Murder in the Afternoon (28 page)

I helped Austin try on his new socks. He let me do it, though would not look, and would not answer when I asked did he like them.

Declining the offer to stay for tea, I was just about to leave when the door burst open and a cold blast of air filled the room. Bob Conroy stood in the doorway, looking at the farmhouse kitchen as though he had never seen it or the occupants before. He stumbled a few steps into the room. Ignoring his wife’s warning glance, his face contorted with emotion. He swooped towards the hearth and the two children.

Georgina Conroy shut the door behind him and uttered a warning, ‘Bob!’

But he was on the hearth rug, between the children, silently putting his arms around the pair of them, drawing them to him. ‘You can stay as long as you want, and your mam, too, when she comes home.’

‘Of course they can, my dear,’ Georgina said evenly.

She walked to the door, where I stood waiting to take my leave. Mrs Conroy sighed at her husband’s demonstrativeness. ‘The poor bairns don’t need outpourings of sentiment. They need a bit of calm and care.’

Feeling I had left the children in safe hands, I said goodbye. Next stop, Applewick Hall.

The powerful conviction that the Ledgers had some connection with Ethan’s death was not my only prompt for driving to Applewick Hall. Marcus had been quick enough to tell me about Mary Jane’s insurance policy on Ethan’s life, yet he did not mention her bank book. I felt sure he would have asked me about that had he come
across it. I wanted to know why Mary Jane met Colonel Ledger on Tuesday.

I parked my motor in front of Applewick Hall, hoping my noisy arrival and obtrusive placing of the motor would alert the occupants. At the front door, I gave the knocker a whopping thump, and waited. A word from someone “important” carries a great deal of weight. Tipped as future lord lieutenant of the county, Ledger was “important”. I had no compunction about pulling any string that might ease Mary Jane’s way. The butler remembered me from my previous visit. ‘I’m here to see Mrs Ledger, on a matter of urgency.’ Best be conventional, and start with her.

‘Madam is not receiving visitors at present.’ He hesitated. ‘Would you care to leave your card?’

‘No. I shall wait and see either Mrs Ledger or the colonel. They will not thank you for turning me away.’

Without another word, he opened the door and led me into the drawing room, where I had waited on my previous visit. The family portrait dominated the room. Colonel and Mrs Ledger in all their glory gazed down at me with something like disdain. The two little boys, bright-eyed and confident, brought a touch of joy to the scene. The elder had curved brows that gave him a surprised, slightly supercilious look, like my cat when she thought herself ignored.

I did not have long to wait. Mrs Ledger glided into the room. She approached me cautiously. ‘Mrs Shackleton?’

‘Mrs Ledger.’

‘Won’t you sit down?’ There was something curiously brittle about her that I had not noticed before. A tremor of irritation came from her as I took up her invitation and sat on the sofa that faced the portrait, looking at the
woman and the painted image of her. ‘You are here on a matter of urgency, I understand?’

‘Yes. You’ll have heard that Ethan Armstrong’s body was found in the quarry.’

She nodded gravely. ‘We were told of course. Sergeant Sharp telephoned to my husband. A tragedy.’

‘Mrs Armstrong has been taken to make formal identification of the body, and for questioning by the police. I thought you would want to know, because of how long she worked for you.’

She looked at me steadily, trying to work out what else lay behind my words.

‘Oh?’ She looked surprised. ‘When you say taken for questioning, do you give me to understand that some suspicion hangs over Mrs Armstrong?’

‘I believe so, though I’m sure it’s entirely unfounded.’

‘It’s absurd if she’s suspected. But I’m not sure what I can do. Did she ask that you come here?’

‘No. I took it upon myself. Because she worked for you, when she was very young, and because her husband was your employee.’

Mrs Ledger gave me a sharp look, as if to assess what Mary Jane may have said.

