Swallow Hall Murder Page 8

  Of all the things Edith might have expected to hear, that was the last.

  “They went to a Catholic convent secondary school. Not that they were Catholics, but the nuns gave a good education and believed in strict discipline.”

  “But, it didn’t work in the case of Muriel?”

  “It certainly did not, Edith dear. She wasn’t the only girl who misbehaved. They say these convent girls can be a bit wild. But Muriel pushed the boundaries further than most.”

  Edith frowned. Somehow she didn’t associate wild with the generations of girls that preceded her own. Weren’t they strictly brought up? Victorian, even?

  “It’s a big leap to go from being a wild girl to being this domineering matriarch she is today. I mean, I know it was a long, long time ago, but still. What else do you remember, Aunt Alicia?”

  “As you say, dear, it was a very long time ago. But don’t make the mistake that your generation invented rebelliousness. They didn’t. I only knew snatches of what went on.

  My older sister, your aunt Lily had an annoying way of putting me in my place if I ever showed much interest in what she and her friends were doing. But, my dear Edith, ways and means…ways and means. I became adept at sitting quiet as a mouse in the background while she and her friends gossiped.

  So I picked up snippets. Muriel was the model daughter at home, sly little thing, when you think about it. She also put on a ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ act in front of the nuns. But, then she got tangled up with the son of the caretaker in the school. I think she treated him badly, and he didn’t take it kindly. She had badly miscalculated. He attempted to drink some poison or something equally stupid and dangerous.”

  “Oh, good God.”

  Aunt Alicia shook her head, and Edith could see the tiny beads on the net she wore on her bun.

  “You should never underestimate the strength of a young person’s passion and despair when things go wrong. Something I tried to remember in my teaching career. You see they don’t have the life experience to know that hearts mend, usually. Anyway, thankfully the young lad recovered. I think he was found before too much damage was done. It may even have been his father, the caretaker, who found him.”

  “But, there was no hiding her sins, this time?”

  Again, Aunt Alicia shook her head.

  “No, the nuns found out some of the things Muriel had been up to and called her parents. The upshot was that she was removed from the school and sent away. Where to, I don’t know. Probably a boarding school. She eventually came back and married George Turner. To the immense relief of all, particularly her parents, I should think.”

  “Strange that after such a badly behaved youth, then she turns around and becomes the epitome of repression and respectability.”

  Aunt Alicia laughed. Both her speaking voice and her laugh were a pleasure to hear. Not only that, but when younger, she’d had a sweet singing voice. Lucky children to have been taught by her.

  “When you’ve lived as long as I have, dear, you’ll realise that it isn’t that uncommon. Hypocritical, but not unusual. It’s a variation on poacher turned gamekeeper.”

  Chapter Eleven

  They were back at Swallow Hall. Not only that, but there was to be no imminent trip to Ireland. Instead, a Garda Siochana inspector was going to liaise with them. Today, the Garda inspector would go out to the village where members of Sean’s family lived, and get back to them.

  There had been a shift in Inspector Greene’s view. “It’s too remote after all this time; the Irish connection. If there was a political motive, or some family falling out, this would have happened years ago. I can’t really imagine members of the Republican movement or disgruntled members of his own family travelling into the wilds of Yorkshire. He was killed on the grounds of Swallow Hall, and that’s where we’ll find the reason and probably the person who did it.”

  There were a decisiveness and impatience about him, this morning. He looked dreadful. He had the sort of very masculine craggy features that could look, well, if not attractive, sort of handsome. Brown smiled to himself—a small smile that wouldn’t be noticed. But, it was true. He had a feeling that maybe Inspector Greene could be attractive to women. Thank God the ability to read minds hadn’t been invented yet. Greene’s looks were also the sort that really showed fatigue, sagging and sallow. He hadn’t shaved perfectly either.

