Murders in the Blitz (26 page)
After a double gin and orange at the Duke of Clarence and more grovelling apologies, Eve parted from Fred on good terms. She couldn’t help thinking it was more than she deserved after her foolishness. Why on earth hadn’t she asked Grace? She’d had plenty of opportunity to talk to her about it. She shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions and waded in with both feet like that. Now she felt a complete fool and was lucky she wasn’t in trouble; Fred was perfectly entitled to give her a really hard time. Luckily his generosity of spirit meant that he forgave her for her foolhardiness.
There was still another line of enquiry she could follow. But first of all she had to go and see Stan and find out if there was anything he could tell her; if he knew who it was that had given him the berries.
Eve decided that it would be quicker to walk from the centre of Highston to the hospital; it was only about a mile. She’d seen the rambling building from the windows of the bus on the way into town. As the day was still fine she didn’t find the walk too arduous. This month of country living had certainly made her fitter than she’d been in London, where the extent of her walking was a quick dash round Shepherds Bush Green with Jake or to the market. The clean air here, unpolluted by broken buildings, escaping gas from fractured mains and the overwhelming scent of decay, made her feel more alive than she had in years.
When she arrived at the hospital she followed the signs to the children’s ward. She was surprised to discover that there was no guard of any kind in position to watch over Stan. Did no-one realise that the child had had an attempt made on his life by someone who was almost certainly the murderer of two people? But when she entered the ward Eve realised that the sister in charge, a dragon of a woman wearing an elaborately starched headdress resembling a ship in full sail, would be sufficient to keep away the most determined of criminals.
‘And who are you, may I ask?’ she boomed at Eve in tones of stern reproach when she asked to see Stan.
‘I’m his aunty,’ Eve stated with confidence. Well, it was close enough to the truth for now.
‘Hmm. Another “aunty” came to see him this morning, but she’s gone. Stanley is still sleeping,’ said the dragon. ‘We’ve given him a dose of chloral as we thought it best to keep him quiet until the poison wears off. He’ll have a horrid sore throat after the stomach pump, so he’s better off asleep.’
Sister said all this as she led Eve to Stan’s bed. Eve almost smiled as she regarded the normally cheeky little tyke, reduced to a motionless angel with a halo of curls around his head. His colour had improved and was now a shade more creamy than the pristine white sheets that pinned him to the bed. Sister smoothed the already immaculate covers over his slight body, making sure no errant limb could escape their confines.
‘He’ll be fine in a day or two, don’t worry. Boys are resilient little chaps,’ said Sister in more sympathetic tones.
‘Did he say anything when he first came in − before he went to sleep?’
‘No, not really. He was complaining of a tummy ache, which was natural in the circumstances and said something about someone all in black. I thought he meant Doctor Russell, who brought him in.’
‘I have some questions I need to ask him as soon as possible.’
‘I know, my dear, but you’ll have to wait till he wakes up.’
Eve sat in the chair by the bed and regarded Stan’s pale features.
‘Your vicar from Little Barrington told me he’s going to come and see Stanley sometime today,’ Sister said as she began to return to her desk near the door.
Eve’s head shot up, her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet in alarm, following Sister down the ward at high speed.
‘I must get back to the village,’ she said. ‘Whatever you do don’t let Reverend Groome anywhere near Stanley.’ Eve searched her imagination for a plausible excuse for this warning. ‘His father doesn’t hold with God-bothering.’
Sister’s surprised, even shocked, expression was enough to indicate her disapproval of the suggestion that a man of God might be unwelcome at the bedside of a sick child.
‘I mean it, Sister. It’s imperative that he doesn’t go anywhere near that boy.’
‘Very well. But I don’t see...’
But Eve was out through the swing doors and on her way from the building to the bus stop. She had to get to Little Barrington.
When she was back in the house, after what seemed a lifetime on the bus, Eve found that Grace was out. She felt a spasm of annoyance, although she knew that Grace was perfectly entitled to go wherever she wished. It was just that Eve had questions to ask and she needed her sister here. She strode up and down for a while, biting her nails, and then decided it wasn’t doing any good to hang around in the house doing nothing. She needed answers and soon.
She left the house and walked into the village. There was bound to be someone there who could give her the information she sought. It was half past two, not yet time for the children to come home from school and the street was quiet with not even a housewife struggling up the hill with shopping or an elderly resident taking an after-lunch constitutional. Eve urgently needed to find someone she could talk to who might be able to answer some questions. She was loath to disturb poor Emily in her house of grief, but she thought there might be someone else there she could ask. Mabel Gough had arranged a complex rota of women to keep Emily company.
She arrived at the Gossard front door and hesitated for a moment before knocking. Perhaps this was not such a good idea; she didn’t want to upset Emily again. But she needed more information. Just as she made a decision and raised her hand to the knocker, the door opened and Mabel Gough stood on the threshold in an apron soaked ominously pink. It looked horribly like a mixture of blood and water.
