Murders in the Blitz (25 page)

‘Had the back door been open when you left the house, Miss Gossard?’

‘Yes, we opened it first thing, when we came down. It was such a lovely morning and the place needed an airing.’

‘And when you came home and found Vera, did you walk over to the door?’

‘Oh, no, when I walked in and saw her I knelt straight down to see if I could help her. But there was nothing... nothing I could do, she was gone.’ Emily’s voice broke with sobs. She shuddered with such aching pain that Eve could feel it transmitting to her own body. What a terrible thing to happen to such a sweet, innocent woman.

Chapter Eleven

Emily Gossard had repeated her story to the police inspector in a voice that trembled with emotion, but she was perfectly lucid on the details she’d told Eve and the doctor earlier. She hadn’t been out of the house for more than half an hour. Before she left for the shop Vera had been alive and cheerfully making breakfast and when Emily returned, Vera’s body, stabbed with a carving knife and surrounded by that lake of blood, was stretched out on the kitchen floor.

Eve couldn’t help admiring the bravery with which Emily told her story; she had a backbone of steel under that soft, fluffy exterior. The sergeant wrote down everything she said and, when the questioning had finished and there was nothing more to be said, the inspector rose to leave.

‘I am so very sorry for your loss, Miss Gossard. We’ll do our utmost to find out who did this to your sister.’

He left the room with the sergeant trailing behind and Eve followed them into the hall. A policeman was still working in the gory kitchen, quietly looking for evidence.

‘You don’t think this had any connection to the woman found in the woods do you, Inspector?’ asked Eve.

He turned and his eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘No, why on earth would you think that? The previous murder took place at least a year ago. What could it possibly have to do with this?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Eve, ‘I just wondered.’

As the police stepped into their cars and drove away, Eve stood at the front gate, watching. The doctor joined her a few moments later where she stood gazing thoughtfully into the distance.

‘I’ve managed to get Emily to lie down in her room and given her a sedative. She’ll be out of it for a few hours. I’ll come back and see her later, but I must get off to the surgery now, my patients will wonder what’s happened to me.’

‘Don’t worry, doctor, I’ll watch her. I’m sure Mrs Gough will be here, as well as some of her other friends. I have to go back to the house soon, Grace will be wondering where I’ve got to. I was only supposed to be walking the children to school.’

After the doctor left, Eve remained in the parlour, waiting until ten minutes later Mabel Gough came back to the cottage and agreed to stay for a while.

‘The poor dear, of course I’ll be here for her in case she wakes up, we mustn’t leave her all alone. Don’t worry, I’ll get someone else to sit with her later. You get off home, you’ve done enough.’

Eve left the cottage, admitting that she was glad to get away. She ran up the hill to tell Grace what had happened.

‘Oh my God!’ cried Grace, sitting down heavily on a kitchen chair when Eve told her the terrible news. Tears started in her wide eyes. ‘Poor Vera. Why on earth would someone want to murder a harmless spinster?’

‘I have no idea. It seems so unnecessarily brutal,’ said Eve, shuddering. ‘I’ve never seen so much blood.’

‘Do you think it has anything to do with the other murder?’

‘The inspector doesn’t think so, but I think it might. Do you remember last week, the evening after the inquest, when we were in the pub?’ Eve asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, we were talking about the body in the wood, Persephone I call her, and saying that no-one could think of anyone from the village who isn’t here any more. I glanced at Vera, who was listening, and she looked as if she had something to say, as if she wanted to contradict us. But then Emily wanted to go home and Vera didn’t have a chance to say whatever it was.’

Grace shook her head. ‘No I didn’t notice that.’

‘I thought at the time she was looking at Fred Gardiner,’ Eve went on, ‘as if she wanted to ask him something. But then she couldn’t and the twins left. Fred looked very cross after that, as if he’d been upset about something.’

‘Fred always gets a bit grumpy when he’s had a few. He sent Doris home, didn’t he? I thought he wanted her to go and get some rest because of her pregnancy, but perhaps it was something else.’

