The Lawrence Harpham Boxset

by Jacqueline Beard

  "We must find her," said Michael.

  "She may not want to be found," said Lawrence. "She may have vanished of her own volition."

  "No," said Michael, "I don't believe it, even with this. "He clutched the birth certificate.

  "And I don't believe otherwise," snapped Lawrence. "Look around you, Michael," he said, flinging open the dresser drawers. "Show me something that suggests that she was made to leave."

  "She hasn't packed a bag," said Michael. "Look." He opened the wardrobe. There was an item of clothing on every hanger. Shoes were placed side by side on a shelf below, with no gaps where a pair might be missing. "And look." He gestured under the bed. A large suitcase lay beneath.

  "She could have left her belongings here, so she wasn't seen removing them from the house," said Lawrence.

  "That's enough," said Michael. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips formed a thin line. "That would be completely out of character, as you said earlier. Don't let this birth certificate set you against her. Violet is not the type of person to abandon her employer. She is very fond of Mrs Harris and the family too. She is our friend."

  "Forgive me," said Lawrence. "I meant no offence. I thought I knew her well enough for her to trust me, and I suppose I am disappointed. I don't understand why she concealed her identity, but I'll do my best to find her so she can, at least, explain herself."

  "She doesn't need to explain anything," said Michael, "as long as she is safe."

  "Of course," said Lawrence, patting Michael's shoulder awkwardly. The young curate was staring over the graveyard, lost in thought, and Lawrence felt ashamed of his failure to consider Michael's obvious fondness for Violet. He had spoken out of turn and wondered if he would ever understand human beings. Their feelings and how to react to them was a constant mystery.

  "Do you think Mrs Harris will talk to me about it?" said Lawrence. "I don't know where to start looking. She might be able to give some insight."

  "Yes, she's worried too, and I'm sure she will help."

  "It might be a difficult conversation," said Lawrence. "I have the distinct impression that she doesn't approve of me."

  "She doesn't know you," said Michael. And she is somewhat frail, but her mind is sharp, and she is fond of Violet and protective towards her. If she thinks you want to help Violet, she will help you."

  "She doesn't need to protect Violet from me," said Lawrence. "I have asked a lot of Violet recently with the research and everything, but she has enjoyed it and has been more than willing."

  Michael opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. He shook his head and said, "Mrs Harris was in the drawing-room when I saw her last. Let's go and find her."

  They walked down two flights of stairs and into the drawing-room where Mrs Harris was reclining in her bath chair, staring across the garden through cloudy grey eyes. Michael opened the door, but she did not look in his direction. He walked towards her, "Mrs Harris," he whispered. She turned to face him and regarded him through eyes that were misty with tears. He knelt beside her and took her hand. "I am sorry," he said. "Please don't worry."

  "Pray with me," she said, and Michael continued to kneel while praying softly beside her.

  Lawrence watched from the doorway feeling uncomfortable. Religion had passed him by during his time at The Vicarage. When Lawrence first arrived, Reverend Raven said grace at mealtimes, but the Reverend had been away for several days, and Michael had taken over in his absence using an abbreviated form of grace, which was more like a nod to good manners. Naturally, the Ravens' were religious, and Michael was too, but outside of mealtimes, Lawrence was barely aware of any mention of faith. Watching Michael pray had left Lawrence humbled and a little embarrassed, and very much the outsider being ambivalent about God. Regardless, respect was due, and Lawrence bowed his head until Michael had finished. There was a short silence, and Michael got to his feet.

  "Mrs Harris, can you answer some questions about Miss Smith?" he asked.

  "Of course, if it helps," she said.

  Lawrence approached her and smiled. Mrs Harris gestured to the day bed and asked him to take a seat, and he perched on the edge gazing reverently towards her.

