01 - Memories of the Dead (18 page)

“She
will
want to see
you.” She pulled him through the gap in the hedge and, securely holding his
hand, led him back to her small party.

Tommy glanced up first,
looking baffled. But Clara winked at him, so he said nothing. Annie was
grumbling about ruining her coat for nothing and trying to find where she had
placed the packets of sandwiches she had made, while Mrs Wilton had wedged her
shovel in the ground and was standing staring at the hole. Tears were trickling
down her cheeks.

Edward broke from Clara’s
grasp.

“Mother?”

Mrs Wilton jerked from her
thoughts. For a moment she looked over blankly and then her expression softened
and her body sagged.

“Edward? But it can’t be?” She
stepped forward but she was afraid he would fade away if she touched him.

“There was a mistake, mother,
I never died.” Edward reached out his hand.

Mrs Wilton was trembling. Very
daintily she took it, then with a great sob she threw herself into her son’s
arms and clutched him tight.

“You came back! You came
back!”

Edward wrapped his arms around
her and felt his own burdens lifted. He had been accepted.

“No wonder Mrs Greengage
couldn’t contact him, he wasn’t dead!” Tommy said jovially, biting into a very
cold egg sandwich Annie had handed out.

“Mrs Greengage was nothing but
a charlatan, as those riddles surely prove.” Clara replied firmly.

“Really?” Tommy grinned,
“Seems to me Mrs Wilton found a greater treasure in this field today than she
ever could have imagined.”

“Tommy!” Clara snorted in
exasperation, “That is pure coincidence!”

Tommy gave her one of his most
infuriating smiles, the one that made her feel as though he knew a big secret
and wasn’t telling. She wanted to thump him.

“Coincidence is just a word
cynics use when they don’t want to believe in fate, or miracles.”

Clara rolled her eyes.

“Fine, don’t believe me.”
Tommy smirked, “But here we are, at this very moment, having followed a series
of random riddles, to this very spot, I might add, just at the same moment as
master Wilton chose to appear.”

“He’s been following me,
that’s all.”

“Not recently he hasn’t, so
why did he start again today? Why not yesterday, or tomorrow?”

“Eat your egg sandwich.” Clara
groaned, “You spend too much time with your head in books.”

Tommy let the matter rest, but
she saw him looking at her out of the corner of his eye the entire time they
were heading home with the Wiltons trailing behind them. She concluded that
having a brother could be exceedingly infuriating.

“Mr Greengage will get his first hearing next week, but I
am not sure it will ever get to trial. I’ve got doctors everywhere telling me
his sanity is questionable and that he wouldn’t be able to stand up in court.
Even if he does it looks like it will be a lunatic asylum for him rather than
prison.” Inspector Park-Coombs scratched at his chin as he chatted to Clara,
“Biscuit?”

He offered her a plate and
Clara took one reluctantly. She had not been eating properly since the arrest
of Mr Greengage and Annie had been nagging her about her loss of weight. She
nibbled the edge of the biscuit.

“I still feel so guilty.” She
said.

“Why? He was a killer? All right,
his mind isn’t all there and someone should have been called in to see him
sooner, but that was private business not ours. We are just here to mop up the
messes, not try to prevent them.”

Clara looked at him
mournfully.

“Do you really think like
that?”

The inspector sighed and
munched into a piece of shortbread.

“You feel sorry for the
fellow, he looks meek and vulnerable, but something went snap inside him and he
crossed a line. Over a parrot I might add.” He brushed crumbs from his
waistcoat, “My men have heard him talking to it sometimes, you know? When no
one is around.”

Clara shook her head.

“Have you never felt bitter
inside for finding out the truth?” She asked, “Have you never wondered if you
had done the right thing?”

“A lot of policemen will tell
you that ain’t your business, you just do your duty.” The inspector frowned,
“But you have to be a pretty cold bugger for that, excuse my French.”

“What is the alternative?”

“You always remember that as much
as you feel sorry for a killer, as much as you sympathise, there is one other
person who deserves your sympathy far more – the victim. Because they are dead
and gone we tend to forget them after a while, we keep on dealing with the
living and they slip away. But their life was cut short, stolen from them. They
had no choice. The killer always has a choice.”

Clara let that sink in. Had
she forgotten about Mrs Greengage in all the confusion of the case?

“Maybe this will help.”
Park-Coombs pushed a brown cardboard folder towards her, “It’s all the
background information we dug up on her. You look it over while I make a fresh
pot of tea.”

Reluctantly Clara opened the
file, she felt she already had a fair grasp of the domineering Mrs Greengage,
she had after all spoken with the Bundles, her neighbours and, of course, her
husband. What more could she know?

She read the first entry.

Born 1872, daughter of a
lace-maker. Only child of ten to survive to adulthood. Mother died of alcohol,
father ran off with another woman when she was fourteen. Unknown how she spent
her years before meeting Frederick Greengage, mill worker. Married within six
months.

Clara stared at it with
astonishment, could someone’s life have been so dramatic in such a short space
of time? She read on carefully.

Pregnant 1889, lost the
child. Frederick made unemployed, former colleagues suggest he was stealing to
supplement his income and to try and provide enough for Martha. She takes on
piece work for a milliner’s shop and is said to have persuaded Frederick to try
performing on the stage.

