Trouble at the Little Village School (38 page)

‘A lot of new mothers find it hard at first, Bianca,’ Dr Stirling told her. ‘You pop in and see me next week. Now, we’d like two coffees, please.’

‘This is my treat,’ said Ashley when Bianca had left to place the order. The café owner observed the couple at the corner table with more than a little interest.

‘No, no,’ said Dr Stirling, ‘let me get them.’

‘It’s the least I can do,’ said the new curate, ‘after you spoke to the Mothers’ Union for me.’

‘I think the less said about that the better,’ said Dr Stirling. ‘I don’t think it was a great success, but then I did warn you that I am not a very good speaker.’

Ashley laughed. ‘You’re too modest,’ she said. ‘It was very interesting, although I thought it was a little ironic that after your suggestions on healthy eating they all tucked into the buffet of pork pies and sausage rolls, cream cakes and meringues.’

‘I think my words fell upon deaf ears,’ said Dr Stirling.

‘Well, not on mine,’ she said. ‘I’m very grateful that you found the time to do it.’

Bianca arrived with the coffee and placed the cups on the table. Then she stood there as if waiting for something.

Ashley dipped into her handbag to find her purse.

‘Thank you, Dr Stirling,’ said Bianca, ‘for all you’ve done, with the baby and that, and for talking to mi mam and dad.’ Her eyes started to fill up. ‘You were really nice.’

‘A pleasure,’ he replied.

‘And I don’t want you to pay for the coffees. I’d like to do that.’

‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you,’ he replied.

When Bianca had gone, the new curate squeezed Dr Stirling’s hand as it rested on the table. ‘You’re a good man,’ she said.

‘I don’t know about that,’ he said, looking embarrassed. ‘She’s a simple soul is Bianca and she’s had a lot to put up with lately.’ He took a sip of the coffee. ‘Anyway, how may I be of help?’

‘Be of help?’

‘You said you wanted a word with me about something.’

‘Ah yes. Well, I thought I’d visit some of the patients in the hospital,’ she told him.

‘I think they would welcome that,’ he replied.

‘But I don’t want to tread on the chaplain’s toes. Sometimes hospital chaplains tend to be a bit protective of their role and don’t take too kindly to other clerics pushing their noses in.’

‘I am sure Father Daly would be more than happy to have an assistant,’ he told her. ‘He’s a lovely man, but overworked and getting a bit long in the tooth now. I’m certain he would jump at the chance of having a bit of help. I’ll have a word with him if you like. I’m visiting the hospital next week.’

‘Perhaps I could come with you,’ suggested Ashley, ‘then you could introduce me.’

‘Yes, of course. It’s next Wednesday.’

‘It’s a date,’ she said.

The policeman stood on the doorstep at Clumber Lodge. He was an unusual-looking man, with his dark eyes, colourful acne and greasy black hair. He looked too young to be a police officer. Next to him, his colleague, a pale-faced woman with her blonde hair scraped back savagely on her scalp and into a tight little bun at the back, had an earnest and unsettling expression on her face. They brought the chill of the morning with them.

‘Dr Stirling?’ said the young policeman.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Police Constable Thomas,’ he said. ‘We have met before.’

‘In similar circumstances,’ added his colleague.

‘Yes,’ replied Dr Stirling, ‘you called when my son went missing. I remember. Is there something the matter?’

‘May we come in?’ asked the policeman.

‘Yes, of course,’ said the doctor. ‘Come through into the sitting-room. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Thank you, no,’ said the young policeman. His colleague sat down on the edge of a chair and stared ahead of her with a blank expression.

‘How may I be of help?’ asked Dr Stirling, standing by the fireplace. He was rather apprehensive, recalling the last visit of the police when James had gone missing. The young policewoman had said then that she would need to speak to his son on his return. It had sounded to Dr Stirling as though she was of the opinion that the boy might have run away because he was being maltreated. Dr Stirling guessed that the reason for their visit was to check up that this was not the case.

