He went up the stairs, which were carpeted but which creaked loudly.
Elsie’s room was small, the bed narrow, and the dresser
minuscule. The largest piece of furniture was an old-fashioned mahogany wardrobe which took up most of the space. Mrs. Clark clearly liked flowers, and the coverlet and matching curtains were a riot of daisies and begonias.
Somehow, given Elsie’s personality, Tyler had expected the room would be untidy, with pieces of her life scattered everywhere, but it wasn’t. It was as neat as a sailor’s.
He stood in the doorway, trying in some way to make contact with the life and personality of the dead girl. Even though it was tiny, the room was pretty, lots of light, nicely furnished, except for the monster wardrobe, which must have been a family heirloom by the look of it. He walked over there first. The front was mirrored, although there was a slight distortion in the glass which elongated his upper torso. He could imagine Elsie turning to see if her stocking seams were straight. Her presence felt very strong.
He opened the wardrobe door and a sweet flowery scent wafted out. There were four frocks hanging there, all summery, three of them flowered prints, the fourth more elegant in blue and grey striped silk. On the upper shelf sat four wide-brimmed straw hats with ribbons to match the dresses; on the bottom of the wardrobe were her shoes: two white leather slingbacks and one pair of black patent high heels, clearly meant for dancing.
Next, he turned his attention to the dresser. There was a dainty ceramic tray on top of a crocheted runner; a little bag of sweets stood next to a large bottle of scent; beside it, a jar of cream, the label hand-printed with the initials
A.T
. He unscrewed the lid and took a sniff. The ubiquitous lavender, or maybe that was all he could smell at the moment. Alice’s oil was potent.
In a matching china dish was Elsie’s makeup. Two lipsticks, both bright red; a silver powder compact; an eyebrow pencil
and a little pot of rouge. Her war paint. He opened the wooden jewellery box. An ivory hair comb; silver and pearl drop earrings; a pair of plain gold hoops that looked expensive. She also had a silver charm bracelet which clinked when he picked it up to look at it. The usual assembly of charms. Janet had been collecting hers since she was fourteen. Teapot, shoe, horse, cat, her initial. Charms were a popular and easy gift to give a girl. Over the years, she could collect as many as would fit on the bracelet. None of these looked particularly new. No heart with a fake diamond in the centre that might be a special gift from a boyfriend.
He pulled open the top drawer. Here Elsie kept her working clothes, all Land Army issue. Sturdy cotton knickers, wool socks, an extra cream-coloured shirt, green wool pullover, and tie, tossed around as if she dressed in a hurry or didn’t care. The second drawer was very different indeed. An after-hours drawer this one, with everything neatly folded. Silk underwear, lace brassiere; three pair of silk stockings, two still in the package; a pair of cami-knickers in black taffeta. Carefully, he lifted out all of the items and placed them on the bed. Tucked away at the back of the drawer, he discovered an unopened package of prophylactics, stamped with the British Army insignia. Also shoved to the back of the drawer was a box of Cadbury’s chocolates. Two pieces had been eaten already. He wondered why Elsie had hidden the chocolates. In this house she had privacy so she didn’t have to keep them secret, unlike the French letters, which would have shocked Mrs. Clark if she’d even recognized what they were.
He returned everything to the drawer except the condoms, which he put in his pocket. He’d save Mrs. Clark or Elsie’s mother the embarrassment of finding them.
On the bedside table was a pile of magazines. He took a quick check:
Woman’s Weekly, The Land Girl
. No letters, no
diary. Nothing personal. There was one cup with congealing milk in the bottom.
He looked underneath the bed, but there was nothing, not even dust.
There was a soft tap-tapping at the window. A branch from a tree outside was scratching on the window pane. He pushed up the sash and almost laughed out loud. Growing outside was a chestnut tree with wide, big branches, which partially obscured a ladder leaning against the wall. He could have climbed out himself if need be, and he’d bet any money that Elsie, young and agile, would have used this as a special exit if she didn’t want Mrs. Clark to know what she was doing. By the same token, she could have entertained a lover in secret.
He closed the window. That seemed to be that. He collected the cup and went onto the landing. Constable Collis was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, half leaning against the wall, not knowing what to do with himself.
“I’ve seen all I need to for now, Constable. You can go back to the station.”
Collis headed off, and Tyler went to the kitchen where Mrs. Clark was waiting for him.
