Blood-Tied (15 page)

‘Not the cottage. He’ll pay her good money for that. He only wanted a bit of land so he could build himself a house.’

Esme scoffed. ‘And you believed him?’

Will had been sitting back watching their exchange and saying nothing until now.

‘So this wasn’t a way to get back at your sworn enemy, Polly Roberts, of course?’ said Will with obvious sarcasm. ‘You just helped this man out of the kindness of your heart, is that it?’

Mary tossed her head. ‘I just acted as go-between. There was nothing in it for me.’

Will scoffed. ‘If I believed that I’d believe Jack was still living and breathing.’

‘How dare you!’ The sound of Mary’s hand slapping Will’s face startled Esme. Who was Jack and why did his name provoke such a reaction? Mother and son glared at one another. They seemed unaware of Esme, their antagonism smouldering between them in their locked vision.

‘Mrs Watts, are you aware what sort of person Leonard Nicholson is?’ said Esme. Her brusque question seemed to snap them both out of their trance. They glanced her way.

‘What?’

‘Leonard Nicholson. Did you know he is wanted by the police?

‘Trust you to get mixed up in the lowlife,’ said Will. He rubbed his face.

Mary flashed a look towards him but didn’t comment.

‘Did you know, Mrs Watts?’ repeated Esme. ‘They want to talk to him about a suspicious death.’ Well, they will do when I speak to them, Esme reassured herself.

‘Don’t believe it. You’re making it up.’

Esme sighed with exasperation. ‘I’m not making it up. For goodness’ sake, he needs to be caught. You must be able to get hold of him. You could help the police track him down.’

Mary sniffed and looked away across the room. ‘Why should I care?’

‘Because he’s dangerous. Because he caused Daisy Roberts’s death.’ In Esme’s mind there was no question that Leonard Nicholson was responsible. She was sure the inspector would agree with her, as soon as he knew the facts.

‘Daisy,’ she sneered. ‘Oh yes, Daisy.’ Again the sarcastic manner. When was she going to own up to knowing the truth? Maybe she simply enjoyed taunting Polly and gloating over her reactions. No wonder Polly had been unable to contemplate challenging her.

‘I don’t owe her anything,’ she continued bitterly. ‘She broke Jack’s…’ Her voice faltered.

Jack again. This was a side of the story that Polly had kept to herself. Esme felt a stab of irritation. She was fighting with one hand tied behind her back. If she had all the facts, she might know how to reach this stubborn and selfish old woman.

Mary composed herself and turned her head sharply in Esme’s direction.

‘And I don’t owe you anything, either,’ she sneered.

‘Maybe not, but the least you can do is stop him doing to someone else what he’s done to Elizabeth.’ Esme’s voice threatened to betray her emotions. ‘She’s still in a coma, for God’s sake.’

She saw Will recoil in the corner of her eye and turned to look at him. He was staring at her wide eyed.

‘Elizabeth?’ he was saying. ‘Mrs Roberts’s Elizabeth?’

Esme frowned and stared at him. ‘Do you know her?’

‘Are you sure she was attacked by this Nicholson man?’ said Will, looking increasingly agitated. Mary was staring down at the table, her face expressionless.

‘It looks that way but why…?’ But Will had already got hold of Mary’s arm and was shaking it frantically.

‘Mother, you can’t walk away from this. You must stop this man. He’s attacked Elizabeth.’

Mary looked as confused as Esme was feeling. She yanked her arm away, attempting to pull it out of Will’s grip.

‘Let me go. What are you talking about?’

Esme stared at Will, waiting for him to answer Mary’s question and explain himself.

‘Mother,’ said Will, his voice calm now, ‘there’s something you should know. Elizabeth is Jack’s daughter. She’s your granddaughter.’

27

Now Esme understood why Polly had been so reticent about revealing everything about Elizabeth’s past. She had never come to terms with the incontrovertible fact that Mary’s son had fathered Daisy’s baby and that therefore Mary had a greater claim on Elizabeth than she had. No wonder she was doing everything she could to extricate herself from Mary’s clutches, even if it meant giving up her financial security. Esme wondered whether Polly had ever realised that Mary was unlikely to sever the connection completely if she thought there was still anything in it for her. Esme guessed that she probably knew that, but hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself.

Once Will had explained everything Mary walked out of the house.

‘Shouldn’t you go after her?’ asked Esme, anxiously. She had no intention of letting a potential remedy for this crisis disappear from her grasp. Leonard Nicholson needed to be apprehended as soon as possible and Esme was convinced that Mary was the most obvious person to help achieve it. The two of them must have had a means of getting in touch, in order to pass over the signed document and receive payment. She couldn’t imagine Mary trusting it to the post with a cheque to follow. She was much too wily for that.

Will looked at her carefully before replying. Maybe he was trying to assess the reasoning behind her apparent concern.

