Murder on the Moor

by Julianna Deering

  “I don’t suppose. I could always spin some of the other colors I have waiting.”

  “Excellent.” Drew pressed some money into her hand. “Will that be enough?”

  She took it, feeling the coins, and her sightless eyes widened. “That’s far too much, sir. And I haven’t any change. I’m afraid I—”

  “Well, bad luck me then, eh?” he said with a chuckle, pressing her hand around the coins. “I suppose I shall have to be a bit better prepared the next time.”

  “I would probably pay that much in London for yarn of this quality,” Madeline assured her. “And you’ve saved us the expense of a trip.”

  The girl reddened even more but smiled. “You’re too kind, ma’am. Sir. Is there something more I might do for you?”

  He glanced at Madeline and she nodded in response.

  “My husband was telling me how helpful you were, answering his questions the other day and everything, and we were wondering if you might not do us another favor.”

  Iris looked slightly puzzled. “If I can, yes.”

  “It’s sort of a long story,” Madeline began, “but we’re very fond of our housekeeper, Mrs. Devon. She’s made me feel so welcome at Farthering Place. Anyway, she enjoys listening to the radio when she can, so when he was in the village here, Drew bought her one.”

  “I thought she could have it in her room to listen to whenever she likes,” Drew put in. “And I thought this would be a fine opportunity to get one for her without her knowing. If I had bought it in our own village, someone there would surely let out the secret.”

  “I wish he’d asked me about it first, though,” Madeline said, “because I know Mrs. Devon’s son, he lives in Aberdeen, is planning to give her one for Christmas. He telephoned and asked whether she already had one, and I told him no.”

  “But she didn’t tell me about it,” Drew said in an indulgently scolding voice, “so here I am with an extra wireless and nowhere to park it.”

  “You could return it to the shop,” Iris said wistfully. “I’m sure if you explained . . .”

  “Oh, but the man there seemed so grateful to make a sale. And as it really wasn’t that much of a sale, I hate to take it back. Long and short of it is, we thought you might like to have it.” He took her hand and put it on top of the box. “It’s nothing grand, mind you, but I’m told it gets broadcasts from all over. What do you say?”

  She pulled her hand back. “I really couldn’t. It’s too much.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Drew opened the box and took out the wireless. It was small, as he had said, perhaps eight inches high and twelve wide, and made of a rich satin-finished mahogany. The dial was pale yellow, a warm compliment to the wood. It wasn’t a grand console by any means, but it was quality. He took her hand again, letting her feel for herself. This time she didn’t pull away.

  He switched the wireless on. “It’s got batteries in it already, and there are extras in the box. For when you need them.”

  It took a moment or two to warm up, and then, after a little fiddling, the music of a dance band filled the little room. Madeline beamed at him, and Iris was smiling in spite of herself, her hand still atop the wireless.

  “Ah, lovely,” Drew said as Al Bowlly began singing “The Very Thought of You.”

  Madeline slipped her arm around Drew’s waist as they both watched Iris’s dreamy expression.

  She blushed when the song ended and she became aware of them again. “You know, I’m not really sure there is a Mrs. Devon.”

  “Of course there is,” Drew sputtered. “She’s been at Farthering Place since before I was born.”

  “Or that she has a son,” Iris continued.

  “She does,” Madeline assured her. “His name is Lewis, and he lives in Aberdeen.”

  “Or,” Iris said, “that he plans to buy his mother a wireless for Christmas.”

  Madeline glanced at Drew. “Well . . .”

  A hint of a dimple appeared in the girl’s cheek, making her look entirely charming. “But it would be rude of me to say so after you’ve both been so kind.”

  She still had her hand on the wireless.

  Drew gave that hand a gentle pat. “It definitely would be, so we’ll hear no more of it, eh?”

  There was a glimmer of tears now in her eyes. “Mr. Farthering—”

  “I said we’ll hear no more of it.”

  “We’re very glad to know you’ll enjoy the radio,” Madeline said, giving the girl’s arm a squeeze. “And if there’s ever anything we can do to help you, do let us know. Mr. Bloodworth at the Lodge knows how to get in touch with us.”