  Mrs Harris wore black. When he thought about it, he realised that she always wore black. He hadn't noticed because she was old, and her advanced years had rendered her invisible. He winced at the thought, ashamed of his previous lack of interest and watched her with new eyes. She wore a black bonnet of the old-fashioned kind, with a mass of grey curls squeezed beneath. Her hair was still thick and long despite her age, and she wore no rings or necklaces, but a black horn mourning brooch was pinned prominently over her heart. Her face, sheathed in wrinkles, was thin and deep lines ravaged her cheeks. Age had dragged her lips into a natural frown, but delicate cheekbones and oval grey eyes showed traces of the beauty she enjoyed in her youth.

  She spoke before Lawrence had a chance to begin. "Do you know where Violet is?" she asked.

  Lawrence shook his head. "Sorry, I don't," he said, "I was hoping you might know."

  "I don't," she replied in a trembling voice, caused by concern for Violet or perhaps as an indicator of frailty.

  "When did you last see her?" he continued.

  "Yesterday afternoon," said Mrs Harris. "She helped me get ready for bed and read to me for a while."

  "Can you remember what time it was?" asked Lawrence.

  "About four o'clock," she said. "It must have been around then as we had eaten afternoon tea, with a little seed cake as I remember, then Violet cleared the dishes away. She said she might run an errand but would be back in ten minutes."

  "Did she say where she was going?" asked Lawrence.

  "No," said Mrs Harris. "But I expect she stayed around the house. Anywhere else would have taken longer than ten minutes."

  "And when did you notice she was missing?"

  "I fell asleep," said Mrs Harris. "And because she did not return, I slept longer than usual, and when I woke up, I was alone. I would have been there still if Mary Warne hadn't collected the cut-glass vase. She helped me to my room and prepared me for supper."

  "I'm told that Violet missed her evening meal."

  "That is correct. I thought she'd be there, and I was going to give her a good telling off. Violet knows I can't manage alone. I'm fond of her, but I expect her to perform her duties diligently. Now l am angry with myself for thinking that she neglected me when I know very well that she never would. Something has happened to her, and it cannot be good."

  Her eyes grew misty again, and Lawrence feared she might cry. Michael would be able to manage her tears, but he had left the room, and Lawrence didn't know what to say. He tried to head off the problem by changing the subject.

  "Could she have left The Vicarage? Or decided to find a new occupation and not be able to face telling you?"

  "Of course not," snapped Mrs Harris. Her sadness turned to anger in seconds. "She is too kind-hearted. She would not abandon me without saying so. She has been with me for a long time and is very loyal."

  "And she has never married?"

  "No," said Mrs Harris, "she has never shown any interest in meeting a man. She is a spinster but not unhappy and has no desire to wed."

  "How long has she been with you?" asked Lawrence.

  "Over ten years," said Mrs Harris. "She has cared for me since I lost my beloved Arthur." She touched the mourning brooch as she spoke.

  "So, she was about thirty when she first came to work for you?"

  "About that age," agreed Mrs Harris.

  "What did she do before?"

  "The same," she replied.

  "A companion?" asked Lawrence.

  "Something of that nature. She brought excellent references to me. Why do you want to know? What relevance does her previous occupation have?"

  "Her name is not Violet Smith," said Lawrence. "I am trying to ascertain whether she secretly married."

  Mrs Harris snorted. The sudden movement disturbed her breathing and
racked her with a fit of coughing. Once she regained her composure, she spoke.

  "Her name is Violet Smith, and she has never been married. I would know."

  "I've seen her birth certificate," said Lawrence. "She was christened Violet Judith Mills."

  "Be that as it may," said Mrs Harris, "she is not married, and there will be a good reason why she calls herself Smith."

  "You are sure?"

  "Certain," she said.

  Lawrence thanked her and left the drawing-room none the wiser. There was nothing more to gain from questioning Mrs Harris, who had given all she had to offer. He had no idea where Violet had been and more to the point, where she might be now. He was also uneasy about keeping her disappearance secret from the Reverend. If Violet was missing, Reverend Raven ought to know. He would find out in due course anyway and would be angry that important news had been kept from him. Mrs Harris was too frail and too loyal to make objective decisions about Violet's disappearance. Worry consumed her and must be taking a toll on her health. Lawrence decided to tell the Reverend even if it meant breaking his word.

