A Medal For Murder (21 page)

‘Do you want me to take you home? I can fetch a taxi cab.’

‘No! Please don’t. Mother mustn’t see me like this. I’ll stay here a little longer. Mother thinks I’m with Lucy.’

‘Does Lucy know why you are here?’

Alison shook her head. ‘Not properly. She thinks I’m just late. First she said I missed my bleeding time because I was nervous about the play. We usually have the curse at the same time. That’s how I know I’ve missed two.’

‘But she’s your friend. Couldn’t you confide?’

‘She said I could not be pregnant. It was just once, you see. And she felt guilty because she had left the two of us alone. And when we told Olivia, Madam Geerts, she knew what to do to bring me on. We thought it was just some blockage sort of thing,’ Alison said miserably. Her hands went to her belly.

I resisted the urge to reach out and touch Alison’s hand.

Her eyes met mine. ‘You haven’t to say, not to anyone. Swear you won’t.’

‘I won’t say anything.’

‘Thank you.’ She blew her nose. ‘Madam Geerts wanted to help. She explained that I could be pregnant, and that with me in this condition, Rodney could not have married me because of the disgrace.’

‘Did Rodney say that?’

‘No. He doesn’t know. But it is true. His father . . . you see . . . they have a position to keep up, Madam
Geerts explained that. Well, so do I have a position to keep up, and my mother.’

‘Some things are more important than appearances. Don’t give up hope. If Rodney loves you, you will marry, and sooner than you think. Trust me.’ Even to myself I sounded a little like a gypsy whose palm has been crossed with a silver threepenny bit.

She looked at me, puzzled. ‘Did I say Rodney’s name? I didn’t mean to.’

‘Babies can be premature. People might talk, but they would soon forget.’

Her eyes lit with hope. It would be better not to mention that people certainly would talk if Rodney Milner married five minutes after his father had been murdered. ‘Don’t let Olivia Geerts give you anything else.’ I reached for the witch hazel from the dresser, along with some cotton wool. ‘Dab at your bruises, wherever they’re coming up. And if you throw yourself down those stairs once more, I shall personally put an announcement in the
Harrogate Advertiser
about it.’

‘But . . .’ Her fingers played an agitated tune on the counterpane.

‘No buts. Start dabbing. And talk to me about Lucy.’

‘Why?’ She looked genuinely surprised to be asked.

‘I just thought she’d stayed here with you last night. Where is she?’

‘She walked here with us, stayed a few minutes, and then went home.’ Her eyes widened with alarm. ‘Has something happened to her?’

‘No, I’m sure not. It’s me getting the wrong idea.’

So Dylan knew nothing, Monsieur Geerts knew nothing, and now Alison knew nothing. My confidence
in my ability to uncover any information slipped to the soles of my feet. What did I know? I had taken Alison’s photograph, watched her act the part of Beatrice Sutton, never guessing that her chubbiness may not have been entirely due to a passion for chocolates. I had to get out of here before I started lecturing, losing my temper with the poor girl, telling her someone would have adopted her baby even if that swine – not that one should speak ill of the dead – did want to prevent his spineless offspring from marrying the woman he loved. I found it hard to believe that Rodney did not know about Alison’s condition. But now wasn’t the time. And it was not my business.

You are not here to pity, or to judge, I told myself. Think of why you are here, Kate Shackleton.

‘Did you and Lucy and Madam Geerts walk here alone last night, Alison?’

‘Rodney and his friend George walked us to the door. Lucy only came to keep me company. She said she would run and catch up with the boys.’

‘Don’t be alarmed, Alison, but Lucy didn’t go home last night. Do you have any idea who else she may have stayed with?’

Alison shook her head. ‘I can’t think who, not old school friends, because then it would have come out that I’m not with her.’

‘I’d better go. Just stay calm. Be well. And don’t worry about Lucy.’ There is no greater way of helping someone to worry than telling them not to. So I lied. ‘I’ll track her down soon enough. She’s probably just being mysterious.’

Madam Geerts sat at the kitchen table. A large ashtray
held dozens of pearl beads. She was rethreading a necklace. In a flat voice, she said, ‘I wish I ’ad nothing to do with it.’

‘Then why did you?’

‘It was for the best.’

‘Rodney Milner should not get away with it. She’s a respectable girl. It would be a reasonable match.’

A pearl rolled onto the floor. She dived down and scrambled about, looking for the lost bead. I waited. She came up for air and set the bead with the others in the ashtray.

‘Lawrence thinks . . .’ Madam Geerts stopped.

‘What does Mr Milner think?’ I asked.

‘A lovely man, quiet, gentle, a widower you know. ’e says Rodney is not the father. Alison is trying to make a good catch.’

‘I find that hard to believe when she has not even told Rodney that she is pregnant.’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps I listened too much to Mr Milner.’

She most certainly had listened to him too much. ‘
He
asked you to do this?’

‘It was for the best, I thought. Now I change my mind. I believe Alison. Mr Milner, perhaps ’e is mistaken.’

Mr Milner, he is dead, but it is not up to me to tell you.

‘Madam Geerts, do you have any idea where Lucy may have gone?’

She pursed her lips. ‘If I know I tell you. I know nothing. Lucy is good at secrets.’

‘So am I, and so are you. We have a secret that could find you disgraced, on trial, your dancing school finished.’

She picked up a handful of beads, and then slowly let them trickle through her fingers back into the dish. ‘I think Lucy ’as been offered a place at a drama school.’

‘Really? Where?’

Madam Geerts shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. I ’eard ’er and Meriel, they talk in a corner. I add two and two. If she run away, I am glad for ’er.’

