A VOW OF COMPASSION an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Black, Veronica

  ‘Madge Lee did that?’ Sister Joan slowed and stopped as they reached the heap of rusting metal that marked the start of the camp with its caravans and trucks and tents strung out alongside a stream that rose higher up the moor and bubbled between grassy banks towards the far-off river. The lurcher dogs had set up their usual barking and were hushed by a sharp command as Padraic strode towards the van.

  ‘Sister Joan! Nice to see you! You’ve not been near us for months,’ he exclaimed in a mixture of reproach and welcome.

  ‘I get most of the news from Luther,’ Sister Joan said, jumping down and giving him her hand. ‘Are Edith and Tabitha well?’

  ‘Chirpy as crickets,’ he said, ‘and doing real well in school too. Tabitha started in the big school this month. I don’t know rightly what Miss Fleetwood’s doing here but she can’t get us on truanting.’

  ‘Miss Fleetwood doesn’t want to get you on anything,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She’s here to help.’

  ‘Oh, aye.’ His tone was sardonic.

  ‘Oh yes!’ Sister Joan said. ‘She also needs a bit of help herself. Her car’s got a puncture. Can you get a couple of the lads to see to it?’

  ‘I reckon so since you’re asking me, Sister,’ Padraic said.

  He turned, yelling something in Romany to a tall lad lounging against a half-erected wooden shack. The boy uncoiled his legs, called something back and loped off.

  ‘The car’s at least a mile away,’ Shirley Fleetwood said.

  ‘They’ll find it,’ Padraic said shortly. ‘Well, since you’re both here you’d best have a mug of tea. It’ll give you a chance to see how spanking clean I keep my vardo.’

  ‘I know you do,’ Shirley Fleetwood said. ‘I’m not here about that or about your daughters, Mr Lee.’

  ‘I reckoned not.’ He led the way to a large, white-painted caravan and indicated the steps leading to the open door. ‘You can go in if you wish.’

  ‘We can drink tea out here,’ Sister Joan said.

  She was well aware that the Lee caravan was always spotless. Padraic cleaned, cooked, and washed for himself and his daughters and wife while the latter either made half-hearted attempts to be a housewife or lay in the double bed sleeping off her latest binge.

  ‘Excuse me, ladies.’ He set two folding stools and disappeared within.

  ‘Is this really a place in which to raise children?’ Shirley Fleetwood asked in a low voice.

  ‘It’s a better place than many,’ Sister Joan argued. ‘If the town council would do something about installing proper toilet facilities then that’d be an improvement. They could use the water from the stream which is unpolluted. You might mention it to your colleagues.’

  ‘The kettle was just on the boil.’ Padraic brought out the mugs on a polished wooden tray, handed them round and sat, nursing his own, on the steps. Above his red neckerchief his features were sharp and brown, hewn in wood.

  ‘I brought some dresses for Edith and Tabitha,’ Sister Joan said, breaking an awkward silence. ‘They’re absolutely new. Sister Katherine made them as a small return for all your kindness to us.’

  ‘That’s very good of her.’ Padraic who would have stolen rather than accept charity looked gratified. ‘Not that I expect anything for the bits of fish and such like I can supply but it’s nice to be appreciated.’

  ‘They’re in the van. Shall I go and get them while you talk to Miss Fleetwood?’

  ‘No need to make yourself scarce, Sister,’ Padraic said. ‘We all know why she’s here. My dear wife had a bit of an unfortunate incident last night.’

  ‘Your wife went down into the town, drank herself into a rage and started a quarrel with the owner of the pub who suggested she ought to leave his premises,’ Shirley Fleetwood said tersely. ‘She then smashed the window with a stone and cut herself quite badly in the process.’

  ‘And they took her to St Keyne’s,’ Padraic grimaced. ‘I could’ve tended her myself but they insisted on keeping her in. She had a couple more than she’s used to taking.’

  ‘Your wife’s an alcoholic,’ Shirley Fleetwood said bluntly. ‘She’s getting worse because now she’s started making scenes in public. You’re fortunate that the pub owner refused to press charges.’

