Ann Granger (25 page)

I took a seat beside her.

‘I couldn’t bear to be locked in,’ she said softly.

‘There’s really nothing to be frightened of, Mrs Craven,’ I said soothingly. But I knew she wasn’t talking only of the church.

Fear can both be seen and sensed. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. She’d clasped her hands tightly in her lap. But I felt her terror rather than saw it. She didn’t turn her head to look at me.

‘Mrs Craven?’ I repeated gently.

She turned towards me at last. Pearls of moisture glistened on her upper lip and her eyes stared wildly at me.

When I was a young boy and working in that coalmine, many incidents imprinted themselves on my memory and remain there as fresh as though I witnessed them yesterday, not years ago. I remember the first pony that was brought to work underground. It would have been in 1837 or ’38 when I was working as a trapper, though hardly big or strong enough to manoeuvre the heavy wooden doors which controlled the airflow within the mine. Lowering the beast into the shaft presented quite a problem and a large crowd gathered to watch. Even the men going off shift, tired and hungry (and I among them), tarried to see how it would be done.

Two men had come with the pony. They had done the job at other pits and knew how to go about it. The animal was forced to the ground and its legs pushed up under its belly and secured there. Unable now to stand, it lay panting and drenched with sweat. It was then, with some extra help, rolled over on to a padded mat which was wrapped completely around it and tied in position so that only its head stuck out at one end, and its tail at the other. In this parcel-like form, a hook was attached to the bindings and it was winched up so that now it hung straight down, head uppermost, tail dangling. It whinnied shrilly in its fear and distress and threshed its head, its eyes rolling whitely, nostrils flaring. Slowly it was lowered into the shaft and bit by bit sank from our sight, tail first, padded body and finally its head. The stark terror in its eyes as it descended into the dank darkness below where it would spend the rest of its life has haunted me ever since. They took two other ponies down later but I didn’t watch.

I thought of it now, sitting here with this young woman who was so obviously in dread of being incarcerated, either in a prison or in a madhouse, to spend the rest of her life unable to breathe free air.

‘I haven’t come to accuse you,’ I said. ‘Only to hear your evidence.’

‘I didn’t like Brennan,’ she said frankly. ‘I didn’t like the way he looked at me. Always laughing, not with his mouth, I mean, but with his eyes. He beat his wife, I know it.’

‘How do you know it, ma’am?’

‘I saw him strike her.’ Lucy raised her arm suddenly and mimicked the blow she had witnessed. ‘Like this, and then again. Mrs Brennan just stood there. She didn’t cry out or weep. She stood like a statue, waiting for the blows.’

‘When was this?’

Lucy’s arm dropped back. She looked vague. ‘Some time ago. He came regularly to the district.’

She tilted her chin and went on in a firmer voice, ‘But I didn’t kill him.’

‘No one has suggested you did, ma’am.’

She shook her head angrily. ‘No one has suggested it
in words.
But they let it be known in every other way. They think I’m mad. They think the loss of my child has turned my brain. But I’m not mad and when I find my baby they’ll have to admit it.’

She turned to me. ‘Besides, he was killed with our letter knife, wasn’t he? So someone in the house took it and used it. Why shouldn’t it be me, the madwoman?’

I thought that young Mrs Craven might be frightened and immature, and deluded with regard to her child’s death, but she was far from stupid.

‘Just tell me what happened that morning, when Brennan came to the house and you and Miss Martin went out for a walk.’

‘Well, we did that, just as you say. We walked to the church and were returning to the house. Then I saw that man, that doctor.’ She shivered. ‘I ran away from Lizzie and from him.’

‘You’re speaking of Dr Lefebre?’

‘Yes. I don’t like his being here. They say it’s not on account of me that he’s here, but of course it is. It’s like everything else; they show it in every other way but words!’

She paused and I waited. Quietly she went on, ‘I ran into the garden. I meant to go down to the beach. I did open the gate and step through it, but then I saw Andrew Beresford in the distance with his dog. Do you know him?’

‘Yes, Mrs Craven, I’ve met Mr Beresford.’

