Go ahead, you smarmy bastard, thought Tyler. There’s a war on and men are dying by the hundreds but she’s probably asking you to pick the bleeding aphids off the roses. And you will. We must keep our priorities straight, mustn’t we?
Ever since he’d come to live in Shropshire, Trimble had acted as if he was superior to the local folk, and rarely associated with them.
There was a tap on the door and the maid entered. “Miss Watkins, sir.”
She ushered in a young woman who was so tiny and scrawny, she hardly looked like an adult. Her dungarees hung on her.
“Thanks, Violet. Hello, Miss Watkins, I’m Inspector Tyler. I’ve come to ask you a few questions.”
She nodded. “I know.” Her tone was wary. He guessed that her previous experience of police officers hadn’t been one of mutual friendliness.
“Where would you like to sit?”
“Over by the window.”
She immediately went to the window recess. “Is there a chance of a cuppa? I’m parched.”
“It’s coming.”
She tucked her feet underneath her. “Can you call me Rose? I’m not used to Miss Watkins.”
“Of course. So, Rose, are you up to talking to me?”
“Glad to. It’s been a long bleeding morning by myself. Just going over and over things in me mind.”
“Didn’t you have any company?”
“Naw. The girls had to go off to work and that just left the maids and Miss Stillwell. She’s a good sort, really, but she and Elsie didn’t get along, and I weren’t in the mood to hear nobody running her down, if you know what I mean.”
After a light tap, Violet entered the room, wheeling a tea trolley on which sat a silver tea service and, heavens above, a plate of biscuits. She put it next to Rose and retreated quickly.
Tyler waited until Rose had helped herself to a cup of tea and scarfed down three biscuits in a row. When she spoke, her mouth was still filled.
“What d’you want to know?” she asked.
“I think I’ve got most of the story from Corporal Ellwood. You were going to find Elsie but your bike got a flat …”
“That’s right, bloody thing.”
“The two soldiers drove you up the road a ways and you came across Elsie’s body.”
Rose was wearing a silver bangle on her arm and she began to twist it. “At first, I thought it was a joke. Elsie’s a big joker and I thought, ‘She’s trying to put a scare into us, the little tosser.’ We all got out of the lorry and went over. Then the corporal tried to keep me away so’s I wouldn’t see but it was too late …” Rose didn’t cry although her voice became flat and low. “She was covered in blood, all down the side of her face. I knew right then that she was dead. The other soldier, Bobby’s his name, he got a terrible case of the jitters. He was shaking like a leaf and I thought he might collapse any minute. The corp had to yell at him. Then he, the corp, told us that we couldn’t help her now and we should get into the lorry and go and get Sir Percy, ’cos he’s the magistrate. Bobby kept going on about the Germans were invading us, that a parachutist must have got her. I started to get the shakes myself when he said that.” She shuddered. “Was it a Jerry who done her in?”
“I don’t think so, Rose.”
“Where’d you take her?”
“We have to do a post-mortem. She’s at the mortuary.”
“We’ll be able to bury her, won’t we?”
“Yes. As soon as the investigation is complete, we’ll release her body to her family.”
Rose shifted restlessly. “Them don’t give a sod. But Elsie always wanted a fancy funeral. We talked about it once. ‘I want black horses and plumes, Rose,’ she says. ‘And sad music.’ ‘Oo, listen to ’er,’ says I. ‘Only the good die young, Elsie. And that means you’re going to live to be an old lady.’ ” Rose stretched out her arm and showed him the bangle. “Elsie gave me this for my birthday. I ain’t had nothing like it before.”
Tyler nodded. “She was your best mate, wasn’t she?”
She looked at him. “What happened, mister?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Rose got out of the seat and started to walk around the room. She tugged at a couple of the cabinet doors, which were locked.
“Do they think we’d steal any of these books, for Christ’s sake? Look at them, they’re all old. Who the hell would want them?”
Tyler just murmured. There were probably some expensive first editions in those bookcases. Finally, Rose returned to the tea trolley and poured some more tea for herself.
