Without Sin

by Margaret Dickinson

  Percy blinked. ‘Oh.’ He was puzzled. He had never met Sarah, but he couldn’t imagine any mother not wanting to see her own child.

  But Meg’s mind was no longer on her mother. She was filled with indignation against Jake. ‘I don’t know what he’s trying to do to me. Stirring up trouble. Having the police come here to question me and then having to stand up in court and answer that man’s questions. What do they think I’ve done? Murdered her?’

  Ironically, it had been Mr Snape who had posed the questions to the witnesses.

  ‘There had to be an inquest after a suicide,’ Percy commented reasonably. ‘And if Dr Collins wasn’t happy, then the police had to look into it, didn’t they?’

  ‘But it was Jake who stirred it all up.’

  ‘Well, they haven’t found anything, have they? Nothing that proves any different. The police couldn’t come up with any evidence of foul play. Nor could the doctor.’

  ‘Of course they haven’t. All that stuff about the cuts being the wrong way.’ She made an angry gesture as if slashing her own wrists, first one way and then the other. ‘As if that proves anything. You can do it either way.’

  ‘I hope you’ll never think of doing such a thing.’ He was worried now. If the tendency was in Meg’s blood . . .

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of shaming my family like that. Oh no, nothing will ever get me so down that I do away with myself.’

  On the morning of the funeral Percy saw to it that Meg was dressed in black from head to toe. He himself wore a black suit and tie and insisted that the shop be closed all day as a mark of respect.

  ‘She doesn’t deserve any respect,’ Meg glowered.

  ‘Oh, Meg, show a little compassion for your poor mother.’

  ‘And besides,’ she went on as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘I thought folk round here didn’t like women attending funerals.’

  ‘I don’t hold with that. I never have. We’re going together.’

  So Meg found herself obliged to go, but she was the only woman standing alongside Percy on the cold, windswept patch of ground just outside the churchyard boundary. The vicar intoned the words monotonously, his voice clearly indicating his own disapproval. He had no words of forgiveness or understanding for the dead woman or of comfort for her daughter. On the opposite side of the grave stood the only other three people to attend: Isaac Pendleton, Jake Bosley and Dr Collins.

  Isaac’s face was stony. He had taken it as a personal insult that Sarah had so hated her life with him that she preferred death. He glared accusingly across the grave at Meg, seeming to blame her as the plain wooden coffin – a pauper’s – was lowered into the ground.

  As the few mourners moved away, Isaac caught hold of Meg’s arm and roughly swung her round to face him. ‘Had you anything to do with this? Was it your meddling that caused it?’

  Meg glared back at him. ‘I could ask you the same question. What did you do to her to make her life so unbearable that she didn’t want to live it any longer? She didn’t show any sign of doing anything like that before. No, not even when my father went off and she lost the baby.’ Meg was aware that both the doctor and Jake were near enough to overhear the conversation, as well as Percy, who was standing protectively by her side.

  ‘She was depressed because the only member of her family left to her – you,’ Isaac went on, ‘refused to come and see her.’

  ‘I came,’ Meg was almost shouting now. ‘I came to see her, but Waters told me that she didn’t want to see me and that you didn’t want me to visit her either. Not ever. Waters was adamant.’ Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes and though she tried to dash them away, Jake had seen them. His heart twisted. Had he been misjudging his beloved Meg all along? Did she – under all that bravado – really care?

  ‘I’d never have said such a thing,’ Isaac answered indignantly. ‘In fact, I sent Waters down into the town – to the shop – to ask you to come and visit your mother.’

  Meg stared at him. ‘You did? Well, she never came.’

  The doctor and Jake glanced at each other and stepped away from the others a little.

  ‘He’s lying,’ Jake muttered. ‘I bet he never did any such thing. Waters idolizes him. She’d do anything he asked – whatever it was. I bet he never asked her.’

  ‘I think,’ Philip murmured, ‘that the master has some questions to answer. Have the police seen him? D’you know?’

  Jake shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Then I’ll have another word with Sergeant Donaldson.’

  It all came to nothing.

