The Shade of Hettie Daynes (17 page)

‘I understand, believe me.’ Fox drank some coffee, returned his cup to its saucer. ‘The thing is, Ms Midgley, Steve Wood and I have reason to believe the bones uncovered at Wilton Water may well be those of your ancestor, and that something dreadful might have happened to her.’

Christa looked at him. ‘You also believe my daughter took a snapshot of a ghost, so you’ll forgive me if I’m not that impressed by what you
believe
, Mr Fox.’

The reporter nodded. ‘Spirit photos were always a grey area, Ms Midgley,’ he conceded, ‘but please hear me out.’ He finished his coffee, set cup and saucer on the table she’d placed between them. ‘Your great, great aunt disappeared in 1885 after behaving strangely for a time, is that right?’

Christa nodded. ‘Something like that. I’m not sure of the year.’

‘It was 1885 – the year the reservoir filled up and Hopwood Mill disappeared.’

Christa met his gaze. ‘And the bones were found in what’s left of the mill. I think I can see where you’re going with this, Mr Fox. You think Hettie Daynes committed suicide in the mill where she’d worked, because she was out of her mind.’

The reporter shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I think something far worse than that, Ms Midgley.’ He looked Christa in the eye. ‘Hettie was expecting a baby, wasn’t she?’

‘Was she?’ Christa held his gaze. ‘And that’s the icing on your cake, isn’t it? You can splash it all over the front page: SHRINKING RES REVEALS VICTORIAN SCANDAL – HETTIE DAYNES WAS WILTON WANTON. It might even get you a job on a
real
newspaper.’

‘Ouch!’ Fox looked hurt. ‘You certainly have a very low opinion of
me
.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not
your
family secret I’m investigating, Ms Midgley. If I’m right, there’s a family with a far more shameful one.’ He looked at Christa. ‘It might well involve murder.’

‘
Murder?
’ cried Christa. ‘
Wh
ose murder? Are you saying . . .?’

The reporter shook his head again. ‘I’m not
saying
anything,’ he murmured. ‘Not yet. The matter is under investigation. Hard evidence is scarce.’

He stood up. ‘The young woman who left her bones at Hopwood Mill was pregnant, Ms Midgley. More than one reluctant father has solved his embarrassing little problem by disposing of mother and child in one go, and what better spot to choose than a mill that’s about to disappear for ever?’ He smiled thinly. ‘What people tend to forget is,
nothing
’s for ever.’

SIXTY-NINE

MONDAY, BEFORE THE
bell. Rob gaped. ‘So your mum knows
everything
, sucker – we’ve no secret any more?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Sorry, mate. Alison Crabtree blabbed on the phone before she knew who’d picked up.’

‘What a dipstick. And Stan Fox went back on his promise?’

‘Yeah. Says it’s gone beyond a kids’ game.’

‘Typical adult.’

‘That’s what
I
said.’

‘So what’ll your mum do – tell the police?’

Harry shrugged. ‘Dunno. She says if the
skeleton
is
her great, great auntie, she wants to give it a proper burial.’

‘What – so the ghost can like, rest? Stop haunting Wilton Water?’

‘No, not that. She refuses to believe in the ghost, even though she’s seen the snapshot.’

‘What about Fox then? Will
he
go to the police now, d’you think?’

Harry shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Him and Steve Wood have got together. They think they’re looking at an old murder.’

‘They think Hettie Daynes was
murdered
?’

‘They think the
skeleton
was murdered – they can’t prove it’s Hettie.’

‘Hey up,’ warned Rob. ‘Troubles come in threes, here’s number two.’ Carl Hopwood approached rapidly, with a face on him like a slapped bum. He came alone, so Rob risked a wind-up. ‘Cheer up, Hopwood – it might never happen.’

‘Shut your face, Hattersley.’ Carl grabbed a fistful of Rob’s hoodie, slammed him against the wall. ‘What you done with my book?’

‘Book?’ gasped Rob. ‘
What
book? Don’t tell me you’ve learned to
read
, Hopwood.’

Carl ignored the jibe. ‘You
know
what book. It was in the bog, on the sill. I went back for it three minutes later and it had gone. Nigel saw you go in.’

Rob shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Carl, honest.
I
didn’t see any book. Why would I want your book?’

The bully relaxed his grip, stepped back. ‘Well
someone
must have pinched it,’ he choked. His eyes filled up. ‘My dad’ll
kill
me if I don’t get it back.’ He turned and blundered away, half-blind with tears.

‘Poor old Carl,’ murmured Harry. ‘Must’ve raided the councillor’s library without asking. It’ll be Bonfire Night all over again when his great pink self finds out.’ He smiled. ‘I almost feel sorry for him.’

Rob shook his head. ‘
I
don’t.’ He patted his pack. ‘In fact I’ve got his rotten book in here.’

‘You haven’t!’ gasped Harry. ‘What if he’d searched it, Rob?’

