Any warmth Lydia felt towards Cath dissolved like steam on a window under a cat’s lick. Thanks to the information she had given the police, her father and Gimlet were under arrest.
Superintendent Richards called and questioned her with alarming thoroughness. She was edgy and he knew it. The reason for her edginess, besides anxiety about the fate of her father and Gimlet, was because of the information given to her by Matthew; information she had promised to withhold.
For all his smiles and friendliness, this clever man could easily persuade her to tell all. He only needed a slight hint that she was holding back and he’d subtly edge the questioning so she would say more than intended. Then there would be no possibility of keeping anything from him.
It was eleven o’clock the morning after Billy and Gimlet had been taken in for questioning and the Superintendent had called at the house where Lydia waited for news. Annie had refused to leave her bed and Stella had agreed to look after the shop leaving Lydia to deal with her mother.
For a while the Superintendent talked about the discovery of Rosie’s body, making her go over and over what happened, making certain she had omitted nothing, then he asked for a cup of coffee and, with relief, she went down to the kitchen to make it. They sat almost companionably then. He asked about the sweater she was making and whether the central heating was adequate and even asked the names of the plants with which the room was decorated. She felt the stress ease out of her. Perhaps it was over now. Her father would soon be home and all the questioning would be ended. He didn’t kill the poor girl, the confessions had revealed the truth. Gimlet had found her dead and with her wrists cut. It was definitely suicide, so a charge of concealing the evidence of a crime by burying the body was sure to be all they faced.
‘Do you know where Matthew Hiatt is?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I think he’s at the hotel where he’s been staying off and on since October. I expect he’ll be here later, I dropped a note in for him late last night, telling him about Dad and Gimlet.’
‘You’re wrong. He’s left town. He was on the train out of town at seven o’clock this morning. No matter,’ he added as she began to argue, ‘we have an eye on him.’
‘But why? He’s probably gone off on one of his walks. I’m sure he will have let his landlady know where he is. Why the hint of secrecy? Surely he isn’t suspected of burying Rosie’s body? He was devastated when he knew she’d been found.’
‘Coincidence, mind, him being here when the body came to light, wasn’t it? And did he ever explain why he broke into your house and took his jacket?’
Lydia was confused. The man who had entered the house and locked Annie in her room had been accepted as a dream. But the jacket had been taken, and only Matthew had known it was there.
‘And that knitted hat, several people have told us how he had one remarkably similar when he arrived here. Never seen it since that night. Could that be the one which ended up on the bonfire.’ He allowed a moment to pass then added slowly, ‘The bonfire on your father’s allotment?’
‘Matthew didn’t kill his sister and he wasn’t responsible for burying her either, it is just coincidences. They do happen, you know.’
‘Oh, I accept there are such things, but you’d be surprised at how often they aren’t coincidences at all, only someone trying to outwit someone else. Take another coincidence. He’s quite skilled at appearing at the right time, isn’t he?’
The words flew to and fro until Lydia finally gave Richards the opening he waited for.
‘What was he doing up at the castle if it wasn’t to find and move the body he had murdered and then buried?’
‘He wasn’t looking for her!’
‘Oh, then what was he looking for? A gun? A box of medals? Some jewellery?’
‘I don’t know,’ she blustered.
‘Rosie was threatening to tell the police where he was hiding. Did you know that? She was his sister but her evidence might have put him in prison. A long way from being a respected head teacher, an ex-jailbird, don’t you think? Worth making an effort to avoid that fate, wouldn’t you say?’ She knew then that to save Matthew from an accusation of murder, she had to tell the policeman what she knew. It was a relief in a way, she wasn’t a person who found it easy to lie.
Besides, her worries about Matthew were less urgent since Billy and Gimlet had been taken into police custody. She was too afraid for their fate to worry about much else. Matthew had only been a part of her life for a matter of weeks and the prospect of seeing Billy in prison dominated every other thought, including her promise to Matthew.
Richards listened silently until she had revealed everything Matthew had told her, then he stood up to leave. Thanking her for the coffee, he ran down the stairs without any more questions or even a discussion on what she had said. Her own questions hung in the air without answers. She was left with a feeling of anti-climax and an overwhelming sense of guilt. She had been so afraid for her father and Gimlet she had let Matthew down.