Eve started to mash the potatoes for the top of the shepherds’ pies they’d have for supper later and didn’t say any more. I need to find out more about Fred, she was thinking. What happened to his first wife? No-one seemed to talk about that. Did he have a grudge against Vera so powerful that he would stab her with a carving knife? He seemed such a nice, cheerful man, but perhaps that jovial veneer hid a much more sinister nature.

*

The sisters ate a simple lunch of bread and cheese, and fruit from the garden. They planned meals for the next few days, struggling to dream up a varied diet for the children. Luckily none of the refugees were too fussy and they always had plenty of bread, potatoes and milk to fill them up with. Grace’s rice puddings and fruit pies were always a favourite and there was plenty of milk for custard even if it had to be sweetened with artificial stuff. The sisters were so occupied with their planning that Eve completely forgot to ask Grace some of the questions that bothered her.

Eve worried that the children would find out about Vera’s horrible death through the village gossip mill. She wanted to explain what had happened before they had a chance to hear it from more vividly embroidered sources. The news was bound to upset them as they knew Vera, even if they weren’t particularly interested in her, and they might feel that murder and sudden death were getting a bit too close to home.

In the afternoon, after helping Grace tidy up the kitchen and the living room, she set off down the hill towards the school again. On the way she met one of the villagers, who seemed determined to engage her in a lengthy interrogation about Vera’s death, news of which had circulated widely. It took Eve a few minutes to shake her off.

‘Do excuse me,’ she said, ‘I have to collect the children from school. I don’t want them to wander off and hear the news from someone else.’

The wooden barriers were still up outside the twins’ cottage and would remain there for several days. This was already a source of complaint even though the obstacles didn’t cause much inconvenience. It was still possible to walk or drive past the house without difficulty. Mrs Metcalf, June’s charlady, stopped Eve outside the twins’ cottage and began to interrogate her.

‘Was you there, Miss Duncan? Did you see the body?’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Metcalf, I can’t stop, the children...’

Eve was beginning to become impatient with all this questioning and started to move away when the shrill sound of screaming reached her ears from farther down the hill near the school and churchyard. It sounded like the voice of a child.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, preparing to run, ‘I have to go. There’s something going on down by the school.’

Without waiting for Mrs Metcalf’s reply, Eve dashed off and ran the remainder of the two hundred yards to the school gates. But before she reached them she realised that the sound was coming from the churchyard on the other side of the main street. She crossed the road and stepped through the lych-gate, under the climbing rose, and there, beneath the shadows cast by the spreading yew tree’s branches, sprawled a slight figure with a small crowd of children surrounding it. Daisy, the evacuee girl, was screaming her head off.

‘Stan! Stan!’ she was shrieking, ‘Someone’s done in Stan!’

Oh, no, thought Eve as she rushed up to the group, not a child.

A woman in a bright cotton frock was holding up the head of the boy on the ground.

‘Oh, please help, Miss Duncan,’ she said. ‘This poor little boy is very ill.’

Eve recognised the woman as Lady Passmore. The tone of her voice and the agony on her face meant that Eve hadn’t realised immediately who it was.

‘Whatever’s happened?’ said Eve, falling to her knees on the grass beside them.

Little Stan was barely recognisable. His normally pale complexion had blanched to the colour of marble, with every sign of life drawn from it. His brown freckles stood out sharply against his skin in a bizarre parody of health. Eve saw with relief that the child was still breathing in spite of his pallor and the evidence of vomiting all over his school shirt. His lips were blue and encircled with white froth, and when she felt for his pulse it was very slow.

‘Go and get the doctor, Albert,’ she said, ‘he should be in his surgery. Tell him I think Stan’s been poisoned.’ She looked round at the other children. ‘Go home all of you, quickly. Tell Aunty Grace what’s happened. Don’t look so worried, I’ll make sure that Stan is all right. We’ll take care of him.’ She desperately hoped that she was right.

Reluctantly, the children set off up the hill, slowly at first, but then they began to run. Lady Passmore cradled Stan in her arms until the doctor came. Eve was surprised at the woman’s compassion, she clearly felt pain at the danger Stan was in.