  He proceeded to the study and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he peered inside, but neither Reverend Raven nor Michael were there. The study window overlooked the garden and Lawrence saw, to his relief, that the Reverend was pottering around outside. He clutched a sheaf of papers and seemed to be talking to himself. Lawrence exited via the rear door and walked towards the Reverend. As he approached, he heard Reverend Raven reading aloud from his paper.

  "Sorry to disturb you," said Lawrence. "Do you have a few minutes?"

  The Reverend sighed and folded the papers. "I was practising my speech to the Archaeological Society," he said, by way of explanation. "I suppose it can wait for a moment."

  Lawrence took a deep breath and told him about Violet's disappearance and expressed his concern about the impact it was having on Mrs Harris' health.

  The Reverend listened without comment. When Lawrence had finished, he said "I am glad you have told me. It was the right thing to do. This is no dereliction of duty. Though my sister-in-law can be too indulgent with Violet, she is so for a reason. Violet Smith is loyal and kind. She is incapable of abandoning her without warning."

  Lawrence sighed. "I have made myself unpopular on two occasions already today," he said, "but I will risk it again. Violet was christened Mills. Smith is not her name. She has vanished, and there is no evidence of foul play. I don't want to cast aspersions on her character, but no one seems willing to consider the possibility that she might be involved in a deception. At best, she has not been completely frank. I admire Violet a great deal, but you should prepare yourselves for the prospect that she is not what she seems. Whatever my reservations, I will do my best to find her, if you want me to - unless she does not want to be located."

  The Reverend was silent for a long time. So long that Lawrence thought he had offended him. Then he spoke. "I appreciate your honesty," he said, "and I know you speak with the best intentions, but we have known Violet a long time. We have faith in her."

  "Faith is the problem," said Lawrence. "Faith. Faith Mills, Violet Mills. There could be a connection."

  "You know how I feel about that," said the Reverend. "But even if there was a connection, does it change Violet's character? Of course, it does not. She is the same person that she always was."

  "Then if you don't have any objection, I will search for her," said Lawrence. "I don't know where to start, and it may antagonise Inspector Draper, but I believe I'm more likely to be successful than him."

  "Leave Draper to me," said the Reverend. "You are not investigating his problem, only looking for our missing friend. We must find Violet. In the meantime, I will ask Emily and her sister to attend Mrs Harris so that it one less thing to worry about. Is there anything else I can do?"

  "I may need to question the household," said Lawrence. "It would help if I could rely on your support."

  "You have it," said the Reverend, "please bring Violet home."

  Lawrence returned to the house, almost colliding with Michael who was entering the study.

  "I have to tell you something," said Lawrence, tapping Michael on the shoulder.

  "What?"

  "The Reverend knows about Violet. I didn't want to betray your trust, but there was no choice."

  "It was the right thing to do," said Michael. "My promise was only to Mrs Harris. It is a relief that he knows. Is he angry?"

  "He could not be less so," said Lawrence. "It turns out that he is as fond of Violet as everyone else and has agreed to let me search for her at once."

  "Where will you start?"

  "I don't know," said Lawrence. "I suppose I will question Mary and the girls."

  "Do you think she might have borrowed the parish register?" asked Michael.

  "No," said Lawrence. "I had already extracted everything I thought I needed. As it happens, there is more to look at now, but I have not seen Violet since I returned from London so she couldn't possibly know. There is no reason for her to examine it."

  "But was she aware that you looked at the register in the first place?"

  "Perhaps not," said Lawrence. "No, definitely not. We were going to go together, but I went alone instead. So, she could have gone to Elijah Scoggin's house, after all."

  "That would explain why the register is missing."

  "Yes, it would," said Lawrence. "But it would only explain why she read it. She would not have taken it without asking."

  "Perhaps she wanted to show you something," said Michael.