  While Madeline was close to her, Drew caught her eye and then touched his ear, looking pointedly at Iris. Madeline merely gave him a serene nod. He made a quick gesture around the little room, a silent request for her to take a good look around. Again she nodded. She had seen what she needed to see.

  “I suppose we’d best toddle along then,” Drew said. “Thank you, Miss Midgley, for permitting us to call.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to tell you about your investigation. My father really doesn’t tell me anything.”

  “Do you think he’d go as far as murder?” Drew asked quietly.

  She started, and the wheel lurched to a stop. “Why—why do you ask that?”

  “You’ve . . . heard something.” He’d almost said seen. “Be honest.”

  Again she lifted her determined chin. “You tell me first. Why do you ask that? About murder in particular?”

  “Someone tampered with the brakes on Mrs. Bloodworth’s car. Mr. Bloodworth ran into a stone wall out on the road last night. He could quite easily have been killed.”

  “And what has that to do with my father?”

  “He was seen loitering by Mrs. Bloodworth’s car when she had it in the village day before yesterday.”

  That was hardly proof of anything, of course, but then again, a hot denial did not immediately leap to her tongue.

  “Why would he want to kill Mrs. Bloodworth?” The question came out thin and bewildered. “Or Mr. Bloodworth? We—we hardly know them.”

  Madeline touched his arm, a plea for gentleness, and he nodded in acknowledgment. Then he leaned down just a bit so he could look Iris full in the face, wanting to see every nuance of emotion there.

  “I think you know something. Please tell us. If he did tamper with those brakes, he’s got off easy. Nothing was much damaged but the car. Next time someone might actually die. If you know something and don’t speak up—”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She clutched the spinning wheel with both hands. “Not really. Not for certain.”

  “But you think you do.” He kept his voice as mild as he was able. “Just tell me about it. Maybe it truly is nothing. I’m not here to have your father taken away for poaching or petty theft, but if we’re talking murder . . .”

  “It was hardly anything,” she said after a long silence. “There’s a path that goes down to the stream and around the meadow and back again. It runs through some trees at the back of the house, and Da says nobody can see you come in or out that way unless you want. As you might imagine, he likes it that way. Anyway, I know the path very well, and unless the weather’s bad, I like to take a walk when I can. I’d been out walking the other day, I believe it was last Wednesday or Thursday, and when I got back, I heard him talking to someone, that same man with the gentleman’s voice I told you about before, Mr. Farthering. I didn’t want him to be cross with me for idling out on the moor instead of having his supper on the table, so I was going to slip inside as quietly as I could. But then I heard some of what he was saying and stayed just where I was.”

  She hesitated again, and he waited.

  “I’m not sure I remember it just right,” she said finally. “He said something like ‘Got it. First chance I get.’ And the man with him said ‘Her first. Make sure.’ And then Da said something I couldn’t hear, and the other man said, ‘I know. Don’t you worry a
bout that. Just do your job.’ It wasn’t much at all, but I felt, I don’t know, all quivery when he said that about ‘her first.’ There was just something . . . wrong about how he said it. And now you tell me about Mrs. Bloodworth’s car.”

  “Anything else?” Madeline asked.

  Iris shook her head. “It’s a bit silly, isn’t it? What’s it mean anyway? ‘Her first’? Maybe Da’s going to do some horseshoeing for the man. Or, I don’t know, deliver some kind of goods.” She caught an unsteady breath. “No, that can’t be it. Whatever that man wanted, for my father to do it had to be worth more than that. If Da is buying drinks down at the pub, it’s not because he’s come into an extra half crown all of a sudden.”

  “No. That isn’t very likely.” Drew took a slip of paper and a pencil out of his coat pocket. “Would you mind if I wrote down what you said? I don’t want to get it all muddled up remembering it wrong.”

  “Go ahead.”

  He scribbled down what she’d told him, reading it aloud so she could hear it.

  “Yes, that’s it,” she said. “It may not be what they said word for word, but it’s very close.”