‘It appears that history is repeating itself,’ said the young policeman.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the doctor, ‘I don’t quite understand.’

‘You will recall that last time we were here it was concerning a runaway child,’ said the woman.

‘Yes, that’s right. As I have just said, you called when my son went missing. I do remember.’ He sounded irritated. ‘Is there something the matter?’

‘Well, we are here on the same business,’ said the young policeman.

‘James is upstairs in his room,’ the doctor told him. ‘He’s fine now. There will be no running away again, I can assure you of that. Perhaps you would like to speak to him?’

‘It’s not your son that we are here about,’ said the young policeman. He took a small black notebook from his pocket, moistened his index finger with his tongue and began flicking through the pages. ‘It’s concerning a Daniel Stainthorpe.’

‘Danny!’ exclaimed Dr Stirling.

‘We are conducting another missing person enquiry,’ said the policewoman.

‘The boy has run away,’ said the young policeman. ‘I think you are aware that he is now living with his grandmother in Clayton?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he didn’t return home from school yesterday afternoon. He’s been out all night and, of course, his grandmother is understandably very worried about him.’

The doctor sighed.

‘It seems to be quite an occurrence,’ said the policewoman.

‘What does?’ asked the doctor. He felt a sudden flash of irritation.

‘Children running away.’

Two small, red angry spots appeared on the doctor’s cheeks. ‘I really am not sure what you mean by that comment!’ he exclaimed. ‘I would remind you that Danny was not in my care. Had he been, he would most certainly not have run away. He was settled and happy when he was here, and what he wanted most was to remain with me and James. It is his grandmother from whom he has run away, probably because he was unhappy. That is not what I call a recurrence. It’s an entirely different situation.’

The policewoman gave a thin, condescending smile.

‘Please don’t upset yourself, doctor,’ said the young policeman. ‘My colleague was merely stating a fact. I am sure it is just a coincidence.’

‘Danny was to come and live with us as my adopted son,’ continued Dr Stirling, ‘but then his grandmother turned up out of the blue and wanted the boy to live with her, something he did not want.’

The doctor’s impassioned speech seemed to fall on deaf ears, for the two police officers looked at him impassively.

‘Have you seen him?’ the young policeman asked, in a voice which made it clear he wasn’t at all interested in Dr Stirling’s opinion.

‘No,’ replied the doctor. ‘I haven’t.’

‘Have you any idea where he might have gone?’ asked the woman.

‘No.’

‘Do you know anyone who might know where he might be?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Perhaps we might speak to your son now,’ said the policewoman. ‘He’s the boy’s friend, isn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, he may have an idea where the boy has gone to.’

‘I’ll get him in a moment,’ said Dr Stirling.

‘We will soon find the boy,’ said the young policeman, snapping his notebook shut. ‘Children run away all the time. As I said to you when we were last here, I’ve known a number of cases when kids have had a bit of a tiff with their mums and dads and run off.’

‘Has he had some sort of argument with his grandmother, then?’ asked Dr Stirling.

‘Not that we are aware of,’ the policewoman told him. ‘His grandmother does find him a bit of a handful. Evidently he can be quite a wayward and rather sulky child by all accounts.’

‘Danny?’ cried Dr Stirling. ‘Nonsense! He’s nothing of the sort. He’s a pleasant and very polite young man.’

‘Anyway, we will keep our eyes open,’ said the young policeman, easing back his cuff surreptitiously to check the time on his watch. ‘As I’ve said, youngsters do sometimes run away for one reason or another, mainly to get some attention or after an argument, but they usually return when they are hungry and it starts getting dark.’

‘But you say Danny was out all last night?’ asked the doctor.

‘Yes.’

‘It was freezing cold. Wherever could the boy have been in this weather?’

The young policeman shrugged. ‘Bus shelter, railway station, barn, outbuilding, somewhere warm. There are lots of places.’

‘I’ll get my son,’ said Dr Stirling.

