‘I saw her run away into the marshes,’ Wally said in a sad tone. ‘She ran fast; it was like her feet never touched the ground. She wore a white dress and she looked just like a bride.’
Alkmene asked, ‘Where did she go to?’
Wally looked at her, his eyes sharp with reproach. ‘You want me to betray her again?’
‘You never betrayed her, Wally,’ Jake said. ‘You loved her.’
The little man hung his head again. ‘People laugh at me about it. They think I was a fool to care for her, while she would never care for an ugly little dwarf like me. But I would have protected her, I would have…’
Jake waited a moment. ‘Is that what you told her? When she had met up with the brother and had heard her husband was not coming back, when she was sad and heartbroken and walking about here on the moor, did you tell her you would care for her and the baby?’
Alkmene held her breath. It was obvious that if Wally had told her something like that, it would have been the last thing Mary Sullivan had been open to. Raw with grief as she was, and fully believing Wally’s loose tongue had caused her lover’s abandonment of her in the first place.
‘Wally?’ Jake prompted gently.
Wally nodded, his chin rubbing his chest. ‘I told her that I would always take care of her, and the child, but she laughed at me. She screamed I had ruined everything, on purpose, because I had never wanted to let her go, that I was just an ugly troll who stole people to live in his dirty swamp world.’
He made a strangled sound. ‘Then she ran away from me. I wanted to go after her, but I was afraid that if I hunted her, she might take a wrong step and drown in the marshes.’
Jake waited a moment before he asked softly, ‘Have you ever seen her again?’
Wally stared at the ground and did not speak.
‘Have you?’ Alkmene pressed.
He looked up, his eyes on fire. ‘I tell all of them that she died there. All of them. To protect her. To make sure they cannot find her and hurt her. I told that fancy lawyer from the city. That she was dead for sure and the baby with her. I showed him the place. He was so happy. He offered me money and he went away rubbing his hands. Like he was glad she was dead.’
His voice pitched on the latter words. ‘Glad! I should have pushed him into the marshes for it. Made sure he never left this place. Glad that she was dead…’
Alkmene looked at Jake.
Jake said, ‘How old was this lawyer?’
‘Young. Handsome.’ Wally’s voice was full of resentment.
‘Must have been Walker,’ Jake mouthed at Alkmene. She nodded.
Jake said to Wally, ‘So you tell people Mary Sullivan is dead, because you want to protect her. I understand that. But what do you think yourself?’
Wally looked at him. ‘Why would I tell you? What are you to me? You offered me drinks last night to get me talking. You think I am dumb like they all do. But they gave you a soaking, yes, they did. For all your nosy questioning.’
The childish glee in his voice made Alkmene smile, but also put a shiver on her spine. This man was mentally twisted. Or at least he lived in a world of his own, holding his version of the past close to his chest like a sacred thing. Anyone who tried to interfere with it did so at his own risk.
She said carefully, ‘The woman at the inn is very unfriendly to strangers and she even said we should go away again. Why?’
Wally looked at her with his small red-rimmed eyes. ‘Why, she is Mary’s sister. Did you not know?’
Alkmene shook her head. She had not been able to guess the woman’s age correctly as her red hair had seemed so fiery still, without a trace of grey. She didn’t seem old enough to be the sister of a woman who already had a grown son. The mysterious young man, from the theatre. Returned from the dead…
Wally continued in a rush, ‘She also hates me for talking about Mary, keeping her memory alive. She would rather act like she had never existed. And I know why. She never liked her; she hated her. Because Mary was pretty and Mary was bright and all the men looked at Mary and never at her. She made Mary do all the work at home; she forced her to scrub floors so her pretty hands got red and rough. She made her do the cooking, so she would burn her fingers and cry. She would make her do the laundry so she had to stand hunched over the washing board and her back would ache. She told me oh so many times.’
Wally clenched his hands into fists. ‘They all treated her wrong. And they should remember her, remember what they did, how they did not want her to live and be happy. They are all to blame for her death. Not me. I cared for her.’ He lifted his pale eyes to look at Jake. ‘I loved her.’
