Shades of Murder (23 page)

His tone became brisker. ‘What we need to do is trace the source of the arsenic. The likelihood is that if we can find where it came from, we’ll have our murderer. It’s not something you can buy over the counter these days or pinch from some processing plant without it being realised. A modern murderer can’t get hold of it as easily as William Oakley did.’

He got no answer to this and looked up curiously.

Meredith had paled.
‘Déjà vu . . .’
she said soberly. ‘It’s creepy, really. Two murders at Fourways, both using arsenic, separated by a century. In the first William was accused of being the murderer, but escaped justice. In the second his great-grandson is the victim. It’s almost as if someone has been waiting all that time to mete out a sort of warped revenge.’

Stanley Huxtable set off for court on Monday morning anticipating plenty of lively copy as Mr Green was due to begin his defence. Rubbing his hands together briskly as he waited for the Oxford train at Bamford Station he looked about him for the Reuter’s man and was both relieved and suspicious not to see him. The man from the international press agency had been assiduous in attaching himself to the local man and Stanley knew it wasn’t for the pleasure of a fellow hack’s company. But now that Stanley couldn’t see him, he began to worry where he was. Had he overslept? Had he stumbled on some story and beaten Stanley to it?

At that moment, all thought of the absent Reuter’s man was pushed from Stanley’s mind. A pair of women had arrived on the platform. One was middle-aged and respectable in appearance. The other, Stanley presumed by her figure and the way she moved, was young. He couldn’t be sure because her face was obscured by a heavy veil as though she were in deepest mourning. The older woman was fussing round the younger one who seemed very nervous.

Now, what’s all this? wondered Stanley. Is the young one a widow? Is the older one her mother?

At that moment, the breeze caught the veil and for the barest second it flicked aside. He caught a glimpse of her left profile, and a very pretty profile it was. But he was more intrigued by her reaction to the movement of the veil. Her hand shot up to drag it back into place, after which she looked round as if to check no one had noticed. If she’d seen Stanley at all at that moment, she’d have seen a young man intent on studying the railway tracks.

The train was approaching. It drew in with a groan of its mighty wheels and a hiss of expelled steam which enveloped the platform and waiting passengers in a cloud of thick smelly fog. When it had cleared, the two women were nowhere to be seen. Stanley shrugged and climbed aboard.

* * *

The Reuter’s man had travelled ahead of him and was sitting in the press box by the time Stanley arrived. He’d pinched Stanley’s place nearest the witness box. What’s more, he’d already come by some information.

‘He’s going to put that nursemaid on the stand,’ said the Reuter’s man.

‘What – old Green?’ asked Stanley disbelievingly. ‘He never is.’

‘That’s what I’ve learned. It might be clever at that. If she comes over well, as an honest girl and all that, it scuttles that housekeeper’s testimony well and truly.’

‘He’s taking a blooming big risk,’ said Stanley, adding, ‘Well, I’m damned!’

The Reuter’s man nodded in agreement but he had mistaken the reason for Stanley’s last words. Surprised as he’d been to hear of defence’s intentions, he was even more surprised to see, entering the court through the public gallery, the two women he’d last seen on Bamford Station.

They appeared to be debating where to take their seats. The older woman seemed to be for sitting in the lower rows to have a good view. Her young companion appeared reluctant and eventually, had her way. The women found themselves seats on the highest tier, tucked into the far corner. Others soon put themselves between the women and Stanley’s view of them. In no time, the seating was packed. He tapped his pencil thoughtfully on his notepad. The reporter in him sensed some kind of story but he couldn’t see how it tied in with current proceedings.

The Reuter’s man had heard correctly. Mr Green did indeed call Daisy Joss. All necks craned as she walked to the witness stand. Recalled to business, Stanley scribbled,
Daisy very pretty, pert girl, dark curls, fresh complexion
. Then to satisfy his female readers, he added,
Wearing black straw hat, boater-style, decorated with bunch of cherries
.

Mr Green, smiling benevolently upon her, established her identity and her position in the household at the time of Mrs Oakley’s death. ‘And were you happy in your situation?’ he asked. ‘Was Mrs Oakley kind to you?’

Daisy said Mrs Oakley had always been very kind and she Daisy, had been very happy. Asked whether Mr Oakley had also been kind, Daisy replied firmly that she had seen very little of Mr Oakley. He was a gentleman very much taken up with his horses and his dogs. He seldom came to the nursery.