Between 1890 and 1892
Frederick and Martha live in poverty, frequently without a roof over their
heads. Frederick is heavily in debt.

1893 Frederick appears on
stage as ‘Gassy Greengage’ a comedian and magician. Shortly after he is briefly
arrested under suspicion the suit he was wearing was stolen, case cannot be
proved. Martha has a daughter, Josephine. Frederick continues performing and
the family fortunes improve.

1894 – 1897 Frederick’s
stage career takes off. Martha, however, is taken ill with suspected
phosphorous poisoning from producing homemade matches to supplement their
income. Josephine dies in the winter.

Frederick and Martha move
around the country from theatre to theatre. Frederick now has a larger
performance, but Martha is said to have been deeply miserable (NB. Gossip from
other stage performers) and still frail from her illness. In 1900 she has a
son, George, but six months later is found in a daze having apparently tried to
kill herself with laudanum.

In 1905 they are still
travelling when George dies as a result of a carriage accident. Frederick is
widely said to have blamed Martha and from then on they rarely spent time in
each other’s company. Between 1906 – 1912 Frederick is rumoured to have had
numerous romances with fellow stage performers, one lady is said to have become
pregnant, but no proof. In 1913 Frederick develops a long-term romance with a
female performer (NB. Referred to as ‘Olive’ but could be stage-name) who
becomes pregnant but doesn’t want the child. Frederick tries to persuade Martha
to claim the child as their own, apparently this tips her over the edge again
and another suicide attempt is made, this time by drowning. Distraught
Frederick breaks off the affair with ‘Olive’ and friends heard him to declare
he would do anything to win back Martha.

The marriage remains
miserable, on the outbreak of war Frederick states to friends that Martha
cannot stand him any longer and he will join up to prove himself. Frederick
leaves for war in 1914 and does not return until 1917 when invalided out. From
then on he is a recluse and Martha has to find work, this time as a
clairvoyant.

After that the story played
out as Clara knew. She settled back the file on the desk and let her mind wander
over the details. So Frederick Greengage was not quite the saintly,
under-the-thumb husband she had imagined. Martha, whose life had been
constantly tarnished with poverty and desperation, must have been deeply
aggrieved when the man she couldn’t stand, who had disgraced her, came back a
nervous wreck who she then had to nurse. More than that, she supported him. She
could have walked out and left him, no one would have blamed her after all his
philandering, but instead she took care of him.

Clara sat back in her chair.
This was a very different Mrs Greengage to the one she had thought she knew. It
explained her seeming hardness, her cut-throat nature. She had learned to
survive however she could.

Inspector Park-Coombs returned
with the teapot, he was warming his hands on the sides, the room was chilly.

“Did it answer a few things?”

“Certainly.” Clara said, “As
much as I dislike some of her actions I can see why Martha Greengage was who
she was. Frederick was a difficult husband.”

“It might also interest you to
know that since we typed up that report we learned that ‘Olive’ was probably
the same lady as Mrs Bundle. It seems she had dabbled on the stage before
meeting her husband.”

“But the dates?”

“Yes, it seems she was having
an extra-marital affair too and one of her children is probably the child
Frederick told his wife about.”

Clara shook her head.

“Then her accusations were all
part of a terrible revenge, but against the wrong people.”

“The real culprit was dead.”
The Inspector shrugged, “I doubt Mrs Greengage was thinking straight. Her
husband had returned a shattered soul, she was struggling to keep the house
together and there was the woman he had run off with apparently with
everything. It was a mean-spirited act, for sure, but she needed to lash out at
someone.”

The inspector poured out
fresh, hot cups of tea.

“Do you understand now what I
mean about remembering the victim when you feel sorry for the murderer?”

“I think I do. I still feel
Mrs Greengage was a wicked woman for the games she played with people, but she
didn’t deserve to be shot. Perhaps the parrot really was sick and she was
trying to be kind.”

“We’ll never know.” The
inspector sighed, “Now, while I am on the matter I want to discuss our, shall
we say, working relationship.”

Clara raised an eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?”

“This case has raised your
profile and I expect you will find yourself handling more of these sorts of
crimes soon.”

“I have no intention of taking
on a murder case again!”

The inspector grinned.

“Well, let’s just say, if you
do, I would like to think you would liaise with the police so we could share
resources. On occasion a private individual can winkle out details the police
cannot. We are rather official looking and people do not talk freely to us.”

“From now on I am sticking to
mundane cases.” Clara said determinedly.

“Be that as it may,” Smiled
the inspector, “I had this prepared in case you changed your mind.”

He pushed a card towards her,
it read;

“Miss C. Fitzgerald. Private
advisor to the police. Authorised Access, confirmed by Inps. W. Park-Coombs.”

“It means you can get stick
your nose in anywhere around here once I have given permission.”

Clara handled the card
suspiciously.

“You really do think I will be
handling more murder cases, don’t you?”

“Not just that. Robberies,
frauds, you name it.”

Clara shook her head.

“You really are mistaken
inspector. I will turn away anyone who asks me to investigate criminal cases
from now on.” She said firmly.

Yet as she was leaving the
Inspector couldn’t help noticing she put the card carefully in her bag.

If you have
enjoyed this first instalment of Clara Fitzgerald,

then you can
continue the adventure with

Flights of
Fancy

the second book in
the Clara Fitzgerald Mysteries series.

And remember to
look out for the other great titles in this series