The Night Raven

by Sarah Painter

  ‘I knew you were in Scotland,’ Daisy said. ‘I didn’t know you were doing that.’

  Her tone made it sound like hooking. Lydia reminded herself that Daisy was stressed to the max and couldn't help herself. Probably. ‘Can I ask you about Madeleine?’

  Daisy looked at the table. ‘Of course. If you think it will help. I told Charlie it was time to get the police involved, but he doesn’t seem to think it would do any good. I think he’s being pessimistic, they have all kinds of ways, now. Technology and so on.’

  ‘He’s asked me to help,’ Lydia said. ‘And he’s right about the police. Madeleine is nineteen which means she is legally classed as an adult. Unless you have reason to believe she is at risk, or a danger to herself or others, then she would be classed as low or medium risk, which means low priority.’

  ‘Not for us,’ Daisy straightened. ‘Our family still has clout, they would have to do something. There are old agreements –’

  ‘Maybe,’ Lydia said. ‘And if I don’t make any progress in a day or so, I will advise Charlie to contact the police.’

  Daisy was clearly mollified by Lydia’s serious tone and the prospect of an ally in her argument with Charlie. Lydia took out her notebook and flipped it open to a new page. ‘Right. Just a few details, if you don’t mind?’

  Her aunt waved a hand, looking simultaneously disbelieving and hopeful.

  ‘How did she seem. The last time you saw her.’

  Daisy’s shrug was more a convulsion. ‘Same as usual. Happy.’

  ‘You two were getting on well.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Daisy said. ‘She has grown into a wonderful young woman. We’d had a few bad months here and there when she was younger, the usual teenage stuff, but nothing bad has happened for ages.’

  Lydia made a note in her book, then asked. ‘Can you remember what she was wearing the last time you saw her?’

  Daisy’s eyes widened and Lydia wondered if it was because Charlie had asked the same thing or whether she was surprised that he hadn’t. ‘I’m not sure.’ Daisy closed her eyes. ‘She was dressed for work. Pale grey trouser suit. Her linen one.’

  ‘Did she have a bag? Her mobile phone?’

  Daisy smiled. ‘Of course she had her phone. Maddie doesn’t even go to the bathroom without it.’

  ‘iPhone?’ Lydia said. ‘I assume you’ve checked the Find My Phone app?’

  ‘Charlie did,’ Daisy said, looking suddenly vague. ‘He said it wasn’t working. Either she had switched off her GPS or the phone was broken or something.’

  ‘So, it was the morning before she went to work? Can you tell me about her job?’

  ‘At Minty PR.’ Daisy looked away. ‘To be honest, it wasn’t all she had hoped for. Making tea and stapling things together as far as I could tell. I told her she had to start at the bottom, pay her dues, and that she would be given more responsibility later, but I know she was disappointed.’

  ‘And friends? How are things going there?’

  ‘Fine, I think.’

  ‘All right,’ Lydia had seen Karen pose the following questions a number of times and she was always direct about them. Perhaps easier to do when it wasn’t your aunt across the table. Lydia swallowed before launching in. ‘Forgive me for asking this, but has Madeleine made any new friends recently or started going to new places?’

  Daisy frowned. ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘How about a change in mood recently? Or behaviour? Has she been withdrawn or seemed ill or tired?’

  ‘She was a bit tired after work sometimes.’

  Okay, too subtle. Out with it, Lyds. ‘Has she been doing drugs?’

  The gleam of magic that Lydia could see as clearly as most people would see her Boden clothing was shimmering like an electric current through water. Lydia instinctively pushed her chair back, ready to run.

  ‘No.’ Daisy said eventually, her voice surprisingly even. ‘She would never be so stupid.’

  Lydia made a mark in her notebook, trying to convey how routine and normal these intrusive questions were. ‘Gambling?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Boyfriend or girlfriend?’

  ‘Charles asked me that already.’ Daisy’s tone was less even, now.

  ‘And what did you say?’

