once before. It occurred to me that Inspector Rother was changing his tactics, and that I should take this warning to heart.
“Miss Crawford,” the constable said as I came through the doorway. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’m Constable Bates. Constable Austin is off duty. Who was the man who came to call on you?”
“A friend of my family’s. My father was concerned about me and sent him to find out if I was all right.”
“How did your father learn that you were involved in a murder inquiry?”
“He didn’t. When I spoke to him, I told him that we’d found one of the houseguests dead. I didn’t know then that it was murder.” As I took the chair he indicated I could feel the weight of the little pistol in my pocket, and wondered suddenly if it showed to a trained eye. Constable Bates was examining me as if I were a new specimen just brought to his attention.
“And your father is…”
“Colonel Richard Crawford.” And for good measure, I added his regiment.
“I see. All right, if you will write out a statement beginning with the arrival of the houseguests on Thursday evening, then sign it, I’ll add it to the others I’ve collected.”
He handed me paper and pen, and I sat down at a smaller table drawn up to a chair by the window and began my account.
When it was finished, Constable Bates took it from me, scanned it quickly, and then set it aside.
“Thank you, Miss Crawford,” he said, dismissing me as if I were a naughty schoolgirl caught in some mischief.
I turned on my heel and left.
Roger’s sister Margaret was in the passage, and she made a wry face. “I see you’ve met the unpleasant Constable Bates,” she said. “I thought Gran would strike him with a poker for what she called his insolence.” She turned to walk with me back to the hall. “I’ve never been involved in a police inquiry,” she went on. “It’s rather chilling. I have to stop and remind myself that I’ve done nothing wrong. But I can’t help but feel guilty. And George is dead. I can’t quite take that in, either.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t know him.”
“George and his brother were in and out of the house all our lives. He lived near us-the house has since burned down-until his grandfather died. Afterward his parents moved to London. George was much younger than Malcolm- he often referred to himself as The Afterthought. But when his parents also died, it was Malcolm who took care of him, although we offered to keep him. I daresay it was because he was orphaned at a young age that he felt so concerned for that child he’d seen in France. Roger agreed with me.”
Roger Ellis was being very clever. But I thought perhaps he might have a point here.
“As soon as Juliana could walk, she followed Roger and George everywhere they went. They called her the nuisance. Afterward-well, afterward they were afraid God had punished them by taking the nuisance away for good. It was rather awful, to tell you the truth. Roger and George were inconsolable.” She hesitated. “I was very fond of Malcolm. My parents invited him here any number of times. I think they hoped he and I might marry one day. It was never spoken of, but my father would have been happy if we had. Malcolm was a little older than I was. Then I met Henry, and that was that.” She smiled. “Malcolm went abroad for a bit.”
“Mending a broken heart?”
“I doubt it. He loved France. That’s why he was so quick to enlist when the war began.” She sighed. “I wish now I’d done more for George-looked in on him in London, had him down to stay from time to time. It’s possible I could have done something about his drinking. But I was so wrapped up in my own worry for Henry, and my volunteering, I didn’t see what was under my nose.” Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t believe he’s dead, Bess. It hasn’t sunk in yet.”
I had seen George’s body and still I’d found it difficult to believe. But then I’d been too busy-going for Constable Austin, breaking the news to the family, dealing with all the questions, talking to my father and then to Simon. When had there been time to think of the man, rather than the murder victim?
Mrs. Ellis came just then. I thought,
“The police must find a motive for murder,” I said gently. “A reason for the man to die, here, today. And they must look at each of us as potential suspects until they’ve worked out to their own satisfaction just what happened and why.”
“How do you know so much about this business?” she asked, turning to stare at me.
I said, not wishing to open doors into my past, “Simon Brandon explained it to me.”
That made sense to her. Men knew how the world worked. She nodded, smiling a little. “That’s very reassuring, Bess. Thank you.”
As if she couldn’t bear to sit still, she rose again and said, “If you do see Lydia, will you pass along the message?”
We promised. After the door had closed behind her mother, Margaret said, “She can’t imagine this weekend ending in this fashion. It will be the talk of the county, and she will find it hard to look anyone in the face for months. I mean, the
She got up and walked to the hearth, her back to me, as if she was studying the fire at her feet.
“The afternoon Juliana was buried, my father came back to the house and burned everything. Her pretty clothes, her dolls, her toys, even the bedding she slept on, and the bedstead itself. Everything she’d touched, even her cup and spoon and the silver rattle he’d given her for her first Christmas. And I can remember his face, like a thundercloud, cursing God while my mother screamed, begging him to leave her something to remember her child by. We even gave her cat to the rector, for fear he would destroy it as well. My mother hid the portrait. He threatened her, but she refused to tell him where it was. He ransacked the house, looking for it. Alan and I were terrified that he would kill her, but in the end, he gave up, went out of the house, and we didn’t see him for weeks. When he came home again, he was different. He never spoke Juliana’s name again, nor asked for the portrait, nor even visited her grave. He stopped going to church services. He said God had forsaken him, and he intended to forsake God in his turn. And yet it was my father who ordered that lovely memorial of Juliana. Two years later, he was dead. We couldn’t fill her place, you see. