by Gwen Moffat
‘I suppose not.’ As Eleanor busied herself with the kettle and cups there were footsteps in the front room and Miss Pink called ritually, ‘Anyone home?’
Gemma blinked rapidly as Eleanor responded. ‘You’re just in time, Melinda. I was making tea.’ She hesitated, glancing at Gemma. It was her bad news, but the child was only fifteen. However she was taking it well –
‘My sister-in-law crashed her car,’ Gemma told Miss Pink whose eyes widened in disbelief. Adolescent girls: fantasy lives? Eleanor signalled frantic confirmation.
‘Is it serious?’ Miss Pink asked carefully.
‘She drowned,’ Gemma said, her eyes like a lemur’s. ‘Just like Phoebe.’
‘Well, no,’ Miss Pink demurred. ‘Phoebe wasn’t in a car.’
‘All the same: fatal accidents. We go in for them, don’t we?’
They eyed her dubiously thinking: shock. The kettle boiled. Tea was made. Miss Pink sat down heavily.
‘She went through a wall,’ Gemma told her without expression. ‘She was a learner, you see, she couldn’t drive. She went through the wall, over a cliff and into the river. Couldn’t get her seat belt undone in time.’
Miss Pink was frowning. ‘What happened to the instructor?’
‘There wasn’t one.’
‘That was Isa.’ Eleanor was pouring the tea. ‘She drove on her own without a licence. It was bound to –’ She stopped herself in time but Gemma had no such qualms.
‘Everyone said it would happen. She drove like she was at Brand’s Hatch.’
‘Without the expertise.’ Eleanor couldn’t help herself.
They were silent until Gemma put their thoughts into words. ‘I don’t know what he’s going to be like when he comes out of the shock.’
‘We’ll be here,’ Eleanor assured her. ‘Anything you want …’
‘Thanks. I suppose the saddest thing is that he never got the chance to say goodbye.’ The others exchanged glances over her head. ‘She was gone when he came home – how ghastly – he could have passed her on the road … Of course, we don’t know when she … He came in and asked me where she was but she hadn’t told me where she was going – I mean, she never did. So we waited supper for a while and when she didn’t come we ate, but we didn’t think anything of it, you know? She’s – she was a free spirit. And then we watched telly, well, I watched, he mowed the grass. We watched a movie together later on and then we went to bed.’
‘She still hadn’t come home?’ Eleanor was puzzled.
‘How could she? She was in the river. I’m sorry, that was rude. No, she didn’t come home, or come home and go out again. We didn’t wait up.’
‘You were used to it.’ Miss Pink was equable.
Gemma gave a faint shrug. ‘I think she went to discos. Wally would never, ever, go to a disco but he didn’t mind her going.’ Her tone changed. ‘I was worried actually, thinking about her driving back in the dark, I couldn’t sleep. I woke Wally up when I went down for a drink. Hot night, all the doors were open and later, when I went to the loo, I crept along there like a mouse but he still heard me. I reckon he didn’t sleep much himself, just dozing. Eleanor, if you’re going to town, shall I take Cooper home with me?’
‘Of course you can, dear. And if he doesn’t want to come, I’ll close up and no doubt he’ll find you. If I might suggest it, it would be nice if you were there when Walter comes back, don’t you think? He shouldn’t come home to an empty house, not today.’
‘Oh, that would be ghastly!’ Gemma looked stricken. ‘He’ll have the police with him. Do I – offer them anything? I mean – eats, a drink?’
‘Why should he have the police with him?’ Miss Pink asked.
‘They took him! He couldn’t drive. He was in shock.’
Miss Pink nodded, chastened. Eleanor said, ‘You don’t offer the police anything; they’ll just drop him and leave – I mean, they’ll deliver – Oh my, I’m making him sound like a package.’
‘It’s what he looked like,’ Gemma said. ‘He adored her, you know.’
Chapter Eight
‘I’m not having you along,’ Jacob said savagely.
‘I’m coming.’ Mabel was adamant. ‘I need to hear what you say.’
‘Hell, woman! You know what I’m going to say! I saw her pass, I didn’t speak, she were too far away. ‘Sides, it were misty.’