‘I saw you coming up the path. Come on in, dear. Emily’s lying down. I think the more sleep she gets, the better. I’m trying to clean up the kitchen while she’s out of the way. I don’t want her to see in there till it’s done.’
‘Oh, goodness. I would have come to help you. All that blood, it’s awful that you should have to do it all alone.’
‘Someone’s got to clear it up, dearie. It might as well be me. But it’s the hell of a job, I must say. I’ve used buckets of water and there’s still more.’
Eve followed Mabel through into the kitchen where the lino shone with moisture and a bucket of crimson liquid stood with a mop balanced inside. Mabel had removed almost all the blood from the floor, but Eve could see that it must have been a difficult job and even now a dark red tidemark still outlined where the pool of blood had been.
‘I couldn’t have Emily coming down and seeing that. We wouldn’t expect her to do it herself, poor thing, would we?’
‘No. You’re a hero, Mabel. I wish I’d known. I would have helped.’
‘Well, never mind. It’s done now, just a bit more scrubbing. I’ll put the kettle on and we can have a nice cup of tea. I could do with a break.’
She hoisted the bucket up to the sink and tipped the gory contents down the drain followed by a liberal dose of Jeyes disinfectant that extinguished every other scent in the room. Eve hadn’t realised before that blood in quantity had such a strong, distinct odour; metallic and dense. She supposed that leaving the pool of blood on the floor overnight hadn’t helped.
When they were seated in the front room with their tea Eve thought it was time to start asking her companion some questions. She plunged straight in.
‘Did you know the vicar’s first wife, Mabel?’
‘Yes, of course, dear. Amy. Sweet little thing she was, much younger than him and not from around here. We all thought at the time it was a strange match; he’s such a stern man. He always seemed to be at odds with her, though she tried so hard to please him, poor girl.’
‘So she didn’t have family or friends near here?’
‘No. She came from somewhere further South, I believe, London maybe. Someone told me her family had money; but that may not be right. Anyway, I know she wasn’t happy because she talked to Vera. Between you and me, love, she was a bit sweet on Mrs Miller’s boy. You know, the one that was lost at sea.’
‘I never met him.’
‘No, of course not. That was before you came to stay with Grace.’
Mabel poured them each another cup of tea and offered Eve the plate of bread and jam she’d prepared.
‘I don’t want to eat Emily’s rations,’ Eve said.
‘Don’t worry dear. I brought some things over, there’s plenty. Everyone’s been very generous. This is Mrs Metcalf’s home-made strawberry jam. Most of the village has brought in something or other to help out, so Emily doesn’t have to think about such things.’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ll get Grace to bring some eggs.’
Eve sipped her tea and stared into the fire for a moment. She dreaded asking her next question because so much hung on it.
‘Mabel. What happened to Reverend Groome’s wife?’
‘Oh dear. Don’t you know? It was tragic. She went up to London one day to meet a friend, or a relative maybe. Back in September last year it was, when all that terrible bombing started up there. Well, she got caught in an air raid, apparently, blown to bits and never came home.’ Mabel’s voice faded away in sepulchral doom. She spoke of the bombing as if it was something that happened in a distant land.
‘Did Douglas Groome tell you this?’
‘Yes, dear. He announced it from the pulpit that next Sunday. We all thought it was a bit odd; such a public way to tell us. But I suppose it was easier for him that way, poor man, he’s not normally given to sharing confidences. Then it was never mentioned again. Vera was very upset. She’d made friends with the kid and helped her settle in when they married seven years before. Amy had no idea how to be a proper vicar’s wife; she wasn’t even particularly religious. We often wondered what made her marry him. It wasn’t what you’d call a marriage made in heaven.’ Mabel chuckled as she recognised the irony of what she’d said. ‘Vera knew about Amy and the Miller boy, though I don’t think she approved, but she sympathised because she didn’t like our vicar much. I must admit, he’s not everybody’s cup of tea – so serious; boring too.’
Well, thought Eve, being killed by the bombing in London explains why there’s no mention of Mrs Groome’s death in the local records. However, Eve wasn’t convinced that this was the true story. If it was that simple, why had Vera been stabbed, and why had someone tried to poison Stan?
After saying goodbye to Mabel Gough, Eve walked farther down the hill and went into the house that had Doctor Russell’s surgery on the ground floor. She thought he might be able to shed more light on Amy Groome’s life and death. Everyone went to the doctor sooner or later.
As she went through the front door into the empty waiting room Eve realised that afternoon surgery hadn’t started yet and Doctor Russell would probably still be out on his rounds. She was surprised, therefore, when the door to his consulting room opened and the doctor, looking more dishevelled than she had seen him before, came out with a cup and saucer in his hands.
‘Oh, Miss Duncan, I thought I heard someone come in. What can I do for you? Surgery’s not open yet, you know. I was just taking a quick breather.’ He appeared almost apologetic and Eve felt sorry for him. The poor man worked so hard, he was entitled to a few minutes relaxation.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor, I just wanted a quick word with you if it’s not inconvenient.’
