Miss Stillwell interjected. “I regret to say, Elsie would have had lots of opportunity. The house was usually deserted during the day, and she could come and go without anybody thinking anything of it. I would absolutely vouch for the honesty of the maids.”
The girls fell silent watching Tyler. It was not implausible that Elsie had stolen Florence’s gun. But then what? How did it get into the possession of her killer? It still didn’t explain who had shot her with it or why.
Before they could go any further, the door opened and Violet burst in.
“Miss Watkins be gone, ma’am. I went to see on ’er and she ain’t in ’er room. I’ve looked all over. She be gone.”
22.
THE FEAR THIS NEWS CREATED RACED THROUGH THE six young women.
Violet kept repeating, “Is she dead, ma’am? Is she be dead?”
Tyler tried to ignore a terrible sinking feeling.
Miss Stillwell stood up. “Ladies, ladies. Please. Let’s maintain some order. There is probably a perfectly simple explanation. Violet, did you check the bathroom? Perhaps she is taking a bath.”
“No, ma’am,” answered the maid. “I checked bathrooms and lavatories before coming here. I swear she ain’t in the house.”
“Maybe she’s gone home,” said Molly, ever sensible. “There’s a late train to London, I know.”
“She would need her ration book,” said Miss Stillwell. “They’re all kept locked in my desk.”
Tyler turned to the elderly servant whose face was awash with tears. He spoke gently. “Violet, when did you last see Miss Watkins?”
“It must have been going on for seven o’clock. I did happen to look out of the window when I was coming back from ’er ladyship’s suite, and I saw the little mite crossing the yard. She were all dressed up, hat and everything. She was moving quick. I says to myself, I says, good, she is going out for a bit, see a pal or something of that sort. It will do ’er the world of good.” She wiped at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. “I’d took ’er up a pot of tea and a piece of savoury early on. She liked savoury, poor little thing. But I had to make ’er ladyship’s tea. So I left ’er, Rose that is. She did say there was something important she had to do but she didn’t say what. But she wanted to use the telephone.”
“Warden, will you check to see if Rose’s ration book is still in your desk,” said Tyler.
She left immediately.
He addressed the girls, keeping his voice matter-of-fact. “When you came in from work, did anybody see Rose or speak to her?”
Nobody had.
“When we got back from work,” said Molly, “Warden was waiting for us and asked us to gather here. You arrived shortly afterward. I assumed Rose was in her room.”
“Me too!” came a chorus of agreement.
“Maybe she’s gone to visit friends in the area,” said Tyler. “Anyone come to mind?”
“None,” answered Molly. “She was usually with Elsie. I don’t know if she ever went out on her own.”
Miss Stillwell returned carrying a ration book. “This is Rose’s. She can’t have gone far without it.”
Tyler put it in his pocket. “I’ll hang onto this for now. Miss Stillwell, I need to use your telephone.” He addressed the young women again. “I recommend you have your supper. You must all be famished. Let’s not get the wind up until we know for sure Rose is missing.”
The warden nodded at Violet, who had been following the proceedings anxiously. Tyler heard her mutter, “I can feel it in my water. Something bad has happened.”
Molly spoke up. “If Violet saw Rose heading for the barn, she might have been going to get her bicycle. That’s where we keep our bikes. Shall I go and see if hers is still there?”
“Yes, please. Good thinking.”
Freckles jumped to her feet. “I’ll do it. You stay here, Molly.”
She practically ran from the room and Tyler thought two or three of the other girls would have liked to follow her. They were huddled together, like deer sniffing the scent of an approaching fox.
He turned to Violet. “Now then. A Shropshire lass is made of sterner stuff than this. Rose probably needed to get out a bit. I do that myself when I need to think about things.”
“And so do I,” said Miss Stillwell briskly. “Violet, I want you to go and bring in our supper. Pamela and Muriel, perhaps you could help?”
There was a flurry of activity as they obeyed.
“I’ll show you where the telephone is,” said the warden to Tyler.