Eve took the opportunity to look around. On the ground close to where the boy lay, there was a small punnet which still held some raspberries, but mingled with the innocent fruit were a few pink berries that must have been plucked from the yew tree. Stan, who loved raspberries, wouldn’t have known the difference. Oh God, Eve thought, taxine poisoning. She had heard about this from Grace, as one of the farmer’s horses had died recently after grazing on a yew tree. Did this mean that Stan was going to die?

*

Soon Doctor Russell was hurrying towards them with his medical bag. He took one look at Stan and confirmed what Eve had been thinking; taxine poisoning. Eve showed him the punnet with yew berries and raspberries in it.

‘I don’t think Stan took those off the tree,’ she said. ‘Someone mixed them with the raspberries and gave them to him.’

‘Are you saying someone did this deliberately? I can’t believe it,’ Doctor Russell said.

Lady Passmore looked equally shocked. ‘No, surely not. Who would do such a thing to a defenceless little boy?’

Eve had been thinking the same thing.

Doctor Russell took charge and wrapped Stan in a blanket from his car. He drove, with Eve holding the child in her arms, to the cottage hospital outside Highston.

‘I think he’s going to be all right,’ the doctor said on the way. ‘He’s vomited up some intact berries and as long as he hasn’t chewed them there’s no reason why he shouldn’t recover. It’s the pips that are poisonous, as well as the leaves and wood, of course. If you chew several pips then you don’t have much chance of survival. I think Stan may be lucky. But we need to get his stomach pumped out to be sure. You and I seem to be fated to meet in dramatic circumstances, Miss Duncan.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry, Doctor, I appear to attract disaster, and twice in one day too. I can hardly believe it.’

As soon as Stan was tucked up in a bed and in the care of the hospital, Eve returned to Little Barrington in the doctor’s car. He was very considerate and took her to Grace’s door.

‘I think you should take a rest now, Miss Duncan, you’ve had a trying day.’

‘Thank you so much, doctor,’ she said as she prepared to go into the house. ‘Do you really think Stan will be all right?’

‘I’m almost sure of it. He’s in good hands now. I expect you’ll want to talk to him as soon as he comes round; find out who gave him that fruit?’

‘Yes, I would. Please let me know.’

By now Grace was standing on the doorstep drying her hands on a tea towel with an expression of extreme anxiety on her face. The women watched the doctor drive away.

‘It’s all right, Grace. The doctor thinks Stan will be fine.’ She reached up and put a comforting arm around her sister’s shoulders.

They went inside and reassured the children and Hugh, who was back from school and trying to stop the children’s fear from overflowing into hysterics. Then they ate an early supper, the quietest meal that Eve had experienced since coming to the village, and afterwards the children went, hushed and subdued, to bed.

Grace, Hugh and Eve sat up for a while and talked about the day’s events beside the fire in the sitting room until, tired out with speculation, they climbed the stairs to bed. Eve’s mind was still in turmoil and it was a long time before sleep took hold of her exhausted body. She was more convinced than ever that Persephone’s death, Vera’s stabbing and now little Stan’s poisoning, were all connected in some way. What terrible person could have done these evil things in such a quiet and peaceful country village?

Chapter Twelve

After a restless night; at least on the part of the adults, the household was up early the following morning. Hugh waited until the children were ready and accompanied them to school himself. Albert, Stan’s elder brother, seemed disinclined to go to school at all, but Hugh persuaded him that Stan was well looked after in the hospital and would be home soon. In truth the adults weren’t sure how Stan was getting on and they didn’t want Albert to go to the hospital if things were bad. Hugh had already sent a telegram to the boys’ parents in London to tell them what had happened. Eve knew that the arrival of the telegraph boy alone would terrify them; but they had to be told the news.

Grace left immediately after breakfast on the bus to Highston as she wanted to see Stan as soon as possible. Eve stayed behind for a while and cleared up the breakfast and took a later bus into Highston.