‘She’ll be back when she’s taken it all on board.’

Esme accepted that she would just have to trust his judgement.

‘How long have you known about Elizabeth?’ Esme asked. He hadn’t yet said whether they knew one another.

‘Only a few days.’

Esme was surprised by his answer. So they hadn’t met. ‘You hadn’t tried to find her before?’

How could I?’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t even know whether Daisy had had the baby and whether it was a boy or girl. Where would I start? It was only when Mother said she’d found Polly Roberts that I suddenly realised I had the chance to find out.’

Esme couldn’t help feeling slightly resentful that he had apparently had a more open response to his enquiries of Polly than she’d had.

‘I’m surprised she told you,’ she said to him.

Will laid his hands out on the table, thumbs and forefingertips touching, and studied them carefully. ‘She didn’t want to. She tried to tell me she didn’t know what I was talking about. But I told her I was Jack’s brother and that I had the letter Daisy had written to him telling him she was pregnant. She had to admit it then.’

‘Even so, she would have found it difficult to tell you anything given the antagonism between her and your mother.’

‘She made me promise not to tell.’

‘A promise you’ve now broken,’ said Esme pointedly.

‘Yes. I feel bad about that but I didn’t have any choice, did I?’ He looked reproachfully at Esme. That’s what you wanted, his expression said.

‘How come your mother never knew, when you did?’

He gave a small laugh as one who knows the full implications of a situation and has been asked to sum them up in a single word.

‘The circumstances were unusual, shall we say?’

‘How so? Tell me about Jack and Daisy.’

Esme thought for a moment he wasn’t going to enlighten her but then he sighed and slumped back in the chair.

‘I was a kid at the time. I really don’t remember anything about it. Only the bust up at the end. Mother said it was Polly’s fault, that she came between them.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know why.’

Esme understood why. Polly had to get Daisy out of the way before Mary made the connection with Catherine. If Mary did know the whole story, she’d obviously never told Will.

‘When Daisy left,’ continued Will, ‘Jack was distraught. He blamed Polly, of course, for turning Daisy against him. Mother was furious but probably not too bothered to be shot of Polly, if the truth be known. But what she couldn’t take was what it did to Jack.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I don’t really know the ins and outs. Like I said, I was too young to fully appreciate what was going on. Anyway, afterwards he got it into his head that he was going to go back down the pit like our father. My father was badly injured years ago. He was never fit enough to work again. He died a few years later. I was just a baby then. I never knew him.’

‘And your mother understandably was terrified the same would happen to him?’

Will nodded. ‘He was just reacting to the hurt, I suppose, being careless. People go around driving fast cars or getting drunk and do reckless things these days, don’t they? But whatever his reason, Mother couldn’t persuade him otherwise.’

Esme guessed the outcome. ‘There was an accident?’

‘A cave-in. Jack didn’t get past the fall in time, it blocked his way out. He was trapped for three days. When they dug them out it was too late. He was dead.’ He bowed his head. ‘I often wondered whether he did it on purpose.’

‘As you said, he chose a dangerous job deliberately.’

He shook his head. ‘No more than that. His mate reckoned he could have got out but when the opportunity came he didn’t move. It made me think of a war story my granddad told me once, about when he was in the trenches. They were all reading their letters from home. Suddenly one of the men cried out and rushed for the ladder to go over the top. They went to drag him back, but he’d gone too far and they couldn’t reach him. Then they heard artillery fire. It was too late, then. They found his letter in the mud. His girl had written to say she’d met someone else.’

‘And you saw Jack in the same position?’

‘Makes you think, doesn’t it? An honourable way out.’

Esme nodded. Suicide would still have been illegal back then in the 1950s, despite the growing understanding which would change the law in the following decade. Jack had seen a moment to end his despair without bringing shame on the family. She felt an overwhelming sadness that his desperate action had deprived Elizabeth of knowing her father.

‘Does your mother have any idea of your theory?’

‘God, no. She was in a bad enough state as it was. Believing that would have sent her over the edge.’

‘It must have been pretty awful for you too?’

He stared at the table top. ‘She was terrible when he died. I missed the worst of it because my aunt looked out for me. She could see that I was being neglected. Mother hardly noticed me. Slowly things got a bit better, but Jack’s name was never to be spoken. Then, now and again, she started to mention him, but usually as a complaint aimed at me, you know: “Jack would never have done it like that.” That sort of thing. I let her get away with it, if the truth be known, because he was my brother, and I thought a lot of him. If she said Jack would do it better, I believed her. He’d always been my hero, he knew best because he was older. And I missed him, of course. Not that she’d ever stopped to think of that. She never looked at it from my point of view. All she could think about was how it affected her.’

‘And she saw all this as Polly’s fault for taking Daisy away?’