  Several weeks later Sergeant Donaldson told Philip, ‘We can’t find firm evidence that anyone other than the deceased had anything to do with her death. Oh yes, I grant you there’s room for suspicion, but what we need is proof.’

  ‘And we can’t give you that?’

  The sergeant shook his head. ‘Sadly, no. I don’t like to think of that poor woman being accused of suicide if it wasn’t and, even worse, I don’t like to think of a murderer still being at large. But . . .’ He spread his large hands helplessly.

  ‘I understand,’ Philip said heavily. ‘Thank you for trying, at least.’

  ‘Aye well, Doctor, keep me posted. If you see any funny business going on at that place, you let me know, and we’ll take another look.’

  ‘Tell me, was the master interviewed?’

  The sergeant nodded. ‘The only thing he said of interest was that Mrs Kirkland had seemed listless and depressed when he left that morning. He tried to cheer her up, he said, promising to bring her a present back from the city. He was in Nottingham that day on business, it seems.’

  ‘What about some of the others at the workhouse? Did you speak to them?’

  ‘Oh yes. The matron, of course, and a woman called – now what was her name – Waters. Yes, that was it. Even old Albert. We asked him if anything unusual had happened. You know, had there been any visitors – that sort of thing.’ The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘We couldn’t disregard anyone. Not even her daughter, seeing as there was some sort of estrangement between them.’

  ‘What did Albert say? Had he seen anything out of the ordinary?’

  The sergeant shook his head.

  ‘And Waters – what about her?’

  ‘She said she’d taken up a cup of hot milk at about eight o’clock and that Mrs Kirkland had said she was going to take one of the sleeping draughts you’d left her.’ He leant forward and lowered his voice. ‘But do you know what that woman, Waters, said then?’

  Philip shook his head. The sergeant straightened up and sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Well, I never thought to hear such things from a woman’s mouth. I mean, it’s not the sort of thing a lady would mention.’

  ‘But you were conducting an enquiry,’ Philip reminded him mildly. ‘Maybe she thought she had to tell you everything.’

  ‘Oh aye, I don’t deny that. But it’s what she said she’d said to Kirkland that – well, speaking frankly, Doctor – disgusted even a tough old nut like me. I thought I’d heard it all, seen it all.’ He shook his head wonderingly.

  ‘What was it she said?’ Philip prompted.

  ‘She told me that she’d said to Kirkland – that’s what she called her – “Kirkland”. Not Mrs Kirkland or even Sarah.’

  Philip nodded. ‘They call everyone by their surname in there.’

  ‘Humph!’ Sergeant Donaldson grunted disapprovingly. ‘Take away every last shred of dignity, do they?’

  ‘ ’Fraid so.’

  ‘Anyway, she’d said to the poor woman, “You’ll not get any sleep when he gets home. He’ll be wanting your services.” Have you ever heard the like, Doctor? Spoke to her as if she was a common woman of the streets, and bold as brass she was an’ all when she was telling me. Now, I know Mrs Kirkland was living with the master and that’s nowt to do with me, but if there’s summat going on up there that I ought to know about—’

  ‘I’m sure there isn’t, Sergeant. Mr Pendleton isn’t keeping an immoral house,
if that’s what you’re implying.’

  ‘Well, it makes you think, doesn’t it, when someone makes a remark like that. And she seems such a prim and proper woman, that Miss Waters, an’ all.’

  Philip smiled. ‘Well, once upon a time she was Mr Pendleton’s – er – lady friend, if you get my meaning.’

  The sergeant nodded, understanding at once. He’d been a policeman a long time. Nothing surprised him and it took a great deal to shock him. ‘A case of the green-eyed monster, is it?’ For a moment there was silence between them before the sergeant sighed and said sadly, ‘But I don’t know what else we can do.’

  Heavily, Philip agreed, ‘No, I don’t think there is anything.’

  In the early evening of the same day, Philip made a house call next door but one to the Rodwells’ home. It was his last call and though he knew Louisa would be waiting dinner for him, he felt obliged to call to see Meg. She opened the door and when she saw who was standing there, she smiled her wonderful smile, which made even the happily married doctor’s heart miss a beat.

  She drew him inside.