James was of little help but suggested Danny might be down by the mill dam, where he had made a den. It was agreed that Dr Stirling and his son would search down there that morning and in any other haunts the boy might have gone to.

‘And contact us if he turns up,’ said the young policeman.

‘Yes, of course I will,’ said the doctor. ‘That goes without saying, and could you keep me informed if you hear anything?’

‘We will be in touch,’ the young policeman said. His colleague rose from the chair and smoothed the creases out in her skirt. ‘Good morning, Dr Stirling,’ she said.

Chapter 18

Dr Stirling and James searched in all the places where they thought Danny might be. They started at the den the boy had built, but it was empty, then they looked in the small copse and beneath hedgerows, and in the deserted barns and outbuildings. They trudged down the rutted track in the wood which led to the mill dam, on ground like iron and dusted with a light snow that even the rays of the morning sun could not melt. Tired and cold, they walked on past tall black-trunked trees, the branches silvered with hoar frost, and past spindly misshapen saplings, sparkling holly hedges, tangled undergrowth and green-covered boulders, but there was no sign of the missing boy. Eventually they arrived at the millpond. The huge waterwheel, rotten and rusted, was silent, and the stone building a crumbling roofless ruin. Beneath, the water was black and thick as oil.

‘Danny!’ shouted Dr Stirling. ‘Danny, are you here?’ The fresh coolness of the air hit the back of his throat. ‘Danny!’ he shouted again. ‘Danny, are you here?’ The wood remained silent.

‘He might be at the churchyard,’ suggested James. ‘Danny often used to go there, to his granddad’s grave.’

But at St Christopher’s there was no sign of the boy.

‘Maybe he’s at Mrs Devine’s,’ said James. ‘He spent a lot of time there digging the garden and feeding the birds.’

‘Well, let’s go and have a look,’ said his father, ‘and pray that he’s there.’

But the garden at Wisteria Cottage was empty.

‘I saw you two trespassers from the kitchen,’ said Elisabeth good-humouredly as she came out to meet them. She had a broad smile on her face. ‘You look mightily suspicious you two, creeping around in my garden. Whatever are you up to?’

‘Danny’s missing,’ Dr Stirling told her.

The smile left Elisabeth’s face. ‘Missing?’ she repeated.

‘We thought he might be here.’

‘Well, no, he’s not here.’

‘He’s run away, Mrs Devine,’ said James. ‘The police are looking for him. We’ve looked everywhere but we can’t find him.’

‘Oh dear,’ sighed Elisabeth. She shook her head. ‘You know, I thought this might happen.’

‘You have no idea where he might be, have you?’ asked Dr Stirling.

She thought for a moment. ‘Do you know, I think I might,’ she replied.

‘You do?’ cried the doctor.

‘I think he’s in the caravan where he used to live. I was looking out of the bedroom window last night and I thought I saw something flickering in the caravan. I put it down to a trick of the light or the moonlight reflecting off a window, but I think it must have been Danny. Poor boy must be frozen to death.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Dr Stirling. ‘Well done, Elisabeth.’ He looked at his son. ‘Mrs Devine to the rescue again, eh, James?’

‘Come along,’ said Elisabeth, ‘we had better take a look.’

‘Don’t be angry with him, Dad,’ James said.

The boy’s father placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled. ‘I won’t,’ he said gently.

Les Stainthorpe’s caravan had remained in the small paddock next to the cottage since the old man’s death. Before going to live with Dr Stirling, Danny had been through his grandfather’s few possessions, taken what he wanted, then locked the door and put the key under a stone. Elisabeth found the stone and lifted it. The key had gone.

‘He’s inside,’ she said.

Dr Stirling tapped on the door of the caravan. ‘Danny,’ he said. ‘Danny, are you in there?’ No sound came from inside. ‘Danny, it’s Dr Stirling. Open the door, there’s a good lad.’ There was still no response. He was about to knock again when Elisabeth stayed his hand.