She sat, staring into space and wondering what was going to happen to them all. She was frightened for Billy and Gimlet, and wondered how this situation would affect Matthew’s career. She wondered about Glyn and Cath, and herself and Matthew. It was as if everything important to her had been thrown into a giant mixing bowl and stirred into chaotic confusion.
At five o’clock she decided to go once more to the police station for news of her father, then look for Glyn. Annie was sleeping, having taken a sleeping tablet unnoticed by Lydia. As she left the house, her thoughts were on Glyn. Whatever feelings she had for him, or had once had, they were in this together, with both fathers involved in the police investigation.
Cath opened the door and smilingly told her that Glyn was driving someone to the airport and wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. The little girl stood beside her aunt and Lydia couldn’t resist bending down and talking to the attractive, but solemn child. She didn’t try to begin a conversation with Cath – the person responsible for the arrest of her father and Gimlet – but left without going inside.
She walked along the road to where the allotments lay below the castle, and worked her way around the narrow roads and lanes to Stella’s house and shop.
At the gate to the castle grounds, onto which light flooded from the lit shop window, she paused and looked up at the castle. It was late evening and already dark and, with bright lights behind her, it was almost impossible to make out its shape. Was there something up there that would end this mystery? Something to clear her father and Gimlet from the suspicion of murder?
Turning to enter the shop she stopped. Would the police still be watching the place? It had been a while since they were last seen exploring the ruins and the grounds. But perhaps after the revelations about Matthew their vigil would be reinstated? Searching her mind for a reason to go up there, she remembered seeing some teasels growing on the slope between the path around the outer walls and the end of the allotments. Going up to pick them was not the most brilliant excuse ever invented but it would do.
Stella was busy serving customers, the place was full, customers chattered and demanded and Stella was rushing around trying to please them all looking quite harrassed. Going in through the side door and collecting a torch and a pair of scissors, Lydia excused her abandonment of her aunt with the conviction that she would be no more than ten minutes.
The air was still, a mist had crept in from the sea and was clothing the village that nestled beside it, tucking it in for the night. Coloured lights were hazy, both enlarged and weakened by the damp air. The sound from the busy shopping street reached her and gave her a feeling of isolation and loneliness. Down there were happy people gathering the ingredients for their Christmas celebrations and up here against the be-fogged castle she was on her own, looking for heaven alone knew what, fantasizing about making a discovery that would solve everyone’s problems in seconds.
The path around the walls was less frequently used now summer had ended and even Neville Nolan and his gang accepted that the place was out of bounds. Branches stuck out and became hazards as she pushed her way along. Leaving the path she started down to where the allotment fence was no more than an occasional glint of metal. Her speed increased with the sharpness of the slope and she was running before she touched the fence.
This area, where both Molly and she had fallen, was even more overgrown. She forced her way through, foolishly clinging to the plan of cutting the teasels in case she was stopped. They were easily found, taller than even the hedge parsley heads which were now untidy with the last of their seed. She took out the scissors she had brought and cut the thick, thorny stems. They would look nice as a window display if they were sprayed with colour. Apt for a wool shop too. Teasels had been used for carding wool ready for spinning for centuries.
Once picked, she found it difficult to carry them. They were long and awkward, getting in the way as she walked through the overgrown trees and the brittle stalks of dead wild flowers. The stems hurt her hands and a handkerchief wrapped around them didn’t help. She needed two hands to climb back up the bank too, and seeing her path with only the thin beam of a torch made it almost impossible. She left them where she would find them on her return and began to clamber up the slope on all fours.
She almost turned back then. What was she looking for? And how could she hope to find anything with only a small torch? She realised she was back at the place where she had fallen. The ground was disturbed and great channels showed where her feet had failed to find purchase. Bending again into a crawl she began to climb up to the castle’s periphery path.
The earth was insecure, the plants growing there were brittle and had shallow roots which didn’t hold the earth. Even under the hawthorns the soil was friable and loose. She had climbed about half way up, only a matter of three feet, when her foot began to slide and she couldn’t stop herself slithering slowly, but inexorably, back down. Scrabbling around frantically for something to grip to save her falling, her hands grasped a small object and as her feet slid at an increasing rate at the same moment, she still held it when she landed in an undignified heap near the allotment fence.
