02 - Flight of Fancy (5 page)

“I’ve always wondered about
Goddard’s death. It has troubled me these last years. Even during the war, some
nights in the trenches when the other boys were worrying about rats, or
dysentery or Hun shells flying over, I was lying on my blanket thinking about
Goddard. The night he died is crystal clear in my mind. I can replay every
second perfectly.”

“Then you can answer another of
my questions.” Clara continued, “Where were you seated on that night?”

“On the far side of the table,
facing Flo and the garden doors. Why?”

“I’ve been conducting an
experiment.” Clara said carefully, “You said you heard Goddard fall, yes?”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps it was a still night,
for try as hard as I could, I could not hear Captain O’Harris fall in the same
place with the doors open.”

The colonel hesitated, he
visibly paled. For a second his hand shook and the ice in his glass rattled.

“I could have sworn…”

“Years pass and our memories
become a little uncertain.” Clara reassured him, but the good major looked
troubled.

“I thought I heard him, all
these years I thought… How else could it have been?”

“Perhaps you saw something from
the window? Or did Florence mention something?”

The major was glancing around
the room, trying to muster his thoughts.

“Did I see something?” He
mumbled to himself. He shut his eyes and tried to think, “That night, clear as
a bell I could picture it. I sat with Flo, she talked I listened, there was a
good claret on the table and I was helping myself when…” The colonel’s eyes
shot open, “We heard the big clock in the hall chime the hour, 9 o’clock, and
Flo glanced at me and then twisted around to look out the windows, but it was
dark, too dark to see and she said, ‘Where has that silly husband of mine got
to?’ Then I stood up and walked to the window and saw him.”

The colonel shook his head.

“All these years… but it wasn’t
Goddard falling but the chiming of the clock that made us look up.”

Clara reached out and patted
his hand.

“Memory is a tricky thing.”

“Does this affect your case?”

“I’m not sure, except now I
know Goddard O’Harris was dead longer than I had first thought. Probably
several minutes elapsed between the time he fell and the time you found him.
But whether that means anything I don’t know.”

“It’s a horrible thing, to
think you know something and then to have it pointed out you were wrong.”

“I am sorry.”

“Do not be, you can’t spare an
old man’s feelings in a case like this.” The colonel sank back in the chair,
“It’s too much time mulling over it, I suppose. Too many hours alone to think
over it again and again. I’m no use to you, am I? A silly old man.”

“Please do not say that.” Clara
insisted, “There is nothing silly about you, it was a mistake and I pity the
man who thinks he never has or never will make one of those.”

A smile returned to the
colonel’s lips.

“Even if you have to prove Flo
did this terrible thing, it will be good to get the matter dealt with. Goddard
deserves a little justice.”

“I would appreciate some added
suspects if you would like to offer any?”

The colonel took the matter
into consideration, then there was the familiar shake of the head.

“I’m a bit hopeless, sorry.”

“No apologies necessary
colonel. I shall let you get back to your friends.”

The colonel shrugged.

“‘Friends’ is a relative term
Miss Fitzgerald. Since Flo passed I don’t think I have any, really.”

“That’s a shame.” Clara paused
at the door of the room, “I hope you are mistaken.”

She waved goodbye and then marched
out of the club, astutely ignoring the scowling butler.

Back home Clara was greeted by
a worried looking Annie.

“Where did you vanish to?” The
maid snapped and Clara almost had to laugh, her relationship with the small and
sprightly girl was anything but orthodox.

“I had a little business to
deal with, oh but Annie, is there any chance of hot cocoa?”

Annie folded her arms across
her chest and stood stoutly before her mistress.

“Don’t go changing the subject,
had me all at sixes and sevens wondering where you were.”

“Was Tommy worried?”

“He fell asleep in the armchair
right after dinner, didn’t even know you were gone. Right fine man-of-the-house
he is. Now where did you go?”

“To a gentleman’s club.”

“Don’t be pulling my leg.”

“I did Annie, and please do not
point at me. I went to see Colonel Brandt who is one of the witnesses in my
current case.”

“And could it not have waited
until morning?”