  “We’ll start in the kitchen at Swallow Hall. I hear on the grapevine that Miss Ivy Moss is going for an interview at the big house—at the Arbuthnot’s. Goodness knows how they’re going to replace her. I can’t imagine young girls queuing to work there amongst that lot, even without being frightened for their lives. Anyway, lad, you’re good with these servant girls and the older ones too. Must want to mother you, or summat.”

  He was in a strange mood, that air of distraction again. It might not have been obvious to anyone else, but Brown knew the man now.

  * * *

  “I hear you’re looking for another job, Miss Moss?”

  The two of them had sturdy kitchen cups and saucers in front of them, and Mrs. Casey was cutting a treacle-brown fruit cake. The rich smell of it just teasing Brown’s taste buds.

  “News travels fast, Inspector—really fast. I’ve only just heard about the job myself and only decided a couple of days ago to try for it.”

  “Well, it didn’t come from me, Ivy. I wouldn’t dream of saying anything,” Sylvia Casey sounded put out. She probably hated the thought of her friend leaving, and it was hard to blame her.

  “Tell me why you have decided to leave your post here, Miss Moss?”

  “Look, call me Ivy. You make me sound like a school mistress or summat. It isn’t easy working here, and the only thing that’s held me back before it that I didn’t want to leave Sylvia on her own.”

  “You mustn’t let that change anything, Ivy. I’ve told you. You must put in for it.” The cook sounded agitated. She put a couple of plates in front of the policemen each with a slice of fruit cake.

  “You’re both well-placed to hear of any strange goings on in the house…I mean…” Brown began. He’d felt that pressure to speak, the inspector sitting back and glancing in his direction as he picked up the piece of cake.

  Sylvia laughed. but the sort of laugh that made you look at her, not a proper laugh.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, Sergeant, that’s a daft question. Everything about the house here is strange. It’s strange that a bunch of grown women live here, and the mother has the ultimate say in what they all do. Then, to cap it all, you have members of the next generation also fetching up here. A part of me feels sorry for them, and another part of me thinks that if they weren’t so feather-bedded here, they’d have to go out and make their own way and stay out in the world. And, you know, meeting men…that might not have been a bad thing, for Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth, I mean. Of course, Kate got married.”

  Yes, Kate. There was something there that Brown couldn’t put his finger on. There was a short silence.

  “My goodness, Sylvia, what’s got into you?” Ivy’s eyes were wide open and her expression shocked.

  “I know. I’m sorry…I don’t normally speak out of turn like this…and to policemen too…oh, dear me.”

  The cook pulled the kitchen chair away from the stove and sat down heavily. A few strands of greying sandy hair had come away from the pins, and she moved her hands agitatedly before straightening the hair. Brown’s heart went out her, at that gesture.

  “It’s with Ivy leaving. I’m all at sixes and sevens.”

  “To get back to the family, and in particular to any unusual comings and goings.”

  The inspector’s voice was a bit like an automaton, and Brown risked a glance at him. Whatever he was feeling wasn’t showing on his face.

  “I’m trying to think. If you want to know about the family…when I came to work here, twenty years ago almost now, there was old Mr. Turner, he was a gentleman. Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth, too, and their mothe
r were all here, of course. It was all a lot more normal then. I suppose with them being younger it were… I don’t know…less unusual, I suppose, for them to be at home, and there was a lot more normal things altogether. More mixing with the village; a bit of entertaining, even though Mrs. Turner was never much for that. Then the war came and everything changed. At the start of the war, there was talk of the house being used as a hospital. Mr. Turner was in favour, but she wasn’t. The thing petered out when Craig House was used instead. The biggest change here, was just after the war, just at the very end when the old master died and then Miss Serena came back to live with her grandmother.”

  “And there was no question of either of them marrying? Either of the sisters, I mean?” Brown had felt the need to move things on a bit.

  Sylvia shook her head. The talk of the family had restored her—taken her mind away from her friend leaving.

