The Nightingale

by K. J. Frost

  He looks up at me, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Is that why she postponed the wedding?”

  “Because of the rape? Yes. She didn’t know about the pregnancy then. She didn’t find out about that until a couple of days before she died. She was ashamed of what had been done to her, you see.”

  “Ashamed?” he whispers, pulling his hands from mine and pushing them back through his short hair, his despair obvious. “What did she have to be ashamed of?” He shakes his head. “It wasn’t her fault… none of it was her fault.” He stops talking, catches his breath and then starts again. “Why didn’t she just tell me?” he says. “I’d have listened. I mean, obviously I’d have been angry, but with him, not her. It—It wouldn’t have made any difference between us… not to me. Not if I’d known the truth.”

  “I know, Sam.” It’s true. I honestly do believe that, if Mildred had told him, they’d have been able to work things out. They seem like the kind of couple who would have got through anything, as long as they were together. If only she’d seen that… If only the shame hadn’t been too much.

  “Did he kill her?” he asks, interrupting my train of thought.

  “No.”

  “No?” He frowns at me. “Then who did?”

  “His wife killed her… to keep her quiet. I think – rightly or wrongly – that Mildred thought she could live with the rape, and maybe come to terms with it. I think she postponed your wedding, rather than cancelling it, in the hope that she could do just that… find a way of accepting what he’d done to her, and of telling you about it, in the hope that you’d forgive her.”

  “There was nothing to forgive.” He raises his voice, rounding on me.

  “I know, Sam,” I say soothingly. “I’m just trying to give you my interpretation of events, based on conversations Mildred had with people we’ve interviewed. That’s all. I don’t think she wanted things to be over between you for good. But finding out she was pregnant was too much for her. In her eyes, that meant losing you, because once you found out she was expecting another man’s child, you’d never be able to accept what had happened, and she couldn’t face that… So, she went to Reverend Hodge and told him she was going to report him to the police.”

  “For the rape?” Sam queries, much calmer now.

  “Yes. She thought it was her only chance of keeping you. Unfortunately, Mrs Hodge overheard their conversation, and in her desperation to keep Mildred quiet, she killed her.”

  He looks at me for a full minute and then slowly lets his head fall into his hands, his shoulders shaking as he weeps. I step back and resume my seat, and the three of us sit in silence, listening to the sound of the broken young man beside us, sobbing for the woman he loved, more than anything in the world, who’s been so cruelly taken from him.

  “What will happen to them?” he asks eventually and we all turn to face him again. He’s red-eyed and slightly out of breath.

  “Mrs Hodge will almost certainly hang,” I explain. “And I’ll do everything possible to ensure that she does…”

  “And him?’ he asks. “The vicar?”

  “I’m going to make it my personal mission to ensure that he doesn’t see daylight for a very, very long time.”

  Sam nods his head slowly and then gets to his feet, picking up his cap from the floor, before holding out his hand to me. I stand, offering my own and we shake hands. “Thank you for coming to tell me,” he says.

  “I had to,” I reply and he nods.

  I’m about to let go of him, when he tightens his grip on my hand, halting me. “Just so you know, Inspector,” he says quietly, “I was really sorry I said all those things about Milly. I went and sat in my room after you’d left that day, and thought everything through and I realised that, even if she had cheated, as long as she’d still wanted to be with me, I’d have forgiven her…” His voice fades for a moment, but then he continues, “I wish she’d come to me. I wish she’d told me what he’d done to her. I’d have married her anyway and told the world the baby was mine, if that was what she wanted. She… she was too good for me, you see.”

  I sigh deeply, rather moved by the young man who’s standing in front of me.

  “No, she wasn’t, Sam. You were right for each other. And she loved you.”

  “Thank you for saying that,” he whispers, looking embarrassed, even though I’m not. It needed to be said.

  “Take care of yourself, Sam,” I say with considerable feeling.

  “I’ll try, sir,” he says, blinking back yet more tears.

  “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” I add, keeping hold of his hand still. “Remember that.”

  He nods again. “I will.”

  I finally release him and, picking up my hat, make my way over to the door, with Thompson following behind. I’m just about to put my hand on the door knob when Sam calls me back, by name.

  “Just one more thing,” he adds, and takes a step nearer.

  “Yes?”

  “You said you came here because you didn’t want me to hate Milly?”

  “Yes.”

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t. I never hated her. She just wasn’t the sort of girl anyone could hate.”

  I nod and open the door, stepping outside, where Thompson joins me.

  Back in the car, we both take a long, slow breath.

  “He’s a remarkable young man,” Thompson says, shaking his head, staring out through the windscreen.

  “Yes. Very.” I follow his gaze and we sit in silence for a moment.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.

  I turn to him. “I’m not sure that I am.”

  “Yes, you are,” he replies. “I know that look.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Well, I suppose if I’m thinking anything, it’s that I feel inadequate.”

  “Inadequate? How on earth do you work that out? You practically solved the case on day one, had the culprits in custody by the end of day three and their confessions by lunchtime on day four. For a case with no evidence, I’d say that’s pretty good going.”

