The Reckoning (26 page)

She smiled.

‘That wasn't much help, I know, but I should add that, to the best of my knowledge, Hazel had very few visitors other than people she knew locally, and not many of those were what you would call close friends. She was a solitary soul, but that was by choice.'

She paused for a moment.

‘We were friends, as I said, but I wouldn't want you to think that I knew all her secrets.'

‘She had secrets then?' Madden was quick to seize on the word.

‘Oh, dear . . .' Their hostess looked unhappy. ‘That wasn't
well put. What I should have said was that we were never truly intimate. Hazel was a naturally reserved person. She didn't find it easy to speak openly about herself or her feelings. But she was a dear soul, and I miss her.'

Billy waited to see if his old chief had anything to add. When Madden stayed silent he took up the questioning again.

‘On another matter, do you happen to know where Mrs Ballard resided before she came to Richmond?'

‘Oh, there I can help you.' Miss Dauncey's face brightened. ‘She was living in France, in a village near Bordeaux. She went there soon after the first war ended, early in 1919 I think, taking Alma with her, of course. They stayed for ten years. I met her for the first time in 1930 when she returned to England.'

‘Do you know why she went abroad?'

‘Not exactly. Hazel never gave me a precise reason. But it was a perfectly natural thing to do. She had French relations after all.'

‘Did she?' Billy was surprised. ‘We had no idea.'

‘They dated back to her grandfather. He married a Frenchwoman. Hazel was quite open about that.' Miss Dauncey smiled. ‘He was a wine merchant and he married the daughter of his principal shipper, a Bordelaise. Hazel used to spend her holidays in France when she was a child. Her husband's death in the war upset her terribly and perhaps moving to another country – one she was familiar with and where she felt at home – was what she needed. In any event, she and Alma lived there for the next ten years and, according to Hazel, the only reason she came back was because she wanted to give her daughter an English education. It was purely by chance that she bought the house next to mine. But after she'd learned that I was a teacher she asked me for advice. I was working at St Mary's at the time, but it's only a day school and Alma had expressed a wish to go to boarding school. I was able to recommend one or two to Hazel. I tell you this so that you'll understand how we got
to know each other. Up till then she had kept very much to herself.'

She smiled again.

‘But after that we discovered we had a mutual passion for gardening and we began to spend more time with each other, pottering about. I found her a strange, shy person, but I became very fond of her in time; of them both in fact, she and Alma. I do miss them.'

She looked away.

‘And before she went to France?' Billy had waited a moment. ‘Did she tell you anything about her life then? We understand that she and her husband lived in Cornwall.'

‘That's correct.' Sighing, their hostess turned back. ‘But it's something I can't help you with. She never spoke about that time or mentioned any of the friends they must have had then. It was too painful for her. I don't know whether you're aware of it, but she had an extraordinary attachment to her husband. She never got over the loss of him. It was very sad.'

Billy hesitated. They had reached a critical point in the interview.

‘Did it have anything to do with the way her husband died?' he asked casually.

‘Very much so.' The promptness of her reply took both men by surprise. ‘Although it was a long time before I heard the full story, but based on what I know now, I would say that a light went out of Hazel's life when he died, and she spent the rest of it in mourning.'

She studied her hands.

‘I like to think it meant a lot to her that she had finally found a friend in me. But one thing I learned early on was not to pry into the myth she had built up around her husband, or to question it. I truly believe our friendship would not have survived it.'

Glancing at his old chief, Billy saw he was about to speak.

‘I'm not sure I understand you.' Madden's frown was pronounced. ‘What do you mean by a myth?'

‘I felt she went too far, placing him on a pedestal; making him almost an object of worship. It wasn't healthy – not for her, or for Alma.'

Unaware of the effect her words were having on her listeners, she turned to look out of the window, though there was little to see there other than the grey morning light.

‘A pedestal?' Madden echoed the word.

