Chapter 15

 

Sir Eric Chapman looked across his desk at the two police officers.

Getting to see him had not been easy. It had involved phone calls, speaking to butlers and secretaries and Bill Brown had begun to wonder if he would have to spend a second night in the clean but poky hotel in Victoria, in the company of his boss. It had been a long night and not one he wanted to repeat in a hurry. But, they were here in the tasteful manor house in the Sussex Downs and were returning to Yorkshire, tonight. Brown would never again moan about his mother’s sometimes over-zealous interest in his well-being or his stomach. He would be glad to get back to the dales.

“Absolutely dreadful affair, young Etherington.” Sir Eric shook his head and gave a calculated conventional pause.

He didn’t seem all that bothered. It was difficult to say where that thought had come from and he could be wrong. This type of man was so used to hiding his feelings that he could be broken-hearted and it would still come across as mildly put out.

“He was a member of your political party?”

Sir Eric looked at Greene. “We are more a movement than a party at the moment. You might have heard of Sir Oswald Moseley?”

“I read something in the Daily Mail, yes, sir.”

The other man gave a thin smile. Brown noticed the neatness of the moustache and wondered if he took a ruler to it.

“We aren’t a party as such, as I say. In fact, in our view, political parties are a part of the problem. The self-serving politicians we’ve been landed with have no reason to do anything any different, and so this country stands still and will soon be left behind.”

Brown felt, rather than heard, the inspector’s sigh.

“I’m sure your politics are very interesting sir, but we should get to the point, the reason we’re here–in this case, the death of Giles Etherington and whether there is anything you might be able to tell us that might cast a light on why he was murdered, or by whom.”

Brown felt a surge of respect. When it came down to it, Inspector Green was not intimidated by the old school tie.

The man opposite made to speak and then grew silent and Brown felt sure there was a dilemma going in his mind.

The inspector allowed the silence to linger like motes of dust in the air.

Sir Eric cleared his throat and blustered for a few seconds. “I say, bit blunt, what?” and gave a nervous laugh.

Now, the man was losing the advantage by the minute.

He coughed again. “We have had trouble at the odd meeting…small time trouble, not like some of the big brown shirt gatherings where fights have broken out. We’ve had the odd fracas, though. Troublemakers coming along to meetings, giving the impression that they’re interested in what we’re trying to do, what we stand for.

“Of course, what they want to do is to heckle and provoke. Then the police are on top of us, and we’re condemned as being a violent movement. There was one chap in particular who seemed to have it in for Giles. Giles was one of our rising men, Inspector. We will feel his loss.”

“The man,” Inspector Green interrupted. “What can you tell me about the man who seemed to have it in for Mr. Etherington?”

Chapman shrugged. “He was just your typical lout, Inspector, dressed like a working man. I don’t think he was there on his own; there were three or four of them, I think. He was dressed in working clothes, cloth cap, boots, not unduly rough.

“That’s the problem you see. We’ve got quite a bit of support from the working class, the Eastenders. Chaps fed up fighting for work in what should be the hub of the empire. I must say, I admire them for joining us. Something quite fine about that, Inspector–echoes of the front, the gentry and the working man pulling together for a common purpose.”

Brown wished the man would shut up, felt the stillness and this time heard a deep shuddering sigh from Greene.

But, the inspector’s tone was neutral. “So, no names at all of these men who attended and disrupted your meeting?”

“Goodness, no, Inspector–no question of taking names at that stage, apart from our committee; that list yes, the way you found me.”

Sir Eric was regretting that list at this minute.

 

“So, needle in a hay-stack is the long and short of it.”

They were on the train heading north and Brown guessed that it was a statement rather than a question the inspector had spoken. “Sir,” he replied, just to fill the silence.

Now, Greene really did seem to be talking to himself as he muttered about needing help from the Met about a hornets’ nest and being up to their ankles in grubby politics.

Brown’s instincts still said the answer was in Yorkshire but kept the thought to himself. Greene had fixed on the politics angle, and that was what they would be concentrating on.

* * *

The day dragged on and Edith found concentration on the practice work tedious. If she were really honest with herself, this type of work did not suit her. By nature, she was not a clerical or administrative worker. She could manage it, but it probably cost her a lot more effort than others to keep paperwork in good order.

