Читать книгу In the Shadow of Winter: A gripping historical novel with murder, secrets and forbidden love - Lorna Gray - Страница 13

I suppose it shouldn’t have been a surprise given the way the morning had gone so far when the crunch of ice under foot betrayed the approach of more people and along puffed a plain-clothed inspector, four uniformed policemen and Colonel Langton. Thankfully the days of my childhood when I had been rendered wide-eyed and speechless by that man’s formidable presence were over and I was able to greet him reasonably calmly, although I could see Beechnut watching anxiously from her field and I was glad that I had at least managed to turn her out before they had arrived.

The Colonel was still a fearsomely disapproving sort of person; even as an old man he stood very straight and tall and frowned down his long nose at me as if I were that same little scruffy farm-girl that had stared owlishly at him from behind Mother’s skirts. It seemed to me that his presence in the village was something akin to that of an eccentric monarch. He certainly was rather apt to sending the villagers scuttling off to do his bidding based on little more than flimsy whim and a great deal of deference which may not have been entirely deserved, and now he was striding towards me through the thin misting rain with an air of assumed authority which left the policeman to trot along in his wake like an eager puppy.

The pony next to me eyed him warily, no doubt suspecting that this person would be without a titbit. I was standing in the shelter of a stable door with the pony’s front hoof resting over my thigh as I carefully rasped the excess growth away, like filing a fingernail, to leave it balanced and comfortable in anticipation of the coming weekend’s work. I trimmed all my horses’ feet; the ponies had no need of shoes with their hardy little hooves, and of the two horses on my yard, the old hunter was retired, and my mare would never have allowed the blacksmith near her but thankfully did well enough with my careful trimming.

“Now then, Miss Phillips.” The Colonel’s voice barked as he came to a smart halt before me. “We’ve come to look for that fellow Croft. Not seen him, have you?”

The grey-haired policeman coughed politely and stepped around the straight-backed barrier of the Colonel. “Good morning Miss – Phillips, is it? – I am Inspector Woods. These are Constables Downe, Smith, Thorne and Fleece.” He waved a hand vaguely along the assembled line. “I was wondering if I might ask you to let my men take a look around?”

I set the pony’s foot back down on the ground and straightened. The Inspector was rather short with that middle-aged spread running on into what my father would have politely called “well-covered” and his eyebrows were remarkably bushy, almost as if he cultivated them. But as I met his unobtrusive gaze for the first time, I was startled to realise that instead of finding the expected bland obedience hidden beneath, there was something infinitely more subtle lurking within those deep-set grey eyes. He was smiling at me gently and I came to the sudden terrifying realisation that he was anything but harmless.

“Good morning, Inspector. You’re welcome, of course, but you’re a little late, aren’t you?”

“Late, Miss Phillips?”

“Mr Langton and his men have already been here to look around for you.”

“Have they indeed?” There was the barest flicker of irritation which was quickly suppressed. “You won’t mind if my men take another look, will you?”

“Not at all, Inspector, go right ahead.”

Never one to stand around quietly, the Colonel stepped forwards again, his head stuck forwards on a thick neck as he fixed me with a beady eye. “Listen here, Missy, we want to know if you’ve seen him. My son says that you dallied about with Croft once and so he might come here. You can’t hide him, you know, we’ll have him in the end and it’ll be all the worse for you.”

The Inspector looked a little uncomfortable at this speech but I answered calmly enough, “You’re about the fourth person now to remind me of my youthful dalliance, as you put it, and it is starting to get a little wearing. Believe it or not I am not in the habit of harbouring murderers.”

“There’s no use lying, my girl. We know what you’re about.”

Close to, the Colonel really was a very unpleasant man with little bits of spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth. His face was veined with the signs of his fluctuating temper and all of a sudden I knew that I had never quite done his son justice before. With a father such as this, it was incredible that John was so sane.

I spoke coldly. “Nor am I in the habit of lying to the police.”

The Colonel opened his mouth to say something else but the Inspector cut smoothly across him. “Miss Phillips, the Colonel here has been good enough to meet us at the main road and offer himself as our guide, for which we are very grateful, but would you mind just stepping over here so we can have a little private chat?”