‘Give Stan my love, Grace. Don’t ask him any questions for now. Tell him I’ll want to talk to him later,’ Eve said before her sister left. There were questions she should have asked, but she forgot all about them.

Later, Eve’s bus drew up in Highston’s market square. She felt free to pursue her investigation and prove the link that she was convinced existed between the murders. Fear plagued her as she climbed the wide steps of the Victorian Town Hall and her breath came fast. She’d decided to confront Fred Gardiner in his office. After all, even if he was dangerous he was hardly likely to attack her in his place of work with lots of people around. There was no need for her to be afraid. She pulled back her shoulders and prepared to enter the building.

‘I’d like to speak to Mr. Fred Gardiner, please,’ she said when she was asked her business at the reception deskhoused in a glass-panelled booth.

‘Do you have an appointment, madam?’

Eve was perfectly prepared to lie to get in, but as she wasn’t at all sure which department Fred worked in she’d find it difficult to think up a plausible story.

‘No, I’m afraid not. I’m a friend from his home – Little Barrington. It’s very important.’ Eve smiled her brightest, most enticing smile and the woman in the booth, after looking inclined to refuse her request, changed her mind.

‘First floor, Miss, second door on the right.’

Eve didn’t need telling twice and dived up the wide staircase leading to the upper floors. She nearly knocked into a couple of people on their way down, but, after a brief apology, she continued upwards. She stood for a breathless moment outside the door marked with the words ‘Clerk of Works’, whatever that meant. She knocked and a female voice asked her to come in.

The office on the other side of the door stretched across the entire width of the first floor at the front of the Town Hall. Five tall windows looking out onto the street filled the room with light. Several desks in the centre of the room were occupied with typists pounding at their machines. Every desk carried heaps of files and papers; this was obviously a very busy department. A girl got up from a desk nearer the door and approached Eve.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘Yes, please. I’ve come to see Mr Gardiner, I believe he works here.’

‘Can you tell me what it’s about?’

‘It’s a personal matter,’ said Eve.

The young woman indicated that Eve should follow and then walked towards an office at one side of the room. “F.A.Gardiner” proclaimed the sign painted on the frosted glass panel in neat gothic script. The girl opened the door and stuck her head inside.

‘Someone to see you, Mr Gardiner, a Miss...’

She turned back towards Eve who supplied her name: ‘Duncan.’

Eve heard Fred’s voice from within. ‘Show her in. Show her in.’

When she entered Fred’s cluttered office, he stood up, appearing very pleased to see her.

‘Well, this is a surprise,’ he said. ‘Do take a seat. How delightful. I could do with something like this to brighten up an otherwise dull morning.’ His wide smile lit up his face.

Eve remained serious as she sat down in the chair opposite his desk, noticing as she did so a photograph of his boys and one of Doris displayed there. Surely a man so fond of his wife and children couldn’t be guilty of the terrible things she was about to accuse him of. Fred had sat down in his big chair again and was regarding her, the bright smile dying on his lips and starting to be replaced by a look of bewilderment.

‘What is it, Eve? You look worried. Is it something I’ve done? There hasn’t been another disaster in the village?’

‘Fred,’ she began, ‘we haven’t known each other long, only met a few times really. You’ve never been anything but friendly and kind to me, and I may have got this all completely wrong...’ Eve stopped herself, she was beginning to ramble and she sounded almost apologetic. This was no way to confront the man; she needed to be more direct. She started again. ‘Fred. And don’t lie to me now. What happened to your first wife?’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘Just that. What happened to your first wife? There’s no record of her death anywhere in Highston or Little Barrington and I know she’s been dead at least a year. It’s as if she just disappeared into thin air. Vera knew and wanted to ask you about it. Did you kill your wife so that you could marry Doris, Fred? Is she the body we found in the woods?’

Fred’s normally florid face drained of colour and he leaned back into his chair, aghast.

‘Are you mad?’ he said in a voice that had risen to a new register; high-pitched and squeaky. His expression was one of horror and righteous indignation. ‘Are you really accusing me of murder? And does that include Vera Gossard and that poor little boy too?’

