The Body on the Train

by Frances Brody

  “Then we’ll speak to Mr. Brockman.”

  Raynor led us down the hall to Benjie’s study, knocked and entered. “Visitors for you, sir.”

  Benjie’s eyes lit up at the sight of us, or rather at the sight of Alec. “Where did you get to, you young rascal?”

  Raynor hovered in the doorway, a frown creasing his brow. If he had it in mind to try again at silencing me, he would have to think of something quickly.

  “Refreshments!” Benjie called to him.

  “Not for me, thank you, Benjie. This is a flying visit. I wanted to see you and Gertrude. I believe she’s visiting Mrs. Dell.”

  “I don’t want anything, thank you.” Alec looked around the room, and at the stamp albums on the desk.

  “Sit yourselves down then, and you give an account of yourself, young man.”

  While Alec lowered himself into a chair as if it might bite his bum, I produced the papers that Martin Yeats had obtained for me.

  “Benjie, you know the eight children who are lined up for passage to Canada?”

  “Yes there was something about that.”

  As if he did not know.

  “It’s not a good idea for them to go. There’ve been outbreaks of smallpox on that ship. They would never reach Canada alive.” I had to think quickly of some civil service department that would be responsible for such matters. “On the advice of the Office for Migration of Minors to the Dominions, the authority for their passage must be revoked.”

  “Oh well if that’s the case.”

  “You need to sign in triplicate.”

  “Do I indeed?”

  I passed him the forms. “You, Eliot and Gertrude.”

  He picked up his pen. I pointed to the line for his signature. “And today’s date.”

  He glanced at the day-by-day calendar on his desk, and signed. “You’ll catch Gertrude, but not sure about Eliot. He’s had strong interest in overseas investment in our mine. He’ll be gallivanting to London.”

  That was so annoying. He would be the tricky one.

  He passed me the signed forms. “What happens to this merry band of orphans now?”

  Good question.

  Alec came up with the answer. “Could they be brought here, sir? There’s plenty of room on the top floor.”

  “What do you know about the top floor?”

  “Only what the servants say, sir, about how many empty rooms there are.”

  Benjie thought for a moment. “I don’t see why not, but children need looking after don’t they?”

  “I’m sure that could be taken care of, Benjie.”

  I thought of Mr. and Mrs. Arkwright, and how they would love to be in touch with their charges again. One step at a time.

  Of course if Benjie and Raynor were arrested for murder, that plan might fall flat.

  I stood. “Thank you, Benjie. I’ll leave you and Alec to talk. And Alec, we’ll see you by the car when you’re ready.”

  As I went out, I heard Benjie saying. “You’ll be wanting your Comic Cuts. It’s here somewhere.”

  I went back to the car. Sykes and I strolled towards the walled garden. Sykes looked back every few minutes, to make sure no one was sabotaging the car. We would go to the Dells’ house. Once I had Gertrude’s and Eliot’s signatures, we would take Alec to meet Philip. There was a flat above the Battersby garage. It had been agreed that Alec might stay there, which would be an improvement on living above the stable. Now that Philip was to take over the garage, he might move into the flat too, if he could bear to leave his mother.

  “Funny old place.” Sykes said. “Say ‘Thorpefield Manor’ and you expect something grand. It’s a bit neglected.”

  “They’re hoping for better days.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  The wind had got up quite fiercely, but the high walls of the garden protected us. Birds made the most of the sheltered spot. A blackbird pecked at the earth. A couple of blue tits perched on a branch, inspecting the bark for insects.

  “Mrs. Shackleton!”

  I turned to see Milly. “Hello!”

  She came hurrying towards me, with a great smile.

  I introduced her to Sykes. “Milly was my maid when I was here.”

  “Then I’ll leave you two to chat. I’ll look out for Alec, and keep an eye on the car.”

  It was too cold to sit down. We walked towards the rose bed which was all bare stems, trimmed back. “So what news, Milly? You’re looking better.”