He wished he could offer them some more honest reassurance, but in truth, he couldn’t. Rose going missing at this juncture didn’t feel good at all.
Tyler got through to Sergeant Gough and filled him in about the latest development.
“I’m hoping she’s going to turn up all apologetic about worrying people. You know how young people can be thoughtless. But it would be better for the others if we located her soon. Roust one of the lads; Collis, if possible. Send him over to Mrs. Clark’s again. See if by any chance Rose went there. Ring me back if there’s any news.”
He returned to the common room. Violet and the other two girls had brought in a tureen of hot soup and a large basket of bread. With the resilience of youth, in spite of their upset, the girls were already tucking in.
Freckles was seated at the table and she waved at him, wiping at her mouth.
“Inspector, Rose’s bike is still in the barn. It has a flat.”
Tyler turned to the warden. “I’d like to have a look at Miss Watkins’s room.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll show you,” said Molly. “Save my soup,” she said to the other girls. “If we’re not back in an hour, call out the army.” Even that remark couldn’t conjure up a smile.
Tyler followed Molly across the grand foyer and up the curving staircase to the second floor.
“This floor is where most of us sleep. That’s mine. I share with Freckles. The end one is Muriel’s and Florence’s. We have to go down the hall and up the back stairs,” said Molly. “Rose’s room is in what were previously the servants’ quarters. There’s just maids now, and they’ve moved over to the manor. The other girls didn’t want these upper rooms because they’re small and they get hot in the summer. Rose and Elsie shared one of them until Elsie moved into Whitchurch two months ago. We all thought Rose would mope but she didn’t. She really liked it. She said she’d never had a room all to herself before.”
As they had probably been for decades, the narrow stairs were carpeted with sisal, worn in places, and the walls looked as if they could do with a coat of paint. There was a tiny landing at the top with two closed doors leading off it.
“The second room is used as a box room … this is Rose’s.”
There was a sign hanging on the door knob that said DO NOT DISTURB.
“Elsie got that from a posh hotel in Birmingham,” said Molly.
The room was spartan: white walls, a bed, one dresser, a washstand, and a small wardrobe. The coverlet on the bed was slightly rumpled as if Rose had been lying there, but nothing else seemed out of place. He touched the cover for warmth. There was none.
There was a gilt crucifix hung above the bed. The top of the dresser was completely bare except for a framed print of a blue-robed Virgin Mary, eyes lifted to heaven; beside it was a round china box about three inches across with a picture of Jesus on top, His arms outstretched. There was a clasp on one side and Tyler flipped it open. There was nothing inside. He sniffed at it, but there was no discernible smell.
“It’s a rosary box,” said Molly. “Rose showed it to me once. It was her confirmation gift, I believe. She was proud of it.”
“Miss Watkins is a Catholic, I gather?”
“Quite staunch.”
“Where does she go to church?”
Molly looked disconcerted as if she should know the answer. “I’m not sure actually. Nobody else here is Catholic. Elsie was, but she said she was lapsed. She would use Sunday t
o sleep in. The rest of us go off to the Anglican church in Whitchurch or Ash Magna, except for Jessie Bailey, who’s Methodist. She goes to Market Drayton. Rose did come with us to Whitchurch at first, but she hasn’t done that for the past while. I never thought to ask her about it.” Molly suddenly looked upset. “I almost used the past tense. Isn’t that awful?”
“Not awful. It’s easy to do. Anyway, this is useful to know. If she did decide to go to church this evening, it would make sense given what has happened. The Catholic church in Whitchurch is a bit of a haul knowing you’ll have to come home in the dark, but that might be what she’s done.”
There were no notes or letters on the dresser or the night table, no indication of Rose’s intentions.
He pulled open the top drawer. Like Elsie’s, it contained Land Army–issue underwear and socks. The second drawer had even less. He moved a few undergarments aside but there was nothing else. The entire room was even more impersonal than Elsie’s except for the Catholic mementos.