Jake nodded. ‘We understand.’
Wally stood a moment, fidgeting with his hands. Then he turned away and ran off, with his strange gait.
Jake did not go after him. He looked at Alkmene and sighed. ‘So we have confirmation here of everything Pemboldt told us. There was a Mary Sullivan, she was married to Silas Norwhich’s brother and she was pregnant with his child. She vanished into the marshlands, and Wally has been telling people ever since that she is dead. But he himself doesn’t know for sure. Or he knows something he doesn’t want to tell.’
‘He told Fitzroy Walker that she was dead,’ Alkmene said.
The wind was strong upon the moor, and she untied the scarf around her neck and put it over her head, tied it with a knot under her chin. The material made a soft rustling sound as the wind played with it. ‘He showed the place where it happened and all. I bet Walker didn’t get any cooperation elsewhere like we experienced yesterday and he believed Wally. He wanted to believe it badly, so his plans for Evelyn Steinbeck would succeed. The real heir was dead, buried in the marshes here, and the fake heiress could be produced and could cash in and then deliver to him, via the marriage. That’s why he was rubbing his hands in glee when he saw the spot.’
Jake nodded. He stared at the place Wally had indicated. ‘It is possible to get through moor or marshland unharmed if you know the tracks. If her father was indeed familiar with them all for his profession, she could have run off and lived on, some place. But how? She probably had no money.’
‘Wally suggested her lover had given her gifts. Maybe she sold those off? Maybe she found another man who took her in? Wally made it sound like she was very pretty. Combined with vulnerability, she might have enticed a man to care for her.’
‘You make it sound like something dirty,’ Jake observed with a smile.
Alkmene shrugged. ‘I never like to use my looks, that’s all.’
The wind pulled at her scarf, and suddenly the silk slipped off her hair and the scarf flew off on the gust, across the heather and dirt, flapping like it was resisting its abduction.
‘Hey!’ Alkmene called.
Jake rushed after it, jumping over clumps of heather.
‘Be careful!’ Alkmene called. ‘You could step into marshland.’
Jake didn’t seem to hear or care. He ran on, leaping and bounding like a horse in full flight, until he could pluck the scarf out of the air. Holding it up, he waved it at her like a banner. ‘Saved!’
She waved back, calling again, ‘Careful! You don’t know how unstable it is.’
Jake nodded and began to pick his way back, trying his footing before each step. It took him much longer to get back than it had taken him to catch the scarf. Alkmene stood hands on hips, watching his progress with her head tilted.
At last he was on the path again. She reached out for the scarf, but he shook his head and folded it and put it in his pocket. ‘I don’t intend to chase it again. You can have it back in the village.’
Before she could protest he looked around them. ‘Not much else we can do here. We know now Fitzroy Walker has been here and left, assured there was no real heir to fear. But he was wrong. There was. At least if the young man who appeared at the theatre had any claim.’
‘He knew of Cunningham.’ Alkmene frowned. ‘He might even have had a birth certificate that he showed Silas
Norwhich right before he died.’
Jake nodded. ‘But why kill Norwhich?’
‘If he indeed killed him.’ Alkmene turned her back on the cold wind and gestured to the village. ‘We had better return and think it over with some coffee and apple pie. I think I smelled something baking before we left.’
Jake shook his head. ‘It is a miracle to me that someone with such a healthy appetite can have such a slim figure.’
Alkmene cast him an appraising look. Was he criticizing her figure or complimenting her on it?
If she could not even tell which was which…
Shaking her head to herself, she began to walk back across the seemingly endless moor.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time they were back at the inn of the hunted boar, the church tower struck one, and Alkmene’s stomach was growling. She wanted a big slice of apple pie, preferably with whipped cream, and coffee.
Or no, hot chocolate.
She already savoured the taste on her tongue.