‘Then you’ll know what a good man he is. I didn’t want him to see me in the state I was in. Mr Beresford has been kind to me. He encourages me to believe I will be well one day. So you see why I didn’t want to meet him just then when I was so panicked and wild. I turned back into the garden and sat for a minute or two on a seat to get my breath and settle my mind. Then I thought Lizzie might come and find me and I didn’t want to see her, either. I couldn’t go into the house where I was sure to meet someone. You would think, wouldn’t you, that in such a quiet place as this it would be easy to be alone? But I find it very difficult because they follow me about wherever I go. Lizzie has been sent to watch me. She says she hasn’t and I do think she believes it. But it’s the true reason why my Uncle Charles engaged her.’

She sounded bitter. I thought she was probably right. Whatever Lizzie thought the reason for her being given this post, in reality it was to prevent Lucy Craven being alone. But why did they fear so much to leave Lucy unattended? Did they think she might harm herself? Or harm others?

‘So,’ I drew the conversation back to where it had been heading before this distraction, ‘you left the seat in the garden.’

‘Yes, and I began to walk about aimlessly. I was still upset. Then I thought, if I went to the very end of the garden to the shrubbery, I shouldn’t be seen. So I began to go that way. I had almost…’

She faltered and fell silent, looking down at her hands. I saw they were trembling.

‘Shall I call Miss Martin?’ I asked. ‘Would you prefer it if she were here?’

‘No, no, it’s all right. I was just remembering … I was nearly there when I heard a noise.’

A tingle ran up my spine. ‘What kind of noise?’

‘Like – like leaves rustling, I suppose, and a cracking of branches. As if someone was forcing a way through the shrubbery. It’s mostly rhododendrons. They’ve grown tall, taller than I am, and thick but I suppose one could get through. I called out to ask if anyone was there. Then I heard another sound, different, a sort of croak. I saw there was someone; a figure was just visible, coming towards me. I wanted to turn and run but my knees had turned to jelly and I just stood, waiting.

‘It was Brennan … he came out of the bushes towards me, walking in a funny way, stumbling as if he couldn’t drag his feet. His eyes were open wide and staring. He held his hands at this throat. There was red – red blood, spurting between his fingers and running down the backs of his hands. Then he took one hand away and I could see the blood pumping out of a wound in his throat. It was so horrible and I still couldn’t move, my brain wouldn’t tell my legs to work. He reached out and grasped at my sleeve. I pulled myself away and I – I put out my hands and thrust him back. I should have helped him. But I didn’t want to touch him. I just wanted him to keep away from me so I put my fingers against his waistcoat, gave him a good shove, and snatched my hands back again.

‘He uttered that croak again and lost his footing. He pitched backwards and lay there. His dog came running out of the bushes and began to sniff at Brennan and paw at him. I sank down on the ground … I couldn’t run away. I hadn’t the strength. I think I started to make some kind of noise myself, a sort of wail, or so Lizzie says. She heard me. She came upon us just then.’

‘Thank you,’ I said when she fell silent. ‘That was well and clearly told. I know it was painful for you. One more thing, if you can help me just a little further. The rustling you heard before Brennan appeared. You say it sounded like someone pushing through the bushes. Would that be Brennan coming towards you? Or someone hastening away?’

She hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Very well, we’ll leave it at that.’

Relief flooded her face. I hated to wipe it away. But I had a few more questions.

‘You’ll forgive me, Mrs Craven, if I ask how old you are? I’m afraid a police officer is required by his calling to be impertinent.’

‘I shall be eighteen at Christmas,’ she returned promptly without appearing to take offence. But at seventeen a birthday is still something to look forward to with optimism.

‘And you’re an orphan, ma’am, or so I understand?’

‘Yes, since I was a baby. My uncle Charles is – was – my guardian, until I married.’ This time she spoke the phrase proudly.

Not only almost eighteen but a married woman. I began to understand quite why she had been so determined to marry James Craven. She had acquired a status and a confidence probably lacking before. But she hadn’t gained control of her own fortune and I had now to broach the delicate matter of money.

‘I have also been given to understand that the inheritance left to you by your parents is held in trust. That your income is controlled by your uncle until you’re twenty-one.’