Recently her thoughts had been filled with what she might do and a seed of an idea was germinating. This time here with Archie in the Ellbeck practice had been a stop-gap–a very long stop-gap, but she was beginning to be ready for the next stage in her life. An exciting jewel of a future glittered and despite Julia and Ellbeck and what had happened to her last year, that excitement was taking hold.

“I’m out tonight, a medical practice meeting in Harrogate, discussing insurance, patients’ fees and the gap in the middle.” Archie sounded conciliatory, even giving her a bit more detail than usual about his doings. “Are you going out or doing anything?” he asked.

“No, believe it or not, I’m going to sit and do my knitting and listen to a programme on the Home Service,”

Archie smiled, and Edith thought again with a pang how unwell he looked. She considered actually saying something but how did you ask a doctor, even if it was your brother, if his health was all right?

An hour into the programme, her agitation grew. She struggled to concentrate for the remainder of it and then looked around for something to do. Though rain was forecast, she decided to water the garden. Several watering cans in, she knew that gardening wasn’t going to do it this time.

She could go for a walk–it was still light, but maybe she would call on Henry, ask if he’d go for an evening walk with her. She thought about the village and the gossip mill and smiled. She didn’t really care. One good side effect of having a breakdown and being admitted to a mental hospital was that afterwards, it took a lot to embarrass you.

She rang the vicarage doorbell and listened to its reverberation through the hall. Nobody in, there was that feel about the place. At the same moment, she remembered that Henry had said something about a District Church Council meeting in Ripon.

She’d just walk on her own then. There was an inevitability about the direction her legs went. I need to sort this out. She’d been angry with Julia, but her mood had calmed. She was able to see it all better from Julia’s point of view.

The first Julia heard was that Edith had met up with the woman who’d had an affair with her husband. Edith had had a few hours to get used to it. Julia had just been presented with the bald facts. Not only that, but she was grieving and shocked and trying to deal with three heartbroken children. No wonder she’d been angry.

It was up to her to be the person to do the right thing on this occasion.

The blood-orange and citrus yellow of the sky was low over the Etherington’s house and for a moment, Edith stopped walking and looked at the house. It stood like an elderly and elegant lady, settled into its surroundings and dignified in old age.

Edith took a deep breath and walked closer to the house. She hesitated in the act of reaching out to ring the doorbell and instead went round to the back. Julia would either be in the sunroom or in the sitting room that led out by French windows to the back of the house.

She tried to plan what she would say and then told herself not to be so stupid. She and Julia had known each other forever–she didn’t need to rehearse what she was going to say, for goodness sake.

Then two things struck her as being really wrong. The first was that she heard loud and angry voices and the second was that she saw Archie’s green Austin 7 parked on the gravel behind the house.

For a few seconds, the world stood completely still and Edith was aware of all the physical things around her, the darkening, orange-shot sky, the scent of yellow roses, heavy with vanilla, and her own body, standing still, almost forgetting to breathe in the evening air.

Then she came back to herself; she was going to be sick. She swallowed and took a deep breath. An unknown fear swept through her. She didn’t know why she was so frightened, so distressed, but something was very wrong.

She stood still, inhaling slowly, forcing her mind to calm. She had to go forward to find out something she was certain she wouldn’t want to know, or she had to retreat, not knowing and maybe alerting the two of them, in the process. Then, it would be as if she’d been spying on them. No, she couldn’t retreat.

The voices had quietened to a much lower pitched conversation. She walked slowly round to the back of the house to where the open door of the conservatory was letting in the cooling night air. Another half-hour and they would have shut the door or gone in to the warmth of the house.

Never mind. Archie’s car being here when he had spelled out he was going to Harrogate to a meeting would have been more than enough to tell her that something was wrong, or at least that she was being lied to.

She decided not to go in all guns blazing. She wasn’t a wronged wife and he wasn’t her husband. At the moment, all she knew was that Archie had lied to her, and there seemed no obvious reason why he would do so. If she could have thought of any way of avoiding the next minutes, she would have done so. The shock was lessening as a cringing sense of embarrassment took its place.

