Miss Pink Investigates- Part Four

by Gwen Moffat

  ‘If it was natural disturbance. That’s the point. A child disappeared — oh, ages ago, before the village was flooded. The bone’s very old, the preliminary report suggests around fifty years, and it’s been buried. Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it, it couldn’t have been lying on top of the ground all these years.’

  ‘In the woods perhaps, where no one goes?’

  ‘Oh no. It was found in the old graveyard —’ Marina stopped suddenly.

  ‘That’s where they were searching,’ Miss Pink prompted. When Marina didn’t resume, she tried again. ‘That’s where your husband joined them. I saw no sign of disturbed ground. Who found the bone?’

  ‘A doctor.’ Marina was abstracted. ‘A tourist. No, I’m wrong; he took it from a farmer — probably Isaac Dent, one of our tenants; he has the grazing up there. He must have told the doctor he found it in the graveyard, otherwise why look there?’

  ‘Obvious place. Unless — what is this about a missing child?’

  ‘It was before my time. You’ll have to ask Harald and Anne. It’s not unusual in this part of the world; small children lose their way coming home from school in a snowstorm —’ Miss Pink was staring. ‘It’s happened,’ Marina protested, ‘I mean, in the old days, before school buses and cars. Why, we even have to be careful nowadays; we have a rule that the children never go out on a pony or a bike without saying where they’re going. Old mountain rule: Harald insists on it.’

  ‘You’re saying the child was lost on the fells?’ There was a pause. ‘It’s odd Harald never mentioned it, but then we haven’t come this way. I’ve taken him driving but northwards, to the Roman Wall and the stone circle at Lazonby.’

  Marina wasn’t listening. ‘I doubt he would tell you about it, after all; it’s something they prefer to forget. You pick up the odd snippet here and there, and that’s probably invention.’

  ‘And they never found the body? One wonders where he was last seen.’

  ‘She, actually. There’s a rumour that she was last seen with a man.

  Miss Pink was still. Sparrows chirped outside the window. ‘More tea?’ Marina asked brightly. ‘I must make a fresh pot’ — there was the sound of wheels on gravel — ‘that’s my old man.’

  Bob Fawcett was amazed to find the elderly tourist from the dale head ensconced in his drawing-room, and to realise who she was. He told her that there was a problem, a police problem. ‘I was telling Miss Pink that we have the police at the old village,’ he told his wife as she returned with more tea.

  ‘She knows about the bone,’ Marina said comfortably. ‘It’ll be on the News this evening, that is, if the police see fit to release it.’

  ‘I don’t know that they will.’ He sat down and accepted a cup. ‘If it’s from an old grave they’d rather not broadcast it: dogs running around with human bones — nasty that, they’d prefer to keep it quiet.’

  ‘Would the CID be there if it was a matter of an official grave?’ Miss Pink asked. He blinked at her. Not a very astute fellow, she thought.

  ‘They’re concentrating on the graveyard,’ he pointed out, puzzled.

  ‘What better place for an illicit grave?’

  ‘Illicit?’

  Marina said, ‘She means that the man who killed Joan Gardner could have buried her there.’

  His jaw dropped. ‘No one ever suggested —’

  ‘Oh, come on, sweetie! You’ve heard that story —’

  There was a scurry outside the room and the Labrador burst in, followed by a young girl in jeans and trainers: a pretty child in her early teens with taffy-coloured hair and green eyes. She paused at sight of the stranger and was introduced: the daughter, Deborah. She shook hands hurriedly, obviously brimming with news.

  ‘They’re going to start a dig at the old village,’ she told her parents. ‘You’ll give permission, won’t you, Dad? Can I go and help?’

  ‘Dig — for what?’ Bob was staring at her.

  ‘An archaeological dig, of course. They’re looking for artefacts.’

  ‘No.’ Marina was decisive. ‘It’s not possible. Anyway it’s nearly fifty years since —’ She stopped, aware of her daughter’s bewilderment

  Miss Pink guessed that there might well be a dig, but it would be the police doing the digging, not archaeologists.

  5

  ‘We had a splendid day,’ Harald said. ‘We walked Bags and came back here for tea. That’s a fascinating child, Melinda, she’s had an incredible life — and at that Anne reckons she isn’t telling everything.’