But as they came in, the innkeeper himself was behind the reception desk, gesturing at them with a cream-coloured envelope in his hand. ‘This message has been delivered here for you, sir.’
Jake took it and studied it. ‘By whom?’
The man shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I was in the back tending to some chores and when I came back here, it was lying on the desk.’
Jake turned the envelope over but there was no sender recorded on it. It just read Mr Jake Dubois on the front in print letters that could disguise a man or woman’s handwriting.
Jake thanked the innkeeper and walked into the room, slipping his little finger under the edge and tearing open the envelope. Alkmene followed him curiously, one hand on her hair to feel if it had grown very wild in the wind.
Jake whistled softly as he read what was written on the single sheet he had pulled out. Then he handed it to her.
It said, ‘Come to the ruins of the old keep on the moor. Anybody can explain the way to you. Information will be waiting for you there. Do not share this message with anyone and do not bring any locals.’
There was no name under it.
Alkmene said, ‘I suppose we are not going to see what this is all about? It seems rather fishy. If somebody wanted to give you information, he could have enclosed it in this envelope. He left it without being seen, so anonymity can’t be an issue.’
Jake shrugged. ‘You never know why people are extra secretive. It could be worthwhile. I will go. Alone of course.’
‘Oh, no. We are in this together. I brought this whole case to your attention.’
‘Wrong, my lady. I was already on the case before you even knew there was one. Remember? I do not owe you a thing.’
Alkmene felt like grabbing his lapels and shaking him, but she became aware the landlord was watching them curiously from behind the reception desk. She hissed, ‘We will have to decide about that later. I want to come. Pronto.’
Jake held her gaze a moment. ‘I suppose,’ he said in a whisper, ‘that if I left you here you’d go out anyway and land in no end of trouble. I don’t want to have your dead body on my conscience. So I will have to take you so I can protect you.’
Alkmene snorted. ‘What will you do? Carry a gun?’
Jake smiled at her. ‘That is an excellent idea.’
She stared at him. ‘You own a gun? You brought it with you?’
He didn’t reply, but strode to the desk where the landlord pretended to be engrossed in the ledger. ‘The ruins of the old keep…where would that be? I have heard it is a sight worth seeing.’
The landlord frowned. ‘It is nothing but what it says it is, sir. Ruins. There is nothing there like a real keep or castle. Just crumbling walls and weeds.’
‘I love weeds,’ Alkmene said engagingly. ‘As I told your wife this morning over breakfast, my father is a botanist, a specialist on all kinds of plants. I am collecting some rare specimens for him. I am sure that he will be so grateful for your help. If you can point it out to us…’
She reached into her purse suggestively.
‘It is easy enough,’ the man said at once. He opened the ledger in the back and tore out an empty sheet. Then he picked up his pencil and began to sketch. ‘The inn is right here. Now you round it and then you are here. There is an old track, wide enough for a cart and well used at that. You can follow it for about a mile…’
The explanations dragged on, and the drawing became more complex. Alkmene hoped Jake had a scout instinct that would get them there. All she wanted was lunch before they started out. She was pretty bushed after their first walk and now that a second was imminent…
She saw the innkeeper’s wife appear and asked if she could pack a lunch for them. ‘Some bread, cold cuts, cheese. Oh, and the apple pie you were baking this morning.’
‘That is plum pie, but if you want some…’
‘If you please. You can all put it on the bill.’ She batted her lashes at Jake, who just picked the sketch off the counter and put it in his pocket.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Never mind. I am glad you are such a perfect gentleman who is taking such good care of me.’
Raising her voice, she added to the innkeeper’s wife. ‘We will be outside in the square waiting for the lunch, thank you.’ And she pulled Jake to the door.
‘What was that?’ he asked suspiciously as they emerged once more into the sunshine.
Alkmene shook her hair loose and remodelled it. ‘Nothing. Lunch will be ready soon. Let’s just have a look at the church for a moment. It looks old.’