  "Then she would have written it down and shown me," Lawrence replied, shaking his head. "I had no expectations from that register when I saw Violet last, and now I need it, the thing is lost, perhaps forever."

  "You can still get the information," said Michael, "only the most recent entries are lost."

  "But the book is gone."

  "Don’t you remember what I said? We transcribe all entries and send them away. You can still find the information you need, but not here."

  "That is something, at least," said Lawrence, "though it gets me no closer to finding Violet. But your idea is a good one. She might have tried to help. I'll start by looking for her at Elijah Scoggins house."

  He left the study, pausing only to return to the drawing-room to say goodbye to Mrs Harris. She had fallen asleep in her bath chair and was snoring lightly, her face relaxed in slumber. He closed the door, then remembered that he had not returned the shawl, pushed the door open and peered inside. The shawl was not on the day bed, which he should have realised having been sitting on it for the duration of his conversation with Mrs Harris. Someone had moved it, tidied it away or placed it somewhere for safekeeping. Either way, it was of little importance while Violet was missing, and would have to wait for another day.

  Chapter 36

  Fire

  Lawrence grabbed his hat from the coat stand and strode down The Vicarage path and across the road into the familiar surrounds of the graveyard. He walked purposely towards the gate by Church Road and made for Elijah Scoggins home, arriving at the little cottage to find the front window open to its fullest extent. He stopped and peered inside. The window opened into a parlour with a table and chairs set beneath. Next to the window was a half-open door. He rapped on the weathered wood and waited. Presently, he heard the shuffle of footsteps, and a young man appeared in the doorway, his hands black with soot. He wore a heavy apron bearing the acrid smell of molten metal.

  "May I speak with your father?" asked Lawrence.

  The boy grunted, walked to the rear of the cottage, and shouted. Before long, Elijah emerged.

  "It is you," he said nervously. "Gervis didn't tell me who the visitor was, and I feared that it might be the Reverend." He peered behind Lawrence.

  "I am alone," said Lawrence. "The Reverend is still at The Vicarage."

  "Good, good," muttered Elijah. "Come through." He waved Lawrence down the passage into the expansive back room, which occ
upied the rest of the ground floor. Serving as both kitchen and workroom, the space was split into an area containing a cooking range surrounded by wooden seats which sloped up to a raised level covered by a rug. Roll upon roll of coloured linens and reels of cotton lay strewn across the floor. Mary Ann Scoggins sat cross-legged on the rug, joining two pieces of fabric with delicate stitching. Both the back door and the other window were wide open to the elements. Gervis was in the yard, feeding chickens from a pail of scraps.

  "Excuse the muddles," said Elijah. "It is a busy time." He strode towards the window. The sky had darkened, and he turned anxiously to Mary Ann. "Looks like rain, my dear," he said.

  He shrugged his shoulders and turned away from his wife. "Her eyesight is poor," he whispered, nodding towards Mary. "And mine not much better. It is too dark to sew when the light fails."

  Lawrence nodded. It explained why all the doors and windows were open. The cottage lacked natural light, and it would be hard to see and impossible to work in inclement weather.

  "Are you here about the register?" asked Elijah.

  "Not entirely," said Lawrence, "although I would like to see it when you find it."

  "Then how can I help?"

  "Did Violet Smith ask if she could borrow the register yesterday?" asked Lawrence.

  "No, I haven't seen her recently," said Elijah.

  "Could she have asked your wife or son for it?" he continued.

  "No, they would never let it go without checking with me first. Have you seen Violet Smith, Mary?"

  Mary Ann Scoggins shook her head. "Not for a while," she said without looking up from her work.

  "She wasn't here," said Scoggins. "Sorry, we can't help."

  "I have reason to think she may have tried to get the register," said Lawrence. "Is there any way she could have taken it without your consent?"

  "Somebody has," said Elijah. "It has disappeared completely. I have searched the cottage from top to bottom, and not a page of it remains. I am not looking forward to telling the Reverend that I have been unsuccessful in my search."