  ‘I suspect she’s concerned not to shock you; youngsters think we’re too old for the raw under-belly of life.’

  ‘Dear me.’ Harald took this seriously. ‘You think it’s been so hard for her? That’s tragic.’

  ‘She’s weathered it pretty well.’

  ‘But so naïve, Mel, so vulnerable.’

  ‘Maybe, but we can’t adopt solitary teenagers in the same way that they adopt dogs. And she has Rick.’

  ‘Rick would be a broken reed,’ Harald said. ‘Oh, he’d fight for her’ — seeing her surprise — ‘but he’s not a street kid, he doesn’t know the rules.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Harald?’

  ‘Why, she’s an urchin, a Dickensian character, you must see that. Of course you do, you’re a writer. So if her past caught up with her, can you see Rick dealing with evil?’

  Miss Pink suppressed a smile, thinking that the worst evil Harald would have come across would have been poachers among his deer.

  They were in the garden of Nichol House, the evening air fragrant with stocks and spiced with the smell of roasting meat. Miss Pink sighed; it was the wrong weather for roasts.

  ‘You’re tired,’ he said, immediately concerned. ‘Did you have a strenuous afternoon?’

  ‘Just Orrdale,’ she murmured. ‘I had tea with Bob’s family. Deborah says there’s a rumour about a dig, an archaeological dig at the old village now that the ruins are exposed.’

  It was as if a fine mask was drawn over his face. The features were visible but the skin tightened; it was the mask of the embattled landowner: blank and aloof. ‘It’s our land,’ he said coldly. ‘They have to come to me for permission.’

  ‘It’s only gossip. Deborah had met some students. It could have been no more than casual speculation, wondering what might be uncovered — if they were allowed to dig.’

  ‘There’s nothing there.’

  He was disturbed. She tried to reassure him. ‘It’s the same inquisitive urge that makes you feel above the lintel in an abandoned house to see if the last occupant left something there, like his pipe.’

  ‘There’s nothing more than a few stones at Orrdale. And they’ve been under water for nearly half a century; it’s impossible that anything could have survived.’

  ‘There was —’ she began, but at that moment Anne called them indoors and any reference to the bone was postponed. Moreover it occurred to her, as they moved into the dining-room, that if Harald didn’t know about the find already, it could be only because Anne hadn’t told him. And she must know because one of the younger Fawcetts would surely have telephoned her. So she left the initiative to her hostess; it was Fawcett land, their business.

  Seated at the table she regarded her starter with a semblance of interest. An avocado was piled with tiny shrimps in mayonnaise; this was not a gourmet household. They sipped an uninspiring hock and Anne waited overlong before addressing her guest.

  ‘So you had a good day.’ It sounded portentous and was superfluous, she’d already ascertained that when Miss Pink arrived.

  Harald frowned at his shrimps. ‘She says they want to dig at the village,’ he said moodily.

  Anne’s spoon clattered against her plate. She stared at him, obviously bewildered.

  ‘An archaeological dig,’ Miss Pink explained. ‘Deborah heard some gossip. I had tea at the big house.’

  ‘I know.’

  Harald looked up sharply. ‘Bob called,’ Anne told him. �
��She says it’s only gossip, dear. Why should they dig? There’s nothing to find.’

  ‘That’s what I say!’ The cool mask had gone and he looked wretched. Suddenly his face cleared. ‘The fort! Debbie’s confused: they want to excavate the British fort on the Corpse Road.’ He turned to Miss Pink. ‘That’s how we come into it — because that’s our land. Down below, where the old village stood: that’s Water Authority land now. I forgot.’

  Anne nodded. She said comfortably, ‘I expect we could give them permission to dig at the fort —’

  ‘Well, wait a minute,’ Harald protested, ‘it’s an ancient monument —’

  ‘Not officially, sweetie, not listed as such. Anyway, we can leave the negotiating to Bob.’

  ‘The negotiating perhaps, but I’m not having helicopters bringing equipment in, landing there above the wood, disturbing the wildlife. There are two badgers’ sets in there, Melinda…

  The evening wore on, a little stiffly, not quite naturally, and not helped by the food, which was well cooked, plain and most unsuitable for a summer’s evening: saddle of lamb and bread-and-butter pudding. The conversation was concerned with Lakeland generally and its wildlife. No one mentioned Orrdale again and the omission was glaringly obvious. Miss Pink left early, pleading fatigue, and everyone was very polite.