  “Good. Anything else you remember? Was he in a car?”

  “No, I would have heard. Once they finished talking, he slipped off, and Da came in the front way, looking for his supper that wasn’t even started yet.”

  “And was he cross with you over it?”

  “Not at all. I suppose coming into a bit of coin as he did, he was feeling rather generous that day.”

  “Perhaps.” Drew thought for a moment. “You don’t suppose this gentleman who spoke with your father could have been from Westings, do you?”

  “No!” She gave a nervous laugh half under her breath. “Not that I have much to do with that sort of folk, no more than with those up at the Lodge, but I’ve heard them speak more than once. I wouldn’t say it was any of them.”

  “Might I ask a favor of you?”

  Her brow furrowed once again. “I suppose.”

  “If you should happen to hear this man’s voice again, will you get word to me at the Lodge?” He looked around the tiny cottage. “I don’t suppose you have a telephone. No, no, that’s quite all right. But do get word to me, eh?”

  “I’ll do that. Meanwhile, I’ll be keeping an ear open for anything that could be of help. No one’s been here but Da this past week or more, and him not all the time.”

  “It’s all right,” Drew said. “Though I might come round sometime in a day or two, just to check. You just be careful and don’t put yourself in danger. If your father’s involved in murder, I daresay he’s not safe himself.”

  She nodded, her pale face grim. Then she thanked them again, and they made their farewells.

  “What did you think of her?” Drew asked once he and Madeline were tracking back over the moor and back to the Lodge.

  “The earrings are interesting,” she said.

  “Yes, I was wondering why Midgley would have bothered giving them to her. Even if he has come into money of late.”

  She looked up at him. “You think those were from her father?”

  He stopped abruptly. The Lodge was still far in the distance, and they were surrounded by nothing but the blustery, empty moor. “What do you mean? Who else would have given them to her? Surely you don’t think she would have bought them for herself. On what little she makes with her spinning?”

  “No. I’m sure she makes barely enough to keep body and soul together. I’m just saying those look like something that would come from an admirer, not a father. Especially not one like Mr. Midgley.”

  He frowned and started them walking again. Little Iris with a beau? It just didn’t seem quite the thing. “Perhaps they were something passed down to her. From her mother or something.”

  Madeline’s laugh was light and clear in the cold air. “I suppose that could be. Does Mr. Midgley seem like the kind of man who wouldn’t have sold anything he could lay his hands on to keep himself in drink?” There was sudden concern in her periwinkle eyes. “I don’t like the sound of whatever plot it was that Iris overheard.”

  “Nor I. If it was about Sabrina, then the trick with her car was unsuccessful and there’s sure to be another attempt. I think I shall have to consult with Mr. Selden on the matter. Midgley may have made some remark or other to him that would be illuminating.”

  “You haven’t heard from Nick, have you? About the man in the asylum?”

  “Not yet, but I expect to by this evening. I’ll have to arrange another meeting for him with Mr. Stapleton.”

  As it happened, Mr. Selden returned to his lodgings in Partridge Row just after lunchtime that day. By late afternoon, he and Mr. Stapleton had convened a meeting at their usual place outside the village.

  “Nick, old man.” Drew shook his hand, eager for news. “How did you find this Faber fellow?”

  Nick snorted. “I’m sorry to say I didn’t find him at all.”

  “What?”

  “I drove down to Norfolk, to this St. Anthony’s, and called on this Grant chappie you told me about. He went a bit green when I told him I’d come from Beaky about Faber. He was ever so apologetic, about the letter and all.”

  Drew knit his brows. “Apologetic? Whatever for?”

  “Well, for asking for Beaky’s money for Faber when Faber hadn’t been there for almost a year.” Nick ran a hand through his tousled sandy hair. “I couldn’t blame the fellow, you know, not really. It was rather a wretched place, and he seemed devoted to it, to the men who were patients there. I could tell he wanted to help them all and just didn’t have the means to do more than the absolute necessity.”

  “But what happened to Faber? He hasn’t died or anything, has he?”