  “The police came from Wakefield. They searched my room. They looked in the eaves as if they knew what they would find, and I could hardly breathe, but there was nothing there. I felt so relieved, and then Mrs. Brockman appeared, and she didn’t say anything but I could see she was shocked. They went along the corridor, and they were doing other searching. I was trailing after them as best I could, but they shooed me away. And you’ll never guess where that stuff was.”

  “Where was it?”

  “Mrs. Brockman’s maid told the housekeeper, and she told the cook and the cook told me. It was under Mrs. Brockman’s bed. And when they found it, Mrs. Brockman said, ‘The maid put it there’, and her maid said no she didn’t and Mrs. Brockman said, ‘the maid Milly’. And the police asked me and I said no I hadn’t touched it.”

  Milly then told the police about my photograph of the items left in the eaves.

  She seemed remarkably cheerful. The police officer had been nice to her.

  I did not have the heart to tell her that his being nice did not mean that Stephen was out of the woods.

  Alec was not long in joining us. With the restlessness of the young, he had parted quickly from Benjie.

  I said goodbye to Milly.

  We climbed into the car, ready for our next call.

  “How did Mr. Brockman react when he heard you have a new job, Alec?”

  “He didn’t say much at first, and then he was all right about it.” He then spoke slowly, to make every word count. “He gave me a five pound note. Have you ever seen one?”

  “Yes, I have seen one.”

  That did not stop him describing it. “It’s huge. It’s white. I’ve put it in my sock.”

  ‘Open a Post Office savings account.’

  “They’ll ask me where I got it. They’ll think I stole it.”

  “Just say who gave it to you, and that you worked for him and it was a gift when you left, a gift for being a good worker.”

  This cheered him. I remembered how I sometimes used to be tongue-tied. There would be something inside that needed to be said, but what were the words, and how did you put them together?

  “Did Mr. Brockman say anything else?”

  “He asked me if I remembered a woman who sometimes visited the Bluebell children, and brought us things.”

  “And did you?”

  “When he reminded me. She once brought a rag rug. In the middle it said, ‘ABC’ in red. Round the edge, it had numbers one to ten in yellow. No one had ever seen anything like it. She said that if we stood on the letters, we would be good at reading and writing. If we hopped from number to number, we would learn our sums very well.”

  “That sounds a wonderful rug.”

  “He said she takes an interest still, and that I should visit. She lives in the village, the bottom house on Silver Street. I should tell her that I am making my way in the world.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  The Dell house didn’t look right. I sensed Mrs. Dell was still absent. The shutters were up at the downstairs windows. It was if the occupants planned to go away for the season, or someone had died.

  “Still want to give it a try?” Sykes asked.

  “Yes. You two stretch your legs and stay out of sight. If Gertrude is here, it will disarm her if she thinks I’ve come alone.”

  I lifted the knocker and let it drop, knocking three times.

  When no one answered, I turned the knob. The door wasn’t locked. I stepped into the hall. “Hello! Anyone here?”

  Foo
tsteps on the stairs.

  Gertrude and Eliot Dell appeared. Both wore long black motoring coats. She wore a fur headband over a woollen cloche.

  “Oh Eliot, Gertrude, hello! Benjie said I’d find you here. I’m sorry I let myself in but the place looks deserted.”

  Now that she was closer, Gertrude gave a cold smile. “Hello, Kate.”

  “I’m glad to find you together. I can see you’re just on your way somewhere, but do you have a moment?”

  Eliot opened the door to the billiard room. The only light came through the slats in the shutters. The place felt eerie, with the dark shape of the big table dominating the room. The chairs all stood in a row at one side. We were not meant to sit down. And I would get nowhere with them if I used the same line as I had on Benjie—an outbreak of smallpox on the ship.

  Eliot went to the window. He opened the shutters, letting a pale light into the room. The cover on the billiard table had looked black. Now it was its green self.

