Death Will Find Me (A Tessa Kilpatrick Mystery, Book 1)

by Vanessa Robertson

  The Vauxhall was waiting in the mews, gleaming from Harrison’s ministrations with a chamois leather. Bill grinned at Tessa.

  ‘A fancy car for a lady.’

  ‘The first time we met I was driving a Bugatti. I’ve always preferred fast cars. After all, why go somewhere slowly?’ Tessa slid open the garage doors, handed Bill the starting handle and got into the car. Within a couple of minutes, they were bowling down Heriot Row in the gathering light, heading for London Road and the coast of East Lothian.

  The growl and roar of the engine made conversation impossible, but every so often Tessa would point at something of interest and yell a few words of explanation, mostly swept away by the wind before they reached Bill’s ear. For his part, Bill just nodded and smiled, and looked as though he wished she’d slow down a little. The roads were deserted and by nine o’clock they were driving through Dirleton with its village green and ruined castle. They turned down a lane towards the beach and Tessa parked beside some pine woods and beamed at Bill.

  ‘Tea and sandwiches before our walk or after?’

  ‘Before. I’m ravenous. Being dragged out on a jaunt before breakfast doesn’t agree with me.’

  ‘You’ve become soft,’ Tessa scolded him, reaching behind her for the basket. Mycroft knew better than to snuffle in there, but he’d spent the entire journey savouring the smell of the sausages and he shoved his head between the seats, reminding them of his presence and how well-behaved he’d been. Tessa and Bill ate in companionable silence, sharing the beaker from the flask and giving scraps of their sandwiches to the Labrador. When they’d finished, Tessa got out.

  ‘On your feet, soldier, we’re here to walk.’

  A path led down through the woods, emerging on the closely cropped and rabbit-warren-riddled sandy turf of the bents. After a hundred yards or so, the path cut between sand dunes and they were on the beach. Empty, save for a few other dog walkers, the only sounds were the crash of waves and the screaming of gulls. The smooth sand stretched away into the distance. To their left, the shore was rockier and ahead of them was the island of Fidra: two rocky outcrops and a lighthouse.

  ‘I’ve always loved that island.’ Tessa smiled at it as though it were an old friend. ‘It’s like something from an adventure story. Look, there’s an arch right through the granite.’

  ‘I see it. You’ve visited here often?’ They turned right and started along the drum-hard sand. Bill had found a ball in the car and he threw it for Mycroft who dashed after it with more enthusiasm than he ever showed on a grouse moor.

  ‘Papa and I would come here with the dogs when I was a child. Mama has always preferred to take her picnics at North Berwick, further along. It’s a wee town that’s more refined. Less wind and wildness.’

  ‘I can see why she would prefer that.’ They walked another hundred yards or so in silence, Bill throwing the ball again and Mycroft setting off in pursuit; a routine that he would pursue for as long as Bill was willing to keep lobbing the ball.

  ‘When I came home and I felt a bit better, I used to drive out here and walk with the dogs for hours. Sometimes an airship would fly over from the airfield a few miles inland and the dogs would bark like crazy.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Just after the armistice, when the German fleet surrendered, I came out and sat up there on the dunes for hours, freezing, watching the Grand Fleet leave and waiting for them to escort the German battleships back. They all anchored over there, by the May Isle. For me, actually seeing that felt like the end of the war. More than the actual armistice in a way. That felt quite unreal. Marvellous, obviously, but so distant from my experiences.’

  Tessa walked a few more paces, remembering the hulks of the battleships, rising like grey ghosts from the haar. ‘I love it here. It’s the best place I know to think.’

  ‘How do you feel today? Not too worried by that note?’

  ‘Less worried now than I was at three o’clock this morning. Frankly, we’ve so little information we’re no threat to whoever sent it. I suppose they don’t know that though. And saying that James got what he deserved. It’s as if whoever sent it feels that they did me a favour and I should be grateful. Maybe they have a point.’

  ‘I didn’t realise just how unhappy you were with James until the weekend when he was killed.’

  ‘No, I don’t think I did, really. Looking back, I’d been marking time, hoping things would get better but not knowing how to make that happen. I didn’t even realise I wanted a divorce until he tried to justify his philandering, telling me lots of people had affairs and I was making a fuss about nothing.’