Rob shrugged. ‘Well then he’d’ve got it back, wouldn’t he?’ He grinned. ‘We’ll check it out in maths, see what’s so vitally important.’

SEVENTY

WILTON PRIMARY, MONDAY
morning assembly. Miss Gadd on the platform.

‘Good morning, children.’

‘Good morning Miss Gadd. Good morning everybody.’

‘Now.’ The headteacher smiled, rubbed her hands together. ‘Today is a very special day for our school. Can anybody in Year One tell us
why
it’s special?’ Her eyes scanned the upturned, mostly stunned faces of the ankle-biters. A blond dumpling raised her hand.

‘Yes, Tabitha?’

‘Miss, our Fluffy’s had four kittens.’

Miss Gadd smiled. ‘That’s exciting news, Tabitha, but there’s something else. Something about our
playground
?’

The heavy clue produced a crop of swaying hands. ‘Yes, Lucy?’

‘Miss, the new . . . stuff. The workmen.’

‘Very good, Lucy. Well done.’ The Head extended her smile to include the whole assembly. ‘This morning, workmen will come to our school with diggers and trucks and all sorts of exciting, noisy things. They’ll be here all week I expect, rattling the windows and reversing all over the place, installing a lovely safe area for us to play on.’ She adjusted her expression to grave. ‘When they’ve gone, taking their machines and their mess with them, our playground will be the safest place in Wilton. But while they’re here, it will not. It will be dirty and dangerous.’ She lifted her gaze to the back of the hall, where the teachers were sitting. ‘Why all this couldn’t be done during the holidays I don’t know, but still.’

The teachers murmured, nodded.

Miss Gadd continued. ‘This means that today, and for the rest of this week, playtimes will be
indoors
.
Where
will playtimes be, Bethan Midgley?’

‘Miss, indoors.’
Why pick on me
, thought Bethan.

‘That is correct.’ The Head looked fierce. ‘I don’t want to catch
anyone
outside, unless a class is out with its teacher. Have I made myself perfectly plain?’

Alison whispered in Bethan’s ear. ‘She just
is
perfectly plain.’ Bethan stifled a giggle. Alison wasn’t her favourite person just now. If she was smart enough to make cracks about the Head, why hadn’t she the wit to ask who was on the other end of the phone?

SEVENTY-ONE

FIRST PERIOD, MATHS
with Trigger, whose name was actually Mr Rogers. He was on the far side of the room, helping a group working with pyramids. Rob and Harry had Carl’s diary folded inside the geometry text they were supposed to be studying.

‘Listen to
this
,’ hissed Rob. ‘
October nineteenth: Desperation. We’re to meet at the mill at nine p.m. tomorrow when, God willing, all will be resolved
.’

‘Crikey!’ gasped Harry.

Trigger glanced across. ‘I’m glad you’re finding the properties of cones so thrilling, Midgley, but
do
try to express your excitement
in
a less exuberant manner, there’s a good lad.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Harry.

‘And this,’ murmured Rob, as Trigger returned to his pyramids. ‘October twentieth:
It is done. I do most fervently wish it had not proved necessary, but she drove me to it
.’

‘He
killed
her, didn’t he?’ whispered Harry. ‘Carl’s great grandad or whatever
killed Mum’s auntie
.’

‘Sssh!’ Rob looked at Trigger, who hadn’t heard. ‘There’s more, mate:
Soon the rising waters will conceal my crime, but will prove insufficient to the cleansing of my soul, upon which the Lord have mercy
.’

‘Wow.’ Harry shook his head. ‘So the skeleton
is
Hettie Daynes. I’ll have to show Mum this diary, I don’t know what she’ll do.’ He looked at Rob. ‘You can’t get a dead guy tried for murder, can you?’

Rob pulled a face. ‘No, but think what it’ll do to our mighty councillor if it gets out – no wonder Carl’s practically messing himself.’

Trigger straightened up. ‘Tell you what, you two. Why don’t the rest of us take a little break while you demonstrate your absorbing discovery for us on the board?’

SEVENTY-TWO

‘NEWSROOM, FOX SPEAKING.’

‘It’s Christa Midgley, Mr Fox. I’ve been going over and over what you told me yesterday. If what you suspect is true – if my great, great aunt
was
murdered, and if somebody’s known this all along, ought they not to be exposed? I mean, I
know
whatever happened was too long ago for the police to get involved, but can’t you put something in the paper – a piece by Steve Wood, perhaps?’

The reporter shook his head, though she couldn’t see. ‘I can understand your frustration, Ms Midgley – your
anger
, I suppose I should
say
– but as I pointed out yesterday, there’s no hard evidence. The fact that I
suspect
a certain family doesn’t mean they’re guilty.’ He sighed. ‘I daren’t expose the
Echo
to legal action for defamation. That’s why Steve and I are still investigating.’