  Eliot stayed by the window, looking out. “You have a different car.”

  “Yes. Apparently the steering linkages on the Short Two deteriorated.”

  Eliot inclined his head. “How unfortunate. And you’ve come alone.”

  “Yes, as you see.” I took out the papers concerning the children’s passage. “The thing is, Gertrude, Eliot, I’m here because Benjie has had a delivery of documents concerning the sailing from Liverpool of a number of children. I told him I wanted to talk to you and he asked would I bring the papers.”

  “What papers?”

  “It’s some sort of bureaucratic nicety—something to be signed. Apparently, there’s a delay in the sailing and the need for a longer stay in Liverpool.”

  Gertrude took the papers from me and went to the window. In her long dark coat, against the pale light, looking down at the papers, she became a silhouette from a Beardsley drawing.

  “I’m signing nothing. The children were in the care of Stonegate. I expect they can be sent back there.” She tossed the papers onto the billiard table. “Honestly, I don’t know what this country is coming to.”

  Eliot said, “I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.”

  “Please think again, Gertrude. Let’s save something from this tragic mess.”

  She closed the shutters. “What tragic mess?”

  It was a mistake, but I was tired of her games. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Two murders, on the same evening, in the same place.”

  Mrs. Sugden had reported Valerie Pennington’s words: “Mr. Brockman wasn’t there.” Now I knew what was behind those words. Mr. Brockman was not there. Mrs. Brockman was.

  Mrs. Brockman had blood on the cuff of her coat.

  Eliot shook his head. “You say that as if you are about to make some sort of accusation.”

  Gertrude came very close, and put her hand on my shoulder. “It would have been so good to have had you on our side. You’d be surprised how many people are coming to our meetings, ready to part with their cash. We would have let you in with first investor, privileges.”

  “Free coal for life?” I asked.

  Eliot closed the shutters. “Some people never learn.”

  It is not difficult to give a withering look in the dark, but no one sees it. “You’ve tried to silence me once, Eliot. It would be foolish to try again.”

  “How can someone so very charming also be so deeply annoying?”

  I stepped away from them. “In the same way you were so very clever, and so very stupid.”

  He grabbed my wrist. I let out a cry of pain.

  “Oh dear,” Eliot said with mock sympathy, “I hurt her bad wrist, just as she was going to be even more annoying.”

  I had rattled them and was not about to stop now. If I didn’t come out soon, Sykes would come looking for me. I pushed for an admission.

  “Which of you killed Harry Aspinall? I’m sure his widow would like to know.”

  Gertrude slapped my face. “I’ve wanted to do that for such a long time. You are so smug. Don’t want to consider adopting an orphan, but happy to rescue eight, and what? Leave them on my hands? Pity you weren’t born a boy. You could have been a fireman, rushed into burning buildings, rescued people, and left them on the pavement. Harry Aspinall liked to have his name on letterheads and do nothing. For three generations they had done nothing except live on their reputations as philanthropists. I was the one let Helen Farrar rent the shop for next to nothing, not Harry. And if you want to know who killed him, it was I. Eliot merely had the presence of mind to bash Helen Farrar on the head. It wouldn’t do to have two identical murders. And do you think either of us wanted to kill them? Do you imagine that was in our minds when we got up that morning?”

  “Yes I do think that, or you wouldn’t have taken a gun. It was wilful, Gertrude. There’s no excusing it.”

  “We faced bankruptcy, and saw a solution. Wouldn’t you do the same?”

  Eliot let go of my wrist. “She wouldn’t do it, but only because she doesn’t know what it means to be on the edge. She is a nothing-ventured kind of person.”

  They were talking about me as if I were not here, as if I were already beyond troubling them. “I’m not alone. There are two men with me.” Alec wasn’t quite sixteen but I could stretch a point.