  ‘I don’t think lots of people do.’

  ‘Nor me. Not the happily married people at any rate and that’s what I wanted – for us to be happy. But I can’t have children. That’s probably why he started having affairs I suppose.’

  ‘He was a fool. You’re worth ten of those women.’

  ‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’ Tessa smiled at Bill’s gallantry. ‘The more I think about it, the more I realise that for a while I let my injuries dictate who I was. Now, I feel much more like the old Tessa.’

  ‘But your injuries are better now, aren’t they? Apart from the children thing? They don’t affect you any more?’

  ‘They’ll always be with me to some extent, even if they don’t affect me physically. You’ve seen the scars on my shoulder, but look—’ Abandoning all propriety, Tessa undid her coat and pulled up her jersey and shirt, so that Bill could see the constellation of scars that covered her side and stomach; the worst a long curving line that stretched some twelve inches or more from her left hip across her abdomen, its edges puckered from clumsy rushed stiches. The wind was icy and she shivered, feeling her skin goose-pimple. Bill gasped, unable to stop himself. Although the scars were fading, and were certainly not as livid as they had once been, Tessa realised how shocking it must be to see her so disfigured. She smiled wryly and started to readjust her clothing. ‘At one point, they didn’t think I’d make it home, so they’re a small price to pay. I’m lucky compared to so many.’

  ‘I suppose so, yes.’ They fell into step again and Tessa buttoned her coat and pulled her gloves back on. She didn’t meet Bill’s eyes, not wanting to see his shock, or worse, his pity. It felt as though their friendship was teetering on the edge of something more and she needed him to know now, before it went any further, just how physically damaged she was. If the sight of those scars didn’t repel him then maybe there was a future for them.

  ‘A good thing we were here. I couldn’t have shown you that in the drawing room at home. Mama would have had an attack of the vapours. I’m sorry if I shocked you but I want you to understand.’ She spoke briskly and smiled, before growing serious again. ‘My injuries affected James badly. I think he felt guilty that he’d come home unscathed. He always thought he would return to an unblemished wife and life would be as he envisaged when we got married.’

  ‘You shouldn’t make excuses for him.’

  ‘I’m not, just thinking about how he felt and why he behaved as he did. He didn’t mean to hurt me, not maliciously at any rate. I just don’t think he realised how much his rejection did hurt. He barely came near me at times. And when he did he didn’t want to see my scars. He’d only touch me in the dark, presumably wanting to keep thinking that I was perfect – so that he wasn’t reminded of what we’d both been through. And I needed him to hold me and tell me that it didn’t matter, which is what he was unable to do.’

  They walked on in silence for a while, Tessa regretting that she had been quite so open with Bill. Since James was demobbed, she’d been more cautious about what she said, but now it was as though a dam had burst and she felt able to say and do as she pleased. She felt like the woman she’d been during the war again rather than the woman she’d become afterwards. And she liked that feeling even if other people were shocked.

  ‘Once we’ve caught James’s murderer, I can grieve and draw a line beneath my marri
age. I can start to make a new life for myself then.’

  ‘You’re moving to your own house. That looks like a new life.’

  ‘It is, but there are still too many loose threads, too many questions. I need those tied up. We have to find the reason behind James’s and McKenzie’s murders. It must be there somewhere.’

  ‘We’ll keep looking and we’ll find it. I promise.’

  ‘Good. Come on, we’ve been walking for an hour and I’m freezing. There’s a hotel on the way back where we can stop for coffee to warm us up.’

  They turned back to retrace their footsteps, this time with the biting wind in their faces. Bill proffered an arm and Tessa took it, comforted by his presence. She had felt very alone in the last few months, and having Bill by her side, reassuring her that they would find the killer and she was right to start making her own life, was immensely comforting.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was mid-afternoon when Tessa and Bill returned to Heriot Row. The sun had already sunk below the roofs of the houses and dusk was falling fast. Tessa shivered as she manoeuvred into the mews. The long, dark Scottish winters always made her a little melancholy. Summer was her time, when days were seemingly endless. She rather thought she might rent a cottage for the summer and spend some time walking the hills in blissful solitude, reading by evening lamplight and bathing in lochs of soft, peat-brown water, while she thought about her future. That was, if the midges left her alone long enough to do any thinking.