  ‘I just called to break the news to you . . .’ he began, but she was pulling him into the front room, where a welcoming fire burned, and pushing him gently onto the sofa.

  ‘Let me get you a drink. You must be so tired after a long day. What would you like? Beer? Whisky?’

  Philip held up his hands in protest. ‘Oh no, no, I shouldn’t.’

  ‘But haven’t you finished for the day? You don’t hold an evening surgery on a Thursday, now do you?’

  ‘Well, no, but I still shouldn’t. If I get a call out—’

  She laughed gaily. ‘I’m not suggesting that you get rolling drunk. Only a little nip to keep out the cold on the way home.’

  ‘I really shouldn’t. Louisa will be waiting dinner for me.’

  ‘Half an hour won’t hurt. Come on, take your coat off, else you won’t feel the benefit when you go out.’

  Suddenly feeling weary after a long day, Philip gave in and allowed her to take his coat and fetch him a tot of whisky. She sat down opposite him.

  He leant back, relaxing into the comfortable chair, the weariness of the day washing over him in waves.

  ‘I only came to tell you that the police are taking the matter of your mother’s death no further. I am sorry.’

  Meg shrugged. ‘I didn’t really expect they would. It was only Jake trying to salvage her reputation.’ She still wasn’t sure whether she was touched by Jake’s concern or irritated by it.

  There was a long silence before Philip murmured, ‘I shouldn’t keep you. You must be preparing dinner for Percy coming home.’

  ‘Percy won’t be coming home tonight. He’s gone to London on business. We’re going to begin stocking hats and he’s gone to one of the well-known fashion houses. Of course, Miss Pinkerton is going to make them for us. She’s such a clever little woman – even if she is a bit of a fussy old spinster.’

  Meg was chattering as if she hadn’t seen anyone to talk to for weeks and Philip suddenly realized how lonely she must be for company nearer her own age. If only, he thought, she would make it up with Louisa. He knew his wife would dearly love to be Meg’s friend again.

  He felt exhausted and was struggling to keep his eyes open in front of the warm fire. The tot of whisky she had pressed upon him was already beginning to take effect. ‘Shouldn’t you have gone to London if it was to see ladies’ hats?’ he asked drowsily.

  ‘Oh no,’ Meg said softly, as she watched the doctor’s eyes close completely and his head droop. ‘Percy is much better at choosing ladies’ apparel than ever I would be. He has such an eye for quality.’

  She rescued the glass before it slipped out of his hand to the floor and then, smiling down at him, she rose quietly and fetched a blanket from her own bed to cover him.

  She closed the door behind her gently, leaving him to sleep. As she went back to the kitchen, Meg was smiling to herself.

  Now let’s see how you like it, Louisa Collins, when your precious husband gets accused of something he didn’t do.

  Forty

  When Philip woke, it took him a few moments to remember where he was. The fire in the grate had burned away and the room was cold. He glanced at the window and saw that it was dark outside. He pushed off the blanket and struggled to his feet, still half asleep. Then he pulled the watch from his pocket and blinked at it in the soft light from the gas lamp which Meg had left burning.

  It was five minutes past midnight.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ he said aloud. ‘Louisa will be worried sick.’ He stumbled towards the door and was about to pull it open and shout Meg’s name, when he realized she would probably have gone to bed and be asleep by now. He went back and turned out the light and then tiptoed across the room, opening the door as quietly as he could. In the hall, everything was in darkness. He bit his lip, trying to remember where the coatstand was. He didn’t want to blunder about in the darkness, knocking into things. His eyes slowly became accustomed to the gloom and in the light from the street lamp shining through the coloured leaded window he began to discern shapes. He reached out and felt for his coat on the pegs opposite and then found his hat on a shelf. He struggled into his coat and rammed his hat onto his head. Then he felt about for his doctor’s bag. He had brought it into the house with him. He never left it unattended in the trap. His fingers closed around its handle and he picked it up.

  Then another dilemma faced him. The front door was locked and bolted. If he were to go out that way, he would be leaving the sleeping girl upstairs with an unlocked front door. He felt near the doorknob and found the heavy key in the lock. Then he made sure that there was a letterbox cut into the door. Finding it, he breathed a sigh of relief, unlocked and unbolted the door and let himself out. He relocked the door and posted the key back through the letterbox. It dropped with a clatter onto the tiled floor.

