The Strange Fate of Kitty Easton (34 page)

‘You must have known Mr Julian’s mother well?’

Petch’s face lightened further.

‘You liked her?’ Laurence said.

‘She was a fine lady. When my wife died having our Joe, she was kind.’

‘All the building back then must have kept you busy?’

‘Easton men did it all.’

‘You must have helped with the electric plant?’

‘That’s right.’ Petch had picked up a clay pipe. ‘Big job. Cutting through from the river. Mrs Easton—old Mrs Easton—had an engineer man down from Scotland who liked giving orders.’ He suddenly looked unnaturally cheerful. ‘I heard as he electrified himself back north.’

‘When you were building the shed for the cistern and the generator, did you come across anything unusual?

‘You’ll be meaning the cave?’ Petch said, matter-of-factly. ‘As you and Mr Patrick got stuck in, I expects.’

Now Laurence found he too wanted to smile. So much for secrets.

‘Well, yes.’

‘You should’ve seen the Scotsman when we found it—he were jumping about shouting. Livid, he was. Carrying on like it’s our fault because we live there and should’ve known. Because the water might break through, he says we’ll have to reinforce the whole wall.’

‘Did Mrs Easton see the cave?’

‘That were funny,’ the old man said. ‘Mrs Easton, well, between you and me, she was a bit of a left footer. Couldn’t help it—she were brought up to it. Colonel Easton wasn’t having any of it but a fox is a fox even in britches. And the Scotsman was one of them killjoy types whose God’s against everything. If Mrs Easton wasn’t paying his bill, he’d have had her burned, I don’t wonder, back in his Scotland. But the cave ... well, they both agreed on that. It was full of them pagan drawings. Least, she says it’s pagans and he says it’s witchcraft. They blocks it up and tells us men never to tell a soul.’

‘But you left a way through?’

Petch frowned and appeared to be thinking, biting on the stem of his pipe. After a while he said, ‘I reckon we did. The Scotsman. To allow water to run off if the sluices failed. For floods. I shouldn’t think he told Mrs E.’

‘Did you tell anybody about the hatch?’

Petch shook his head. ‘She was a good lady. If she wanted her secrets, that was all right by me.’

While Petch was talking, it had slowly dawned on Laurence that there was one other matter he might be able to help with.

‘In the church, did she ask you to cover the floor in front of the altar with the bitumen?’

Petch seemed to be thinking again but Laurence could tell he knew what he was being asked and was simply deciding whether or not to lie.

‘Right. She did. Mighty quick.’

‘Why? Did she say?’

‘There was patterns under there. Roman patterns, like she’d seen with the colonel in some big church on their honeymoon in France. He was for digging it up. She asked me to cover it. We was going to put boards on top, ordinary like, but she got ill with her next babby. Poor lady.’

Then he came close to laughing.

‘I put it all on and now I been taking it all off. If I live long enough, perhaps them Eastons will want it all put down again.’

‘You walled up the vault under the church, too, didn’t you? For Mrs Easton? Back when they were restoring it? To make a private chapel for her?’

Petch obviously hadn’t expected this and looked even more uneasy. Eventually the man grunted.

‘I didn’t see what harm it would do. She believed what she believed. Colonel Easton wasn’t an easy man. She found this little place she said had been holy but she didn’t like the tunnel.’

This time he did laugh but his face was transformed by gentleness.

‘Thought them pagans might find a way through from down the hill. Me, I thought it was more like dead people’d been put down there.’

It occurred to Laurence that Walter Petch had been closer than he knew.

‘When I thought it was Maggie they’d found ... I were glad if it had to be that she’d been left in that place. Mrs Easton had me put up a wall—mind, it wasn’t much. One good push and it would have gone through, but although the colonel was in London at the time, she didn’t want tittle-tattle on the estate. I didn’t have much stone either. Put distemper on the walls to brighten the place up for her.’

‘But how did she get in and out?’