  Back in the dining room, their task awaited them. The sheets of paper with the timeline they’d created – zig-zagging lines showing the progress of James and of Callum McKenzie through the war – were laid out across the table. In February of 1915, James was in France, McKenzie in Belgium. In 1916, both were at the Somme, but then, so were countless others. It didn’t mean that they’d met and nothing here indicated that they had. There was still time unaccounted for in the official records, and so Bill and Tessa filled in the gaps, finding references to towns and villages in James’s letters to Tessa or in the bundle brought from McKenzie’s Marchmont flat. At one point, Tessa went upstairs to the library to find an atlas, so that they could see where some of the more obscure places mentioned were; hoping they might find that the two men had at least passed close enough to each other and some connection could have been made.

  By five o’clock, Tessa was yawning, the combination of the morning’s fresh air and now a warm fire in the grate making her slow and sleepy. Her mother’s voice drifted down from the upstairs landing.

  ‘Tessa? Could you come up here for a moment please?’ It was, as always, a purely rhetorical question.

  Bill looked up and smiled as Tessa sighed and laid down her pencil. She went upstairs, wondering what failing was to be pointed out to her, and presented herself in the drawing room. Her mother was sitting in an armchair by the fire, notebook on her knee, making a list, no doubt of tasks that she felt it essential for Tessa to complete before moving to Royal Circus. Her father was reading in the armchair on the other side of the fire. He looked up and smiled at his daughter then returned to his book, absenting himself from the coming discussion.

  ‘I’ve been thinking. You really can’t move into that big house alone. You need to have someone with you.’ Lady Elspeth was firm.

  Tessa hesitated for a few moments, first thinking that her mother knew about the anonymous note and was worried for her safety. Or was it Bill? Surely her mother hadn’t guessed that he was going to be staying in the basement flat. Then she realised that it was all about staff and she relaxed.

  ‘I’ve already registered with two domestic agencies, Mama. Once I mentioned that I was willing to pay top rates for the right person they seemed to think that they would be able to find me someone suitable within the next few weeks.’ She hoped this was enough to mollify her mother. ‘And I’ve made some enquiries about possible cook-housekeepers.’

  ‘Really? What enquiries?’

  Tessa had hoped to avoid details as she knew her mother would be horrified by her tactics, but she thought it best to be honest.

  ‘I talked to Mrs Forsyth and we’ve made a shortlist of a few housekeepers whom we believe might be prevailed upon to look for a new position, and she’s going to make discreet enquiries. I shall offer better conditions and more money.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’ Her mother was, as expected, aghast.

  ‘That’s an excellent idea, Tessa.’ Her father beamed as he looked up. As Tessa suspected, he’d been listening all along. ‘The Cunninghams have a marvellous cook but I can’t imagine that working for Jean Cunningham is much fun.’

  ‘Quite. Mrs Maxwell is at the top of our list, Papa.’

  ‘How will I hold my head up if my daughter is poaching staff from my friends?’ Lady Elspeth was obviously expecting to be ostracised from society.

  ‘It’s their own fault. There’s a shortage of staff these days. You need to pay them well and look after them.’ Tessa pointed out, shrugging. ‘Mind you, housemaids are more difficult. Especially as I need one to double as a lady’s maid every so often. How would you feel about Florence staying with me? At least for a while? I haven’t mentioned it to her.’

  ‘So now you’re poaching my staff?’

  ‘I think that might be a very good idea if Florence is willing,’ Sir David interjected. ‘After all, she’s completely trustworthy and very experienced. I wouldn’t mind Tessa living alone half as much if I knew that Florence was there. We’ll have a word with her and see what she thinks.’ Glad she had an ally, Tessa smiled sweetly at her mother and hurried back downstairs before any more awkward questions could be asked.

  In the dining room, Bill was writing. He looked up as Tessa came in and grinned, triumphant.

  ‘I think I’ve found something.’

  ‘Really?’ Tessa was pleased, although she was ashamed to notice her small twinge of annoyance, because she hadn’t been the one to find a connection between the two men. ‘Let’s have it, then.’