  “Not so much in my time here, but I believe there were tennis parties, and some such when the family was young. From what I’ve been told there was never much danger of Miss Mary leaving; far too much under her mother’s thumb and too nervous. Well, you will have seen that for yourselves.”

  “Do you mind if I leave you all to it for a while, and go upstairs; I’m ever so behind with the day’s work?”

  Ivy looked distracted. She might be planning to leave, but either fear or a good work ethic meant that there was to be no slacking in the meantime.

  “I understand that you want to get on with your work, Ivy. But, is there a time when you’ll be able to talk to us?” Inspector Greene’s tone was firm.

  “About three o’clock is the time me and Sylvia sit down—the morning’s work is done and luncheon out of the way, and we have a bit of a breather before they wants their tea, and I go for a walk too.”

  Greene nodded and turned back to Sylvia, “A different story with Miss Elizabeth, I think.”

  “Yes, she had plenty of admirers, but no-one who stuck. Maybe the old lady positively forbade it, or the thought of having her for a mother-in-law was enough to turn most young men away.”

  Brown nodded involuntarily; that would be understandable. Most blokes would run a mile from the set-up here.

  “Tell me about Hubert and Serena,” Inspector Greene asked at the same time nodding as Sylvia gestured at the tea-pot.

  The inspector would would need the lavatory if he kept up this rate of tea drinking—especially at his sort of age. Brown couldn’t imagine being middle-aged, himself.

  “No, thanks,” he said. Too much tea made him queasy.

  “What do you mean Miss Serena and Hubert, Inspector?”

  There was a definite change in Sylvia, a tiny withdrawal, caution in the voice. Even the most straightforward and nicest of people held back on you sometimes. It was human nature, and they probably didn’t even realise they were doing it.

  “Nothing at all, Mrs. Casey. I was just asking about each of them—the younger ones in the house, I mean.”

  “I see. Hubert is a cousin, and I think old Mrs. Turner took a liking to him. He’s very useful, Inspector. There’s a houseful of women here and I daresay they would have needed to employ someone anyway to do the outside work, maintain the grounds. He does a huge amount of work when I come to think about it. He’ll take on a young lad from time to time to help him with the garden, but he is the one responsible for it all.”

  “Does he live in the house?”

  Sylvia glanced away just a fleeting movement of the eyes.

  “No. He used to live here, but then he got lodgings in the village.”

  “Bit odd, that, surely? When did he move out?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe five…six years ago. As for the reason, I don’t know. Inspector, you might think I know everything that goes on in this family, but that is far from the case. I don’t walk around with my eyes shut. But, all the same, I’m not privy to what goes on between them upstairs.”

  Brown’s eyes were fixed on the woman’s face, and he saw the smallest of flickers. There was the faintest cooling in the atmosphere and who could blame the woman. Very few people enjoyed being pumped for information, and all too often as a policeman that’s what it came down to.

  * * *

  “Waste of time talking to Mrs. Turner again. I’m tired of being treated like the dirt beneath her feet, and the same applies to Elizabeth. The person I want to talk to is Serena Grant. Despite the faints or the vapours, or whatever it is she was having, that woman was trying to shift my attention away from her—away from her and Sean Bracken. I want to know why.”

  They were back in Ellbeck having a sandwich and a drink—a half in the Dalesman. But, Greene was on fire, now, it seemed. They were going back again to see Serena when she’d returned from work, at six o’clock. Brown didn’t mention anything about his shift ending, having the feeling that it wouldn’t get much of a reception. As for the inspector, it was clear he was in no hurry to get home. In fact, it could even be that he was looking for a reason to delay it. He was speaking to the Irish sergeant and Sean Bracken’s brother Eamon was coming over on tonight’s ferry from Dun Laoghaire. They were no nearer an explanation for why Bracken was on the grounds or why he was killed. Like a fly buzzing in his ear, though, Brown felt as though they were hovering on the edge of something as if it was there just on the periphery of his vision.