  Daisy gave her a shocked look. It was fair enough; the last time they had seen each other, Lydia had been an almost-silent girl about the age her daughter was now. Now she was asking impertinent questions about her beloved baby girl. Lydia attempted a conciliatory tone. ‘I need to get as much information as possible so that I can find Madeleine. I’m not trying to offend you and I know it might feel a bit strange, talking to me about these things, but I assure you I am a professional.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Daisy interrupted. ‘I just don’t have anything to add. Madeleine isn’t in a relationship, she doesn’t seem at all interested to be honest. Says she wants to establish her career. Actually,’ Daisy pursed her lips for a second and then dived ahead. ‘The actual words she used were ‘I don’t want to end up like you.’ Meaning me.’

  ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean that,’ Lydia said, ducking her head and writing ‘unhappy at home?’ in her notebook.

  ‘I have no doubt that she did.’ Daisy wiped underneath her eyes with her finger, although they appeared perfectly dry. ‘She never misses a moment to tell me how sad and boring and unenlightened my choices have been. Never mind that it meant she had a loving mother always at home, doing her every bidding.’

  Lydia shut her notebook. ‘May I use your bathroom?’

  Daisy blinked. ‘Of course. Upstairs on the right.’

  ‘And I should say hello to Uncle John, too.’

  ‘His study is third floor, directly ahead. Do knock first.’

  ‘Right-oh.’

  Having established a reason to take a long time, Lydia escaped upstairs. The first couple of doors she tried were the bathroom and a laundry cupboard but the third struck gold. It was clearly Madeleine’s room as it had the unmistakeable vibe of a teenage girl. Layers of girlhood were visible, with a few precious soft toys (no longer on the bed, of course, but tucked on the bookshelf as if guarding the reading material), and a dressing table overflowing with both colourful canisters of body spray and heavy glass bottles of designer perfume.

  There were clothes over the floor and piled in a heap on a chair in one corner. A swift examination under the bed and between the mattress and box-frame, revealed nothing except the fact that somebody was very diligent about vacuuming underneath the furniture. The walk-in closet revealed yet more clothes and a shoe collection lovingly catalogued in boxes with photographs attached to the outside. This beautiful Martha Stewart-worthy display was accessorised with a tangled pile of trainers, pumps and stilettos on the floor beneath the shelving.

  There was a laptop on the desk and Lydia tried not to feel too envious as she noted the make and model. She lifted the lid and crossed her fingers that Madeleine was as half-arsed about internet security as she was about tidying her clothes. No password to get into the home screen and, bingo, when Lydia opened the browser and began typing the name of the first email client which sprang to mind, the auto-text finished it for her. She hit ‘go’ and Madeleine’s email inbox appeared. She scanned the page, noting down the names of Madeleine’s most common correspondents. The most recent emails were all from friends asking ‘you okay, hon?’ and variations. Lydia looked for the most recent email which had the ‘replied’ symbol next to it and clicked.

  Hi Madeleine.

  I’m sorry things haven’t worked out here and I don’t agree with the way in which it was handled. You will be missed around the office and I just wanted to wish you all the best.

  If you want to get a coffee sometime, I would love to stay in touch.

  Best wishes,

  Verity

  The email had been sent three weeks ago. Madeleine’s reply was sent on the fifteenth. Her last morning in this bedroom.

  Hi Verity,

 
I’ve been thinking about it all a lot and it would be good to talk. Are you free today?

  I’ll be in town this afternoon. Call me!

  Maddie

  * * *

  Lydia forwarded the message to her own email. It would leave a footprint, she knew, but she just crossed her fingers that it wouldn’t matter. What was a little invasion of privacy when measured against finding their daughter?

  The sound of a toilet flushing down the hall made Lydia straighten involuntarily. She closed the browser window and shut the lid of the laptop. Pocketing her notebook, she moved swiftly to the door, just in time to hear a door open and close and footsteps coming closer. She held her breath while the footsteps continued, past the door. Please go back to your office, Lydia silently prayed to John. After a few seconds of silence, she opened the door. Her Uncle John was on the landing, one foot on the stairs which led to the third floor. Lydia moved as quickly as possible, plastering on a smile of greeting and hoping he hadn’t caught which room she had emerged from.

  ‘Lydia? I didn’t know you were here.’