‘She was my maid, yes. But that was a long time ago. Is there something she needs, for herself or the children? Naturally if there’s anything we can do to help …’

At that moment the door opened. Colonel Ledger feigned surprise. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t know you had company.’ For a moment he seemed to look through me, as if our meeting on Monday was a decade ago and he had trouble placing me. Flattering.

Finally he said, ‘Mrs Shackleton.’

‘Colonel.’

He strode across the room and sat down beside his wife. A united front. ‘I’ve heard about Armstrong being found. Bad business. Wish now that I’d thought to send my own hounds to the quarry earlier.’

Mrs Ledger stretched her fingers towards her husband’s hand, without touching. ‘I expect it is better that the police deal with these matters, Colonel.’

She called him colonel? I tried not to smile.

And now she did touch his arm. ‘Apparently Mrs Armstrong has been taken to identify the body, and for questioning.’

He blinked several times. ‘Why? I mean, this is no time to question her.’

I decided not to tell him about Ethan’s tool bag hidden in the Armstrongs’ coalhouse. As briefly as I could, I hinted at Marcus’s suspicions.

The colonel sprang to his feet. ‘But that’s absurd! I shall speak to the man. Mary Jane’s sent you here?’

‘No. I offered to go with her to Otley, to the hospital, but she asked me to collect the children from school. They’re with the Conroys.’

‘My dear,’ Mrs Ledger said quietly, ‘I think we should let the police deal with this in their own way.’

He sighed, strode across the room, and returned to his seat. ‘You’re right, darling. You’re right, of course. But I shall contact my solicitor all the same.’

His agitation showed in the movement of his jaw, the flexing of his fingers.

Mrs Ledger patted his arm. The two of them, side by side on the sofa, would have made a perfect second portrait. Older, but with none of their confidence, none of their certainties dented. Supply a solicitor. Talk sense to the constabulary.

Calmer now, he spoke again. ‘You did the right thing coming here, Mrs Shackleton. I shall look out for Mary Jane’s … for Mrs Armstrong’s interests.’

But would he? The part of me that had been brought up expecting men to take charge, men to put things right, wanted to let go, wanted to let him look out for Mary Jane. But the little voice in my head said, Don’t trust him.

‘Colonel Ledger, may I ask what you and Mary Jane discussed when you met on Tuesday?’

His mouth dropped open. Mrs Ledger turned her head towards him. Her small tongue darted across her lower lip. She knew.

‘Tuesday?’ He shook his head. For two pins he would have me escorted out.

If I were to get information from him, he needed to know that I could be trouble. ‘When you met at Horsforth railway station and drove to the Station Hotel.’ He opened his mouth to deny, or accuse me of being mistaken, but before his words tumbled into the air, I said, ‘Only I wonder if she gave her bank passbook into your safekeeping?’

He looked surprised. ‘Why would she give me a bank book?’

‘Because the money is in her maiden name. It’s what you gave her when she was in your wife’s employ, and what you’ve given her since.’ The last part was a guess, but it hit home.

Colonel and Mrs Ledger froze, but only for a fraction of a second. He gulped. She cleared her throat, as if to speak, but he was ahead of her. ‘Did Mrs Armstrong explain the money?’

‘She told me that when she was fifteen you photographed her in artistic poses.’

He gave a small smile. ‘Quite innocent.’

Mrs Ledger echoed her husband. ‘Entirely innocent.’

There was a long silence. They were not going to say more, and why should they? I rose to go. ‘Then if you don’t have the bank book …’

As I stood, so did the colonel, unsure whether to see me out.

‘Wait!’ Mrs Ledger gave a light, tinkling laugh. Her husband smiled at her, waiting to see what lead she would give him. She said, ‘Please sit down, Mrs Shackleton. It’s all very simple. Mary Jane was a pretty little thing and she certainly knew it. My husband is a keen amateur photographer and he took some portraits of her in a Grecian robe, terribly proper, which she, in her naivety, believed to be immensely daring. I’m sure if we can turn them up you may see for yourself. I gave her money when she was twenty-three, and about to be married. There was no connection with the photographs. At one of our harvest suppers, it was clear to anyone with eyes to see that Bob Conroy fell for Mary Jane. He spoke to the colonel one day and sought her hand, as though we were her parents. I found that touching, and if you must know, I looked on my gift to her as a sort of dowry. There have been connections between my family and the Conroys’ for generations. As it transpired, Ethan Armstrong stole her heart, and that was not a match made in heaven. But if some police inspector believes Mary Jane would have killed her husband, and he’s whisked her off to the Otley police station for a confession, then he should be packed off to some backwater of Empire.’