‘Always. It’s eaten her up ever since.’

‘So what about Daisy? She must have found out that Jack had died.’

‘I suppose. She’d written to Jack about the baby just before. I never knew at the time. I only found out much later. A mate of Jack’s came round to the house after the funeral. Mother was well out of it. He spoke to me and told me that Jack had always said he was going to encourage me to better myself, not go down the mines, or even take some dead-end job. I remembered that. It’s what made me work hard and get my qualifications.’ He tossed his head towards the back door. ‘Despite all the put-downs.’

‘Did Jack know about Daisy, d’you think?’

‘Apparently. His mate gave me the letter that Jack had on him when he died. He said to keep it safe. Private it was, he said. Of course I couldn’t read it. It was in joined writing and it was as much as I could do to decipher print in those days. I hid it away along with a few of Jack’s things. Mementoes, you know. By the time I was capable of making sense of the letter I was too scared to tell my mother. She still wasn’t over it. I didn’t know what it would do to her. I assumed one day, when she trusted me…’

His words tailed off and Esme could see that it had never come to that. From the outburst she’d seen earlier, she guessed that Jack had never moved from Mary’s number one spot. He’d become her god and as a result he’d displaced her surviving son.

‘The fact that she’d written and told him she was pregnant,’ suggested Esme, ‘wouldn’t it have given him hope that there might be a future for them?’

Will shook his head. ‘No. The letter made it quite clear. The baby was to be adopted.’

Esme tried to imagine Daisy’s state of mind. Had there been any wistful hope behind the purpose of her letter that Jack might respond in some way? Was it a test to see if he’d come and find her, perhaps? Or was it simply that she thought that he had the right to know he had fathered a child?

‘I thought Mother’d drawn a line under things of late,’ Will was saying. ‘But then this private investigator chap came round asking questions about the old family and it stirred everything up all over again.’ He shook his head and sighed, his face drained. ‘Nothing I say seems to make any difference. She’s obsessed with the idea of getting even with Polly Roberts, even after all these years.’

They both turned sharply as the back door opened. Mary stood and glowered at them. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

‘He lied about it,’ she said sullenly. ‘I never knew he was violent. He seemed a bit of a gentleman.’

‘Gentlemen don’t go in for blackmail,’ said Esme with cynicism. Will flashed a look as if to say, don’t antagonise her.

Mary pursed her lips and looked at Esme. ‘What do you want me to do?’

28

‘I can see why you suspect Leonard Nicholson, Mrs Quentin, but it’s going to be difficult to prove.’

Inspector Barry pulled up the collar of his coat around his ears against the blustery wind that whipped at them as they emerged from the shelter of Wisteria House and walked across the gravel. Much to her relief he had taken her concerns seriously and suggested that he should talk to Polly. The only down side was that it made Polly the centre of gossip once more. Mrs Rowcliffe had been given the rudiments of the situation, that foul play was suspected in Daisy’s death and the police were keen to investigate.

‘The oxygen cylinder will be long gone back to the health authorities by now, I suppose, for things like fingerprints to be of any use.’ Esme adjusted her bag on her shoulder and put her hand on it to stop it flapping about. It was in danger of being dislodged by the strength of the wind. ‘But you might be able to prove that he was at the cottage, perhaps?’

‘Being her cousin, his defence would argue that he had legitimate reason for being there even if there was evidence to place him at the scene.’

Esme sighed. ‘It doesn’t look very hopeful.’

‘We need to speak to him anyway, on this other matter of a missing person. That’s what we were hoping Miss Roberts, or should I say Miss Monkleigh, could help us with.’

‘I hope you don’t think Mrs Roberts was being deliberately obstructive when you came to see her. I think she was genuinely shaken by your visit. Catherine had become Daisy some years ago. A personal matter. Family estrangement. It’s not illegal to operate under a different name, as I understand?’

‘Only with the intention to defraud,’ clarified the inspector.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Esme, focusing on the rooks circling above the huge beech trees beyond. ‘But I’m sure that wasn’t her intention.’ She hoped the inspector wasn’t seriously questioning the reasoning behind the name change. Polly wouldn’t cope with the indignity or the stress.

‘So you haven’t caught up with Leonard Nicholson, then?’ Esme said as they arrived at their cars.

The inspector climbed into the large grey Vectra parked next to Esme’s Peugeot. ‘We will,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry about him turning up at the hospital. Too many potential witnesses. He wouldn’t take the risk.’

‘So how are you going to track him down?’

‘Something’ll turn up, you can be sure of it.’ He nodded his goodbye and slammed the car door. Giving Esme a wave, he sped off.

She watched him until the sound of the engine faded into the distance. ‘Sounds to me,’ she murmured to herself, ‘that you need a tip-off.’

*

As soon as she got home, Esme picked up the phone and rang Lucy. She took some persuading.