“Do you have any idea who might want to harm your friend, Rose? Did she have any enemies?”
Rose shook her head immediately. “I wouldn’t say enemies. Not enemies. ’Til you get to know her, she can … she could come across as a bit rough, but only ’til you got used to her.” She turned the bangle. “She had a heart of gold.”
“Everybody liked her then?”
“Yeah. She was very popular. She didn’t get along too good with the warden, but I think that was Elsie’s fault more than anything. Miss Stillwell is a stickler for the rules and Elsie didn’t like that. She was what you’d call a rebel. When we first moved in, the furniture in the bedrooms had been removed and the worst junk had been put in. Some of it was falling apart. God knows where they’d got it. Elsie complained to the county office and they came and made Lady Somerville get in better things. The rest of us would have put up with it, but not ’er.” Rose smiled, enjoying the memory.
“Outside of the hostel, how did Elsie get along with people in general?”
“Good. She was a hard worker and the old codgers got to respect her.” She helped herself to another biscuit. “Mr. Morgan didn’t much care for her but that was his own bloody fault.” She gave a bit of a grin. “We was working his farm last month and it was so bleeding hot we all decided to take off our shirts. It was our Elsie’s idea, naturally, but we were out in the fields all by ourselves, so we thought, why bloody not. Then along comes Mr. Morgan. He had already been pestering some of the girls, making comments about their bottoms, getting in a sly touch now and again. He took a poke at one of Sylvia Sumner’s knockers, saying how big it is. And they are, but she’s only seventeen and she was upset by what he did. So anyway, his eyes got like bleeding saucers when he saw us half naked. I mean, we all covered up, but Elsie was fit to be tied. She just went over to him and said we were fed up with his behaviour. If he didn’t stop, she was going to tell everybody what he was doing. His wife is a bit of a tartar so she wouldn’t like that. He was gob struck and practically went down on his knees begging us not to. Elsie said as how we’d keep silent on the condition he treated us all to a round of shandies and a slap-up lunch at the Greyhound. He didn’t want to, you could see that. But he had no choice so he handed over a pound, moaning that it was his last and what would he tell his wife.” Rose giggled. “ ‘Tell her you gave it to the Spitfire fund,’ ” said Elsie. He didn’t try anything after that but I saw some of the looks he gave her. If looks could kill …” her voice trailed off.
That didn’t surprise Tyler either. However, he didn’t think Ewen Morgan, whom he’d known all his life, was capable of murder, miserable old geezer though he was sometimes.
Rose yawned and went back to the window seat. “I’m knackered.”
“Just a couple more questions, Rose. Elsie was a pretty girl; did she have a sweetheart that you know of?”
“Not a sweetheart, dozens. The blokes swarmed her like bees on jam.”
She glanced out of the window. Tyler saw that Trimble was crossing the lawn, a dejected hen underneath each arm. “ ’Im, for instance. She even got ’im panting after her and he’s old enough to be her dad.”
Tyler was momentarily taken aback. “Trimble?”
“That’s him. Don’t get me wrong. Elsie didn’t give a fig for him, but she wangled some nice presents out of him. Silk stockings, some chocolates. He was fit to be tied when she told him not to come calling anymore.
She could be like that. Generally, she let the young blokes down easy, but the slimy ones, she played them for what she could get.”
“Was Arthur Trimble the most recent conquest?”
Tyler noticed Rose’s hesitation.
“No. She’d started going with somebody else … she wouldn’t tell me who it was except that he was a soldier. I mean, she would have eventually, we had no secrets from each other, but at first she liked to tease me a bit. This bloke was different. I could tell she was sweet on this one. She said he’d had a bad time over in France. She was always a softie for the lame ducks.”
Tyler pushed away the frightening thought that flew into his mind. There were several young men in the area who’d had a hard time in France, including Bobby Walker and Jimmy. But it was Tyler himself who’d said maybe his son had found a sweetheart. Oh God, let’s hope he had nothing to do with this.
Rose looked exhausted.