  Strolling home through the leaning tombstones, vaguely aware of bats flicking round the lamps, she was thinking that she had seldom been present at such a meal, where people talked competently on one level when their thoughts were on another. She guessed that the focal point was Orrdale but how did it figure?

  It was not yet ten o’clock. In her flat she switched on the television to catch the News and fell asleep. Half an hour later the telephone rang. It was Anne, breathless and urgent, apologising. ‘You must have known something was wrong, but I couldn’t say anything in front of Harald. You do understand — he doesn’t know; it would be too — he’d worry…’

  The bone, thought Miss Pink, making conciliatory noises.

  ‘I do appreciate your tact.’ Anne was overdoing it now. ‘You had to know, Bob said you actually talked to the police, and you never said a word to Harald... You didn’t, did you, before dinner?’

  ‘No, all I mentioned was the dig, and I made light of that.’

  ‘How perceptive of you. And Marina told you about the child who disappeared: Joan Gardner.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘If any digging’s proposed, it’ll be to find the skeleton.’

  ‘The thought crossed my mind,’ Miss Pink admitted. ‘But are the police that concerned? They can’t identify a leg bone; teeth, yes, but not a bone. It could be legitimate.’

  ‘All the graves were opened and the contents reburied. If this bone can be dated to around the time of the flood, and no children died then, it could be — You see?’

  Miss Pink opened her mouth to ask why Harald was worried, remembered that he didn’t know, realised that Anne was concerned he shouldn’t know, and felt a touch of fear.

  Anne said, as if telepathic, ‘He’s sitting in the garden, enjoying the bats. He doesn’t have to concern himself; he lived at the far end of the dale — but you’ll hear gossip, if you haven’t already.’

  ‘Not about Harald.’ Miss Pink put a smile in her voice but she waited for the response with interest.

  ‘About my first husband,’ Anne said calmly. ‘Joan was supposed to have been seen with a man before she vanished — well, that’s innocent enough, there were numbers of men and youths about, hay-time in a farming community. But my husband — as he was then — he went too.’

  ‘He — left the area? At the same time?’

  ‘We’d considered emigrating to Canada. He proposed to find work and send for me and the baby. I was pregnant at the time. Well, then, d’you see —’ Fluency deserted her. She paused and resumed in a hard voice: ‘He went suddenly, without a word. I did have a postcard, from Liverpool. He said he’d be in touch but I never heard again.’

  ‘Is this public knowledge?’ Miss Pink asked.

  ‘Not exactly, but the family knows, and the old people from Orrdale of course. And the police,’ she added, as if it were an afterthought. ‘They came and asked questions. I couldn’t tell them anything.’

  She would have shown them the postcard, thought Miss Pink, and she hadn’t mentioned the fact that, according to Rick, a farm had been allocated them — which was curious in view of her assertion that the couple had been considering emigration... Anne was apologising again, stressing that she didn’t want Harald worried, that his father had had an almost feudal attitude towards the villagers, and that the disappearance of the little girl had rocked the community. ‘It’s still there,’ she insisted, ‘the old horror. Finding the bone brought it all back.’

  If Harald didn’t know, she could only be speaking for herself. Replacing the receiver Miss Pink subsided in an easy chair, her thoughts returning to the first husband, puzzled by that reference to Canada. They could have considered emigration and rejected the idea and then, when he left — or was forced to leave, he had reverted to the original plan. He could have meant to lose himself in the wilds of North America — and perhaps he had done exactly that. Alternatively he could have met with foul play en route, or when he disembarked. There would have been criminals at the ports who’d anticipate that immigrants might be carrying quantities of cash.

  There were two scenarios: he had disappeared because he wanted to abandon his wife, or he’d fled because he was involved with the disappearance of the little girl. It would seem that Anne suspected him, perhaps had always suspected — but no, murder wasn’t implied until the discovery of the bone — that is, if it were proved to be that of Joan Gardner. It was still possible that the child had been lost on the fells, but then the body would surely have been discovered by the searchers, or their dogs. It must have been hidden, and that meant murder.

  *

  ‘So what else did you say?’ Isaac paused in the act of lighting a cigarette. ‘Tha didn’t by chance say as Harald Fawcett coulda had summat to do with little Joannie?’ The tone was insinuating.