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ Lydia said. ‘How are you bearing up?’

  A shadow passed across John’s face. ‘Fine. Fine. You know.’

  Lydia nodded.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Visiting. I’m back from Scotland for a couple of weeks and Uncle Charlie asked me to help out with Maddie.’

  The shadow became a storm and then, just as quickly, his face slackened and the emotion was wiped away. ‘Madeleine is being very selfish. As usual.’

  John looked behind Lydia. ‘But what are you doing up here?’

  ‘Bathroom,’ Lydia said, remembering as she spoke that John had just come from there. ‘Looking for the bathroom,’ she amended.

  ‘Right. Yes. This way.’ Lydia had forgotten that John had always been clipped and formal. As a kid she had found it intimating but now she wondered if it meant he had never felt comfortable at the big family gatherings. After what her dad had said, she wondered if John’s family background had prevented him from feeling properly at home with the Crows. Lydia was trying very hard not to use her own ability, weak though it was, in an attempt not to give out any stronger ‘Crow vibes’ than absolutely necessary. She had no idea whether other people could sense powers in the way that she could but since everybody else in the families were stronger than her, she didn’t want to make assumptions to the contrary. Despite her best efforts, though, she could taste something hard and chalky in the air and see a faint pearlescent shimmer on John’s skin.

  ‘Well. Good to see you,’ John said, turning away.

  ‘What did you mean by selfish? Where do you think she is?’

  John paused on the stairs, but didn’t look at Lydia. He stared, instead, at the carpet. ‘I don’t know, but it will be exactly where she wants to be. And I don’t think she will waste a moment worrying about the hell she is putting her mother through.’

  Downstairs, Daisy was still sitting at the table, exactly as she had been. ‘I’d better get going,’ Lydia said. ‘Thank you for the drink.’

  Daisy nodded. ‘Did you see John?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Lydia replied. ‘He seems...’ Lydia trailed off, unable to think of a polite way of saying ‘sociopathic’.

  ‘It’s a coping mechanism,’ Daisy said. Her face twisted, a sudden reveal of the pain she was feeling inside. ‘At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.’

  ‘Well, it must be very hard...’ She wondered how to phrase the question. ‘Were they on good terms? Madeleine and her dad, I mean?’

  ‘I told you,’ Daisy said. ‘We had the usual teenage blow ups, but nothing for ages. Everything was fine. Settled.’

  Lydia nodded. ‘Got it. Right. Thanks.’ Christ, she had caught staccato speech from John.

  ‘Well,’ Daisy said, seemingly energised and back to her polite hostess mode. ‘It’s nice to see you. I hope you’re spending plenty of time with your poor parents.’

  ‘Um... Yes.’ Poor parents?

  ‘You broke your mother’s heart, you know.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Leaving the country. Bit extreme teenage rebellion, don’t you think? Especially as you’re too old for that, now.’

  Right. Not very polite hostess. ‘I had an excellent job opportunity and they understood. They support me.’

  Daisy cut across her. ‘What job? Playing at detective? You should be at home looking after your poor father.’

  ‘You may not speak about Henry Crow,’ Lydia said flatly.

  Some vestige of her father’s power must still have been floating around the family as Daisy shut her mouth instantly.

  ‘I’ll be in touch,’ Lydia said, as the door swung closed.

  * * *

  Standing outside the house, Lydia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The woman is upset, she told herself. Don’t take it personally. More to the point, it appeared that Charlie hadn’t been blowing smoke. Maddie really had walked out of her charmed life.

  The house next door to Aunt Daisy’s had a bay window facing the street. There were wooden slated blinds pulled low, and Lydia caught sight of movement. Slats which had been held open for a better view, falling back into place. Nosy neighbour.

  Lydia walked up the path and knocked on the door. There was a CCTV camera bolted above the corner of the porch, directed downward and another one on the side of the house facing out. Dummy cameras were popular with those short on cash, but this was expensive real estate and from this distance, at least, they looked like the real deal. God bless the paranoid rich.

  The door opened on a chain and a firm voice came from within. ‘Hello?’