  “It would be, if I was talking about the case.”

  “What are you talking about then?” he asks.

  “Forgiveness,” I reply.

  “Forgiveness?” he echoes. “In what context?”

  “This context.” I turn to look at him. “Up until half an hour ago, Sam believed Mildred had been unfaithful to him, because it was the only logical explanation for her pregnancy – at least as far as he was concerned.”

  “And?”

  “And he was not only willing to forgive her, but also to contemplate the idea of having married her and passing her child off as his own.”

  “And?” he repeats. “I’m not sure I see your point. I admire his generosity, obviously, but…”

  “I’m thinking about the contrast,” I point out. “Between him and me.”

  “You mean when Victoria cheated on you?” he asks. “With me?” he adds, even though it doesn’t need saying.

  “Yes. Let’s face it, not only did I break off our engagement the very next day – quite brutally, I might add – but I cut you out of my life for six years.”

  He nods his head. “That was different though,” he reasons.

  “How?”

  “Because you weren’t really in love with her, were you?”

  “No,” I reply immediately. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “If Amelie cheated, things would be very different indeed,” he says and my blood runs cold, just at the thought.

  “If Amelie cheated…” I echo, my voice a mere whisper.

  He holds out his hand. “I’m not saying she would,” he says quickly. “In fact, you two are so in love, I doubt it would ever cross her mind, but I imagine your reaction would be the polar opposite to what it was with Victoria.”

  “Yes, it would.” I can’t say any more, but I know… because I told him this the other day, in a fit of pique, that if Amelie did ever cheat, I’d want to understand… I�
��d want to know why. What I’d do about it after that, I don’t know. I think it would depend on her answers. “Could you forgive Julia?” I ask eventually, because I know he’s waiting for me to speak.

  “It would take a long time, but yes, I think I probably could,” he says. “Obviously we have Christopher and the baby to think about, which I suppose makes a difference, but I love her. I’d want to work it out.” He sighs. “I certainly wouldn’t throw away our relationship on a whim.”

  “Like I did, you mean?”

  “Once again,” he sighs, “you weren’t in love with Victoria… and she’d hurt your pride more than anything else.”

  “I know.”

  “Look, I’m not saying it would be easy to forgive Julia, but if she did ever cheat on me – and I seriously hope she never does – then I’d want to try and make things right again.” I nod my head, a little surprised. “That shocked you, didn’t it?” he says.

  “Yes, it did.” I start the engine.

  “Maybe I’ve finally grown up,” he admits.

  “You? Grown up?”

  “I know… it’s a ridiculous idea, isn’t it? Forget I ever said that.”

  We both chuckle, lightening the somewhat sombre mood in the car, and I start driving, although I don’t go back to the station, and instead head towards Thames Ditton.

  “What are we doing here?” Thompson asks as we drive into the village.

  “We’ve got a couple more people to see,” I explain, turning into Queen’s Road.

  “Mrs Ryder?” he queries.

  “Yes. She deserves to know.”

  Thompson nods his head as I park the car and we both climb out together, with him getting to the door ahead of me.

  Mrs Ryder answers his knock quickly. “Inspector?” she says enquiringly, presumably surprised by our third visit in as many days.

  We step inside the house at her invitation, and tell her the same story we’ve just told Sam, watching in silence as she breaks down in front of us.

  “The vicar?” she says, shaking her head. “The vicar raped my daughter?”

  “Yes. I’m very sorry.”

  “I should… I should have noticed,” she says, wringing her lace handkerchief between her hands. “I saw she was upset, but I thought that was about the wedding… I never thought to query why she was calling it off in the first place.” She purses her lips. “I was so blind…”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Mrs Ryder,” I reason. “Reverend Hodge used his influence over Mildred to enforce her silence. It was only after she went to Doctor Fraser and found out that she was pregnant that she decided to confront the vicar. The doctor suggested she should inform the man responsible, you see.”

  “Did the doctor know about the rape?” she asks, shocked.

  “No,” I reply quickly. “No, he had no idea. He was just talking to her in terms of getting the man to accept his responsibilities, that was all. But it obviously made Mildred realise that what the vicar had done was wrong, and that she didn’t owe him her silence.”

  “There are some truly wicked people in this world,” Mrs Ryder says thoughtfully.

  “Yes, there are.”

  “Mildred didn’t deserve any of it,” she adds. “And neither did Sam. They were so happy together, and they should have been allowed to get on with their lives… not have that man… that man…” She stops speaking, her anger and tears getting the better of her.

  She sniffles into her handkerchief again, and then looks up at me.

  “Thank you, Inspector,” she says. “You’ve been so very kind and considerate to us.”

  “I really haven’t done anything, Mrs Ryder.”

  She gets up from her seat. “Oh, but you have,” she says, blinking rapidly. “You’ve got justice for Mildred… and now that we don’t have her anymore, that’s what matters. We need to know that the people who did this to her won’t get away with it.”

  “They won’t, Mrs Ryder. I can promise you that.”

  She manages a half smile as she shows us to the door.