The colonel said, ‘My dear you must be more temperate in your comments. It may be that the chief inspector simply wants to give Mrs Armstrong the opportunity to think more clearly, away from her home and children.’

‘And your tryst on Tuesday?’ I persisted.

He sighed. ‘Not a tryst. She asked me to advise her. She lives in a tied house and feared eviction. I assured her that no such occurrence would take place.’ He turned to his wife. ‘That was all, my dear.’

‘Of course.’ She squeezed his hand.

‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I shall call my solicitor and have him get onto the police. It’s outrageous that Mrs Armstrong should be separated from her children. I would have identified Armstrong.’

He sprang from the sofa. At the door, he turned back. ‘Are the police aware that Mrs Armstrong has her own deposit account?’

He would wash his hands of her in a moment if he had to, to save his own reputation.

‘No.’

‘Good.’ He closed the door gently as he left.

Mrs Ledger’s smile condescended. ‘Mary Jane was with me for years. I grew fond of her. I hope this can be sorted out quickly. But the children will be well looked after at the farm, with Mr and Mrs Conroy.’

Something in her voice seemed to be drawing a line under the past.

‘Of course, it’s your farm now.’

Her nostrils flared almost imperceptibly. ‘You won’t expect me to comment on that, and I’m surprised that Conroy would speak of the sale so prematurely.’

It saddened me that what Ethan most argued against had come to pass. An age-old farm would be torn open and quarried, without Ethan standing in the way of progress.

Yet there was something else going on. I sensed it but could not give a shape to what niggled at me.

After a few more moments, the colonel returned. ‘My
solicitor will be onto the police straightaway. He will look after Mary Jane’s interests.’

Mrs Ledger stood up and joined her husband. ‘Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Mrs Shackleton.’

I’d made a mistake. These people could not be trusted. Mary Jane would be in their power. The solicitor would look after her interests only if those interests coincided with the Ledgers’.

I drove slowly back through the village, ready to make my way home. Yet I was drawn to Mary Jane’s cottage. If she had not given her bank book to Colonel Ledger for safekeeping, then where was it? And who had placed Ethan’s tools where they might be found and used against Mary Jane?

The merest whiff of smoke still rose from the chimney, a forlorn signal meandering uselessly towards the clouds.

I drew the key through the letter box and unlocked the door. Straightaway I knew the house was not deserted. Someone was here. I felt a presence, like a drawn breath. A footstep sounded on the stair.

‘Mrs Shackleton.’

‘Mr Sykes! What are you doing here?’

‘Same as you, I expect. Wondering who planted the tools in the coalhouse, wondering whether there was anything the police missed.’

‘And is there?’

‘No. Not that I can see.’

‘I don’t know where Mary Jane has put her bank book. I thought she may have given it to the colonel, but if she has, he’s saying nothing.’

‘You went to see them?’

‘They’re worried, but making light of it. Mrs Ledger
claims the saucy photographs were simply artistic, Grecian toga stuff. They probably have the photographic prints and negatives to prove it, and anything else will mysteriously disappear.’

‘Still, it does put them on her side.’

‘It puts them on their own side, Mr Sykes. They’d sacrifice Mary Jane in a moment.’

‘Your chief inspector has nothing concrete against Mary Jane, except the hidden tools. Anyone could have put them there.’

Sykes was already putting together a case for the defence. He rubbed his chin. ‘There’ll be a great deal of speculation in the local hostelry tonight.’