In reply to further questions, she recounted how on the fatal evening she’d been awoken, in her room next to the nursery, by shouts from the garden and had recognised Mrs Button’s voice. From her window, Daisy
saw a bobbing lantern moving towards the stables. Some minutes later Mrs Button came running back towards the house, lantern in hand; Daisy could see her clearly, what with the lantern and the moonlight. Shortly afterwards she heard hoofbeats.

Mr Green asked, ‘You were not tempted to go down and find out what was going on?’

‘No, sir, it was not my business. Anyway, the child had woken up and was fretful. I sat with him for some time until he went off to sleep again and then I went back to bed.’ Daisy paused and added with a tremor in her voice, ‘I found out the next morning that Mrs Oakley had died. I was terrible shook up. She was such a nice lady.’

‘And are you still employed as nursemaid at Fourways?’ asked Mr Green.

‘Yes, sir. I was ready to leave at first, when I heard how Mrs Oakley had burned to death. But Mr Oakley said that the child had lost his mamma and what a bad thing it would be if he were to lose the nursemaid he knew and trusted at the same time. Mr Oakley was very worried about the little boy. So I agreed to stay.’

With a sorrowful air, Mr Green remarked, ‘You have heard another witness suggest you had an improper relationship with your employer.’

At this Miss Joss snapped into life and retorted, ‘That’s not true. It’s a wicked lie. I am a respectable girl. There is no one can say I have a bad character!’

‘You have heard it said in this court,’ pointed out Mr Green, still in sorrow.

‘Only by Mrs Button,’ returned Miss Joss, ‘and she is a spiteful old woman. I am walking out with a decent young man. His name is Harry Biddle and he works for Mr Salter the tobacconist in Bamford. We are to be married when he has saved some money and I am older.’

‘And how old are you now?’ asked Mr Green in kindly tones.

‘I am seventeen, sir, but my father says I am to wait till I’m twenty to be married.’

‘Thank you, Miss Joss,’ said Mr Green, smiling upon the dutiful daughter.

To his description of the witness, Stanley added,
Clever as a cartload of monkeys
.

Mr Taylor was well aware of the threat to his case posed by the virtuous Miss Joss. He rose, long and lean in his black gown, and pushed forward his head at the end of his long neck.

The bird has spotted the fish! thought Stanley who, like Inspector
Wood, had also been struck by Taylor’s resemblance to a heron.

‘Now, Daisy,’ said Mr Taylor in a gentle tone, ‘are you a truthful girl? Do you understand what it is to swear as you have done on the Good Book? Do you know what perjury is?’

The witness informed him she was extremely truthful. She had regularly attended Sunday School, passed the scripture examination and been awarded a prayer book.

‘Well, that is very nice,’ said Mr Taylor deflatingly. ‘How long had you been employed at Fourways when the tragedy occurred?’

‘Three months or thereabouts,’ said Daisy.

‘Only three months? I understood you to say Mr Oakley had persuaded you to stay on the grounds that the child was used to you, yet you had only been his nursemaid for some weeks.’

‘Three months is a long time in the life of a little boy, sir,’ Daisy told him reproachfully. ‘The child likes me. I like him. I am very fond of children.’

‘When Mr Oakley asked you to stay on, did he offer to increase your wages, as a reward for your loyalty?’

‘Yes, he did,’ said Miss Joss. ‘Because he could see I was ever so upset and ready to go home.’

‘Did Mr Oakley ever tell you you were a pretty girl?’ asked Mr Taylor suddenly, dropping the pretence of gentleness.

‘No!’ declared Miss Joss. ‘Whatever next?’

Mr Taylor said, ‘I think most of us know what usually happens next.’

‘Well, he never said anything like that!’ snapped Daisy, her heart-shaped face turning a not-unattractive crimson. She gripped the edge of the stand in her gloved hands. She was very small and now appeared to be standing on tiptoe.

Stanley’s gaze wandered to the public benches. From the expressions on the faces he could see, they were cheering her on. He tried to see the veiled woman, but too many people were in the way.

‘He never teased you? Never stole a kiss?’ demanded Mr Taylor.

‘No, he never did and I think it’s disgusting, what you’re saying,’ stormed Daisy.

Stanley looked this time at the jury. At least some of them seemed to be agreeing with her.