“We’ll finish in a minute, Rose. Did you ever see Elsie with a gun, or did she ever mention knowing somebody who had a gun?”
The girl blinked rapidly. “She told me once her old man kept a pellet gun to kill crows and she was scared he might use it on her. That’s why she left home as soon as she could and joined the Land Army.”
“I found a bunch of white poppies that had been placed on her chest. Would you know anything about that?”
“No. I know the ones you mean, but I’m not fussy about them myself. They don’t smell or anything. There’s a lady that sells them. She’s a bit of a queer fish, but she’s good to us girls. Mrs. Thorne, her name is. She brings soap she makes herself and lotion for our hands.” Rose held out her hands to show him. They were tanned and weather-beaten, the skin on the fingers cracked, and traces of dirt were still under her fingernails. “The hedgerows tear them up fierce. Elsie was proud of her hands and she tried to keep them nice.”
“White poppies are an emblem of the Peace Pledge Union. Did Elsie by any chance sign the peace pledge? I know Mrs. Thorne is always trying to persuade people to join.”
“Naw, not Elsie,” said Rose with a chuckle. “She said she liked having a war. It made men of the boys, was her expression. She said this had been the best time of her life.” Rose’s eyes watered but she bit back her tears.
“One more question. I promise it’s the last,” said Tyler. “The corporal reported that when you first saw Elsie, you said, ‘I warned you.’ What did you mean by that?”
He saw tension catch her shoulders, but she concentrated on the bangle. “I don’t remember saying anything like that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Course I’m sure. I mean, if I did say it I was referring to the lorry. I told her to be careful when she was driving the bloody thing.”
“I tried it myself. It seems to be working all right.”
Rose looked sulky. “Well, it might be now but it didn’t always.” She slid back into the recess. “I feel as if I could fall asleep right on the spot.”
Tyler stood up. “Come on. You need a lie down.”
Rose’s eyes were actually drooping. “Can I stay here for a bit? It’s sort of comfy.” She brought up her knees and curled up like a cat. Within seconds, she was asleep. Tyler picked up a shawl that was draped across the other chair and covered her legs with it. The room was warm enough with the sun but it was he who needed the comfort of that gesture.
7.
MISS STILLWELL HAD ACTED QUICKLY AND AS TYLER came out of the library, she was ready with information regarding Elsie Bates’s next of kin, and the names of all the girls in the hostel. She looked haggard, but she was calm and efficient. The kind of woman you were glad to have on your side. She showed him to her office, where the telephone was, and withdrew to check on Rose.
It took him a while to get through to London, but finally somebody answered and rerouted him to the police station in the East End nearest to where Elsie Bates had lived. Again, the telephone rang and rang before it was picked up.
“Sergeant Donaldson here.”
Tyler identified himself and explained why he was calling.
“As soon as the post-mortem’s done, we can have the body sent down. We just need some directions.”
“Hmm. I’m afraid there was a bad incident yesterday, Inspector. Our RAF lads were engaged in a dogfight with Jerry and one of them was shot down. Unfortunately, he crashed right on the street you mention. He was killed and there were a couple of fatalities on the ground. Lots of houses were damaged. It’s a tight, crowded street. But I’ll do my best to get word to the family.” The officer sighed. “Poor buggers. Bad news on top of bad news by the sound of it. Laid any charges yet?”
“Not yet. It’s early days. I’d appreciate it if you’d ask the parents a few questions for me. Did Elsie have a boyfriend? You know, the usual drill.”
“I’ll do it if I can. I don’t know the situation yet.”
There was something about the sergeant’s voice that threw Tyler onto the defensive.
“She didn’t deserve to die like that. She wasn’t even twenty years old.”
Another sigh from the other end of the line. “Yes, well, you should have seen what my men had to dig out. We had an eight-year-old and a newborn. They didn’t deserve it either.”
Somehow the implication was that Elsie was not an innocent. Who knows, he may have been right.
The sergeant promised to call as soon as he had any information, and they hung up.