She was angry with herself. What a stupid idea this had been. Better off she’d be, going back and helping her aunt serve in the shop. She struggled back to where she had left the bunch of teasels, she might as well have something to show for her stupid behaviour. It was then she realised she was still holding the object she had grasped. In the beam of the torch she saw it was a knife. A two-bladed pocket knfe with one blade, rusted and almost unrecognisable, still open.
Instinctively she threw it down, then she stared at it down the beam of her torch.
It must belong to one of the boys who frequented the castle. But what if it didn’t? What if it had been here for sixteen years, after someone had slit the wrists of Rosie Hiatt?
Holding it distastefully, she carefully wrapped it in the handkerchief she had been using to hold the teasels, then she marked the place where she thought she had found it, and went down towards the gate.
When she walked into the shop, mud-stained and with her hair sticking up and full of flower seeds, Stella laughed then demanded an explanation.
‘It’s unlikely it has anything to do with Rosie,’ Lydia said when the shop was cleared and they sat with a cup of tea in Stella’s back room. ‘Not after all these years. No, it was probably dropped last summer by a tourist sharpening a pencil or something equally mundane. So many people wandering about there and dropping things. It could have come from anywhere. If it was anything to do with Rosie wouldn’t it have been found at the time? And with Neville Nolan and his gang spending so much time there, it’s unlikely that it’s been there sixteen years and not been found.’
‘When Rosie disappeared, no one looked for a weapon, did they?’ Stella replied.
‘Oh, I’d best throw it away. I’ve been watching too much television for sure.’
‘Glyn’s been here looking for you,’ Stella told her. ‘I didn’t know where you were. Said he’d go back and wait for you.’
‘Look at the time! I must fly! Mam’s on her own. All fuss and feathers she’ll be if she wakes up and find herself alone. You know how frightened she gets. What have I been thinking about!’
‘I’ll just see to the till and I’ll be down later to see if there’s any news of Billy,’ Stella said as Lydia hurried home.
Glyn was there, talking to Annie, reading her bits from the newspaper. Annie could read perfectly well and didn’t even need glasses but she loved to be read to.
‘Being spoilt, are you Mam?’ Lydia said as she ran into her mother’s bedroom and kissed her.
‘Where have you been?’ Glyn asked seeing her dishevelled appearance. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I—’ she glanced at her mother, who was watching them, and added lightly, ‘I’ll tell you all the news when I’ve phoned the police again, and made Mam a cup of tea, right?’
‘Glyn’s been in touch with the solicitor and he thinks Billy and Gimlet will be released in the next hour,’ Annie told her happily.
In her delight at hearing the news, Lydia forgot herself for a moment, and hugged Glyn. Embarrassed, she pulled away from him and hurried down the stairs. ‘I’d better get the food on,’ she said. ‘Starved he’ll be.’
Putting a casserole on to heat through, she turned as Glyn followed her down the stairs and asked him what had happened to her father and his.
‘It seems that your father had a row with the girl. I gather she was trying to find someone to take responsibility for the baby she was expecting and both of them were likely candidates! Billy pushed her and my father went back later just to see if she was all right and found her with her wrists cut. It was too late to help her and knowing what a field day the papers would have, he buried her and hoped people would presume she’d left town and not look for her – which was exactly what happened.’
‘I’ve half suspected that Dad went with other women, but I’ve never really faced it before. I don’t think he does now. I imagine that affair made him lose his nerve.’
‘He didn’t know until a few weeks ago what my father had done for him,’ Glyn said. ‘The reason he doesn’t look for sex outside the home is because he’s returned, in a way, to his first and true love.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Stella,’ he replied succinctly.
So many things became clear then.
It was much later when she remembered the knife. After a brief explanation, she showed it to Glyn.
‘The police will have to see this and they’ll probably be annoyed to say the least.’
‘Annoyed? With me? It’s nothing to do with me!’
‘For moving it,’ Glyn explained. It’s probably nothing to do with Rosie’s death but you shouldn’t have touched it.’
‘I didn’t know I had it! I slipped and grabbed at handfuls of soil, hoping to catch hold of a tree root or something solid to stop me falling. My hand just tightened on it instinctively. Like a drowning man clutching a straw I suppose.’
There was a knock at the door and Lydia swung around to open it, expecting to see her father, but it was Matthew. ‘Lydia, I’ve just heard about your father,’ he said, ignoring the presence of Glyn. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, thank goodness. He and Gimlet are probably on their way home this minute.’