‘Of course, come on in,’ the doctor ushered Eve into his room and invited her to sit on the patients’ chair while he sat behind his desk and regarded her with medical solemnity. ‘What seems to be the trouble?’ he said, with a chuckle in his voice at the cliché.
First Eve reported on her visit to the hospital and the fact that Stan was much better.
‘Yes, I called in early this morning and he seems to be recovering nicely. I expect they’ll keep him sedated until tomorrow. I know he’s a lively little chap and we don’t want him bouncing around until he’s stronger. That taxine can be nasty stuff. He was very lucky.’
‘Doctor,’ Eve began, ‘there’s something else I wanted to ask you that I think you may know about. It concerns Amy Broome and how she met her death. Do you know anything about it?’
The doctor appeared surprised and leant back on his chair before he began to speak in a pensive manner. ‘To be honest, I always thought the whole business was a bit odd. Douglas Groome hardly let the poor girl out of his sight, but that day he decided to let her go up to London alone to visit a relative. It was quite unprecedented. I thought at the time that she must have been unusually persuasive, or she was being sent to prise money from her family. Vicars are always hard up and ours is no exception. He may have wanted Amy to persuade them that her allowance was not sufficient.’
‘What allowance? I thought Amy had plenty of money of her own, from her family, or so Mrs Gough said.’
‘Oh, no. Amy’s money came from her family all right, but in monthly instalments. Not a large amount, but enough to prop up Groome’s stipend. Well, she went up to London that day, on some pretext or other, and never returned, poor child; blown up by a Nazi bomb.’
‘Was the vicar very upset about it?’
‘That was something else I thought was queer. I offered to prescribe him some medication if he felt he needed it, or at least to have a chat to help with the grief, but he never took me up on it. He was rather offhand and rude to be honest, so I let him stew. Douglas Groome isn’t a man who’s easy to warm to.’
Eve was beginning to feel restless, so she stood and started to prowl around the room. She knew the truth now, she was sure, but she still needed to know why.
‘I can’t say I like him much,’ she said. ‘I’ve only been to his church once as he’s such a bore.’
The doctor smiled. ‘You can’t condemn a man for being a bore, Miss Duncan. But I know he wasn’t kind to his wife. She was very unhappy and came to see me often. In time she told me about her tragic past. As she’s dead there’s nothing to stop me telling you about it, but I’d prefer you didn’t repeat the story to the likes of Mrs Gough.’
‘Of course not, Doctor. I can be very discreet.’
‘It seems that when she was in her teens, Amy had an equally young lover by whom she became pregnant. Her horrified family sent her to a home to have the baby, which was taken from her at birth and adopted. There was no question of her marrying the boy. When she returned home the family could barely look at her or speak to her and they threw her out saying they had no wish to see her again as she’d brought disgrace on them all. But, being the upstanding, benevolent citizens that they were, they would supply her with a monthly allowance to survive.
‘Amy was living in squalor in a town near here when Douglas Groome came across her a few years later. When he realised that she was educated and well-spoken, he offered to marry her and she came to live in Little Barrington. He probably felt he needed a wife; I don’t suppose love came into it. I heard about all this later because Amy consulted me about the possibility of having a child with Groome. After some tests I discovered that complications at the previous birth had rendered her infertile. It was most unfortunate because later her husband found out – beat it out of her, I suspect – and stormed in here practically accusing me of rendering his wife sterile. I heard no more and then the whole business became moot because Amy died in that air raid.’
Eve had listened to this recital in growing horror. It seemed incredible that no-one had even considered the possibility that Reverend Groome’s tale of how Amy had died might have been a lie. She had to tell the doctor what she thought had happened.
‘Doctor, I think he may have killed her. He walked with her into Barrington Wood, hit her over the head so hard that it killed her and buried her body in the earth. I think the bones we found two weeks’ ago are those of Amy Groome.’
The doctor listened, his normally calm face creasing into a frown of horror mixed with disbelief. ‘But we believed him. None of us thought it might be a lie. After all, he’s a man of God. Can it be possible? Are you really saying you think he could have done such a thing? Do you really think that’s what may have happened?’
‘Worse than that, Doctor, I think he killed Vera Gossard and tried to kill Stan as well.’
‘We must tell the police,’ said the doctor, dragging his telephone towards him from the corner of the desk. ‘They need look into this.’ He jiggled the lever on the phone, holding the receiver in one hand and the tall instrument in the other. Eve heard a slight ringing from the switchboard.
‘It’s Doctor Russell here. Get me the police station in Highston, please, Jessie. Quickly please, it’s very urgent.’
Eve listened to the clicks and whirrs from the instrument and a voice from the other end asking for his business.
‘This is Doctor Russell from Little Barrington. I need to speak to Inspector Grafton on an important matter. Tell him it concerns the bones found in Barrington Wood.’