Tyler rang his station. Sergeant Gough answered.
“No news yet, sir. The lads are still out searching.”
“Nothing here either. I’m going over to Prees Heath now. See if anybody knows anything.”
He made one more call to Major Fordham, the commandant at the internment camp, who had to use a field telephone. The reception was poor, but Tyler gathered the major was expecting him, and the internees had been put on stand-by for his arrival. Sir Percy had done his job.
Miss Stillwell personally saw Tyler out. As he drove away, he glanced in his rear-view mirror to see her still standing in the doorway of the grand old house.
As he headed for the internment camp into the hot, sunny morning, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if Clare would be there. How old was he when they first met? Nine? That’s right. He’d just had his ninth birthday and had been given a cricket bat by his parents. Clare was two months younger. She had come to spend the summer with her cousin Percy at the manor, and her aunt periodically invited the local children to afternoon tea.
“Mind your manners, Tom Tyler.” His mother had sent him off in his Sunday best, shoes polished, hair slicked down. All of the children had looked forward to these afternoons and the chance to stuff themselves with cream buns. All except Clare, that is, who, with her knobby, pale, bare knees, skinny blond braids, and inexplicably shabby clothes, seemed more ill at ease than any of them. However, when she returned for each of the following three summers, she was gradually accepted into the little community of the country town. She learned to give back as good as she got, the children stopped teasing her about her posh way of speaking, and Tom discovered she didn’t mind if he played horsey with her, both of them galloping about the lawn with him holding onto her long plaits as if they were reins.
Tyler slowed down to negotiate a blind corner. When they were twelve, Clare stopped coming to Whitchurch. He enquired at the manor and was told she had gone off to a finishing school in Switzerland. He pined for a while, then started to forget about her. When the Great War broke out, he enlisted as soon as he was old enough. The experiences he had there tended to wipe out any rosy memories of his childhood.
Tyler risked driving into the ditch and fished out and lit a cigarette. Memories of the war were still troubling to him. He preferred to think about Clare, although, to tell the truth, not all of those memories were sweet either.
When she finally returned to Whitchurch, he’d been demobbed for a year and had rejoined the constabulary. Funnily enough, they’d met in the same p
lace where he’d run into her last week. He’d gone to the market to buy some vegetables for his mother. And there was Clare. No longer the shy little girl he’d known. She had blossomed into one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen. Plaits gone, blond hair in a fashionable chignon at her neck. There was even a hint of rouge on her shapely lips. She was wearing a loose-fitting, stylish cream suit of some lacy, gauzy material. Such a wide-brimmed hat had never been seen before in the streets of Whitchurch. Was it really a bright sunny day, or was that just his memory playing tricks? Clare, bathed in sunlight, standing at one of the stalls.
Rather to his surprise, Clare had seemed equally pleased to see him. As naturally as if she hadn’t left, they started to spend all their free time together. He’d abandoned cricket and become adept at football. She came to all his games. He was both proud and jealous of the attention she drew from the men. If they’d set tongues wagging, they didn’t care. His own parents nagged him constantly about stepping out of his class, but he wouldn’t listen.
“She’ll break your heart. Her kind always does,” warned his mother.
And she had.
He hadn’t seen her again until a week ago. She was standing at Alice Thorne’s stall, breathing into a bunch of lavender. Her back was to him but he knew at once it was her, and he felt as if he’d taken a punch in the stomach. She was actually thinner than she’d been, and the white cotton frock hung loosely about her frame. She was hatless, her blond hair cut shorter than the prevailing fashion and touched with grey at the sides, but she was still Clare, and he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about that.
She’d turned and saw him. Was she as shocked? He couldn’t tell. She’d smiled, but in his view it was a cool smile, the kind you’d give an old acquaintance, not a former lover.
“Hello, Tom. How nice to see you.”
“And you, Clare. What brings you here after all these years?”
“I returned to England so I could do my bit for the war effort. I have a job over at the Prees Heath internment camp. I’m acting as an interpreter.”
Season of Darkness Page 4