‘There, you see! It weren’t misty down here and if you go saying it were, someone else is going to say it weren’t, then where’ll you be? Shown up for a liar is what.’
Jacob glared. ‘ ’Twere an innocent mistake. What’s it matter any road whether mist were down or up? I weren’t measuring it.’
He’d been cutting silage all morning and had come in for an early bite before setting off for the inquest. Surprised to find Mabel in her second-best dress, bag and gloves on the table, her coat over a chair, he’d been astonished at her announcement that she was coming with him, meaning right into court.
‘Where did you go after you saw her?’ she was asking now.
‘I went round t’sheep. What’re you on about? You sound like police.’
‘It’s the coroner will be asking questions. I asked “where”, not what you were doing.’
He eyed her, thoughtful now. ‘I went down t’dale, looking at lambs.’
‘Lambing’s over long since.’ His jaw dropped. ‘That’s what coroner will say,’ she insisted. ‘Even townies know you’re not lambing in May.’
‘I were looking to see was any of ’em scouring,’ he said with dignity. ‘You know that.’
‘Good. But don’t say nowt till he asks. Don’t be too ready about anything.’ She returned his stare. ‘You never went up the way, did you? Over t’top to Closewater?’
‘You know I didna. You’d have heard t’tractor grinding up t’slope.’
‘Just – you didn’t go, and you don’t say until you’re asked. You were down dale all Sunday, right, except when you come in for your dinner. You never went up bottom road to t’quarry?’
‘No, I didna.’ Belligerence had given way to trepidation.
‘Let’s hope no one says owt about where you’re tipping, nor about dead animals.’ He licked his lips. ‘An’ about you threatening her,’ Mabel added meaningly.
‘Her threatened me!’ He checked, hearing his own words. ‘No one’s going to say nothing,’ he muttered. ‘Who cares about the odd sheep and a few empty drums? That tip’s miles from t’beck, how could water be contaminated? D’you ever hear of dead fish in it? Stop fretting; only reason coroner got to be interested in me is I were t’last person to see her.’
In the event it was Martin Blamire whose evidence was the most illuminating at the inquest. After Phoebe’s body was found the rescue team had returned to the quarry and worked out a scenario that came close to Miss Pink’s theory. Knowing now that Phoebe had intended being down by six to feed the cat it was most unlikely that she could have been swept away by a surface stream because the waters didn’t rise until after the storm. So, according to Martin, she could have walked along the green level from the Gowk track, climbed the gate and, in trying to reach the floor of the quarry, lost her footing on a smooth slope above the beck just before it went underground. The fracture indicated that she struck her head as she fell.
Eleanor, as her friend – her only close friend as it appeared – was questioned and she suggested that, being a keen photographer, Phoebe could have gone into the quarry to take pictures; there were spring flowers, even the walls would make interesting subjects. The coroner noted that the camera was missing although he doubted that it would have survived intact, falling with her. He didn’t even mention a rucksack. He brought in a verdict of accident with the rider that since the Danger notices had no effect on adventurous hikers, the dangerous slope should be adequately fenced. He stopped short of apportioning blame to the owners of the site; everyone knew that upland areas were full of abandoned quarries, one might as well blame the National Trust when a climber f
ell off a cliff within its boundaries. And although Phoebe’s age had to be mentioned, with their eyes on the press and thoughts on political correctness, everyone avoided attaching any significance to the victim’s being close to eighty.
‘All the same,’ Miss Pink said as they walked back to her car, ‘age counts. I find myself thinking twice about exposed paths which I never even noticed twenty, thirty years ago. And I’m willing to bet that if one does stumble at our age, reaction is considerably slower than it used to be.’
Eleanor said nothing until they were in the car but before Miss Pink could start she said, ‘Jacob was unhappy.’
Miss Pink’s hand was poised above the ignition switch. ‘Swinburn? So you noticed.’
‘Couldn’t help noticing if you knew the fellow. He was in an awkward position: the last person to see Phoebe. Mabel was watching him like a hawk. A good job no one mentioned the friction between them. That could have been embarrassing.’
‘The police have never suggested foul play.’ Miss Pink thought about that. ‘Not to mention anyone.’