‘And I’d better go home and find out what’s been going on,’ Glyn said. He went to pick up the handkerchief in which the rusted knife was resting and Matthew stopped him.
‘What’s that? Where did you find it?’ he demanded.
Lydia explained and told him that Glyn was going to take it to the police station. ‘Where in the castle grounds?’ Matthew asked, and Glyn hovered at the doorway, anxious now to be off to greet his father. ‘You didn’t go inside the castle did you?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Can I take it now, Lydia? I must go. I want to be there when Dad gets home. Mam’ll be upset and—’
‘Thank you for telling me about – you know,’ she spoke with her head bent, not wanting to mention her father’s love for her aunt. If Matthew was curious he didn’t ask questions.
‘You go, Glyn,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the knife to the police station while Lydia waits here for Billy. I’ll go straight away. They’ll want to see this as soon as possible.’ His eyes were filled with tears as he looked at the small knife, convinced, albeit without reason, that it was the weapon which had ended his sister’s life.
‘I have the superintendent’s telephone number. D’you think we should phone him first? After all he is in charge of the investigation.’
Matthew talked on the phone then told her he had arranged to meet Richards at the station an hour later. ‘He said we weren’t to discuss it with anyone,’ Matthew said.
‘I think they like to keep fresh information to themselves in the hope that someone will trip themselves up,’ Glyn said.
‘He probably still suspects me,’ Matthew said ruefully.
Glyn hurried off to welcome his father home, but before Matthew also left, to deliver the knife to Superintendent Richards, Lydia told him that she had betrayed his trust and told the sergeant what he had confided to her. She expected him to be angry but his shoulders drooped and he said quietly, ‘Perhaps it’s just as well. It would all have come out anyway. Finding Rosie’s body was bad luck so far as my secret hoard was concerned, but, d’you know, I’m glad it’s all out in the open.’
‘But your career. You might have trouble with the new position. A criminal, even if thoroughly reformed, isn’t a popular choice for a head teacher.’
‘I’ll start again, with something new if necessary. Difficult, but not impossible. My army record was a good one.’
‘I’m sorry, Matthew.’
‘Don’t be.’ He took her in his arms and held her close. ‘Another plus might be my starting again here, with you to help me. Does that appeal to you as much as it does to me, Lydia?’
She kissed him but didn’t reply. The recent brief hug she had shared with Glyn had created a far greater emotion.
The weather had turned very cold and for several days the radio had been debating the possibility of snow for Christmas and when Billy arrived, the snow came with him. As the door burst open, Billy appeared in a flurry of large snowflakes. He was hugging himself and began talking almost before the door opened, about the perishing weather, enforced idleness, rotten food, the smelly accommodation and the sarcasm of the coppers, ‘And how,’ he asked, almost without taking a breath, ‘is Annie?’
Matthew smiled at Lydia and whispered, ‘He seems unharmed by the experience, but I bet he and Gimlet have got a giant of a thirst!’ He picked up the cloth and the rusty knife without Billy seeing it, and went out.
When he returned about half an hour later, his coat was patchily white, his face ruddy, his hair edged with fine flakes as if he were a part of the seasonal decorations. Stella had arrived, Billy was sitting in front of a huge fire, Annie had been carried down and was sitting opposite him and Lydia was attending to the three of them as if they were all invalids.
Avoiding being heard by her parents, Matthew told Lydia he had given the knife to the superintendent, who would be calling to talk to her about her discovery later that evening. ‘If he can get through,’ he added. ‘The forecast is for heavy snow and drifts continuing all night and you know how that changes people’s plans!’
‘I hope he doesn’t make it. I don’t think I want to see a policeman again for a while,’ Lydia sighed.
‘Do you want me to stay?’ he asked.
Lydia shook her head. ‘No it’s all right. Dad will be here. I don’t think he’ll be going far from home tonight.’
Gimlet and Billy were both in need of some maldod – some tender loving care – but, after an hour or two of telling their families about their ordeal, they both needed a drink as Matthew had predicted.
Gimlet arrived with Glyn and Tomos and Molly and they took Billy to The Pirate to celebrate with their friends. Stella was taken home by Glyn about nine and when Annie had been put to bed, Lydia decided that Richards must have changed his mind and she prepared to have a bath and go to bed herself. It had been a distressing day.