  ‘Aye, well, he owes me a few favours does Jim,’ Padraic muttered. ‘To be honest with you, Miss Fleetwood, and I’ll speak plain, you’ve no call to come snooping out here and making a public spectacle of me and my troubles.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so silly, Padraic!’ Sister Joan said impatiently. ‘Miss Fleetwood has come out here obviously to find out if you need any help and to discuss what can best be done to help your wife, haven’t you, Miss Fleetwood?’

  ‘I think that she ought to be transferred to a rehabilitation centre,’ Shirley Fleetwood said.

  ‘She’s already been in several,’ Sister Joan began.

  ‘And within a month is back where she started! Mr Lee, you could sign the necessary forms to have her hospitalized in a place where they could get to grips with her problems.’

  ‘There’s no place like that round here,’ Padraic said, ‘and I’ll not send her far from home. I did that once and she was cruel hurt by it. I swore she’d not be sent far away again. Anyway they didn’t cure anything.’

  ‘You’ll have to do something,’ Shirley Fleetwood said. ‘For your children’s sake if for nothing else.’

  ‘She never lays a finger on the children,’ Padraic said. ‘She knows that’s the one thing I won’t stand. You’ll kindly leave Edith and Tabitha out of this!’

  ‘Have you seen your wife this morning?’ Sister Joan asked.

  ‘I called in after I dropped the girls at school. They want to keep her in for a few days. She was sleeping it off same as always. She gets very low when she finds out that she’s — not been well.’

  ‘She could be a manic depressive,’ Shirley Fleetwood said. ‘I believe that possibility was once suggested. Treating that might be of enormous help.’

  ‘What do you think, Sister?’

  ‘I think that it would be a good idea to try to get to the bottom of her problems once and for all,’ Sister Joan said encouragingly.

  ‘She wasn’t like it when she was a girl,’ Padraic said in a sudden burst of confiding. ‘Pretty as a picture she was and hardly ever touched a drop. She’d seen what it did to her own dad. Tim Evans was only sober one day out of seven and he was only half sober then! And her mother could put it away too! It’d make your own head reel to watch.’

  ‘A tendency to drink can run in families,’ Shirley Fleetwood said.

  ‘Knows everything, doesn’t she?’ He cocked his head mockingly towards the social worker.

  ‘Since your wife’s in hospital already there can’t be any harm in having her looked over,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Look, they’re not going to send her away anywhere without her and your consent. I’m taking Sister Marie over to St Keyne’s tomorrow so I could look in on her myself.’

  ‘Is Sister Marie sick?’ Padraic roused himself from his own musing.

  ‘An impacted wisdom tooth. There’s some infection so she’s having it done in hospital.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about that. Toothache must be awful.’ Padraic whose own excellent teeth had never known a cavity looked sympathetic.

  ‘She probably won’t even stay there overnight. About your wife—’

  ‘OK.’ He made up his mind, albeit reluctantly. ‘It won’t do any harm to have her checked out, I suppose.’

  ‘And the children?’ Shirley Fleetwood looked at him.

  ‘Edith and Tabitha are just fine,’ he said firmly. ‘If you don’t believe me then talk to their teacher. She’s always saying what good pupils they are.’

  ‘Well, we’ll leave it for the moment then.’ Shirley Fleetwood rose with evident reluctance. ‘I may have to call round again when they’re at home. I hope that’s all right with you.’

  ‘Wouldn’t matter if it was or it wasn’t, would it?’ he said dryly. ‘You’ll
poke your nose in anyway.’

  ‘Believe me, Mr Lee, but I’ve so many cases on my books that I’ll be glad to write off your family!’ she retorted, evidently exasperated. ‘If you want my personal opinion, from the school reports we’ve had your girls appear to be bright and well adjusted. Clearly you’re an excellent father, doing your best in difficult circumstances. Right now I’ve a child on my books who bangs her head against the wall because she can’t stand the memories of abuse inside her head! I’d rather be concentrating on her than two children who aren’t ill-treated and don’t need the protection of the state!’

  ‘Got a bit of a temper on her, hasn’t she, Sister?’ He cocked his head again, chuckling. ‘I’ve always said that a woman isn’t a woman without a bit of passion in her! Right, so where are these clothes you mentioned?’

  ‘In the back of the van.’ Sister Joan rose. ‘Miss Fleetwood, I’ll give you a lift back to where we left your car. Will the wheel be changed by now?’