  “This Grant says he escaped. Got through a door that was always kept locked, that was still locked, and just walked away. He said they just don’t have the staff to properly look after everyone there and no money to pay for more.”

  “But Faber, man. Wherever did he go? Didn’t they go to the police?”

  “They did,” Nick assured him. “Grant said that Faber would often talk about living in a grand house, but said he wasn’t wanted there anymore, that he’d been cast off. Naturally, hearing that, and knowing he’d served at the Lodge, the police made discreet inquiries. Up here, in Bunting’s Nest, Harrogate, York. Nobody’d seen the man, according to Grant. One of the nurses said Faber had sometimes mentioned wanting to go to Bath, so they made inquiries there, as well. A man fitting his description had been there, it was found, but he left not too long after, and that was months ago. Evidently he’s not there now.”

  “Hmm . . . now I’m not quite sure what to think. Madeline will be disappointed to hear me say so, but perhaps the old kiln is a madman’s hiding place after all, and not a den of adulterous iniquity.”

  “That or the stone church,” Nick said. “Or both, eh?”

  “Could be. Could be. He’d have to have someone helping him, though. Food and supplies and such. I don’t know that he could make out alone.”

  “Midgley?” Nick asked. “Possibly, but I don’t know why. What would he be in it for? Besides money, of course, but how would this Faber possibly pay him off? He’s been in that asylum for ages and never had two beans to begin with.”

  Drew looked out over the moor. “And why would he want to kill the vicar and Miss Patterson in the first place? I’m not sure he’s part of this at all. We have no proof he’s been back to Yorkshire since he left to go to war. The old boy could have taken himself off a bridge the first day he left Norfolk after all.”

  “Very true. Well, what now?”

  “For now,” Drew said, “we put Faber in as a possible but not very likely suspect, with motive, means, and opportunity unknown. Midgley hasn’t mentioned meeting with anyone or having a visitor, has he?”

  Nick shook his head.

  “Does he talk about Iris much?”

  Nick blinked. “His daughter? Hardly ever. Why?”

&n
bsp; “I was just wondering if he’s ever said she has a beau.”

  “I thought she was blind.”

  “My good man,” Drew said, crossing his arms over his chest, “just because the girl’s blind doesn’t mean someone might not be interested in her.”

  “I suppose not. I just hadn’t thought of it. Anyway, he hasn’t said anything of the sort to me. Why?”

  “Oh, just a thought of Madeline’s. Not important. But I’m wondering now about this Faber and Midgley and, possibly, whoever’s been meeting Sabrina out on the moor.”

  “I thought you said it was Delwyn.”

  Drew glared at him. “I said I didn’t know. You were the one who said there was talk.”

  “About Delwyn, yes, and about him seeing someone at the Lodge. Not about Mrs. Bloodworth per se.” There was sudden mischief in Nick’s hazel eyes. “I know. She goes out to the kiln to meet Faber!”

  Drew’s expression was severe. “Desperately amusing, I’m sure.”

  “All right. All right. Probably not Faber. But you haven’t made much sense out of any of this yet, you know.”

  “No,” Drew admitted, shoulders sagging, but then he stood straight and lifted his chin. “Nothing for it but to keep on. What haven’t we done yet?”

  Nick considered the question. “Might not be a bad thing to give the kiln and the church another look. Knowing about Faber now, we might notice something in either place that would prove or disprove he’s been there.”

  “Possibly,” Drew mused. “I want to look in that tower at any rate. It’s been opened recently, I’m sure. It may be that whoever opened it has left some clue behind him.”

  They made their way out to the stone church once more, discussing various theories about the case and swiftly discarding them.

  “It’s a devil of a puzzle,” Drew said at last. “We have someone living out in the kiln.”

  “Or the church,” Nick observed.

  “Possibly both. But why is he there? To meet with Sabrina, or to hide while he murders people?”

  “Possibly both,” Nick said.

  “Possibly both, yes, but what has that to do with the vicar and Miss Patterson? If Sabrina wanted to dispose of Beaky so she could have her lover and keep the estate as well, why kill anyone else? And what, if anything, has that to do with Faber?”