Glyn joined his father and Billy and the others at The Pirate, but he was uneasy. The pre-Christmas joviality had infected the regular clientele and laughter filled the room, emanating from the various groups. Decorations glittered around the lights and brass shone, reflecting the fire in the huge grate, but Glyn seemed unaware of it all. He was edgy, unhappy, but couldn’t explain why. Something rankled in the back of his mind and he couldn’t clear his thoughts sufficiently to understand what it was. Leaving the rest of the celebratory party in The Pirate, he went to the police station and asked for Detective Superintendent Richards.
He was told that Richards was not on duty that day and would probably be at home.
‘I saw him up at the castle earlier today, mind,’ one of the constables told him, ‘but he won’t be there now, not in this weather.’
‘You’ll have a note of Matthew Hiatt coming in and handing in a knife found at the castle?’ Glyn said. ‘He was here then.’
The two constables looked at the book and at each other and frowned. ‘There’s nothing down here about Matthew Hiatt calling, no mention of a knife being handed in, and the Super definitely hasn’t been here today.’
Glyn left, his deep, tantalizing thoughts crystallising and adding to his anxiety. Matthew had been lying.
The snow had worsened and the streets were already covered with a couple of inches of snow. The cars passing along the road were making that unmistakable shushing sound as the wheels turned the white to a slushy drab brown, which changed colour where streetlights gave it an orange glow. Glyn felt it seeping into the unsuitable shoes he wore and wished he had thought to wear wellingtons.
What had Matthew done with the knife if he hadn’t handed it in? Could he have met Richards somewhere other than the police station? He had telephoned him first. Although, they had only heard Matthew’s end of the conversation. What if he had only pretended to talk to the man?
Where was Matthew now? If he hadn’t reported the find then what else was he hiding? He pulled his collar up higher and, ignoring the comfort offered by The Pirate’s bright windows, he returned to Lydia’s house.
The bath was running and the scent of expensive bath foam filled the steamy air. Lydia was removing her clothes when she heard a knock on the door. Probably someone to ask about Billy, she thought with a sigh. Putting her trousers and sweater back on, she ran down the two flights and opened the door. It was Superintendent Richards.
‘Oh, I forgot you were coming,’ she said. ‘Come in quick before all the heat goes from the house!’ The snow swirled in the air. ‘The weather forecasters are probably right, this looks set to continue all night,’ she added shivering dramatically.
‘I want you to come with me,’ he said, tight-lipped.
‘What, in this? At this time of night? Why, what’s happened?’
‘It’s about the knife you found. You must show me exactly where it was found. It’s very important.’
‘Won’t tomorrow do? Nothing will change in this weather. I doubt if even a fox will venture out in this!’
‘It could clear your father completely if what you tell me ties in with what we already know about Rosie’s death.’
‘I’ll have to stay until Dad gets back. Mam doesn’t like being left alone at night.’
‘We won’t be long. Twenty minutes at the most. I don’t want your father to know where we’re going. I want him completely ignorant of this or he could be suspected of interfering and that would put him in a bad light. On his answers to my next lot of questions, his freedom might depend. Matthew’s too. We don’t want people saying they’d spoken to you and compared stories, do we? Hurry, we’ll be back before ten and I doubt if he’ll be home before then.’
There was something frightening in the man’s demeanour and without further argument, Lydia found wellingtons and coat and followed him. Out of the house, down the steps to the seafront where street lights shone weakly through the polka-dot air, and the sea beyond was invisible.
Without a word he took her arm and hurried her towards the path beside the sea. He walked so fast and held her so tightly, she began to feel she was under arrest. A joke to that effect gained no response. His face looked closed up, unfriendly and steely cold.
Walking around behind the houses and up through the wood towards the castle was difficult as he refused to show a light and there was no lessening of the pace he set. ‘Why are we going this way?’ she demanded.
‘I have my reasons, just hurry, will you?’
She was half dragged when she stumbled or when trees pulled at her clothes and she began to feel very frightened. What was he taking her to see? Not another body? Please not, she prayed. She couldn’t cope with another shocking sight like Rosie Hiatt. What could he have found up here? And how could he hope to show it to her with with every piece of open ground covered with snow?
