The Shadow of the Sycamores (55 page)

‘No, my dear boy, I, too, will keep impatience in check until you return.’

Malcolm telephoned his father from James’s house in Cramond the following afternoon to let him know he would be arriving in the evening. ‘He says that’s great,’ he told James later. ‘His holidays start tomorrow.’

‘It couldn’t have worked out better for you,’ James observed, turning on the oven to heat the bridies they had bought in Forfar.

‘I’m glad,’ the younger man admitted. ‘I was feeling guilty for not telling him about my ten days’ leave. Shall I set the table now or wait a little while?’

‘Set it now and get it over. I have just had a brilliant idea. Why don’t you phone your father again and say that I have invited him to spend his holiday here? You can collect him and bring him up and …’

‘Good grief! Dad’s not going to believe this. Travelling in a Rolls Royce? He’ll never get over it.’

‘He is a widower, of course.’

‘Yes. I think I did tell you my mother died when I was eight and he had to bring me up on his own. I’m glad I can give him a little pleasure in his life now.’

James nodded. ‘Yes, it certainly feels good to be able to help others.’

James was impressed by Frank Fry’s open manner and immaculate appearance. Wearing a neat navy suit with white
shirt and dark tie, his six-feet-one frame was topped by a thick head of grey-flecked brown hair, brushed back off his cheery face. He was of an age between Malcolm and himself, forty-five to fifty perhaps, but there was no awkwardness in the conversations they had. On the first night, Malcolm went to bed early, exhausted after driving to Carlisle and back, leaving the other two to get to know each other with no help from him.

A bottle of Glayva was produced and, during the next few hours, Frank confessed how hard a struggle it had been to raise a young boy by himself – especially after caring for his dying wife for several months. And James spoke about his first, and only loved, wife, his son and his daughter-in-law.

‘We’ve just come back from visiting Samara,’ he added and went over what Henry had told him about
his
son. Then he let slip what he and Malcolm were intending to do and Frank said that he would love to help.

‘An extra pair of feet should cut down the mileage,’ he grinned.

Thus it was that the three men set off the next morning to make enquiries in Castle Terrace, leaving the Rolls Royce and taking the bus to Princes Street. Frank could not get over his first sight of the castle, a back view, a great dark grey mass looming into the sky behind them as they knocked on doors. Only one side of the street was built on, which meant there were fewer places at which to ask.

The buildings were quite high with steps leading down from the pavement to the basements where the caretakers were domiciled. None of them had any luck as they made their way along and three hearts were sinking as they neared the end. It was James who struck it lucky, for which he was truly grateful. He had wanted to be able tell Henry, ‘I discovered the truth.’

Tina Robbie, as she turned out to be, née Paul, asked him what he wanted of her and he told her, not altogether truthfully, ‘Three of us are trying to learn something about places like The Sycamores, where you worked at one time.’

‘You’d best go and get the other two,’ she smiled, ‘and I’ll tell you whatever it is you want to know.’

In no time at all, she was handing round cups of tea and plates of home-made pancakes and gingerbread and nothing was mentioned until everything had been cleared away again. Then she looked at James, as the leader of the group. ‘Who told you where to find me?’

He could sense some reservation in her voice, which was not so surprising really. She had taken three strange men into her house and, having had time to think, she had probably guessed what they wanted to know – a secret she had kept for twenty-five years. A secret she was determined not to divulge, James thought, going by the set of her mouth. ‘We did not know exactly where you were,’ he said carefully, ‘but Mrs Allardyce …’

‘Rosie?’ She smiled a little.

‘She worked with you at The Sycamores, I believe?’

‘That’s right, but how did she know …?’

‘Apparently she was very friendly with one of the other nurses who kept in touch with her over the years.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember meeting Lizzie in Princes Street one day. I think I did tell her I was working here.’ The brightness left her face abruptly. ‘She must have mentioned it in a letter to Rosie but why do you need to speak to me when you’ve seen Rosie? She could’ve told you all about The Sycamores …’

James inhaled deeply. ‘If I tell you that I am a friend of Jerry Rae’s father, do you understand?’