‘I’m not suggesting for one moment –’
‘No, no, of course not.’ A longer pause. Still Miss Pink made no move to drive away. ‘All the same, given what you’ve told me about her, their confrontations must have been pretty heated. He could have a motive.’
‘Melinda, you have a criminal mind! Next thing we know you’ll be suggesting that someone knocked Isa on the head and shoved the MG in the river.’
‘And what would be the motivation there?’
‘Melinda!’
‘I didn’t see much of her but what I saw in the Lamb two days ago indicated that she was a lively young woman.’
‘She was a shrewd little minx who’d seduced an unsophisticated fellow into marriage and who’d have left him already if it hadn’t meant leaving a nice home – and worth a fortune where she comes from – and more money for her housekeeping and clothes than her mother would have known in her life. Gemma loathed her sister-in-law.’
‘She says her brother and Isa were in love.’
‘She’s protecting Walter.’
‘Protecting him from what?’
‘Nothing. I’m tired – I’m rambling, don’t know what I’m saying. Let’s get home, shall we? I’m dying for a cup of tea.’
Gemma and Jean Blamire were sprawled in the shade under a damson tree at Elfhow, the collie stretched out beside them. Jean had agreed to have the girl to lunch when asked by Eleanor. Her surprise at the request, virtually a demand, was superseded by disbelief when Gemma arrived and explained. Isa drowned in her car, Walter taken to Bailrigg by the police, this child left alone in the house, subsequently to acquaint the neighbours with the appalling news – ‘They should never have left you,’ she blurted, unable to control herself.
‘It wasn’t like that,’ Gemma assured her, as if she were the adult, Jean the teenager. ‘Walter told me to go to Eleanor but I couldn’t stay at Jollybeard because they had to go to the inquest, her and Miss Pink’ – she shrugged and smiled – ‘then Eleanor thought of you. I won’t stay long, I have to be back for Wally; I don’t want him coming home to an empty house.’
‘Of course not.’ How well she was taking it, blocking out the horror; this had to be shock. Jean considered and rejected subjects suitable for chatting; she wished Martin were here but he, too, was at the inquest. She was suddenly startled to realize that this was the second death in four days.
‘He’ll be lost without her,’ came Gemma’s voice. She lay on her back, her eyes closed. ‘We didn’t sleep, listening for the sound of the MG, and all the time she was …’ Her voice died away.
‘But – Waterhouses! She’d crossed the main road. How did she manage to negotiate two lanes of traffic?’
‘She managed well enough. She used to go to Carlisle and that was the route she took. She’d never risk the main roads because of the police patrols so she went by way of the back lanes.’
‘The driving’s more tricky.’
‘But not nearly so many people to see her: driving with the top down and her hair flying.’
‘I suppose.’ Jean wasn’t convinced. ‘I think …’
‘Think what?’
‘Well, she was your sister-in-law …’
‘What are you trying to say?’ Gemma sat up, on the alert.
‘All that driving, without a licence, in a sports car: it was like, you know, as if she had a self-destruct button.’
‘Is that what Martin said?’
‘Actually he doesn’t know yet; he left before anyone knew, other than you and Walter. But he’s said it of her in the past, yes. He wasn’t the only one who thought that way, Gemma.’
The girl nodded. ‘And he wasn’t afraid to tell her either.’ She was morose.
‘He did?’ This morning was full of shocks for Jean – well, surprises. On the other hand Gemma did exaggerate.
‘Isa told you Martin said something to her?’
‘I heard them – him, rather: bawling her out one time.’
Jean sighed. ‘It didn’t do any good, did it? If she went to Carlisle so often I’m surprised her mother didn’t try to put a stop to it, at least until she’d passed her test. It was her mother in Carlisle, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s what she said. But she didn’t have L-plates on the MG so her mother needn’t know that she didn’t have a licence.’
‘I hope Walter isn’t going to get into any kind of trouble for failing to stop her.’
‘Look, I told that woman sergeant – Rosie something – that he tried but he got nowhere. Isa was like a kid.’ Gemma smiled wanly and went on: ‘Some teenagers, their parents can’t do a thing with them, ’fact, they’re frightened – dads in particular – so the kids run wild: play truant, drink, do drugs, you name it. It was like that in our house.’
