Thirty-Five

Katrin was sitting at her desk in her office in Holbeach. Florence’s journal was lying in front of her, meticulously wrapped in plastic. She’d read it from cover to cover, looking back over certain passages more than once, and still failed to unlock its mystery. She was convinced there was more to it than the vapid ramblings of a Victorian maidservant who’d married above her station.

She picked it up again, weighing it in one hand as if for inspiration. Part of her didn’t want to send it to Juliet: she’d prefer to crack the mystery herself. But she knew that Juliet’s elliptical approach to solving problems often worked. Sometimes her brain was like a searchlight, illuminating what was obvious to her but everyone else had failed to see.

Katrin sighed and put the journal down again. She was tired and slightly bored. What she’d really like would be to take the journal to Juliet herself and spend an enjoyable few minutes chatting to her. But that was out of the question, obviously.

For the first time, she thought about how she might arrange for the package to be delivered to the Pilgrim Hospital. If Tim had been planning to visit Juliet that day she might have sent it with him, but he’d told her that he’d be in Norfolk until late. Katrin decided that if Juliet felt well enough to take a look at the journal, she’d send it by courier. The research unit had one that they used regularly. A non-emergency delivery shouldn’t be too expensive.

She picked up the phone and dialled the number that Tim had given her. As she’d suspected, it wasn’t a direct line, but after she’d jumped through a few hoops she could hear Juliet’s voice.

“Hello? Juliet? It’s Katrin. How are you feeling?”

“Not too bad, thanks.” Juliet sounded quieter than usual, but cheerful. “How are you?” Katrin experienced a flash of annoyance.

“Oh, so Tim’s told you, has he?”

“He didn’t have much choice, did he? He had to find out whether it was safe for you to visit me.”

“I suppose so. And as you probably know, I’ve been told that I can’t. Visit, I mean.”

“Well, pity from my point of view, but you’re well out of it, to be honest. Tim said that you’ve got something you’d like me to look at?”

“Yes. It’s a journal. It’s late Victorian. It was written by the wife of an earlier owner of the house that Kevan de Vries and his wife live in.”

“You mean Laurieston House? I’ve been there. It’s close to where I was bitten by the rat.”

“Oh, yes, I should have remembered that. What do you think, anyway?”

“About the journal? I’d love to see it. It looks as if I’m going to be here for a few more days, and I’m just about comatose with boredom. Do you have any tips or clues that you’d like to give me before I read it?”

“I’d rather you came to it fresh, really. I can tell you that the woman who wrote it had been a maidservant, so she wasn’t well-educated. She writes in quite a naïve manner. She also seems to be heavily influenced by her mother-in-law, who lived in the house with her – unlike the husband, who was often away. But you’ll see all that for yourself.”

“OK, fine. How are you going to get it here? Will Tim bring it?”

“I think he’s in Norfolk today and I’d like you to have it as soon as possible. I thought I’d send it by courier. It will reach you all right, won’t it?”

“It will if you say that it has to be signed for. Why is Tim in Norfolk?”

“He’s helping with a murder investigation, but I don’t know the details. Before I forget, though, he asked me to ask you to keep it to yourself, if you decided to take the journal. He seems to think that Superintendent Thornton will take a dim view of it if he knows you’re working on it. He wants the de Vries case putting on the back burner, apparently. Tim thinks he’d prefer you to be doing something else, if you’re up to working at all.”

“If I didn’t know the Superintendent, I’d be outraged by that remark. It’s none of his business what I do while I’m signed off sick. But Tim’s probably right and, as you know, I’m quite good at keeping the peace, so in the unlikely event of Thornton’s calling me or coming to visit, I’ll keep quiet about it. He can’t put the de Vries case ‘on the back burner’, though. It’s about forging passports. Thornton surely knows that he has to get to the bottom of that.”

“I don’t know any more than you do. I’m sure Tim’ll fill you in next time he sees you. I’m really pleased that you feel well enough to read the journal – though promise me you won’t tire yourself out in the process. Take your time.”

“I will. You promise me to take care of yourself, too.”

“Of course. And we must meet as soon as you’re out of quarantine. I’m really looking forward to seeing you. It’ll be fun to discuss the journal then, if you haven’t already made it give up its secret.”

“What secret?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sure there is one. There, I’ve hinted more than I meant to, now.”

“Don’t worry: you’ve just whetted my appetite. Will it come today?”

Katrin looked at her watch.

“If I can get the courier to collect it before two, it should be with you later this afternoon.”

After Katrin had put down the phone, she thought that there’d been something unusual about the conversation with Juliet. Thinking back over it, she realised that, although she’d sounded weak, Juliet had seemed upbeat, almost ebullient. Even in good health, she was usually demure, her voice less inflected than most people’s (Katrin hesitated to use the word ‘colourless’).