She tried to free herself from his grasp, pleading for him to stop, insisting she was out of breath, needed a rest, her face was scratched, her feet were sliding, she couldn’t see where she was walking, and couldn’t he slow down? All to no avail. He pulled her inexorably up through the steep woodland, half dragged her up the steep slope of the castle mound made slippery by the fresh snow. Around the grounds they went, hugging the hedges until the castle loomed up in front of them through the shower-curtain of snowflakes.
The ladders were in place and there at last, below the window so many people had used for access, he finally stopped.
‘Climb up,’ he said, still holding her arm. ‘Go on, climb up if you want to save your father.’
‘I didn’t find the knife inside the castle,’ she tried to explain. ‘It was further on, below this path.’
‘Do as I say.’
‘But why are we going inside?’
‘I have something you must see.’ He forced her to climb up through the window and down the other side.
‘It wasn’t in here!’ she insisted time and again. ‘I found the knife outside. On the slope below the path.’ She tried refusing to go any further, but he used force and threats and she had no alternative but to go where he led.
Glyn walked back to Lydia’s house. The door was unlocked and he went in, calling her name. The scent of bath foam was in the air and he smiled and sat down, waiting for her to emerge from the bathroom. After a while he realised there were no sounds coming from upstairs and he climbed the stairs, walked past Annie’s room and saw that the bathroom door was open. Calling her name he pushed it and discovered it was empty, the half-filled bath was still. Lydia’s abandoned dressing gown and nightdress neatly placed on the towel rail. Panic beginning to fill him, he went to her bedroom and found that undisturbed.
Searching the house he saw Annie was fast asleep, a book fallen from her hands. Apart from her, the place was deserted. Matthew! She must have gone somewhere with Matthew. He closed the door behind him, slithered his way down the stone steps and hurried to Matthew’s hotel. Matthew was reading in his room.
‘I left her more than an hour ago,’ he told Glyn. ‘I did offer to stay for when that policeman called but she said she’d be all right, with Billy there and the rest.’
‘We all went out and now there’s no sign of her.’
They went once again to the police station where they were assured that Lydia had not been brought in and, no, there was no mistake. The Superintendent was definitely not on duty.
‘And you still say you have no record of Matthew Hiatt bringing in a knife found by Miss Lydia Jones?’ Glyn asked, looking at Matthew as he spoke.
‘No record?’ Matthew frowned. ‘I met Superintendent Richards here this evening. He was waiting for me at the corner of the road, said he was on his way here. He took it, thanked me and told me to tell no one. I was asked to instruct Miss Jones to stay in as he’d be calling to interview her later this evening.’
The constables could shed no further light on the puzzle and Matthew and Glyn decided they would go and find the sergeant to see if he were able to tell them where Lydia might be.
He lived not far from Stella so it was to Stella they went first, in case Lydia had told her of some plan to go out.
Stella looked up at the castle and shivered. ‘She wouldn’t be up there, would she? Not in this?’
‘No,’ Glyn laughed. ‘Curious she might be, but she wouldn’t go up there on a night like this. Especially not alone.’
‘She did look upon it as her mystery, mind. She might conceivably want to investigate something and go on impulse. She can be stubborn,’ Stella added, ‘follows her father in that. If something occurred to her, she might well go up there, even in weather like this.’
Matthew went to see if there were any footprints leading up from the gate, but if there had been any, the snow had filled them.
‘There were two people walking along the lane behind Mary and Gimlet’s house when I was there earlier,’ Stella said. ‘Heading for the castle or the wood below it. There’s no stopping some courting couples, is there?’ She tutted.
‘Did you see who they were?’
‘In this? No chance! But I remember thinking it looked like a man and a woman, arm in am they looked to be.’
‘It was them. I know it was them!’ Glyn said.
Gathering torches, Glyn and Matthew jumped the gate and went at a slippery run up the slope towards the castle. Stella telephoned the police, thankful that Lydia had insisted on having her telephone re-installed when they opened the shop.
Forcing her to walk beside him, Richards led Lydia to where they looked at the gateway from inside the ruined building. He twisted her hands behind her and fastened them before she was aware of what he was doing. Then as she threatened to scream, he tied a scarf tightly across her mouth so it bit painfully into her mouth. She tried to get away but he held her almost playfully, pushing and pulling her to the broken walls of the kitchen. There, in almost the exact place where Rosie had been found, was a grave.