  Outside, we climb into the car, although neither of us says anything. For myself, I’m feeling a little humbled, and I start the engine, pulling away from the kerb and turning left at the end of the road.

  “Where are we going now?” Thompson asks.

  “We’re going to see the Whartons. He should be home from work by now.”

  “The Whartons? Why them?” he queries.

  “Because Mrs Wharton has spent the last four days absolutely convinced her husband is guilty.”

  “Of murder?”

  “No, of adultery. She was certain he was sleeping with Mildred Ryder. Surely you picked up on that?”

  “And we’re going to do what?” he asks, not really replying to my question.

  “Explain to her that he wasn’t. She deserves to know that, at least. And who knows, it might help them…”

  He nudges into me, even though I’m driving. “Marriage really has turned you into an old romantic,” he says and I can hear the grin on his face, even though I can’t see him, because I’m concentrating on the road.

  “I don’t know about that,” I reply, turning into the High Street.

  “Really?”

  “Well, I’m not that old.”

  He chuckles. “But you are romantic?”

  I don’t reply, but simply tilt my head first one way and then the other, in a kind of non-committal acceptance, which makes him laugh out loud.

  It’s Mr Wharton who answers the door, still wearing his jacket and holding his hat in his hand, and making it clear from his impatience and haughtiness, that he’s only just got in from work, and that our visit is most unwelcome.

  “I really am sorry to disturb you,” I say, putting my foot inside the door, just so he can’t slam it in my face. “Perhaps we could come inside for a few minutes?”

  He pauses, for a moment and then reluctantly steps aside, letting us enter, and then shows us into the drawing room, where Mrs Wharton is sitting by the fire, a glass of something that looks remarkably like a gin and tonic, nestled in her hand. She startles on our entry and gets to her feet, placing her glass on the table beside the sofa.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she says.

  “I’m sorry to disturb your evening,” I reply, waiting for Mr Wharton to join us, which he does, minus his hat, going over to his wife and standing beside her, although not too close. “It’s just that we thought we’d come and tell you that the case is concluded.”

  Mrs Wharton seems to visibly sag before us. “You mean… you mean, you know?” she says, and I wonder for a second if she’s going to faint.

  “Yes. We’ve got the culprits in custody, and they’ve confessed to their crimes, which is why I’m able to tell you about it.”

  “Culprits?” Mr Wharton queries, picking up on that, rather than the confessions.

  “Yes. You see, there are two people involved in Mildred’s death, one more directly than the other.”

  “How do you mean?” Mrs Wharton’s voice is shaky.

  “Unfortunately, a few months before she was killed, Mildred was raped…”

  “Oh, my God.” Mrs Wharton flops down into the sofa, stunned.

  “So that’s how she got pregnant?” her husband says, ignoring her.

  “Yes.”

  “And who raped her?” he asks.

  “Reverend Hodge. It seems that his wife found out about it and, in order to protect her position in society, she killed Mildred.”

  “To protect her position?” Mr Wharton echoes.

  “Yes.”

  “Bloody hell,” he whispers, just as Mrs Wharton gets to her feet again, linking her arm through her husband’s.

  “I’m so relieved,” she says, looking up at him. “It’s been a living hell for the last four days… simply a living hell.”

  “Why?” he turns to face her.

  “Because I thought it was you,” she replies, and he takes a step back, releasing himself from her g
rip.

  “You thought I’d killed our maid? Are you mad?”

  She shakes her head. “No… I didn’t think you’d killed her.”

  “You thought I’d raped her then, did you?” He sounds angry now.

  “Of course not. I didn’t know she’d been raped until two minutes ago…”

  “Then what did you think?” he thunders.

  “I thought you were having an affair with her.” Mrs Wharton raises her own voice now. “You’ve done it before, Norman. We both know that… and I saw the way you used to look at her. I know you promised you’d never do it again, but I thought…”

  “I promised, didn’t I?” Wharton says and for a moment I think back to the way he was talking to Ethel, and the way he looked at Amelie, wondering to myself how much his promises are worth. Very little, I imagine.

  “Yes,” she replies, “and I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  He shakes his head and then they both turn to face us, as though they’ve suddenly remembered we’re still in the room. “We’ll leave you to it,” I say quietly.

  “I’ll show you out,” Wharton offers and for once, I don’t decline.

  When we get to the front door, Wharton looks like he’s going to follow us outside into the dark evening chill, but keeps one foot inside his hallway, the other on the top step.

  “That comment of my wife’s,” he says in a jokey, man-to-man tone. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologise.”

  “I did have a brief affair,” he continues. “It was a couple of years after we were married, when things were at their most trying financially… and unfortunately, Lucy came to my office to surprise me one lunchtime, and caught me with Brenda… one of the girls from the factory.”

  “One of the girls from the factory?” I repeat, raising my eyebrows, and he has the decency to look ashamed, both of us clearly recalling his encounter with Ethel. “And you promised not to stray again, did you?” I remind him.

  “Well, yes, I did…”

  “And did you mean it?” I ask.

  “Of course I did.” He’s offended now.