‘I fixed her a pulley system. Like we had at Salisbury for lifting stone up the cathedral. Didn’t look like much. I put it near the bell rope so it looked like part of that. They only had a little table then and the carpet was laid over the door—surprising they’d forgotten it was there. She just had to thread a cord through it and pull it up. She could shut it behind her and thread the cord through to make it lift from inside.’

Laurence thought nothing would induce him to go down and shut himself in a vault under any church.

‘Mind, she mostly went when the colonel was away and then she’d just lock the church door and leave the hatch open. Told me never to say to a soul but anyway the colonel caught her in the end. Broke it all up in a fury. Tore down the pulley. Put that great table on top. He must’ve wondered how she done the pulley but she never said. And I never told. All them years. Not even Joe.’

‘Not even the police?’

‘Didn’t figure I should. It was a long ways back and I’d never told, so no one else knew. And they found it now anyway.’

The logic, although impeccable, was flawed by the fact that the unidentified woman had also been found down there.

‘Not even Mr Julian or Mr Patrick?’

‘What’re you suggesting?’ Petch gave him a sharp look. ‘But no, I don’t reckon they ever went down there. And it would have to have been both of them. They’d never get in there alone without the pulley.’

Laurence remembered the struggle he and David had had with the massive oak table and the weight of the door.

‘Are you going to tell them, then? The police?’ Petch said.

Laurence shook his head, feeling he had stayed long enough. More bits of the puzzle that was Easton Hall were falling into place. But, as with a jigsaw without a guide image, it was impossible to know how big the whole picture might be.

‘You didn’t tell your son?’ he persisted.

‘I didn’t tell no one.’ Then after a pause Petch said, less irritably, ‘Why would I?’

Laurence let a silence fall while he decided whether his questions might have left the old man less amenable to the request that had brought him here in the first place.

‘I was wondering if I could look at a postcard in Maggie’s room?’

He waited for a refusal, but instead Walter Petch looked hopeful. Laurence hated himself for raising any expectations that he could find his granddaughter, while at the same time hoping Petch wouldn’t either offer to fetch it himself or ask him specifically what he was looking for. But the old man seemed resigned to strangers picking their way through his life.

‘You know where it is,’ he said, turning his face slightly towards the stairs. ‘But she likes it left nice.’

Once in Maggie’s room, Laurence went straight to the drawers and pulled out the one he wanted, trying to ease it gently so that it didn’t creak. He lifted out the tin and took the letters from underneath the keepsakes. As he had thought, apart from the Valentine card there were three. Two were in identical handwriting, but the third was quite different. He flicked to the signature to confirm the first letter was indeed from the dead Joe Petch. The first time he’d seen it, he had recognised it, by the size of the paper and the deletions by the censor, as having been sent from a military unit. As a junior officer he had gone through innumerable soldiers’ letters, performing the task: removing details that might identify where they were serving or battalion strength or any operational details. Some officers deleted critical comments about senior NCOs and officers, but he had always felt the men were entitled to gripe, given the conditions they tolerated.

Of the two, one was long for such a letter and he was not surprised that it appeared to date from a period before Joe Petch had seen action in France. He read it quickly and had an immediate sense of the man who had written it.

Dear Father,

I hope this is finding you well. We are well. I wish I had my mouth organ and my thicker socks. It is warm but my boots rub something awful. We have not seen any Jerries yet face to face only to lob artillery at and have them lobbed back. None has landed on me yet youll be pleased to hear. Mr Easton who I forgot to call Captain yesterday says we shall be in there and do our business and out again and home before spring.

This is not a bad place. We walked as far as it would be to go to Marlborough and blimey I hardly dared take my boots off for fear Id never get them on again. Tomorrow we go up the line but this is allright. The officers are in a chatau, which is not so much a castle as a grand house. It is not much bigger than the Hall not that we poor sods are let in. It is a shame for the gardens are mostly ******** ’scuse my French. Ha ha. My joke. There are French camped at one end of the park and have made a right mess of it. They eat horses Captain E says. Though he is always teasing and their horses are scraggy beasts better for carrying kit than for chopping into stew. Theres lime trees in straight lines buzzing with bees and hives that are ruined and the grass near the house is very long. But the kitchen garden has all kind of queer things growing as well as weeds like you cant imagine though carrots too which the Frenchies eat raw but we cooked up for dinner. The roses and carnations are a sight and they have these little hedges which dont do anything much along the gravel paths except the men dont want to take the longer way round so they blunder about breaking up everything. There are snapdragons gone wild. I dont know who was gardeners here before we come but when weve done they arent going to be too pleased.