Her eyes were guarded now. ‘I can’t tell you anything,’ she said, coldly.

‘I am sorry to hear that. Jerry’s parents have spent many long years wondering what had really happened – whether or not their son was a murderer …’

‘I can’t tell you anything,’ she persisted but her lips were quivering.

‘That is not true, my dear,’ James said softly. ‘You are the only one besides the Millers who does know – the sequence of events, the manner of the deaths and why the police were not informed.’

‘I can’t tell you anything,’ she repeated.

‘Do ten pounds ensure your silence for the rest of your life?’ James’s voice held a sarcastic sharpness.

Her face a deep crimson, Tina didn’t try to deny the bribe. ‘A promise is a promise and Mr Miller gave me more than ten pounds – much more.’

‘You claim to have been a friend to Jerry so do you not think that his parents deserve to know?’

She burst into tears at that. ‘I never thought they would hear about it. Nobody was supposed to say anything. Oh, God, I’m so sorry for his poor mother and father … and he had a sister.’

‘Yes, Samara. I am her father-in-law.’ The increased volume of her sobs let James know this had struck home to her even further.

‘You can make reparation now,’ he urged. ‘You can speak out without fear. What you tell us will only go to Jerry’s family.’

‘Take this,’ Malcolm said softly, offering her an air-force blue handkerchief. ‘Once you start speaking, you won’t feel so bad.’

She began hesitantly but gathered confidence as she told of her part in the drama. ‘And Mrs Miller allowed Jerry to see Anna for half an hour every day, to keep her away from Charles Moonie … though we didn’t know he’d already raped her – Charles, I mean.’

She told of the discovery of Anna’s pregnancy, of Jerry practically being forced into marrying her. ‘Mrs Miller and me could hardly believe Jerry had betrayed our trust and, as it turned out, he hadn’t touched her – but maybe you’d best understand something here. Charles and Anna were both residents – patients, you know – and they weren’t stable enough to face up to what had happened and what was actually happening.’

While Tina stopped to think what to say next, James and Malcolm exchanged an astonished glance. Neither had known that Anna was also a patient.

‘Charles was angry at Anna for marrying Jerry and maybe
he didn’t realise the baby was his but he suffocated wee William Henry in his crib and I think he meant to finish Anna off as well – but she managed to get away from him and ran.’

James nodded his head. ‘So it was Anna who struck Charles with a stone or something and rolled him into the burn? So how did she die? Did Jerry kill her?’

‘No, no, Mr Ferguson.’ Tina was more agitated than ever. ‘Charles’s death was an accident. He slipped in the mud and struck his head on a stone.’ Her hand jumped to her chest as if she were having difficulty in breathing.

‘Would you like me to fetch you a drink of water?’ Malcolm asked and was on his feet even before she nodded.

‘Should we leave her now and come back later?’ Frank whispered to James.

‘No, she still has not told us the most important thing. I need to know who was responsible for Anna’s death.’

After taking a few sips from the tumbler, Tina murmured, ‘I’m sorry but this is very difficult for me. I was very, very close to her, you see.’

James patted her back. ‘I understand that, my dear, and I truly regret having to bully you like this but you cannot just leave it there.’

‘I know and I’m doing my best to think … look, I’ll have to go back to when Jerry went home and found Anna missing. He didn’t realise the poor infant was dead and, when he came to tell the Millers about Anna, Dolly told me to go and sit with …’

She stopped again, swallowing her sorrow before whispering, ‘It was me that saw he wasn’t breathing and I went running to the big house and they had just brought Anna back. Then Dolly, or Raymond, made everybody leave and Anna was still screaming she didn’t want Jerry to touch her. She was out of her mind, of course, and I think she thought he was Charles wanting to kill her. Anyway, I was told to put her to bed in the spare room next to mine so I don’t know what the Millers and Jerry decided to do.’

James looked at Malcolm. ‘So Anna was left alone all night?’

‘No, no, I bade with her … just in case and it must have been one or two in the morning when I heard Raymond and Jerry going out and I knew they were going to look for Charles. It was maybe an hour and a half later when they carried him in for I heard what they said. When I asked Anna in the morning if it was her that hit him on the head and killed him, she swore to me she hadn’t seen him after she hid in the potting shed. I wished I hadn’t said anything, though, for she never opened her mouth after that.’