Clara gave Annie a long look.

“No.” Sighed the maid, “Course
it couldn’t.”

“If it satisfies you Annie I feel
no further forward for my evening expedition.”

“Just in future, would you mind
remarking where you are going?” Annie relaxed, “Come on then, I’ll see if I can
rustle up some cocoa from the pantry.”

Clara followed Annie into the
kitchen of her home. The Fitzgeralds had been reasonably well-off and the house
had once been thriving with servants. The kitchen remained a testimony to those
old days when Mr Fitzgerald had been alive and working tirelessly as a lecturer
on medical science. The room still had all its pine and oak units, big dressers
stacked with copper pots and delicately painted plates, a huge butler sink with
an old-fashioned pump standing over it and a massive range that helped warm the
house too. And then there was the large oak table in the centre of the room. So
well-scrubbed it was almost white, and grazed with countless scratches from
pots, plates, and knives.

Clara loved that table. She
could recall how cook had stood with her arms up to the elbows in flour
kneading bread and pastry and letting Clara help. She had fond memories of
Christmas cake mixes being stirred by each household member (for luck) on that
table, and rows of jam tarts and gingerbread men being prepared for the local
fete. Cook had left them just before the war. Her son signed up and her
daughter-in-law nearly broke down in the High Street in distress, so cook went
to keep her company. Her son was killed a year later. The male servants of the
house also left to join up or help out in other ways if they were too old for military
service. By the time Clara’s parents were killed the house was running on three
maids, one of which doubled as an adequate cook. Clara dismissed them from
financial considerations not long after. For almost three years Clara rattled
about the house on her own and then Tommy came home a physical and mental wreck
and Annie entered her life as a desperately needed helper. She had never looked
back, but, just for a moment as she sat at the table, the memories of those old
years before the war washed over her. Bittersweet, but still her memories.

“I had a speck or two of cocoa
left.” Annie grunted, opening a tin canister that had probably not been
refilled in four or five years, “It will be mostly milk, or I could stir in
some Bovril?”

“No, indeed, I think I shall
stick with hot milk and a hint of cocoa.”

Annie set the milk in a pan and
began carefully bringing it to the verge of boiling.

“You would think by now they
could have the shops properly stocked.” She moaned, “It’s been two years since
the war, but Mr Higgins never has any cocoa, nor oranges. I used to love the
occasional orange, I would save up for one.”

“At least we have the
essentials of life, butter, milk, cheese, eggs and meat no longer exists on a
first come first served basis. I missed butter during the war.”

“My mam kept a goat, on a good
day she could save enough milk to churn. Oh, it didn’t always go right,
sometimes I would come home and find her crying over a lumpy mess that weren’t
butter, weren’t cheese and certainly weren’t edible. But when she did do it
right she could make a reasonable butter. She was quite proud of herself.”

“And quite rightly Annie, who,
these days, has the skills to churn butter, or even knows how?”

“Mam came from farm stock. That
goat was our saviour during those first years of the war.” Annie slipped into
silence, her family had been killed in a bombardment, “Never did find out what
happened to old Penny, probably she ran off and someone ate her. That’s a
bitter thought, isn’t it?”

“Don’t dwell on it.” Clara said.

The milk boiled and Annie
poured it into two teacups she had warming on the range. She added a little
dash of sugar and then brought them to the table.

“Now, what is this new case
that is troubling you? Tommy has given me the gist of it and it seems quite
simple. The woman killed her husband.”

“Nothing’s simple Annie. Why,
is my first question? Then, how? Besides, I don’t feel right accusing someone
who cannot defend themselves without a little more proof.”

“What sort of proof?”

Clara shrugged.

“A written confession would be
nice. Annie, have you ever heard anything about the O’Harrises?”

Annie pondered the question.

“Would that be Florence
O’Harris?”

“Yes.”

“She died a year or two back.
Just made the end of the war, I think.” Annie sipped her milk, “Now, if I
remember rightly, she was rather a fanatical fundraiser for charity and during
the war was one of those ladies who collects handmade blankets for the soldiers
and has you give her your old scrap iron for the war effort. In fact, I believe
she ran several events to raise money for a plane. It was donated to the RFC and
I recall they printed something in the paper?”