‘Oh, Lord . . .' She turned back to them. ‘Perhaps I shouldn't have said that. It seems disloyal now. But yes, a pedestal. There's no other word for it. I'm sure he was a brave man, and he died for his country. But so did many others. To hear Hazel tell it, you would have thought he was almost alone in having sacrificed his life . . . and his talent. She had a photograph of him in his army uniform, beautifully framed. It sat on a table in the corner of their living room with nothing but a bowl of fresh flowers beside it, and with James's medal in a velvet-lined case open in front of his picture. One couldn't help but be put in mind of a shrine. It made me feel uncomfortable.'

She looked down.

‘I didn't realize he'd been decorated.' Madden had managed to hide his surprise.

‘He was awarded the Military Medal for gallantry. It was Alma who told me that. Hazel was always very secretive on the subject. She didn't like to talk about it. But according to Alma, her father had taken part in an assault on a German position and when the officer leading them was killed, James had led a charge into the enemy trenches, where he was fatally wounded. She said her mother had been told the story by one of his comrades. She was so proud of him – Alma, I mean – and of course there was nothing wrong with that. I think we should all honour those who fall in battle. But life is for the living, and in time I began to think that Hazel had laid too heavy a burden on her
daughter. Alma had been brought up to believe that the memory of her father was the most important thing in their lives and, although I never said so, I couldn't help feeling it was one of the reasons behind her decision to emigrate. I think subconsciously she wanted to free herself from the past . . . the weight of it.'

She put a hand to her head.

‘Mind you, there may have been other reasons . . .'

In the silence that followed Billy again took the opportunity to glance at his old mentor. Madden's gaze had sharpened.

‘Could you be more specific?' he asked.

‘Must I?' She seemed to shrink from the question. ‘It's really not something I want to talk about.'

But the glance she cast his way seemed to hold an appeal and, observing her reaction, Madden spoke again.

‘I can see this is difficult for you.' He spoke gently. ‘Let me try and explain our problem. Alma Ballard herself is an important element in this investigation. She must know more about her mother, and the people she had contact with, than anyone. It's not beyond question that both of them were acquainted with the couple the police are searching for. As Inspector Styles said earlier, these people are thought to be connected to James Ballard in some way, and the encounter, if it took place, could have been distressing.'

‘Distressing?' Miss Dauncey faltered over the word.

‘To Mrs Ballard in particular; but also to her daughter. If Alma had some reason for quitting England other than the one you mentioned, it would be best if you told us what it was. I know I speak for Mr Styles when I say that, provided it has no bearing on this investigation, whatever you tell us will go no further than this room.'

Madden sat back. He had said all he could.

Miss Dauncey stared at her clenched fists. It was clear from her expression that she was going through some inner struggle.

‘An encounter, you say . . . a meeting?' She ran her fingers through her hair. The nervous gesture, together with her wavering voice, revealed her anxiety. ‘Must I . . . must I really?' She made a final appeal.

Madden held her gaze.

‘I think you should,' he said quietly.

‘I'd like to make it clear at the outset that what I have to tell you is a
private
matter – Alma's personal business. Furthermore, I witnessed it under . . . peculiar circumstances, and have felt guilty about doing so ever since.'

Miss Dauncey flushed. A few minutes earlier, having interrupted the interview on the pretext of offering her visitors a cup of tea, she had disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Billy and Madden to wonder what it was that she was about to reveal to them.

‘This is starting to bother me, sir.' As soon as they were alone Billy had spoken. ‘All that stuff about Alma and her father, what she felt about him. What do you make of it?'

‘It's hard to say.' Madden seemed stumped by his question. ‘We need to know more.'

‘Could she have fooled us about Canada? Could she be this woman we're looking for? But if so, who's the man?'

Instead of replying, Madden had put a hand to his lips and nodded in the direction of the kitchen. Better to wait, his gesture suggested, and at that moment their hostess reappeared with a tray in her hands.

‘But I did find the occasion unsettling,' she went on now.