Eve was shocked at the man’s reaction. It was beginning to look as if she’d got the whole thing horribly wrong; as if she’d jumped in with both feet and was about to drown. But the evidence all pointed his way: the missing wife, the funny looks Vera had given him, accusing Stan of stealing raspberries, the pretty new wife and a baby on the way. What better reason to get rid of a spouse he was tired of; it had been done before. And he’d been in the shop when Emily was there and left with plenty of time to get to the cottage and stab Vera while she was chatting to Agnes Forbes. And he could easily have given Stan the fruit later in the afternoon.

Eve stared glumly at Fred as he struggled to regain his composure, trying her best to look as if she was sure of her ground. He appeared to consider what Eve had said for a few seconds and then slumped back in his chair with a sigh.

‘You know, it’s almost funny. I know you’re keen on solving mysteries after your police work back in London, but this is madness, Eve. I can categorically assure you that I had nothing whatever to do with those murders. I would never do such a thing. Surely you can see that.’

Embarrassed, Eve stood and began to gather her things together, anxious to make as quick and dignified exit as she could. She’d made a dreadful mistake. Oh God. How awful! What a mess she’d made of things; she should have talked to Grace first. How stupid she had been.

‘Wait, Eve. Don’t go. You can’t go away thinking whatever it is you think. You must let me explain. No-one in the village talks about my wife’s death. They were all too saddened and concerned for me because she was very well-loved. Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.’

Eve did as she was told under Fred’s surprisingly benevolent and sympathetic gaze. She sat down in the chair, but couldn’t look Fred in the eye.

‘Elsie fell ill in 1936,’ he began. ‘For a long time we didn’t know what was the matter with her. She had a cough that wouldn’t go away and lost a lot of weight; seemed to get weaker every day. The following year, with things no better, she was diagnosed with tuberculosis. The doctor sent her off to a special sanatorium twenty miles away, as much to protect the boys as for Elsie’s sake. TB is a horrible, inexorable disease and there’s not much to be done to cure it. All they can do is keep the patients comfortable for as long as possible, and that can be a long time as the passage of the malady is slow. For nearly two years Elsie was a resident in the sanatorium and in that final spring of 1939, her condition rapidly slipped downhill. The doctors told me there was nothing more they could do for her and she hadn’t long to live. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I cashed in all our savings to take her to a TB centre in the mountains in Switzerland where they’d had good results. The boys went to stay with my parents. I hired a private nurse, Doris, to come with us to Switzerland and she cared for Elsie like a sister until the day she died in August of that year. If you think about it for a moment you’ll realise what happened next. Europe was in turmoil and War was about to be declared. Doris and I had to get back to England as quickly as possible. There was no question of bringing Elsie home with us and she was buried on that beautiful mountainside. And that, Eve, is why there is no record of her death here in England.’

Eve dashed the threatening tears from her eyes.

‘I’m so, so sorry, Fred. I had no idea. I should have asked Grace, I suppose she knows all about this.’

‘Yes, of course she does. But as I said, no-one talks about it as they don’t want to upset me. When I got back, Doris helped me with the children as their nanny, she was a rock. I was in no state to be a proper father for a while – and then, over a year later, I married her. Doris is a wonderful girl. I love her and we’re happy, but she isn’t Elsie. Sometimes I’m reminded of my loss and I get a bit down in the dumps, but it soon passes.’

That must be what happened at the pub that night, thought Eve. He must have been thinking about Elsie and Vera knew it. She’d probably been fond of Fred’s first wife and knew how much she was missed and felt sorry for him. Oh, what a fool I’ve been, Eve thought, and now I’ve still got a murderer to find.

Fred stood and came round to Eve’s side of the desk and touched her on the shoulder.

‘Come on, buck up,’ he said. ‘It’s not that bad. I’ll forgive you, you little eager beaver. How could you think I could be a murderer, you silly girl? I thought we were friends. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink, you look as if you need one.’