‘You …’ What was this? ‘Oh, Dwayne Paxton.’
‘I don’t give a toss for him. I’m talking about her: Isa. She was the kid in our family. Wally –’ She stopped. Jean waited. Gemma went on more quietly, ‘That was the trouble: he loved her. Another guy would have knocked her about, stopped her by brute force, punished her. Wally adored her. Funny thing was she loved him too.’
‘He’s always been a good neighbour.’ Jean was circumspect.
‘He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body,’ Gemma said firmly. ‘Oh God! There’s the car. See you!’ And she was gone, Whisk barking and prancing after her: out of the gate and down the lane to where an unmarked car was backing into Borrans’ drive. It stopped. Rosie Winder and Walter emerged as Gemma and Whisk arrived.
‘Nice dog,’ Rosie said. ‘Yours?’
‘The neighbour’s.’ Gemma eyed Walter. ‘I could use a mug of tea. How about you?’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Rosie said, and Walter frowned at Gemma who thought he was conveying a message. Prudently she said nothing but went ahead of them to the house.
She didn’t go to the kitchen but hung back to hear what they had to say. Without a word Walter went to the bread cupboard and took down the bottle of Glenlivet. He was going to start drinking in the middle of the afternoon? This was what she had to be on her guard against.
He held up the bottle. There were about two ounces in the bottom. ‘You poured a drink for me this morning,’ he told Gemma. ‘How much was in there?’
‘About twice as much as now.’ She was puzzled and sullen.
‘Gemma.’ Her eyes widened. He sounded like someone’s dad. ‘Have you been drinking it?’
‘Oh, come on!’ She threw a glance at Rosie who was attentive, expressionless. ‘I hate the stuff. I washed your glass. Even the smell was gross!’ Indignation gave place to apprehension. She stared at the Glenlivet and tried to remember if Martin liked whisky.
‘I told you’ – Walter was speaking to Rosie – ‘it was more than two-thirds full. I can’t understand it.’ He turned back to Gemma, appealing now. She was wary, she wasn’t going to ask the next and obvious question.
‘Isa was drunk,’ he told her. She waited for the next bit, tense as wire. ‘Did you ever see her drinking?’ he asked.
‘She liked Tia Maria.’ Her voice sounded weak, like a little girl’s.
They all looked at the open cupboard, at the bottle of Tia Maria among the party drinks, all full or nearly full; this wasn’t a boozy family.
‘It wasn’t Tia Maria but whisky,’ Walter said.
How did they know? And how daft can you get? They’d opened her up of course, and she’d stunk of Scotch.
‘I’ll make us some tea.’ She escaped to the kitchen, needing to be out of range of Rosie’s feline stare. She filled the kettle and switched on. She reached for the mugs and placed them carefully on the counter, listening for their voices in the other room, but they’d gone outside and she could hear only the humming of insects.
‘That’s Martin behind us,’ Eleanor said. ‘You’d better let him pass. He’s a busy man.’
Miss Pink indicated and pulled into a place marked by a white diamond. An old van rattled past with jaunty pips of its horn.
‘Nice fellow,’ Eleanor commented. ‘I do admire him: out in all weathers, always on call. And all without pay.’
‘He can’t make much from his writing,’ Miss Pink mused. ‘And I take it Jean doesn’t have a job.’
‘I suspect Jacob lets them have the house rent-free, and she grows all her own vegetables, sells a lot to me – and to the holiday people in summer. She makes some pin money that way.’
They passed the Lamb and bore left for Jollybeard. Two small figures were walking up the cart track towards Sunder. ‘Bobby taking care of his little sister,’ Eleanor observed with approval. ‘There’s another one with a fine sense of responsibility – despite everything.’
Miss Pink drew up at Jollybeard’s gate. Cooper was stretched on the cool flags of the porch, waiting. ‘You mean, despite being a gypsy child’?’
‘He’s dyslexic or something. He has trouble reading and writing. He’s having special tuition now but it should have been diagnosed before. Otherwise he’s a very bright child. You’ll come to supper? I have pheasant defrosting.’