Molly had been watching him. “I don’t think she has many clothes other than the ones the Army issued her. Both she and Elsie seemed to be quite hard up when they arrived. Not that Elsie stayed that way for long. She was always decked out in some new outfit. Every penny of her wages went on clothes. Rose sends most of her money home.”
Tyler opened the tiny wardrobe. Like the dresser drawers, there wasn’t much in it. A pair of dungarees, corduroy trousers, a mackintosh, two shirts; all of them Land Army uniform. There was one plain green dress forlornly shoved to the far end.
“She must’ve changed into a frock,” said Molly over his shoulder. “She only has two. That one there, and one I gave her.”
“What does it look like?”
“White with pink and yellow flowers, with a V-neck and short sleeves. Rose is a little sprat of a thing and my frock shrunk in the laundry. What with that and me putting on some muscle, it didn’t fit anymore so I gave it to her. There was a straw hat with yellow daisies around the brim that went with it. That’s gone too. Oh, and a handbag. Muriel gave her one. White straw.”
Tyler wrote that down. He might be called upon to send out a description of the missing girl. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
He bent down to look underneath the bed. Bits of dust fluff and a pair of heavy regulation-issue shoes.
He went over to the window and cautiously lifted the blackout curtain. The room overlooked the yard, but it was too dark to see much.
They heard somebody coming up the stairs, and for a second the hope flashed through Tyler’s mind that it was Rose returning. It wasn’t. Freckles looked nervously around the door.
“I just wondered if you needed any help.”
“I think we’ve finished here, but I would like to take a look at the barn where you keep your bikes. I’d appreciate it if you’d come too, Miss Cooper.”
“For goodness sake, call me Molly. Only the servants address us so formally.”
“And call me Freckles,” said the redhead. “Everybody does.”
The three of them trooped down the stairs. There was a rear exit on the ground floor, which opened onto the cobble stone yard. The barn was directly across. Freckles had a torch and she flicked it on, pointing it dutifully to the ground. Tyler walked behind her and she led the way inside the barn, closing the door behind them.
“I lit the lamp. The blackout curtains are all pulled.”
The barn was large and obviously now used as a garage and storage for farm implements. Tyler unhooked the lantern and held it high. The light shone on Sir Percy’s Bentley in one corner. Next to it was the silver-grey Rolls-Royce that belonged to Lady Somerville. The new restrictions on petrol didn’t seem to have curtailed her trips. Tyler had seen her sailing past on her way to church. He supposed her chauffeur was claiming to be in a reserved occupation.
Parked beside the Rolls was the farm lorry, and against the wall, an ancient black Ford. One other car, a solid-looking brown Riley, was next to the Bentley. The Land girls’ bicycles were all in a rack to the right of the door.
“That green one belongs to Rose,” said Freckles. “The nice red Raleigh is Molly’s and the blue is mine.”
Suddenly, the barn door banged open and Arthur Trimble came in. His anger was palpable and Tyler even thought the man’s moustache was vibrating.
“What the bloody hell’s going on in here? You’re showing a light.”
“One of the girls is unaccounted for,” said Tyler. “Her name is Rose Watkins. I was just checking to see if she had taken her bike.”
Trimble gave a contemptuous snort. “Them girls are always taking off with some excuse or another.” He glared at Molly and Freckles. “One of you two, go and close the blackout curtains properly up in the loft. There’s a gap can be seen from here to Germany.”
“Yes, Mr. Trimble,” said Freckles, and she scrambled off up the ladder.
Molly glared right back at him. “It’s absolutely not true what you just said about us being irresponsible. The opposite is true.”
Her posh accent was cutting, but Trimble didn’t seem dashed.
“Naturally enough, these young women are worried about Rose, given what happened to Elsie Bates,” put in Tyler.
Arthur shrugged. “She’ll be back when she’s good and ready.”
Tyler could hardly contradict him, seeing as how he’d said more or less the same thing not too long ago, but as usual the man rubbed him the wrong way.
“We think she left the hostel about seven o’clock. Did you happen to see her?”