Mr Taylor wasn’t ready to give up. ‘Do you, indeed? Tell me, what do you do with your wages, Miss Joss?’

‘Some I give to my mother,’ said Daisy, ‘and the rest I save. It’s all for my bottom drawer.’

Mr Taylor leaned forward, his long neck craning, his thin lips drawn back over his discoloured teeth. ‘But you spend some of it, don’t you? Is it not true that one week after the death of your mistress, you went into Bamford and bought a new hat and several pairs of silk hose?’

Mr Green looked up in alarm. He needn’t have worried.

‘Yes,’ agreed Daisy. ‘It’s like I said: I’m hoping to be married. I buy things for my bottom drawer and for my honeymoon journey. We’re planning on Torquay.’ Her little face crumpled unexpectedly and a sob broke in her throat. ‘You are making things sound as they’re not, sir. I don’t know why you are doing it.’

‘You were also observed at church to be wearing coral earrings which had belonged to Mrs Oakley,’ said Taylor, unmoved by the sob.

Miss Joss gazed at him in wide-eyed bewilderment. ‘Yes, sir. But I came by them honestly and am not ashamed. Mr Oakley said he knew his wife had been fond of me and he wished me to have some little memento of her. So he gave me the earrings.’

‘Fond
of you?’ snarled Mr Taylor. ‘Mrs Button tells us Mrs Oakley had told her she meant to turn you away. Did you know your mistress intended to dismiss you?’

Miss Joss drew herself up to her full four feet ten inches and stared bravely at her tormentor. ‘No, sir, because she didn’t. That is just old Ma Button’s lies. She never liked me because she caught me giggling about her once with Jenny, one of the maids. She didn’t like any of the maids or me. You can ask the others. She gave the housemaids a terrible time and she would’ve done me if she’d been able and I hadn’t been up in the nursery. It was because she couldn’t get at me any other way that she’s made up these nasty stories. None of what she’s said is true, not one word.’

Stanley scribbled,
And the fish is too quick for him
.

Court adjourned for lunch.

‘Pub?’ asked the Reuter’s man.

‘See you there,’ said Stanley. ‘Got something I want to do first.’

At this, the Reuter’s man’s antennae quivered and he parted from Stanley with great reluctance.

For a moment the two women had appeared uncertain whether to leave their places, but eventually they rose and made their way towards the exit. As they left the courthouse, Stanley followed discreetly in their wake.

From time to time he glanced back to make sure his shadow, the Reuter’s man, wasn’t tagging along. But the lure of a pint of ale had
been greater. No sign of the spy.

The women walked at a brisk pace. They wanted to take refreshment and then get back in good time so as not to lose their places. After considering and rejecting a couple of busy restaurants, they turned into some tearooms. Stanley followed.

It was the sort of place which, at this time of day, offered light lunches, mostly in the shape of cold meats and salad. The clientèle was sparse and he wondered if this had been the deciding factor in their choice. The women had taken a seat in a dark far corner against the wall.

‘Yes, sir?’ asked a thin, harassed female in a rusty black dress and off-white pinafore.

Stanley glanced hastily at the menu and settled for a pair of poached eggs and a pot of tea. The women had also ordered. He waited. When the food came, she’d have to raise that veil.

She did so, but again, he could only see her left profile. She kept her head rigidly in position so that he got no glimpse of her full face or right profile. She ate quickly, as if afraid of some interruption.

She was right to fear it. Stanley dabbed his mouth with his napkin, rose from his table, and approached.

He was almost upon them when the older woman saw him and uttered an exclamation. In a flash, without waiting to see what was amiss, the young woman had pulled down the veil and he was confronted by a black curtain.

‘Excuse me, ladies,’ he began. ‘Huxtable of the
Bamford Gazette
. My card.’

He held it out but neither moved to take it, so he was forced to place it on their table. The younger woman had frozen. The older one glanced disparagingly at the card.

‘What do you want, young man?’

‘Just a word. I noticed you in court. I’m covering the Oakley trial. There’s a lot of public interest in it and I was wondering what aspect of it had attracted you ladies. Are you acquainted with Mr Oakley, or one of the witnesses, perhaps?’

‘No!’ snapped the older woman. ‘Why we’re there is our business, young man, and none of yours. If you intend to pester us, I shall call the manageress and request you are put out!’ She picked up Stanley’s card at last and thrust it into his pocket. ‘And take that with you!’