“I remember that.” Clara
nodded, “The Brighton Biplane. I believe it crashed on its first flight?”

“Mrs O’Harris would have not
been impressed.” Annie smiled, “Oh, she was a fierce one. Chaired so many
ladies committees my mam just called her The Chairwoman, never told you which
organisation she meant because she didn’t need to, Florence O’Harris was on
them all!”

“She wasn’t popular then?”

“Yes and no. She was the sort
of lady who got things done, but she didn’t let anyone else really help and
sometimes she was a touch overbearing. Mam always said it was because she was
lonely. When did her husband die?”

“1908.”

“Then I was only a child.”
Annie nodded, “I hear she had a garden party every summer at her house, open to
the public, but I never went. What about you?”

“My father always took us on
holidays during the summer when he wasn’t needed for lecturing.”

“My mam always said we didn’t
have a nice enough dress to go, but my dad used to whisper to me, when he saw I
was disappointed, it was really because she didn’t want to face Mrs O’Harris. I
think they clashed a lot.”

“I don’t suppose she was the
only one who clashed with Florence. What about servants? Could she have been a
harridan at home too?”

“Wouldn’t surprise. Struck me
she was the sort of woman who would prefer to run a house herself and saw a
housekeeper as an imposition.”

“Could revenge against Florence
be at the heart of this?”

“Are you thinking a servant?”

Clara gave a sigh, which
rapidly turned into a yawn.

“It is just another of my
random thoughts. The trouble is Goddard O’Harris is not coming across as the
sort of person who had enemies, quite the opposite. So that leaves me with one
main suspect, and yet she does not appear to have a reason to kill her husband.
Or at least none I can fathom. And I still haven’t figured out the how,
either.”

“Was it Goddard O’Harris who
had his body stolen?”

“Hidden, I think would be more
precise, yes.”

Annie nodded.

“Want me to ask around and see
if anyone knows anything?”

“If you would, you never know,
do you?”

“I’ll keep my ears pricked.”
Annie grinned, “Now perhaps you should get off to bed before you fall asleep at
that table.”

Clara suddenly realised how
heavy her eyes felt and how her body seemed to sag down. She shook herself
awake.

“Yes, you are right. Oh, but I
suppose we best get Tommy to bed first.”

The ladies wandered to the
parlour where Tommy Fitzgerald was still sound asleep in a chair.

“Almost seems a shame to wake
him.” Annie sighed.

“Think of the ache he will have
in his neck tomorrow and the time he will spend moaning about it.” Clara
pointed out.

Annie stifled a laugh as Clara
gave her brother a slight shake.

“Disturb a fellow…” Muttered
Tommy.

“Come on you.” Clara grabbed
one arm and hauled him up, while Annie swiftly moved in to grab the other.

“Can’t a man sleep in peace?”

They escorted him awkwardly
across the room. Tommy had lost the feeling in his legs during the war, or at
least conscience feeling. When he was drowsy, or even half asleep as he was
just then, his legs would move without thinking and it was possible to walk him
towards his bedroom, as long as he was supported on both sides. Yet awake, no
matter how hard he tried, Tommy could not manage to do the same.

The doctors labelled it as a
mental barrier; some connection between his conscious thoughts and his legs was
not being made. One had even suggested he was trying too hard. Now, as Clara helped
him to his bedroom she just wished he could see what he was achieving. As it
was Tommy was on the cusp of sleep.

They rested him on his bed in
the room that had once been the garden room.

“He sleeps like a baby.” Annie
smiled, taking off his shoes and socks.

“A troublesome baby.” Clara
snorted, pulling off his sweater rather brusquely, she had never been the best
nurse.

“Let me, I know the routine.”
Annie said, taking the sweater and folding it neatly, “You need your sleep, you
look exhausted.”

“Do you mind?” Clara felt her
shoulders sag just at the suggestion of weariness, she did feel like her hands
and feet were full of lead.