  Eliot went to the window again. From what he said, I realised there was no sign of Sykes and Alec. “I’m surprised you got yourself another Jowett, so soon after the last one let you down.”

  He reached for Gertrude’s hand. “Come on. Leave her. No one believes her story. We’ll say we never saw her, had already left. Oh and before you think of telephoning for help, the telephone has been disconnected.”

  Gertrude sighed. “Eliot, dear, Kate will never give up. It’s typical of her to barge into someone’s house, not because she should but because she can.”

  “What then, Gertie?”

  “Nothing serious. Just a fall down the cellar steps, fatal of course. We never even knew she’d come into the house. We had business in London, gave the servants a week’s holiday. When the house is open again, you’ll have no idea why her car is outside, and how she got in.”

  As if he couldn’t resist his moment of triumph, Eliot said, “And we don’t want to miss our train. Investors are falling over themselves to buy shares.”

  “And will you let Stephen Walmsley be hanged for murder?”

  “Possibly for two murders.”

  He clapped a hand over my mouth, and twisted my arm up my back. Gertrude grabbed my other arm. I kicked as best I could, but he lifted me off my feet as they dragged me along the hall and down a passage. Within a minute, he was pushing open a door, with darkness on the other side. He assumed no one would hear me scream, and moved his hand from my mouth.

  I screamed.

  The stone steps looked deep as the stairway to hell.

  One shove, and I was bouncing down hard cold steps, every fibre of my body crying out against the pain. I tried to slow my descent, and to break my fall. The crack I heard was my arm, and then everything went black.

  From a long way off, I heard voices that seemed not human.

  “Is she dead?”

  “If not, she soon will be.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Mrs. Shackleton ought to have come out of the house by now. You should have gone in with her, Sykes told himself.

  He had walked the grounds on the south side of the house. Anyone in an upstairs window would have seen him, but he saw no one. There was a large vegetable patch and greenhouses. Beyond was farmland. Separating the Dell land from the farmland was a country road.

  Although the downstairs windows were all shuttered, he went and peered through a crack.

  He had told Alec to stay out of sight, and listen for Mrs. Shackleton coming out. That would be their signal to leave. Sykes made his way back to the gate they had first entered.

  And then he heard a car engine, but from round the other side of the house. Several moments later, Ale
c came running.

  “They’ve taken her.”

  “Who has?”

  “I hid, and watched. I saw them loading something into the boot of the car, something big, and now they’ve gone. It was her.”

  Sykes went to the door of the house and banged. He tried to open the door, but it was locked.

  Alec’s voice was urgent now. “I’m sure they’ve taken her. It was Mr. Dell tampered with the steering on her car, and now he’s taken her.”

  “Did you see her?”

  “No. It was something he carried in his arms.”

  Sykes leapt into car and drove round the side of the house towards the lane, stopping just long enough for Alec to jump in. Racing along the lane as fast as the car would allow, he passed hedges and ditches, trees and fields with such speed that they might be on a reel being turned at speed in a picture show.

  And then he came to a fork in the way. There was nothing to choose between the roads leading off either side of the lane. They were of similar size, and equally deserted.

  Which way, which way?

  “Right,” said Alec.

  Sykes, who had just begun to veer left, turned the wheel, pushing the car as hard as it would go.

  Mr. Dell had a bigger car, but he was not racing as if a life depended on it.

  In the distance, a train rumbled. The sky ahead filled with new clouds rising from where the train must be. The sound grew louder. Alec saw it first and shouted for him to stop. Afterwards Sykes thought that Alec told him the name of the train, but he wasn’t listening. He only knew that he would have to stop, or drive into the side of a railway carriage.

  Carriage after carriage passed by until the train had passed. And then Sykes knew, either he had lost the motor on this road, or they had taken the wrong turn at the beginning of their journey.

  “Why did you say “right”?” he asked Alec.

  “Well it was one or the other, and you asked me.”

  “You picked wrong. We’ve lost her.”