  ‘In early 1917, James and Callum were in Ypres, in the same trench, to be specific. I can’t find anything that mentions the two of them except for this—’ He passed her a sheet of paper, the writing so small as to be almost illegible. Tessa squinted and saw that it was a record of a young soldier, Norrie Douglas, court martialled for cowardice. Three officers were required to hear the evidence and pass judgement, and on this day the three had been James, Callum McKenzie and Major William Forrester, a new name to her. She looked up at Bill, eyes bright.

  ‘It’s a start. Did they stay in the same place for long? Could there be any other people connected to them?’

  ‘I don’t think so. According to this letter from McKenzie’s mother a few days later, it seems that he was posted elsewhere almost straight after.’

  ‘So we need to find Forrester?’

  ‘And anyone else who was involved. There was a witness, I think.’

  ‘Corporal Robbie McNiven, it says here.’

  ‘We need to talk to him and Forrester. Do you want to telephone the inspector, or shall I?’ Bill took back the sheet of paper and looked questioningly at her.

  ‘You do it.’ Tessa was irked that Bill had been the one to find this information but she didn’t want to steal his thunder. She turned away to pour herself a cup of tea and Bill went out into the hall, where presently she heard the latch click as he shut himself in the lobby under the stairs to use the telephone. She was pleased that in her own house she had thought to have the apparatus installed in her library, so she wouldn’t need to hide in a broom cupboard to make telephone calls.

  Tessa wandered towards the window, looking out at the lamp-lit darkness, thinking about the court martial. She’d never been called to one as a witness but she could well imagine how terrible it would be for both the accused soldier and the adjudicating officers. Mostly the accused men were privates. They were newly conscripted, young and terrified, despatched with little training to face the possibility – probability it must ha
ve felt like – of imminent death. Few if any of the men who ran away, or refused to fight, or froze when action was called for were cowards in her eyes. The craven thing would be to obey blindly, never thinking about the senselessness of what they were doing. Those who were convicted as charged were shot at dawn and buried in unmarked graves, their families at home shamed. She hoped that some, perhaps even all of them, would one day be recognised for what they were – terrified and shocked by what they’d seen – and pardoned.

  ‘I’m going to take this to the police station in the morning.’ Bill had finished his telephone call and returned to the dining room.

  ‘But I’m moving to the new house tomorrow.’ Tessa didn’t like the idea that matters might be progressing without her. Bill smiled.

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re not going to rush off and arrest anyone. I’m just going to take this information to Rasmussen and explain what we’ve found. Besides, he says he’s busy tomorrow. He’ll track down Corporal McNiven and Major Forrester, and I’ll try to make sure that he takes us with him when he goes to talk to them. If they knew James, then I imagine he’ll want you to be present because they might be more likely to talk to you.’

  ‘Assuming they don’t think I murdered him. That’s all right, I’m sure I can manage without you.’ Tessa spoke with an air of mock martyrdom.

  ‘You do have a team of removal men available to place everything exactly where you want. And your mother will no doubt be there to advise. It might be better if I keep a low profile.’

  ‘Yes. You’re probably right.’ Tessa turned back to the table, shuffling some of the papers into neat stacks, her mind drifting back to thoughts of what the court martial must have been like. She imagined Norrie Douglas, eighteen years old and frightened and all too aware of what was likely to happen to him. Perhaps Robbie McNiven had spoken up for him. Or maybe one of the three officers had tried to protect him. Scanning the record of the incident, she saw that his commanding officer had been a Major John Bartlett, another person that would need to be tracked down, and she wondered what he’d known of the man – a boy, really. The court martial procedure required a unanimous verdict for the accused to be convicted and she was saddened that all three men, her husband included, had been willing to sign the boy’s death warrant rather than recognise that he needed care, not punishment. Or maybe they were all complicit in the lie that this war was anything other than just the hubris of men who themselves stayed far from any danger. Maybe those responsible for this carnage knew that once a few conscripts refused to maintain the fiction, then that trickle would become a tide and both sides would have to admit the utter futility of what they were doing, and find ways to resolve their differences which didn’t require wholesale slaughter.