  “We need to identify that woman who was with him at the Drover’s Arms. I’ve been asking around. Whatever he did for female company, he did it discreetly. That was noticeable because it was the only time any of his neighbours or any of the locals in the pub ever saw him with a woman.”

  “Maybe that’s why they were giving him a bit of a ragging about it, or so the landlord said.”

  The inspector stiffened, and he shifted his gaze towards the door.

  Brown turned just in time to see Hubert Billings come into the pub, see them and turn on his heels, grunting something indecipherable.

  “What the dickens…?”

  The inspector was on his feet—very quickly for a big man and almost before Brown had a chance to gather his wits, he was heading to the door.

  Hubert was walking quickly to the Austin Seven, which was badly parked on the opposite verge. It must be the Turner family car, doubtful Hubert would be able to afford it on his wages as a gardener, handyman or whatever he reckoned to call himself.

  “A word, Mr. Billings?”

  Hubert reeled around temper oozing from every pore. He couldn’t in all fairness claim to be in a hurry, or busy, as they had just seen him go into the pub, albeit never actually reaching the bar. “What is it now?”

  “Not in the street, Mr. Billings. We wanted a word, that’s all. Saves us trying to track you down at Swallow Hall or your home.”

  He walked towards them and towards the heavy door of the Dalesman. He named his drink as a pint of Theakston’s and perched on the edge of his chair. Tension was visible in the clenching of his jaw and his stare.

  Brown said nothing until the inspector returned with the drinks. This man intimidated him.

  “Tell us again about your role at Swallow Hall, particularly any dealings you had with the deceased.”

  The beer and cigarette smell hung in the air. Depressing. How could it be that a place that offered comfort and company at night could sink your spirits like a shot of poison, in the cold light of day? Brown brought his attention back to the table. Its copper top needed wiping, and at any minute he expected the landlord to start making his presence felt. Any excuse to pick up a bit of gossip. It would be a little silver-wrapped present for Ted or his wife on a miserable day.

  “I told you, Inspector. I have more than enough to do in a place that size, enough work for three men really. It might have been a temporary arrangement when I first fetched up here…all of…it must be fifteen, more years ago. Turned out, it suited Mrs. Turner, and it suits me. For all they say about the Turners, they’ve been good to me.”

  He looked from one to the other of them with clea
r light brown eyes, “The truth of it is that they don’t interfere with my work, and I don’t interfere with them.”

  There was something in the directness of the look, and the glibness of the statement Brown didn’t like. It was too pat, and anyway, life wasn’t like that. He was both a relative and had been round far too long for that statement to be completely true.

  “Sean Bracken? How well did you know him?”

  “I didn’t. I told you. It’s a small place, more’s the pity, so I knew him by sight. That’s all.”

  Inspector Greene put the pint pot down on the table and sighed.

  “I have information to the contrary, though. You knew him quite a bit better than that.”

  Brown concentrated on hiding his surprise and his irritation. He hated it when the inspector did this—keeping him in the dark, making him look stupid.

  Hubert’s face suffused; a second’s wretchedness giving him away. He struggled for words and the fleeting glimmer of satisfaction in the inspector’s face told Brown all he needed to know. The old man bluffs, and yet again pulls it off.

  “I don’t know what it is you heard.”

  Greene shrugged and took a sup from his pint pot as if he had all the time in the world. Watch and learn, was in the glance he gave Brown.

  “I don’t want any dealings with the law. I’ve had bad experiences with the police. But, then you probably know that already as you seem to know everything else about me. A burnt man stays away from hot fire. That’s all. I go in the Drover’s Arms occasionally, and of course, I recognised Bracken as the bloke who sometimes came to the house and visited Serena. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t have a lot to do with him. We had differing views, that’s all. He was one of the smart arses who tries to make the rest of us—those who didn’t have a good war, in particular, feel that we were fools, duped, cannon fodder or in my case, I suppose some sort of drain rat to be flushed out.”