  Lydia plastered on her friendliest, most unthreatening smile. ‘Hi, I’m Daisy’s niece. From next door?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I’m from next door,’ Lydia said. ‘May I speak to you for a moment?’

  The chain unlatched and the door swung open fully. The woman had to be in her eighties. She had wispy grey hair held back with a wide Alice band and a leisure suit which looked like it was made of velvet.

  ‘I’m really sorry to bother you, but Daisy said you wouldn’t mind. She said you’ve always been a treasure in the street.’ Lydia had no idea whether Daisy and John were friendly with their neighbours, but the first rule of getting people to do things for you was to give them a reason to live up to your good view of them.

  ‘Daisy next door?’ The woman’s forehead creased. ‘Are you Madeleine?’

  ‘No, I’m Daisy’s niece. Lydia.’

  ‘Of course,’ the woman shook her head lightly. ‘Silly me. You look just like her.’ Her eyes travelled the length of Lydia’s body, taking in her leather jacket, jeans and combat boots. ‘Well. Madeleine has a rather different style palette.’

  ‘I was hoping I could speak to you about Madeleine, actually.’ Lydia glanced around as if worried she would be overheard. ‘Something terrible has happened and my family are at their wits’ end.’

  The promise of juicy gossip, the reminder of the Crow Family, or old-fashioned helpfulness. Whatever the reason, the woman stepped back. ‘You’d better come inside.’

  Lydia stepped into a wide entrance hall with dark green walls and white architrave. An umbrella stand in the shape of an elephant’s foot which Lydia fervently hoped wasn’t real and a coat rack with one beige mackintosh and a Barbour wax jacket, both female and small. The neighbour appeared to live alone.

  ‘I’m Mrs Bedi. You can call me Elspeth.’

  ‘Thank you, Elspeth,’ Lydia said, crouching down to unlace her boots.

  ‘Oh, leave those, dear. The dogs bring in all sorts so I don’t worry.’

  Dogs. That explained the smell.

  Elspeth led the way into a living room stuffed with furniture. A pale green upright sofa and matching chairs were the only modern additions amongst Moroccan leather pouffes, brightly-embroidered Indian floor cushions, and intricately engraved brass candlesticks and spice box
es. The slatted window blinds were complemented by the ceiling fan which Lydia wouldn’t have been surprised to learn had been shipped back from India when the colonial rule ended.

  ‘You have a beautiful home,’ Lydia said, still on her best behaviour.

  Elspeth inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘I’m very sorry to hear of Daisy and John’s trouble but I’m not sure how I can help.’

  ‘Maddie, my cousin, has been missing for several days. They are frantic with worry.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ Elspeth said. ‘How old is the girl?’

  ‘Nineteen,’ Lydia said.

  Elspeth clicked her tongue against her teeth. ‘Difficult age. Especially these days.’ She lowered herself carefully into an armchair. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t been visited by the police. Door-to-door enquiries would be standard, one would have thought.’

  It took Lydia a second to catch up. Elspeth might not have been about to run a marathon but she was clearly in full command of her faculties. ‘They haven’t been to the police. Which is why I’m trying to find her myself.’

  ‘You?’ Elspeth frowned. ‘You ought to engage the authorities. It’s what one pays taxes for, after all.’

  Lydia took a risk. She leaned forward and make her expression pained and earnest. ‘I couldn't agree more, but they won’t have it. Well,’ she paused, biting her lip as if unsure whether to reveal a secret. ‘I shouldn’t really say. It’s private business but my Uncle John won’t hear of it. Aunt Daisy is all set to go behind his back and call the police anyway, but after the way things have been...’

  Lydia let herself trail off.

  Elspeth’s expression was hard to read, but the tone of her voice was significantly warmer when she spoke. ‘Husbands always think they know best.’

  ‘I don’t want to make things worse, but I do want to help. And I’m sure I can find Maddie without any more fuss. I just need a bit of help. Did you know Madeleine, at all?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Elspeth said. ‘The dogs got into their garden one time, and Madeleine helped me to round them up. She was very polite. But we’re not what you would call close neighbours in this street. The sense of community isn’t what it used to be. So many newcomers.’