He held her almost like a lover, pressing her against him and looking down into her wide, terrified eyes. ‘If you hadn’t interfered this wouldn’t be necessary,’ he whispered. ‘Want to know why, do you? You’re going to die anyway so I suppose it won’t hurt to satisfy your curiosity. Then you can die happy, eh?’ He was holding her and preventing her from escaping, but nevertheless she managed to kick him. He threw her down with a grunt of pain and fastened a rope around her ankles before dragging her closer to the gaping hole.
‘It was you remembering seeing the stupid hat. That was your death sentence. My wife knitted it for me and it was a bit of a joke. Awful it was, the pom-pom so garish I was teased about it. Your memory of seeing it near Rosie’s grave might not have been enough, but I couldn’t take a chance. I was there, I saw Matthew run away and went in to see what he’d been doing. I knew I hadn’t time to remove the body, although I knew who it was. I moved the tools after you and Glyn Howe had gone, to confuse things, muddy the waters a bit. I wasn’t too worried at the discovery of her body. After all, I hadn’t buried her.’
Lydia pleaded with her eyes as he shone the torch at her to see the effect of his words. She would promise never to say a word if only he’d give her back her life. If only he would take off the gag and listen to her.
‘Rosie was a prostitute,’ he went on in an almost conversational tone. ‘She threatened to tell everyone that the child she expected was mine. I found out later that she’d tried the same story on others – including your father. But at the time I was convinced I was the only one. She was rubbish. Not worth wrecking my career for. When I saw your father arguing with her, I finished off what she had started. Yes, she did try to kill herself, but she wasn’t making a very good job of it, stabbing at her wrists ineffectually. I helped her that’s all. You can hardly call it murder, can you, when I helped her commit suicide?’
Lydia tried to say, ‘Please,’ but all that came out was a low moan. He kicked her and told her to be silent. From the expression on his face, seen in the light of the torch and the brightness reflected from the pure, unsullied snow surrounding the dark scar of the grave – her grave – she could see he was enjoying the telling.
She was shivering with cold and fear. There was satisfaction on his face but, she thought with mounting terror, no mercy.
‘It was pure good fortune being given the investigation. It made everything so easy. I’ll show them a knife, any rusty old knife, there’s plenty I can pick up in the allotment sheds. I’ll say it was the one you found, a rubbishy thing and clearly nothing to do with the death of Rosie. They’ll believe me.’ His tone had changed again. He seemed to be thinking aloud.
She began to kick, to scrape the ground with her heels, determined to leave some mark but he only laughed.
‘I’m going to forget to lock the gates when I leave. Already Neville Nolan and his little band of ruffians are planning to do some sledging here tomorrow. I gave them a hint that I’d look the other way if they want to come into the castle and have some fun. Any signs of us being here will be obliterated. Good idea, eh? Snowball fights, dancing on your grave, now there’s a thought, eh? Kids are entitled to some fun.’
She tried again to plead but very little sound came out.
‘This snow will leave the ground soggy for a while, then the frosts will harden it and by the spring there won’t be a sign of you.’
He lifted her by the shoulders and dragged her a few feet towards the hole in which he intended to bury her. Then he stopped and swore. Someone was approaching. Lydia tried to struggle, to kick him, tried to call out until her throat threatened to burst. But she was too securely tied.
Then there were torches. Inside the castle. Their beams swinging here and there, gradually getting nearer. Disappearing as the holders of them looked into the rooms and passageways. So close, so certain to see them.
Then the lights snapped off and she began to sob. They had given up. Tears glistened and made even the faintly glowing night sky disappear from her sight so she was surrounded by dazzling darkness.
Then, a roar of rage and two figures hurled themselves at her captor and the gag was removed, and hands were untying her feet, and Glyn’s hands were chafing hers, holding her tight. He was murmuring soothing words, telling her he loved her, and she cried like a child.
The gates clanked as they were opened, and powerful lights revealed the scene. A furious Richards was held in a grip by Matthew whose tight-lipped face was a mask of fury. He had no need to hold the man so tight, he had knocked him out with one blow but he couldn’t let go, needed to feel him there, in his grasp: until one of the others took him gently, assuring him that, ‘It’s all right now sir, we have him secure. He won’t get away,’ and Matthew gradually released his hold on the man who had killed his sister.