She had clearly used the time to compose herself. Seated before them again, busy pouring the tea, she spoke in measured tones.

‘I still have no explanation for the
extreme
nature of Alma's reaction, and for this reason I'm prepared to share it with you,
provided you stick to the assurance you gave me a few minutes ago. I don't wish to hear at some later stage that it has formed part of an official police report.'

‘Again, you have our word.' Madden bowed his head.

‘Then I'll start by telling you something about Alma herself, the kind of person she is . . . or was. I'm not saying it will help to explain the scene I witnessed, but at least it will give you some background against which to judge it.'

She broke off to pass a cup of tea to each of them. Her hand was steady.

‘I first met her when she and her mother arrived to settle in Richmond. She must have been twelve or thirteen at the time, and although I was well used to dealing with young girls from my years at St Mary's, I had never met one quite like Alma. She was almost entirely without discipline, and I had the impression Hazel had let her run wild. Later on I heard she'd been the leader of a pack of children in the village where they lived, who were forever in trouble, though admittedly not in any serious way: stealing apples from orchards, climbing onto the church roof, that sort of thing. But I could tell that Alma had run Hazel ragged, and I wondered how she would settle into life in England. I didn't have long to wait.'

She smiled.

‘Quite soon after they moved in next door, Hazel and I were in the garden planting some seedlings down near the river when we looked up and saw a canoe go speeding by, pursued by two men who were running along the bank after it, shouting furiously. It was Alma of course. She'd spotted the craft drawn up on the bank and decided to take it for a spin. Poor Hazel nearly had a fit.'

She shook her head.

‘I have to say I was enormously drawn to Alma. She had the sort of daring we all hanker for. She made me regret my own youth and the chances for adventure that I felt I'd let pass by.
But that only increased the pleasure I took in her exploits. Soon after she went off to boarding school Hazel had a telephone call from the headmistress; it seemed that she herself had received a call only a few days earlier, purporting to be from Hazel with the sad news that Alma's grandmother had passed away suddenly. Would it be possible for Alma to attend the funeral in Guildford, the headmistress was asked; and after she had given her permission she was told that a taxi would call for Alma two days hence to take her into town for the service.'

She began to shake with laughter.

‘The headmistress bought the story – hook, line and sinker – and only discovered the truth when she received another call on the day of the supposed service, from the manager of a cinema in Guildford who wondered whether one of her pupils might have gone AWOL. Alma had bought a ticket for the matinee, but unfortunately for her she was in her school uniform and the manager smelled a rat. She managed to see half of the film before the headmistress and another member of staff arrived to clap her in irons.'

‘What was showing?' Billy couldn't help himself. He was grinning.

‘
Animal Crackers.
Alma told me later that she'd read about the Marx Brothers in a magazine and wanted to see what all the fuss was about. That was typical of her. If she wanted to do something, she did it, and never mind the cost. What impressed me, though, other than the sheer inventiveness of the scheme, was the care she took putting it into effect. First she worked hard on imitating a grown-up's voice, lowering her own; and later, when she gave me a demonstration, I was quite bowled over by how well she managed it. She had also volunteered to work in the tuck shop, because she knew there was a telephone in the office behind it. She made her calls from there – to both the headmistress and the company that sent the taxi. She had spent just about all of her term's pocket money on the plan, and
Hazel quite rightly refused to give her another penny, but it didn't bother Alma. I think the pleasure of pulling it all off more than compensated for the loss of income.'

‘She must have been punished for that.'

‘Of course she was, in the rather petty ways that girls' schools favour. She spent hours in detention and was given all kinds of extra duties, but I doubt they had much effect. In any case, after two months and before the end of term Hazel was told that her daughter wasn't suited to the school, or the school to her, and that she would have to look for another. I was able to help at that stage and, after a bit of research, I pointed Hazel towards a more easy-going establishment in Dorset, one of those newfangled academies called “progressive”, and by some miracle Alma managed to see out her schooldays there.'