It was old, as a plaque on the wall told them. Built in 1341, destroyed by war in 1414, rebuilt… Destroyed by fire. Rebuilt. Tower hit by lightning. Rebuilt…
Jake seemed intent on reading it all, but Alkmene’s attention waned, and she walked away to the side of the church where old graves were. Family graves of the families who had lived in this town for centuries. The Dawsons, the Millers, the Smiths.
And the Sullivans.
She stared at their names and the dates on the large stone. There were Marys among them, but those had to be ancestors. The dates were not right to fit the mother of their missing heir.
She frowned as a cold draught that breathed around the church building kept hitting her exposed neck. Jake had to give that scarf back to her.
She looked up and saw a shadow slip away around the far end of the church. Just a hint of a dark sleeve, a shoulder maybe.
She walked a few paces in that direction, then halted, knowing she’d never catch up with whoever it had been. But they were still being watched. First this morning at Wally Thomson’s place, now here. Why? And by whom?
‘Are you coming?’ Jake called for her. ‘Your basket is here for you to carry along.’
He had to be kidding. He would carry it for her.
Right?
The wind tugging at everything loose and fastened made the basket swing and beat against her leg. She bet she’d have bruises there in the morning. But Jake refused to carry it. She had managed to persuade him to sit down and have the lunch before reaching the old ruins for the precious information, so the basket was considerably lighter now. The plum pie had been excellent, and the little flask of sherry the woman had included had warmed them inside and given them new energy to tackle the hike.
For a time they could already see the ruins in the distance, but the moor seemed to have an odd way of distorting proportions. The ruins seemed so close, within reach, and then as they ascended a new hill, the crumbling walls seemed to have stayed just as far away as before. Like the landscape shifted every time.
Alkmene halted a moment to wipe her right eye that kept tearing up from the wind. She had never walked this much across uneven tracks, rising and falling all of the time, and both her feet and knees were hurting.
Not to mention how sore her palm was from carrying the stupid basket. But she would never admit that to Jake. He was already convinced she was a prissy little lady who ha
d no stamina. She would prove him so wrong.
Catching up with him, trying to sound level and not out of breath, she said, ‘What do you expect us to find there? Do we have to scour each crack in every crumpled bit of wall for the envelope with secret information?’
Jake shrugged. ‘I have no idea.’ He stared ahead with a frown. ‘Aren’t you tired?’ He glanced at her. ‘You are welcome to stay here and wait for my return.’
Sitting and enjoying the sunshine for a while would be bliss. But no way was she letting him make the interesting discoveries alone.
‘I am fine.’ She inhaled hard. ‘Healthy air, a nice brisk walk. What more can one want?’
Jake grimaced. ‘The whole invitation could be a trap. The person who sent us the note could be waiting on top of a wall to drop a stone on our heads.’
‘It would be kind of hard to harm both of us at the same time,’ Alkmene said, although her heart was beating fast. ‘I think we are perfectly safe as long as we stick closely together.’ She glanced at him. ‘Did you bring your gun?’
Jake patted his jacket. She didn’t see anything particular there but…he knew what he was doing. It was kind of nice to know one of them did.
She studied the skies with the tiny white clouds. ‘It could have rained, you know. At least we are having a sunny day.’
Jake grunted. ‘I just wish that old keep had not been built so far away.’
She grinned. ‘Sore feet, huh?’
Jake poked her with an elbow. ‘Wanna compare blisters tonight? I bet yours will be bigger than mine.’
Alkmene wrinkled her nose. ‘No, thank you. And in case you are wondering, I do know how to treat blisters. My nanny always told me to prick them with a clean needle or pin.’
Jake grinned. ‘Right, and then pull a thread through so the liquid in the blisters can leak out.’
Alkmene winced. ‘Ugh.’
Jake laughed out loud. A bird took to flight nearby, diving into a clump of heather before she could discern what it was.
He took her arm a moment. ‘I think I saw movement behind one of those half broken walls. Somebody is there waiting for us.’
A Proposal to Die For Page 15