  ‘I reckon so. Those lads know everything worth knowing about the insides of engines and the outsides too!’

  They retraced their footsteps through the camp, reached the van where Padraic shouldered down the cardboard boxes.

  ‘I’ll have Edith and Tabitha write thank-you notes to Sister Katherine,’ he said. ‘You might take note, Miss Fleetwood, that I’m dead keen on my children having good manners.’

  ‘I’m sure you are, Mr Lee.’ Shirley Fleetwood held out her hand placatingly. Padraic shook it with an air of forgiving condescension that made Sister Joan want to giggle.

  ‘He’s a difficult man,’ Shirley Fleetwood said as they drove away.

  ‘Proud as Lucifer and with some reason to be,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He really does all he can for those two girls of his. Can anything be done for Mrs Lee?’

  ‘That’s not my field,’ Shirley Fleetwood said. ‘If you want my honest opinion then I’d say the prognosis isn’t very good. If she’s a manic depressive then she obviously drinks to get her spirits up but as alcohol is a depressant then she spirals downward again very fast and so she starts drinking again. I daresay that counselling and therapy — maybe aversion therapy might help — coupled with suitable medication, but the patient has to want to cooperate. We’ll see.’

  ‘You mentioned the little girl — Amy Foster? I’d’ve thought that a new home would have been found for her by now.’

  ‘The trouble is that she was abused while she was in foster care,’ Shirley Fleetwood said, frowning. ‘She feels more secure in a place where there are other children and many carers, and the children’s home would seem ideal but she’s so psychologically damaged that she requires more individual attention than seems to be available.’

  ‘It seems incredible that a four-year-old would try to harm herself physically!’

  ‘Unusual but not entirely unique. The child has a great deal of guilt. Most abused children do. Some recover from the experience, but others go on to become abusers themselves or to suffer all their lives from low self-esteem. It’s a vicious circle.’

  ‘And little Amy Foster?’

  ‘My case notes aren’t yet complete,’ Shirley Fleetwood said, ‘but I’m not optimistic. Naturally we’re trying therapy — play therapy can be very valuable. It’s early days yet.’

  ‘Perhaps a few old-fashioned hugs might help,’ Sister Joan said, drawing up alongside the car.

  ‘Hugging may be interpreted as a form of abuse,’ Shirley Fleetwood said. ‘As I’ve pointed out, hands-on touching is definitely ill advised until the child has been thoroughly assessed. It’s not advisable for the carer either. At the end of the day one must maintain an objective outlook. Thank you for the lift, Sister. My car looks quite serviceable now.’

  She was out of the van and inspecting the wheels of her own vehicle before Sister Joan could continue the conversation. It was a pity, she reflected, as she drove on. Once or twice the efficient Shirley Fleetwood had revealed a hint of someone human beneath her cool exterior.

  ‘Sister Joan!’

  Constable Petrie was waving to her from the side of the track. She slowed and stopped.

  ‘You’ve got a puncture and need a lift?’ Sister Joan said, winding down the window.

  ‘Car’s parked over there,’ he said. ‘No, I heard the van coming. Seems you got there before me. How did he take it?’

  ‘How did who take what?’ she enquired.

  ‘Padraic Lee. About his wife.’

  ‘Well, he’s not keen on the idea but he’s willing to let her have therapy,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘You haven’t heard then.’ His pleasant young face had darkened.

  ‘Heard what? They haven’t decided to charge her after all, have they?’

  ‘Madge Lee died,’ Constable Petrie said flatly.

  ‘Died?’ Sister Joan echoed the last word blankly. ‘That’s not possible. Of what? When?’

  ‘Lord knows how she managed it,’ he said, ‘but apparently she managed to get her hands on a bottle of brandy. She’d a carrier bag with her. Padraic took a few things to the hospital for her first thing this morning. It might’ve been in that. Anyway she swallowed the best part of the bottle and choked on her own vomit, poor soul.’

  ‘But she was asleep. Surely someone was checking on her?’ Sister Joan felt blank bewilderment.

  ‘They’d put her in one of the side wards,’ Constable Petrie said. ‘She’d been dozing off and on so she was left in peace to come round when she was up to it. Seems she came round, grabbed the brandy and drank it straight off.’

  ‘But how could it have killed her?’