“I made a pot of tea, Inspector. Would you like some?”
“Thank you kindly, Mrs. Clark. Here’s a cup that was in the room.”
Mrs. Clark’s eyes filled with tears. “She loved her Horlicks. She’d never had it before … I don’t think her family was very well off. There were lots of things that were new to her. Matching china for one. She particularly remarked about that.” Mrs. Clark pulled a handkerchief out of her apron pocket and wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Inspector. I think it’s just really hitting me what has happened. There were some as didn’t like Miss Bates. They thought she was on the common side, if you know what I mean. But she was very good to me.
Always giving me a hand when she could. She even bought me a pair of silk stockings. Can you imagine me in silk stockings? But it was a nice thought.”
Tyler made sympathetic noises and sat quietly until she had poured his tea and he had doctored it up to his liking.
“I’ll be in touch with her family to see about her possessions, but that will take a little while. I hope it won’t be inconvenient for you if we leave he room as it is for now.”
“Not at all. That is the spare room and I never use it except at Christmas when my sister visits.” She wiped her eyes again. “It will be so strange without Elsie. She worked long hours and, being a young woman, she was often out in the evenings, but she was good company when she was here. We’d listen to the wireless together.”
“Did Miss Bates ever bring anybody home with her?”
Mrs. Clark blinked. “A boyfriend you mean? Oh no. Not that I would have minded as long as they sat in the living room, but no, she never did. She could have anybody she wanted, she was that pretty, but she always met them out at the dances.”
“Did she mention anybody in particular? Any names that you recall?”
“Now that you mention it, a couple of weeks ago she did say she thought she had met somebody special. She gave a little laugh, like a schoolgirl, and whispered in my ear. ‘Mrs. C–’ that’s what she called me. ‘Mrs. C., I might bring him home one of these days and you can tell me what you think.’ She treated me more like a mother than a landlady. Her own parents and her didn’t get along. They never wrote to her and she never wrote to them, so I were a substitute I suppose you’d say.” She hesitated and put her hand to her mouth. “Do you think it was a jealous boyfriend that killed her?”
“I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”
“She did have a best friend who came with her from London. She lives at the manor with the other girls. She probably knows a lot more than me. She came here a few times on the weekend to meet Elsie if they were going to a dance. Little scrap of a girl. A proper cockney that I could hardly understand sometimes, but very polite. She was in Elsie’s shadow and hardly said boo when she was here, but they seemed like really good friends. Rose is her name.”
“When did you last see Miss Bates?” Tyler asked.
“Last evening, it was. She brought in some fish and chips for our tea. She was always good like that. I went to bed early, oh about eight o’clock. I was feeling a bit poorly with my rheumatics. I left her sitting right there in front of the fire. She was listening to the wireless.”
Tyler waited while Mrs. Clark wiped at her eyes.
“Did she go out again?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Mrs. Clark fiddled at her ear. “I wear hearing aids and I take them out at night. They’re so uncomfortable if you don’t.”
“So you didn’t hear anything?”
“No.”
“What about this morning?”
“We have an arrangement because she has to get up so early. I leave her tea ready and the bread for toast. She makes her own breakfast.”
“Did she do that this morning?”
“No, she didn’t. Everything was where I’d left it. It wasn’t that unusual if she was late, though. She would just rush out and get something to eat at the hostel.”
In fact, Elsie Bates could have been out all night, thought Tyler.
He got to this feet. “Thank you so much for your help, Mrs. Clark. I’ll probably have to come and talk to you again,
but I will certainly let you know when we have any news.”
“I would appreciate that, Inspector. I know she was only here for two months but I did grow very fond of her.”
R
OSE HAD SLEPT FOR LESS THAN AN HOUR WHEN
Violet came into the library and woke her up. For one blissful moment, Rose didn’t know where she was, then the dreadful reality of what had happened crashed in on her. She lifted the silver bangle to her lips and kissed it.
The maid looked at her with sympathy. “How are ’ee feeling, miss?”
“I’m so knackered, Violet. I could sleep for a week.”
“It’s the shock, miss. I was the same way when we had the news that my youngest brother had been killed at Somme. It be like walking in sludge all the time.”
Rose stared into the maid’s lined face. She felt like putting her head on Violet’s shoulder and crying her eyes out, but she was afraid that once she started she wouldn’t be able to stop.