Trimble scowled. “I don’t have time to sit around idle. I was working in the rose garden ’til it got dark, then I went in to get my supper. I haven’t seen nobody.”
Freckles came climbing back down the ladder.
“There’s a little tear in the curtain, Mr. Trimble. I fixed it as best I could but it will have to be sewn.”
“You’d better bloody well get on it, then. Jerry can see a pinprick of light and use it for a guide.”
Trimble’s voice had been harsh and contemptuous. Freckles looked as though she would burst into tears.
“We’re not supposed to do domestic duty,” said Molly.
Trimble’s moustache really was quivering now. Tyler intervened before the man could explode.
“Let’s not get into that, Molly,” he said. “I’ll leave you to sort out the curtain. It should be repaired right away.”
She looked as if she was going to protest, but thought better of it.
“Ladies, you’ve been most helpful. Why don’t you get back and finish your supper? I’ll come over in a minute.”
Molly, somewhat reluctantly, nodded her agreement, and the two girls walked past Trimble, the redhead shrinking against her friend.
“Have you done?” Trimble asked Tyler. “I’m going to lock the door. I don’t want nobody else coming in here until we fix that curtain.”
“In a minute. I just want to have a look around.”
“What for?”
“Police business.”
He walked over to Sir Percy’s Bentley. To give the car a thorough examination he’d need daylight, but he wanted to aggravate Trimble a little more on principle. He couldn’t see any dents or scratches on the Bentley, and he moved over to the Rolls, Trimble behind him.
“I don’t like you being in here with a light on. What are you looking for?”
Tyler ignored him. The Rolls was also immaculate and looked as if it had been polished recently.
“Who looks after Lady Somerville’s car?”
“Me, now. Jack of all trades, me. Her regular chauffeur got seconded or whatever you call it. He’s driving some nob from the Ministry around.”
“Did you clean it today?”
“I did. You never know when she wants to go out. What of it?”
Tyler turned on him. “Look Trimble. I’m conducting a murder enquiry. I’ve got authority to arrest anybody, man, woman or child, who hinders my investigation. And I’m sta
rting to consider you a hindrance.”
The manager looked at him, his jaw clenched stubbornly. “It’s all very well for you to throw your weight around, but I’m responsible for these cars. Anything happens to them, it’ll be my job on the line.”
“What the bloody hell do you think I’m going to do, piss up the wheels?”
“I wouldn’t put it past you,” muttered Trimble, but he backed off and sat down on a wooden box by the door.
Tyler examined the Ford, which, in contrast to the other cars, was dusty and battered. He ran his fingers lightly over the bonnet and they left traces.
“When did you use this last?” he called out to Trimble.
“It’s dead as a doornail. Hasn’t been out for a fortnight. I can’t get the right part for it.”
“Who owns the Riley?”
“One of the girls in the hostel. Name’s Hancocks. What a girl her age needs with a Riley is beyond me, but she’s spoiled rotten. Father making a fortune turning out airplane parts. There’s always some sod who gets rich during a war, ain’t there?” He spat on the floor.
The Riley wasn’t new but the chassis looked in good shape. No dents or scratches there either. Tyler went over to the lorry. More to irritate Trimble than anything else, he opened the door on the passenger side and peered inside. It reeked of tobacco but there was nothing he could see of importance. A few feathers drifted around the interior, otherwise it was empty.
He turned back to the manager. “All right. I’m done here. Let’s go.”
“Bleeding waste of my time, this is,” growled Trimble.
He followed Tyler out and locked the door carefully behind him. Tyler walked back across the yard to the house, leaving Trimble to shuffle himself off to his quarters.
The thought was going round and round in Tyler’s head: Rose, Rose, please come back to us unharmed.
The common room was deserted except for Florence Hancocks. She was sitting on the couch with her feet up, smoking yet another cigarette. Tyler thought she still looked nervous and too haggard for a young girl.
“The others have gone off to have their baths, Inspector. Miss Stillwell is in her office. I gather from Molly there are no indications as to where Rose has gone.”
Season of Darkness Page 13