  Edith wasn’t listening. ‘Throwing me out like a bag of old rubbish,’ she muttered, staring through the windscreen at the sheen of water beyond the dry mud flats. The dale was deep in shadow but an airliner was dragging a sunlit trail across the sky.

  ‘Tha brains is as addled as tha hearing,’ Isaac growled. ‘An’ if tha’d only keep tha voice down us wouldna have to come way out here to say owt.’

  ‘Little yellow-haired slut.’

  ‘Aye, now you got two women gunning for you. Tha’s been careful most of tha life, why can’t tha go on being careful? Tha’s got whip hand, even with the girl. Her could be feared of police but you’m going to lose it all if tha go threatening the Fawcetts —’

  ‘I never —’

  ‘Tha said tha sent her away wi’ flea in her ear — ‘

  ‘I never mentioned Joannie; I just said like folks could be put away when they got old, an’ she knew I meant him — Harald — and then I said I were meaning meself.’

  ‘You’m talking daft. What else did tha say to get rid of her? Musta been summat.’

  Edith turned on him viciously. ‘I asked were Mister Fawcett worried about the bone, and I said as how the police would be wanting to question all of us old uns what was living here when Joannie went missing. I said I might be able to keep them away from Mr Fawcett, seeing as she wouldn’t want him bothered, the state he’s in.’

  ‘Well now.’ Isaac leaned back in the driving seat and considered this. ‘Now we have everyone in some sort of trouble. There’s yon Harlow taken up with a lassie half his age, and here’s Jonty Robson who’d like fine to get his hands on her and have his glasses back and his twenty pound, and more, no doubt.’ He chuckled richly. ‘Now there’s a way to be rid of her: an anonymous phone call to police saying she’s under-age.’

  ‘No! I don’t want nowt to do wi’ police. I never done nowt.’

  ‘T
hey don’t have to come to you. ‘Fact, tha’s only got to mention ‘em to the girl and you’d be rid of her for good.’

  ‘S’pose she’s told Harlow?’

  ‘Find out. You found out with Anne Fawcett. Where’s yer brains? Think on, tha silly cow.’

  *

  Miss Pink was wakened by the telephone. Blearily she pushed back the bedclothes and stumbled into her living-room. The graveyard below the window was cold and dewy in the shade — and here was Anne again, saying Harald had a yen to go to Liddesdale, Miss Pink had said she wanted to look at Hermitage Castle and he was an authority on Border history, so why didn’t they drive up there today, take a picnic lunch or continue to Teviotdale, have a bar meal at —

  ‘Wait a minute!’ Miss Pink could take no more of this. ‘It’s eight o’clock, I’m still half asleep, I was asleep —’

  ‘I’m sorry. Come and join us for breakfast.’

  She couldn’t believe this was happening, even the apology was offhand. ‘I need my coffee —’ she began.

  ‘Quickly then.’ Anne paused, then went on, lowering her voice, talking fast, ‘The police will surely be here today. They questioned me before. They’ll be back.’

  ‘It was forty-five years ago,’ Miss Pink protested. ‘What more can you tell them now than you could at the time?’

  ‘They might think he’d been in touch. And before, we didn’t know she’d been — I mean, now they’ve found the — part of the skeleton... It’s Harald: I can’t have him harassed, you know what he’s like. He’s an old man, Melinda, he’ll get confused, God knows what they might make him say. Please take him out of the way.’

  She was distraught. Miss Pink gave in, it was all one to her whether she went to Hermitage Castle today or sometime in the future. She did insist that she have breakfast before she left but it couldn’t be a leisurely meal, not with the knowledge of Anne stewing on the other side of the churchyard.

  By ten o’clock they were over the Border and following a minor road above Liddel Water. Harald hadn’t seemed in the least put out by the early start; he was back to his normal self, making appreciative comments on the Southern Uplands, regretting that he had never found time to explore these lonely glens, so undramatic in comparison with the Highlands and yet, said he, Liddesdale had been at the heart of the Debateable Land, for centuries savagely disputed by English and Scots, even more fiercely by the Scots among themselves. ‘All gone,’ he said sadly, ‘every peel tower, every castle — destroyed after the Act of Union.’