She walked into the conservatory, stood and looked from one to the other. Archie was standing by the door and Julia was sitting on the wicker sofa with the pink gingham cushions. So fresh and cheerful, Edith had told her friend when she’d first seen them, just a few weeks ago. Now, Julia stood up. Her face was distraught. What the hell was going on here?

“What’s going on?” she said after a few second’s silence.

“What do you mean, what’s going on?” Archie’s tone was angry, defensive. Always been the same, was Archie, in his belief that the position to adopt, when in doubt, was defence.

Apparently, Julia wasn’t impressed either with his bluster and hurried in.

“Something happened between Archie and me, Edith. Not so recently - a while ago.”

Edith looked at her brother. His face was set, rigid. She bet it hid a load of embarrassment though. She remembered the night when she’d been staying at Aunt Alicia’s, out on leave from St Bride’s. Archie had been supposed to come to eat, but had instead forgotten all about it and gone to some gambling club in London.

‘“How long ago?”

Archie answered. “It’s none of your business, Edith. You and I share a house. That doesn’t give you the right to question what I do with my private life.”

The sense of injustice nearly floored Edith.

“How can you say it’s none of my business when the pair of you have been doing something like this completely behind my back, deceiving me?” “I’m going.”

Julia was crying now, sobbing. She sank back down on the arm of the wicker sofa, her hands over her face. “Please, Edith. Please, don’t go. This is an awful mess. I never meant to lie to you. I…I blocked it out, I suppose,”

“Thanks,” snapped Archie.

Edith needed to take some control. She was intruding here. Whatever her own feelings, she was just going to have to take them away and deal with them.

Just like a bitter old spinster. The words jumped, unbidden into her head. Was that how they viewed her, Archie and Julia? Had they talked about her, laughed at her? No, she was getting carried away now, being stupid.

 

She sat in the kitchen, glad of the stove. Either it had become colder or it was her. She had poured a large glass of whiskey and it was helping, dulling it all. She would have one more, a smaller one and that was it. A bit of a drink could help in a crisis. One too many just made everything worse. She had considered calling to see Henry on her way back. But the thing was, she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, not even him. It was too new, too raw, and too difficult to take in.

Dozens of conversations, hundreds of words crowded into her brain, and she tried to see them afresh with what she now knew…the time back in the spring when Julia had hinted that she wasn’t completely happy with Giles, that she wasn’t blameless. So much for the brand new start with Giles. How long had the fling, if that was what it was, gone on? Had Giles known about it?

The ground had shifted under her feet. It was all well and good for Archie to imply she needed to get on with her own life and stay out of his. It was just so unfair and disingenuous. The pair of them had deceived her over and over again, by omission, if not by direct lies.

If it had been so much their own business, how could they have carried on behind her back and not said anything? Everything was cast into doubt. She even started thinking about when they’d all been young. Had there been a frisson, even then? No, she didn’t think so. They had had a lively, sparky friendship. They had all knocked about together. Then Julia had found Giles and Archie had found his Brigid, and surely that had been that.

She would go to bed. She had done with thinking for tonight.

She woke and the first thing she thought about was a glass of water and then how her head didn’t ache as much as she probably deserved. Then she remembered–Julia and Archie and what a mug she’d apparently been.

Until the whiskey had taken effect last night, she’d had some dark thoughts indeed. Like how you never really knew anyone and how she could probably never again trust the two people she had been closest to in her life.

This morning, as sometimes happened when one had a slight hangover, she felt calm. This, whatever this was, was not about her. Maybe two lonely and desperate people had got together, and the chances were they hadn’t told her because they were embarrassed or ashamed, and not because they were deliberately deceiving her, far less laughing at her. That had been shock, thinking like that. It would achieve nothing. Somehow, they must all get to the other side of this nightmare and foremost, whoever killed Giles must be brought to justice.

She shivered. Dark thoughts threatened again, but she would keep busy and push them away. One of the first things she was going to do was to go and see Henry, and she was going to tell him what she had discovered. Secrets were bad and dangerous and sometimes they could destroy you–that, she had learned from last year’s events.