Trying hard not to give the Colonel a childishly triumphant smile, I followed the Inspector to the corner where, in more temperate conditions, run-off from the roof would have collected into a large stone water trough. At present, of course, this was simply one great block of ice but the increasingly confident spring-like rain was drifting down into even this little sheltered corner and under its influence, a steady pattern of drips was beginning to wear immaculate hollows into the glassy surface.

The Inspector stared thoughtfully into its depths for a moment before fixing me with his intelligent eye;

“So, Miss Phillips, how well do you know this man Croft? You were romantically involved I understand? But are not now?”

“That is correct,” I replied, trying to quell my sudden nervousness. The flimsy motivation that had formed my excuse for deceiving friend and neighbour was one thing, but here the consequences of discovery would prove much worse; and cold reason told me that it was a step too far to attempt a lie to this man.

He was waiting, looking at me expectantly, and so, reluctantly, I continued, “As everybody seems to be telling you, Inspector, we were courting briefly before the war, but he called it off.”

“He did? That’s surprising.” He must have caught my startled glance because he added quickly, “I mean, surprising given that a lot of people were marrying because of the war.” He gave a discomfited cough, before getting back on track again, “Have you seen much of him since he was demobbed?”

“No. I heard that he came back just after Easter last year but we didn’t see each other. It has been eight years now; there’s no real reason to assume we would have anything to say to each other anymore.” I paused but then added, “And I gather that he had a bit of a tough time of it, so he probably just wanted some peace in which to recover.” I had been speaking quite coolly, concentrating on keeping my manner neutral and my mind clear as I said what was necessary but then, unexpectedly, I had the strange experience of realising that this last statement had the added surprise of most likely being the truth.

“A tough time, you say? How tough?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ve only heard this third hand, so to speak. He was in Normandy and then part of the push towards Germany so saw some pretty messy action I believe – although having said that, who didn’t?” I stopped, suddenly having the uncomfortable feeling that I was gabbling idiotically. I took a breath and steadied myself.

“Quite. So would you say he came back a changed man?”

I could tell where these questions were leading, “I’m sorry, Inspector; as I’ve already said, I didn’t see him when he came home so I don’t really feel I can answer that.”

“Of course, Miss Phillips, just a few more questions then. Do you remember him ever showing excessive temper or violence?”

I was suddenly acutely aware of my wrists and smiling innocently I clasped my hands behind my back. “I don’t remember anything like that, Inspector.”

“Did you know the victim?”

“Not beyond casual pleasantries. I know they both served together.”

“Yes.” Perhaps judging that this reply was a little terse, the Inspector repeated as if by rote, “Matthew Croft trained as an architect, and therefore had a rather tenuous connection to the world of structural integrity. Mr Donald took sporadic employment as a joiner. This was apparently sufficient for them to be drafted to the ranks of non-commissioned officer and sapper respectively in the engineering corps. Anything to add?”

I shook my head in a negative.

“Good. And finally, given your history with Croft, do you think you would be more or less likely to give him assistance?”

I smiled. “That is a very odd question, Inspector.”

“Humour me.”

“All right. Regardless of my history, such as it was, with Matthew Croft, I can honestly say that it does not go so far as to condone murder.”

As the interview had progressed, his mouth had slowly transformed from a flat serious line to a gentle, amiable smile, and onwards to become a wide grandfatherly beam which was probably meant to be utterly disarming but only made me less trusting in his appearance of benevolent good humour. And when the Inspector then indicated that he had finished with me and turned away, still smiling, to rejoin the others, I could not help having the very unpleasant sensation that I had somehow said far more than I ought.

With determined optimism however, I hoped that whatever might happen later, the Inspector’s dismissal would at least mark an end to this particular invasion but clearly the Colonel had not finished with me yet. I had already noted that the cluster of waiting policemen were standing slightly aloof as if they wished to pretend that his steady flow of disdainful sniffs and muttered aspersions were nothing to do with them. He was staring at the hairy little pony with an expression of extreme distaste and when the Inspector quietly slipped past to begin querying the results of their search, the Colonel turned to intercept me with very a stern look in his eye.

“Would your father approve of the way you’re carrying on, young lady?”

“Pardon?” I stared at him blankly, completely at a loss as to how exactly my quiet life could be classed as any kind of “carrying on”.