‘I don’t understand why you can’t suggest it to him yourself,’ whined Lucy.

‘Because I’d have to go into the whole background and everything. It’s so much simpler this way. Mary has agreed a meeting with Leonard Nicholson and I need someone to tell the police. Easy as that.’

‘Surely you can make the call? You don’t need me.’

‘They’re bound to record all their telephone calls. I don’t want them to recognise it’s me.’

‘Why not?’

‘For the same reason I can’t suggest it to the inspector outright. If they work out it’s me they’ll want to know the full story.’

‘How could some receptionist possibly put two and two together and come up with you? They wouldn’t know your voice from Adam. You’re being paranoid.’

‘Perhaps, but I can’t take the risk. I’ve promised Polly they don’t need to know.’

There was a pause. ‘Amateur dramatics aren’t really my thing, Esme. I’m not sure I’m up to it.’

‘Please, Lu. Use a phone box. One in the middle of town.’

Eventually Lucy caved in and Inspector Barry received an anonymous tip off that Leonard Nicholson was meeting someone in the café at Kingsway Shopping Centre at 3.30 p.m. the following afternoon.

As the inspector was hardly going to give Esme a call and involve her in police operations, Esme planned to be shopping in the centre herself. She arrived with about fifteen minutes to spare and wandered into W.H. Smith, opposite the café in question. With the large floor-to-ceiling windows that the store boasted, it was a perfect place to observe events. As the minutes ticked by her apprehension grew. She reached up nonchalantly to take a magazine from the shelf and noticed that her hand was shaking.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Quentin,’ said a voice next to her. She jumped as if she’d been shot and spun round to see who had spoken. Sergeant Morris was peering at her from over a Top Marques magazine. Esme got a sudden urge to giggle, the situation was so surreal. She thought the sergeant would consider her behaviour very odd, given that she supposedly knew nothing of why he was here, so she purposefully thought of Elizabeth and pulled herself firmly in check.

‘Oh, hello Sergeant,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘Choosing your next car?’

‘All out of my price bracket, more’s the pity,’ he replied. He replaced the magazine on the rack. ‘’Bye for now.’ He strolled out of the store.

Esme watched him until he was out of sight and then began to look at the books on the shelf closer to the door. That way she could read the blurbs on the backs of the paperbacks while observing the entrance to the café. Sergeant Morris had disappeared from view and she didn’t see which direction he’d taken.

Her heart gave a jolt. There was a man hovering at the café’s entrance, apparently undecided as to whether to go in. He looked at his watch. She strained to see if he looked like the photo-fit image she had looked at, but he had his back to her. She replaced the book on the shelf and slowly made her way towards the shop door, keeping her eye on the man. As she stepped out into the shopping centre the man suddenly spun on his heel and marched straight at her. She stopped dead in surprise, right in the entrance. He breezed up to her…and past her and into the shop.

She closed her eyes and let out a long breath. It wasn’t Leonard Nicholas. Not unless he had used a fast-acting hair-growth hormone since the sighting in the park. This man had a thick black beard.

She composed herself and looked at the time. Twenty to. He was ten minutes late. She casually walked along the concourse to a shoe shop and peered through the window. Glancing across to her right she realised that she could see the reflection of Sergeant Morris on the opposite side of the concourse. She let out another long sigh and decided she wasn’t the right type for covert surveillance. She kept forgetting to breathe.

By quarter past, when she had studied every shop window several times over, without actually registering a single item, she felt a presence next to her.

‘We meet again,’ said Sergeant Morris.

‘You still here?’ asked Esme. ‘You must have a long lunch hour.’

The sergeant grinned. ‘There can be a lot of standing around in this job, you know.’

‘Really? Looking out for pickpockets, are you?’

‘Something like that, though I think we’re wasting our time today.’

Esme instinctively glanced towards the cafe only to see Mary marching off at a brisk pace. Her body language said it all. Don’t think I’m doing that again in a hurry.

A young woman came over and spoke to the sergeant. ‘Shall we call it a day, Sarge?’

The policeman shrugged his large shoulders. ‘Yeah, I think so, don’t you?’ He turned back to Esme. ‘I’ll be off, then, Mrs Quentin. Happy shopping.’ She nodded and she watched the pair leave the building.

So, Nicholson hadn’t shown. Why not? Had he been tipped off? But by whom? Mary? She surely had no loyalty to him after she had heard what he was accused of. Anyway, Mary hadn’t been able to complete her part of the deal, so she had nothing to lose by exposing him.

But then she’d nothing to gain either. And she might have persuaded him that he owed her something for not giving him up to the authorities.

If Mary was behind his non-appearance, he would know by now that the police were aware of his activities. Esme wondered what his reaction might be to that piece of information. From what she’d heard about him she didn’t think it would be good.