  ‘She’d had a couple of painkillers to cope with the mother of all hangovers. I reckon the brandy on top was just too much for her. There’ll be an inquest, of course. I’m on my way to ask Padraic to come over to the hospital now to clear up a few matters. Who was that?’ He interrupted himself to stare after Shirley Fleetwood’s car as it went past.

  ‘The social worker.’

  ‘Poking her nose in where it probably isn’t wanted, I daresay?’

  ‘She’s very well intentioned,’ Sister Joan said vaguely. ‘Constable, I simply don’t believe that Padraic would smuggle a bottle of brandy into his wife. Her drinking bothered him terribly. You know that!’

  ‘Well, I’d better tell him,’ Constable Petrie said reluctantly. ‘When I saw you I did just wonder — you being so friendly with the Lees?’

  ‘I’ll turn around and come with you,’ she said promptly, but with a sinking feeling.

  Padraic still sat on the steps of the caravan. He had begun to take out the dresses and was holding one up, the expression on his face one of quiet satisfaction. As van and police car drew up he dropped it back into the cardboard box and rose, wary as a cat.

  ‘Morning again, Sister! Constable. Before you ask there’s no stolen property here!’

  ‘Constable Petrie hasn’t come about that, Padraic,’ Sister Joan said, climbing down from the van.

  ‘They haven’t decided to press charges surely! If so I’ll have a word to say to Jim about that.’

  ‘It isn’t about pressing charges,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Padraic, I’m truly sorry but there’s been an — something very sad has happened. Your wife — died.’

  The last word seemed to stick in her throat. Padraic looked at her.

  ‘Died?’ He sounded as if the word was unfamiliar, its meaning foreign. ‘I saw her a couple of hours ago. Not to talk to. She was asleep. Asleep, not dead.’

  ‘You took a carrier bag in with you,’ Constable Petrie said.

  ‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Can you tell me what was in it?’

  ‘Change of undies, clean dress, tights and shoes, some make-up.’

  ‘Anything else?’ the constable asked.

  ‘No, nothing. I shoved in some things last night after I heard what had happened.’

  ‘You didn’t go over to the hospital at that time?’

  Padraic shook his head. �
�The girls were in bed and I didn’t want to leave them. Jem Hargood came by to tell me there’d been a bit of a to-do in the pub. I didn’t know Madge was there. She said that she was going over to see her sister. Fanny wed a housedweller and the two of them used to get together now and then. She said that Fanny’s husband’d give her a ride back. Seems she went to the pub instead. They shouldn’t’ve served her. Indeed they should not!’

  ‘So you packed up some things and took them over to the hospital this morning?’

  ‘I already said!’ Padraic said belligerently. ‘I dropped the girls off at school and drove on to the hospital. I went in to see her for a minute and left the carrier bag by the side of the bed. She was asleep. I didn’t know till I got there that she’d cut her hands. Jem didn’t say else I’d’ve gone over last night and got someone to mind Edith and Tabitha.’

  ‘You didn’t put a bottle of brandy in the carrier bag?’ Constable Petrie asked.

  ‘Brandy?’ Padraic stared at them both, then said flatly, ‘No, I bloody well didn’t! I wouldn’t have a bottle of brandy in the same room as Madge if I could help it, as well you know, Sister!’

  ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘But she died you say?’ Padraic sat down on the steps again, drawing out one of the dresses, smoothing it absently between his fingers. ‘Died of what?’

  ‘That’ll be for an inquest to decide.’ Constable Petrie took refuge in official jargon.

  ‘An inquest?’ Padraic looked up sharply. ‘Must there be one? Madge would hate to have all her affairs in the local rag. She — was a very private person. Quite a lady as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Well, I can’t guarantee anything.’ Constable Petrie looked uncomfortable. ‘Unless the hospital staff are fully satisfied there’s not much anyone can do. You’ll be needed at the hospital now anyway. There’ll be the funeral and possibly a post-mortem depending on — anyway, if you don’t mind—’

  ‘I can drive you over,’ Sister Joan offered.

  ‘I’ll take the pickup,’ he said, adding, ‘thanking you kindly, Sister. I’d better pick up the girls from school at the same time. Sorry, but I just can’t quite take it in yet. I mean she did take a drop too much now and then. But it was a sickness with her. In the family, you see. I can’t rightly take it all in.’