  Upstairs, Meg lay awake smiling into the darkness and listening to the sound of the pony’s hooves ringing through the still night air as Dr Collins drove his trap away from her house.

  Louisa was still up, dozing in the armchair by the fire’s dying embers.

  ‘Oh, poor you,’ she murmured soothingly as she hurried into the hallway to help her husband out of his coat. ‘I’ll get you some hot milk with a little something in it. It’ll help you sleep.’

  Philip shuddered. How ironic her words were. If only she knew . . . And then he shivered again, praying that she would never know.

  Seeing him shaking, Louisa asked, ‘Are you cold, my dear? I can light the fire in the bedroom.’ She did not ask what had kept him out so late, but took it for granted that he had been with a very sick patient or attending a difficult birth. Her implicit trust made Philip feel even more guilty.

  ‘No, no.’ He reached for her hand and held it to his cheek. ‘We’ll go straight up.’

  She patted his hand. ‘You get into bed and I’ll bring your hot milk up. Do you want anything to eat?’

  Philip shook his head and stumbled tiredly towards the stairs. He should tell her the truth, tell her exactly what happened. There was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing had happened between him and Meg.

  Then why, he castigated himself, could he not bring himself to tell his wife about it?

  The following morning, as soon as he had finished his surgery, Philip went out on his rounds. His first call was to the tailor’s shop. As he entered the shop and closed the door behind him, he was startled when Percy appeared from the back room, the ever-present tape measure around his neck, his steel-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

  The tailor smiled in welcome and immediately Philip felt even more guilty than before. ‘Dr Collins – how nice to see you in pleasanter circumstances.’ The last time the two men had met had been at Sarah’s burial.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Philip said swiftly. ‘I – er – need some new gloves. Very cold driving the trap, you know.’ The truth was that he hadn’t been able to find th
em that morning and feared he had left them at Meg’s house.

  ‘Of course,’ Percy was saying. ‘And you have to be out in all weathers, even at night.’

  Philip jumped. Did he know? Had Meg told him? Had Percy found his gloves in his house? But the tailor’s next remark was innocent enough. ‘Meg will be sorry to have missed you. She’s taken the morning off, now I’m back. She had to hold the fort alone yesterday and first thing this morning, but I caught an early train home and arrived about an hour ago.’

  ‘You must be tired.’

  ‘No, no. The hotel I stayed at last night was very comfortable. I slept surprisingly well.’

  So did I, thought Philip ruefully. Too well and in the wrong place.

  The gloves, which he didn’t really need, purchased, Philip made his escape. Not knowing whether he was being extremely foolish or not, he went straight to see Meg at her home.

  She opened the door wide, silently inviting him to step inside.

  ‘No, no, I mustn’t come in,’ Philip began, but Meg smiled at him archly.

  ‘Don’t you trust me, Doctor?’

  He did not reply, but inside his own mind he was saying: It’s myself I don’t trust. Instead he smiled thinly and asked, ‘Did I leave my gloves here?’

  ‘Yes.’ She pulled the door wider. ‘Come in while I fetch them.’ She leant forward, glanced up and down the street and then whispered, ‘I hid them, just in case Percy saw them and asked awkward questions.’

  As he stepped into the hall – he could do no other if he wanted to retrieve his gloves – he said, ‘You – you didn’t tell Percy, then?’

  Meg closed the door and leant against it, watching him. She widened her eyes. ‘Of course not. Now,’ she said briskly, ‘have you time for a drink?’

  ‘Oh no! No more of your drinks, Meg.’ He held out his hand as if to ward her off. ‘Besides, I must be on my way. I’ve patients to see.’

  She moved closer to him and, though she wore no perfume, the smell of her enticed him. It was a natural, womanly smell. Earthy and inviting. She put her hands, palms flat, against his chest. ‘What is more natural than that you should feel able to rest at a friend’s house when you were so desperately tired? You told Louisa where you were, of course?’