“Miss Stillwell said to tell you she had to go out, but she said to make sure you was taken care of.”
Rose swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
Violet reached into her apron pocket. “Here. My doctor gave them to I for my nerves. They’ll make ’ee sleep.” She held out two white pills. “Swallow ’em down. I’ll bring you up a nice cuppa and biscuits later on. Go on. Go and have a bit more rest.”
Rose hesitated, but the prospect of temporary oblivion was too tempting. She took the pills and swallowed them as best she could. Violet nodded approvingly. “Good lass. They’ll do ’ee the world of good, ’ee’ll see.”
Impulsively, Rose caught her by the hand. “Who would kill our Elsie like that? I simply can’t believe it.”
The maid’s voice was soothing. “I’m sure Inspector will sort things out. Those carrot tops are a determined lot. Now off with ’ee.”
Obediently Rose crept off to her room. It was strange being in the hostel alone. She was used to the chatter, the calling back and forth and open doors as girls visited each other. Her room, formerly a servant’s room, was on the third floor. At first she and Elsie had shared it, but her friend had leaped at the chance to get out of the hostel and take a billet in town. After a couple of days, Rose had come to enjoy having her own room, tucked out of the way.
She plopped down on the hard bed and closed her eyes. Immediately, the image of Elsie’s shattered face sprang into her mind and she shuddered. What was she going to do without Elsie? They had grown up together, and ever since she could remember, Elsie had been her protector. She’d loved her, chivvied her, taken her into wild adventures that Rose would never have done on her own. And now she was dead. The copper who’d come seemed decent. She supposed she should tell him what Elsie had been up to. Probably, she should’ve told him right away, but it was almost second nature not to talk to the police about anything.
She yawned. The pills were already taking effect.
She was awakened by a knock on the door, and Violet came in with a tea tray.
“Here ’ee go, miss. A nice hot cuppa.”
Rose sat up. The light coming through the window was softer. “What time is it, Violet? How long did I sleep?”
“It be going on for six o’clock. I told ’ee them’s good pills.”
Rose’s tongue felt thick and her mouth was dry, and she
didn’t feel better, her head was so heavy. She didn’t feel rested and her grief seemed as close as ever.
The maid poured her some tea. “I thought ’ee might be hungry so I brought up a bit of cold savoury pie.”
“Ta, Violet. You’ve been … er …” Rose searched for an appropriate word. “You’ve been a brick.” She’d heard some of the girls using the word but it sat awkwardly on her tongue. She could almost hear Elsie laughing at her. “Oo, listen to Rosie putting on airs. Good as a duchess she is.”
“Thank ’ee, miss.”
“There’s something I must do, Violet. Is Miss Stillwell back yet?”
“No, she’s not, miss. But she did ring and ask after ’ee.”
“Do you think it would be all right if I made a telephone call?”
“I’m sure it would. Now why don’t ’ee tidy yourself up a bit. ’Ee’ll feel better for a wash. I’d better get I downstairs and help Cook with tea for her ladyship.”
After she left, Rose polished off the pie, cramming pieces into her mouth as she had when she was growing up and nobody knew what good manners were. She got up and went to the washstand. There was enough water left from morning in the urn to wash her face and neck. The bedroom felt hot and stuffy. She pushed the window sash up as far as it would go and leaned out. Her room looked out onto the yard, which right now was deserted. The cows were still in the fields and wouldn’t be brought in for another hour. It had been because of the cows that she and Elsie had had one of their rare barneys. Rose wanted them both to volunteer for milking duty, but at their first attempt Elsie had been kicked by a cow, impatient with her clumsy tugging on the udder. She wouldn’t go back but Rose continued. She started to love the big placid beasts and the shed that smelled of grass and manure, a smell
that Rose found pleasant, much to Elsie’s scorn. “How can you like that pong?” she’d asked angrily. Rose sighed. She’d milked the cows this morning in the pre-dawn hours, never knowing the tragedy that was ahead of her. She’d enjoyed the morning. Old one-horned Dolly had been particularly good. Rose had discovered that if she sang to the cows, they gave up more milk. Mr. Trimble thought she was barmy, but she could point to her full frothing pails, almost a quarter more than he got. What had she been singing this morning? Oh, now she remembered. She’d sung that Vera Lynn song, “We’ll Meet Again.”