I bet you are, I thought, and glad for yourself, too. Particularly since Mr Milner couldn’t keep his eyes or his hands off Lucy.

The four young people in the play, Alison, Dylan, Lucy and Rodney, had formed a tight little band at last night’s party. Perhaps Lucy did catch up with Rodney and his friend, and they would know where I could find her. A chilling thought struck me. Lucy had shown such disgust at being pestered by Milner, perhaps she had been the one to stab him through the heart. Or it could be Rodney, if he had worked out that his father had come between him and Alison. It was time for me to speak to Rodney.

It would be distasteful to question a young man who had just lost his father. On the other hand, offering condolences would be entirely acceptable.

‘Where would I find Rodney Milner, Madam Geerts? Perhaps he’ll be able to help me find Lucy.’

Madam Geerts hesitated.

I prompted. ‘If Lucy has decided to leave home, then that is up to her, but at least her grandfather should know. Or would you prefer that the police search for her?’

‘The Milners live on Cow Gate Road,’ Madam Geerts said. ‘Number 12. But if you seek Rodney, go to the motor
car showroom. On Saturdays ’e is always there. Lawrence, Mr Milner, ’e takes Saturday off, to play golf.’

‘Thank you.’ Soon Olivia Geerts would learn Lawrence Milner’s golf club swinging days were over. He would be taking Saturdays off, and every other day, into eternity.

 
 

I left Madam Geerts’s house with the speed that anger gives. My old-lady shoes pounded the pavement as I almost broke into a run, needing to get away.

And then it hit me. I realised where the anger, the throbbing in my heart, had come from. My head had not worked out what was going on when I kicked into the steaming tin bath in the Geerts’s kitchen, and heard Alison’s cry. My body told me. I was back to that fateful day when Gerald had his army letter, telling him where to report. Should I break the news that I am expecting a child, I had asked myself? He went to work. By the time he came home, the question did not arise. I never spoke about my miscarriage. ‘What’s the matter?’ he had asked. ‘Oh it’s nothing, just not so very well today.’ ‘You’re upset because I’m going,’ he had said. ‘Everything will be all right.’

That was the nearest I came to bearing a child, something that I put behind me, like a bad dream. Even as I thought of it, a pain splashed somewhere deep inside me, breaking in angry waves like the rush of a stormy tide.

Everything will be all right. The words I had used to Alison. Gerald’s words.

No, Gerald. Everything was not all right.

Before reaching the Milner house, I had to sit on a wall and take deep breaths to steady my nerves. That was then. This was now. No longer a young bride, I was a widow, to all intents and purposes – with a job to do.

The houses were set back from the road, with long gardens that would give the postman something of a trek.

Meriel had said that half the young women in the theatre audience fell for Rodney Milner. He was handsome in the style of a leading young man in a drawing-room comedy, with a strong jaw, thick reddish-blond hair and steady grey eyes. Though a little stilted, his manner on stage suited the character he played: Henry Mynors, self-made businessman. Only occasionally was his ease of manner ruffled. That was when Mr Milner, sitting on the front row, eating humbugs, smoking, made facetious comments at his son’s expense.

With some trepidation, I lifted the knocker, a leering gargoyle with the weight and thud of a blacksmith’s hammer. Moments later, a matronly woman wearing a large pinafore opened the door. Her mouth was set in a grim line. She blinked red-rimmed eyes. That someone might be crying because of Lawrence Milner’s death astonished me into silence. She spoke impatiently.

‘Yes?’

‘I’m Mrs Shackleton. Is Mr Rodney Milner at home?’ I did not want her to think I had come looking for a dead man.

‘He’s at the showroom.’

‘Really?’ The surprise must have shown.

‘You’ve heard?’ she said. ‘About the master.’

In a suitably sombre voice, I said, ‘I was the one who found Mr Milner and called the police.’

Her manner changed. ‘You knew him then?’

‘Only recently, through the play. But because of the circumstances I thought I would call and see Rodney, and offer my condolences.’

‘As I say, he’s at the showroom. It’s closed up for the day of course but the police wanted to look around there, and Master Rodney has the key. He felt he should be there.’

‘Will he mind if I call, do you think?’

A tear squeezed from the corner of her eye. She dabbed her apron at it. ‘The poor lad’s not in any fit way to mind or not mind.’

So the tears were not for Lawrence, but for Rodney.

‘You must be getting tired of answering the door this morning.’

She sighed. ‘You expect it. Chap from the Chamber of Commerce was here first thing. Don’t know how he knew. Miss Jamieson, the theatrical lady, she called, and Captain Wolfendale.’

That was kind of Meriel, I thought. Good for her. She had a heart after all.

‘Wait a minute!’ The housekeeper narrowed her eyes warily. I might be spinning her a yarn. ‘Miss Jamieson said
she
found Mr Milner.’

‘We were together,’ I said. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll go to the showroom.’

As I walked back to the Milners’ gate, I wondered was the captain really and truly there to pay condolences, or did he believe that Rodney might lead him to
Lucy? If Wolfendale was so close to Rodney as to come round straight away, it puzzled me that he had been reticent about admitting that Lawrence Milner was his friend. Perhaps some snobbery was involved. After all, a captain does not usually become great friends with a corporal. There was some connection between them. Milner had said that an “old comrade” had helped him when he was down on his luck, and that then he had come to Harrogate and started his business. Curiouser and curiouser. If Wolfendale had stumped up some money, it was odd that he should be penniless when Milner prospered. All in all, I was beginning to wish I had not agreed to help the captain. After all, if he were fit and well enough to come trotting round to see Rodney, he could have searched for Lucy himself. I had only agreed because the old man had looked on the point of collapse.