Now a frown crossed her face. ‘Yes, it’s very vexing, you know, when poor James is in such need. I went to see the lawyer. He’s another trustee. He’s absolutely Uncle Charles’s man. He talked to me as if I were a child. I
am
married. They won’t let James have any money.’

But
you would
! I thought with compassion. You’d happily let him spend the lot.

‘Your husband’s employed by the firm of Roche, is he not? He has his salary.’

She dismissed this quibble. ‘Oh yes, but he’s obliged to be in China. Uncle Charles has been very mean and unkind.’

It was difficult to know quite what Charles Roche’s motives were. On the one hand, he desired to protect his niece. On the other hand, he controlled her money (and her interest in the family firm) for another three years. In that time anything might happen to James Craven in China. The climate, disease, bandits, opium addiction, drinking himself to death … Or simply a dangerous sea voyage such as had claimed the lives of Lucy’s parents; he might perish in all these ways. Were Lucy a widow by the time she reached twenty-one, she would continue to rely heavily on her Uncle Charles for financial advice and he would be able to look forward to controlling her money, and her share of the firm, for a few years more.

‘Thank you, Mrs Craven; you’ve been very helpful,’ I assured her. ‘I may need to speak to you again.’

‘As you wish,’ she said with a sigh.

‘And if you think of anything at all, any little thing you may have overlooked … tell me or send a message to me at once. Now then, perhaps we can find Miss Martin.’

‘Yes, please,’ she replied, sounding more like a child looking forward to her eighth birthday than a young matron anticipating her eighteenth.

Chapter Seventeen

Elizabeth Martin

I WATCHED Lucy disappear into the little church with Ben. I knew he would be kind and tactful, but also persist until she had told him all she knew. I hoped Lucy didn’t fly into one of those childish fits of anger. I realised they sprang from fear, but others might not.

I couldn’t linger by the porch and appear to be eavesdropping but I couldn’t leave entirely, either. So I returned to the lych-gate and sat down on one of the benches. After a few minutes someone came along the road from the direction of Shore House. The footsteps stopped by me and I heard myself hailed.

‘Good morning, Miss Martin.’

It was a woman’s voice and I was at first unable to place it. I stood up and walked out into the road and the sunshine and saw the nondescript female who acted as lady’s maid to both sisters. She’d hardly addressed a word to me directly before.

Viewed closer to hand, she was a sour-faced woman who looked as if life had treated her far from generously, although to be a lady’s maid, even to a pair of spinster sisters, was a good position in a domestic sense. It amazed me that she had been considered suitable to deal with feminine requirements. She was of heavy mannish build and reminded me of those women in men’s apparel I’d seen shovelling coal and labouring on the roads. The idea of those square strong hands manipulating a needle to do some delicate mending was incongruous. But perhaps a lady’s maid of greater refinement wouldn’t have agreed to come to the country.

I knew she’d come from London with the sisters when they first arrived and appeared not to have formed any friendships among the staff. I’d observed already that they were inclined to be unkind about her behind her back. She, in turn, spoke only as necessary and with a Londoner’s scorn for the provinces. She let the housemaids see she thought them bumpkins. Little wonder they revenged themselves with inventing preposterous tales about her until they fell into helpless giggles. I recollected her name was Higgins, and returned her greeting.

I expected she would walk on but she stood there, staring at me speculatively. I thought with some alarm that perhaps she meant to go into the church and I’d have to warn her away. If so, I hoped she’d oblige me, as such was the solid mass of her I couldn’t have stopped her physically.

I asked, ‘Are you out for a walk, Higgins?’

Her mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘I get no time for walks, miss! I’m off into the village, as they like to call it, though it’s a poor place in my opinion. There’s a woman who knits gloves, as I’ve been told, very well, too. I mentioned it to Miss Christina because she was saying that before the winter came, she and Miss Phoebe and Mrs Craven must be provided with woollen gloves. So I’m sent to enquire if the woman will take the commission. I dare say she will, and charge double for it.’

‘As a villager she’s fortunate to have some occupation that can bring in a little money,’ I said.

Higgins dismissed this with a shrug. A gleam of curiosity entered her mud-coloured eyes. ‘Is Mrs Craven not with you, then, miss?’

So that was why she loitered to talk to me. She’d seen Lucy leave with me but then come upon me sitting here alone.