Our officers are more decent than the others. One sapper captain keeps coming over and borowing us he says for this and that. Digging latrines. We wasnt too keen until some old lag from the Bedfords said filling them in was a whole lot worse. This officer hes all complaints, we dont salute quick enough, and or hes going to have us on charge if we dont fall in. Captain E has at him for sticking his nose in. Says we Easton men got our own ways and fightings our business not digging pits unless he says so. Then he says that officers a schoolteacher and is doing his officering out of a book. The sapper heard because his ears went pink.

The Bedfords are coming with us when we go forward. They seem like decent boys. Them thats been there say the Jerries send over whole foundries of iron not just shells. One platoon their officer got blown to bits and all they found was his lip with his tache on. They put it in a matchbox.

Captain Easton is a card. We had a sing song on Wenesday and he did a turn. Then we made poor Peter sing and all he knew was hymns. The lad hes been right homseick. First week the older lads thought hed been crying not that I saw it and were taking the rip but Mr Julian told them to leave off. It was mostly Harper and you know what hes like. Captain Easton had found a ladies scarf and with that covering his hair and a flower from the garden behind his ear and some French drink in him Peter looked like a girl and it quite made us laugh. Even Ivor cheered up. Mr Julian wouldnt take a turn said he was too busy.

He doesnt like the plan of attack I think and he worries about stores though he is not the QM. He always wants us to march further so that we get to where were headed which I cant tell you on account its secret. Captain E says it will be hard enough and no point us being used up before we get anywhere near the real fighting.

Bert takes himself very seriously now hes got his stripes. Drills and orders and exercises when theres no sign of fighting. Bert must be loving this war and being able to order us about. Bit of a change from back at Easton where he has to ask us nicely and Mrs K has at him for lighting his pipe indoors. He and Mr Julian are like two old aunts fussing and making rules. But its all for the best and the boys are all good lads. Its like weve got Easton right with us.

Anyway on account of Bert and Mr Julian being so keen we got to go and do drill. I hope all is well with you and at Easton and little Maggie isnt giving you any trouble. You tell her her Pa’ll soon be home and I might bring her a bit of French cheese if shes
not
a good little girl. The stink of it you wouldnt credit.

Your loving son

Joe

Laurence’s first thought was how innocent and cheerful the letter was. Only weeks had passed since the Easton men had joined up, although they’d been through training and had already joined their regiment. Perhaps it was the wisdom of retrospection or his own war-weary cynicism, but he could read the seeds of disaster in Joe Petch’s excited account. This was the gardener at war, not a soldier. And Digby Easton a landowner courting popularity, not a professional officer. Not even that for long. Within the year they were all dead.

The second letter might have been written by a different man. By that date, they were within two days of their end. The censor had let the letter go through and he wondered whether it had simply been among Joe Petch’s effects when they were parcelled up to be sent home. It might never have been read at all.

Dear Old Dad,

What a day weve had. Youll hear soon enough that we lost Bert and Peter. Theres hard feelings about it. Were only about—from Jerry trenches. We came forward Thursday and yesterday Cpt E wants Peter to do a recce. It was bad weather but too light and Mr Julian said we shouldve gone out before dawn only the captain was late waking and Bert wades in and thinks its too dangerous and slow going in the mud and even if the Jerries cant see us we cant see if were about to walk into them. Captain E laughs at him and says the whole wars b****** dangerous and its not just mending pigsties these days. He said if Bert had got the wind up hed see to it someone else got his stripes. Bert goes white but not because hes a coward but because he hates Cpt E now and his fists were clenching.