels again but she’d stared at him defiantly as though she considered him an imposter who had no right to tell her what to do. Fortunately Jane Ghent’s condition had made Monty temporarily forget the damage war had done to him and it was with his old officer’s confidence that he shouted at Daisy to do what she was bloody told, surprising himself as much as the girl.

  ‘Let’s leave Mother to rest,’ he said to Esme, taking her elbow and leading her into the empty dining room.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Here and there. I’ve been lying low on the Ridge for the past few months. Never mind that now – I know all about you and Woodbead.’

  ‘Who is this Woodbead?’

  ‘The man you’ve been seeing.’

  Esme looked confused. ‘The police called my boyfriend Woodbead when they arrested him but they’ve got the wrong man. His name’s Sydney Rich.’

  ‘He’s been lying to you, Esme. His name’s Charles Woodbead and he’s a murderer. I saw him shoot two of his own men.’

  ‘You’re wrong. He was wounded in France. A ricocheting bullet hit his foot.’

  Monty put both his hands on her shoulders and looked into her face. ‘He shot himself in the foot to get back to Blighty and then he shot two of his men who happened to witness what he’d done,’ he said as though he was explaining to a child. ‘I saw him do it too, although he didn’t realise that at the time. If I hadn’t got away fast he would have killed me as well. He’s evil, sis. A bad lot.’

  She was about to argue before she realised it was best to leave it until Monty was more his old self. She knew her Sydney and she was sure Monty had got it all wrong. Nevertheless there was one thing she couldn’t resist blurting out; something that had been on her mind since she’d visited her father’s secret room.

  ‘If you’re looking for someone who’s evil look no further than our own father. He’s poisoning Mother.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘He’s fallen for an actress and he’s trying to get rid of Mother. I think he’s putting it in her beef tea because that’s all she drinks these days.’

  ‘What makes you think it’s Father?’

  ‘He keeps arsenic in the room next to the stables. I’ve seen it. Remember Grandfather used to make those horrible stuffed animals? Well, Father’s been doing the same only worse. They’re horrid … all twisted and … ’
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  Monty felt tears welling up in his eyes. He’d come home expecting comfort and he didn’t feel strong enough for this yet.

  ‘I need something to eat,’ he said before making for the kitchen where Cook was waiting to give him a hug and ask the questions that had been bubbling up inside her since his arrival. But Monty was in no mood to talk. He sat at the kitchen table shovelling the food she’d provided into his mouth like a starving man while she bustled about. He watched as she took a jar labelled beef tea from the pantry.

  ‘This is for your mother,’ she said as though she was reading his mind. ‘I’ve tried bits and pieces to tempt her but this is all she wants these days, poor lady.’

  Monty felt relieved that someone was looking after his mother and he trusted Cook implicitly. She’d been with the family for years, ever since his childhood.

  ‘Does my father ever come in here?’

  ‘Never. Master has better things to do.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She gave a puzzled nod just as the young maid opened the door then, seeing Monty there, shut it again quickly.

  He heard the sound of excited voices from the direction of the hall but he couldn’t make out what was being said because of the heavy door separating the world of the servants from that of the masters.

  ‘That sounds like your father,’ Cook said with a smile. ‘Miss Esme must have telephoned him at the mill.’

  Monty stuffed some bread into his mouth and sprang up. He rushed towards the hall, followed by Cook who was keen to witness the family reunion.

  When the servants’ door clattered open Mallory Ghent stared at his son in disbelief for a while. Then he shook his hand, a strangely formal greeting; he seemed too stunned for speech.