It was to Stella’s house they went, once more the wool shop acting as the first aid post for incidents at the castle. It was there, being plied with cups of tea and endless biscuits that the full stories were told.
After she had been seen by a doctor, the police gave Lydia a lift home with Matthew and Glyn, who insisted on seeing her safely in.
Sensing that he was not needed, noticing the way Glyn fussed and Lydia enjoyed it, Matthew left, promising to call the following morning. He knew he wouldn’t. Lydia was not for him. The way she and Glyn looked at each other told him that. He went back to the hotel to pack his bag. Tomorrow, once he had notified the police of his intentions, he would return to pick up his other life and plan a future without Lydia. For a while he had hoped. But whoever said, ‘you can never go back,’ was right – at least in this instance. It would have been better for everyone if he had stayed away.
‘Shouldn’t you be getting home too?’ Lydia said to Glyn, stifling a yawn. ‘Won’t Cath be waiting for you?’ Her mind rang with the echoes of his words when he found her only a few short hours before. He had said he loved her, but now, back down to earth, she knew that was the joy of the moment, of finding her in time, with the realisation in the forefront of his mind of what would have happened if he’d arrived even a few minutes later.
‘Cath, my Cath, is always in bed at seven,’ he said then, looking at her strangely.
‘At seven? Is she ill?’
‘Little girls need to get to sleep early. She has a hot drink, then it’s teeth cleaned and a story, before settling down to sleep.’
‘Oh, you’re talking about little Cath, I meant your Cath, her aunt.’
‘Little Cath is my Cath. Her father was a close friend of mine, and when Cath’s mother died, he had to leave the Navy to make a home for her. They only had a couple of small, rented rooms. The three of us who served with him; Trevor Beacon, Danny Tremain and I decided that, as there was no insurance, no house or anything, we would give him twenty-five thousand pounds to get a business going. It isn’t much, but it will enable him to borrow enough to buy a house of sorts and start a garden maintenance business. He’s a genius with engines. Again, it won’t be much, but it will be enough to keep them together.’
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, hope beginning to grow. ‘Then you and Cath aren’t – you and she don’t…?’
‘We all agreed that if we were going to do something like this we had to make sure we weren’t doing it for the glory. We don’t want anyone to know. Doing it so people would admire us would have been wrong. Everything would have been tainted and spoilt.
‘We did it because we wanted to help a little girl who might otherwise have a very lonely and unhappy life. We are her uncles. Uncle Danny and Uncle Trev and me – Uncle Glyn. So far she has ten thousand from me – no, that savings account isn’t mine, it belongs to Cath. The others have savings unofficially in her name too. We aren’t attempting to give the same amount, just giving what we can to reach our target as swiftly as possible. A few more months and we’ll have done it.’
‘You should have told me.’
‘I’d hoped that once we’d saved enough, you and I might start again without my having to explain. You’re the reason I’ve been so desperately grabbing any opportunity to earn money. I was so afraid of losing you. But with Matthew arriving on the scene that became a forlorn hope. I knew it was too late.’
‘You should have trusted me, Glyn.’
‘I know that now. But when I thought I might, Matthew came into your life and it seemed that it didn’t matter anyway.’
‘For a while I thought I might learn to love Matthew, but it never really happened. Poor Matthew, I treated him badly. I pretended to feel more than I did, to cover my hurt. Glyn, you should have told me.’
He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you now, it’s just that I couldn’t go on with the pretence that I don’t love you.’ He held her close and felt her shivering.
‘I’ll never forget that man tying me up and threatening to bury me in that hole,’ she whispered.
‘It’s all right, love. It’s all right. Let’s pretend it was only a nightmare. I’ll be near you every moment I can, to make sure you don’t suffer another unhappy moment for as long as you live.’
‘So far as little Cath is concerned, your secret is safe,’ she promised. ‘I hope one day, when the other ‘uncles’ have learned to trust me, little Cath will accept me as her friend, too. A girl needs a few aunties as well as a Dad and three uncles, doesn’t she? But no one will know how you and the others helped her.’ She touched his lips with hers to seal the promise. ‘It’s sufficient for me to know you haven’t found someone you love more,’ she said with a contented sigh.