‘And what about Jerry?’

‘He went home – though I don’t suppose he had slept a wink – and Dolly Miller let him have the day off. I think it was the day after that – though my brain’s not so clear about this bit – I’d to do my morning round of my list of patients – seeing they were washed and dressed and that kind of thing – and that’s when Anna …’

Sure now that what was coming was the missing piece of evidence that only Tina herself and the Millers were party to, James held his breath, afraid that one wrong word could put an end to her story.

Her eyes were haunted – as if this last event was the most harrowing to recall – but then, with a tiny sigh, she said quietly, ‘That was when she had gone to Raymond’s bathroom and taken his cut-throat razor.’ The horrified gasps from her listeners seemed to give her a small modicum of satisfaction.

‘She slashed her wrists?’ James muttered.

‘No, she … cut her throat. There was blood everywhere.’

They sat as though frozen in a tableau until Malcolm, younger and more resilient than the others, got to his feet. ‘I think we deserve some tea.’

The three men learned the end of the story while the hot tea was revitalising them. Tina told them she had seen Jerry with a razor and thought he was about to end his life, too. She told them of the discussion that had taken place and how the decision was made not to tell the police. She told them how Raymond Miller had made up his mind that the only way to make sure that his employees would keep quiet would be to
give them money and how his decision had been followed by a short argument as to how much he should offer them. Finally, she told them that Jerry Rae had enlisted in the Gordon Highlanders just days later and left the district altogether.

After this, with her emotions at a low ebb, Tina said tearfully, ‘I often thought about him and wondered if he came through the war all right. I used to pray he would find another girl to love and have a few bairns and live happily ever after.’

Although quite aware that she would be upset, James felt it his duty to put her right on this. ‘He was killed in action, I’m afraid – about a year afterwards.’

‘Oh, my God! Poor, poor Jerry.’

She was dry-eyed now and they left after a few minutes. As Frank said, ‘She’s probably better to be on her own.’

They then made for Ardbirtle, Frank offering to stay in the car until they told the Rae family the truth.

But James was firm. ‘No, you were there at the denouement and you should be present at the actual finale.’

Nothing much was said on the journey north but all three minds were going over what they had learned. It was obvious that Tina had known nothing of the coffins that had been made or, perhaps, James thought, it hadn’t occurred to her to wonder how or where the bodies had been buried. Probably there was a small graveyard somewhere in the grounds, as there had been where Leo was buried, but that side of the events had not registered with her.

The nearer they came to Ardbirtle, the more apprehensive James became. How would the Raes be affected by the information they were about to hear? Instead of bringing happy answers to all their questions, as he had hoped to do, he would be reminding the inhabitants of Oak Cottage of the agonies they had gone through at the time of their son’s death. And they would learn of the tragedy that was Jerry’s marriage which, no doubt, would make then feel even worse.

Although he would be giving them proof of the boy’s innocence, he was not the bearer of good news.

James went in first, to explain why he had returned so soon, and saying that he had left Malcolm and his father in the car.

‘Bring them inside,’ Henry cried. ‘Goodness, you don’t need me to tell you any friends of yours are welcome here.’

Fay was outside before he had finished speaking and was assuring the other two men that they shouldn’t be shy about coming into the house.

After being introduced as Malcolm’s father, Frank took a back seat and James stopped Fay from putting on the kettle. ‘We have come directly from Edinburgh, where we talked to Tina, the nurse at The Sycamores while your …’

‘Tina!’ Fay exclaimed. ‘I remember Jerry speaking about her. She was very good to him, as I recall.’

‘Indeed she was – more than you could imagine. I have a long story to tell, a surprising story, and I think, Henry, that we will need something much stronger than tea.’

Glasses duly filled, Fay’s with lemonade, James told the tale as succinctly as he could, including as much as he could remember, and, if he missed out the slightest detail, Malcolm would put him right. The events were laid bare in such a way that Henry and Fay were left in no doubt as to what went on and, when the very last tragic incident was told, all five people were in tears.