“This.” He waved his hand airily around my yard, taking in the roughly swept cobbles between great piles of cleared snow, my farriery tools and the scruffy pony which was still standing patiently in its doorway. “I’m sure he had no idea of you carrying on the business after him. The whole place is literally falling down about your ears, or so my son says. It won’t be long before the whole place has crumbled away to nothing, my girl, and you’ll only have yourself to blame. Can’t you get a man in to do it?”

“Where do you think I’d get the money to pay for this man, Colonel?” I asked, relatively pleasantly. “Besides Freddy and I manage well enough between us.”

“Freddy? Ah, you mean the idiot.”

I choked back a sharp retort and merely smiled serenely. I was actually quite impressed with my self-control.

“And who is this old fellow?” The Colonel had spied the elderly hunter who was snoozing gently with his chin resting on his stable door.

“Harry. My father’s hunter.” That self-control suddenly seemed rather more precarious as the Colonel woke the poor horse by placing a heavy hand on its nose.

“Send him to the knackerman and you’ll save plenty of money. Hell, the man might even pay you for him.”

Clearly at this point I was expected to bow and scrape and express my effusive thanks for this suggestion. Instead I looked him squarely in the eye.

“My father was very fond of this horse and he particularly asked me to look after him. He’ll go when he’s good and ready, and,” I determinedly continued across the Colonel’s remark, “not a day before.”

The Colonel turned an interesting shade of puce. He stared at me for a few moments, a vein bulging in his temple, before turning sharply on his heel with a precision that would have impressed any drill-sergeant.

“Come,” he snapped, relegating the Inspector to eager puppy once more. “We can see what my son has found, if anything. I have another son, but he is in the Army. He made Captain recently – very proud moment introducing him at Whitehall last week to my old friend Bernard … ah, I should say Viscount Montgomery, Chief of Imperial General Staff, you know.”

“Yes, we know,” muttered one of the uniformed men who was either Thorne or Smith. “You told us before.”

Someone tittered and the Colonel shot them a wild look before striding back out onto the road. Their assorted legs made very hard work of the hill past my house but I barely bothered to watch them go before turning back to the waiting pony. The poor creature had developed a faintly martyred air by now.

I could not help letting out a resigned sigh as I set the pony’s foot back down on the ground again. With every man and quite literally his dog turning up on my doorstep, this day was starting to get ridiculous. But dutifully enough, I walked out through the gate and into the house with Freddy to take the waiting call. I could have laid money on who would be on the line.

His secretary sounded harassed but Sir William was oblivious to the pressure on his staff as he finally took the telephone.

“Good day, my dear,” he said warmly and I could picture the automatic lift of his hand.

If I had to choose, I would say that Sir William was my favourite of the two elderly Langton brothers, although perhaps it would be more accurate to say he was the one I despised the least. He had at any rate been sufficiently bothered to send a note of regret when my father had passed away and it had been kindly written with some reference to a pleasant shared memory. His wife, an austere woman who was forever to be called ma’am and never by name, occasionally commissioned me to bring ponies up to the house for the entertainment of her grandnephews and nieces and so I had, over the years, built up a certain level of acquaintance with the family. I would never have claimed to be more than an overpaid servant in their eyes though.

Sir William was not as openly sharp as the Colonel but I was not misled into believing that he was any the less calculating in his actions, and there was always the faint possibility that his morals were not quite as upstanding as his brother’s. The Colonel had his strict code of honour which ruled, often badly, over everything he did, whereas Sir William had what politely could be called a creative approach and impolitely, a criminal lack of concern for the needs of others. That being said, I had never had anything but politeness from him and I answered him now with perfectly unforced warmth in return.

“Good day, Sir William. How are you?”

“Very well, my dear, very well. I don’t suppose the Colonel is still there?”

“You’ve just missed him, Sir William.” It always paid to show him a certain level of deference, even if I didn’t feel it. “He went along Bath Lane with the police officers, although given how deep the drifts are at Saltershill, they might have wished they’d cut straight across the fields …”

“Ah,” he said cheerfully. “Thank you, my dear. We’re on the hunt, you know!”

“So I heard. Goodbye!”

The telephone clicked dead, rattling slightly as I returned it to its cradle, and I shut the door very firmly behind me as I walked back out to the yard. There were few members of the Langton family left to question me now and unless this was going to turn into a complete farce, I doubted very much that I would find his wife interrogating me later.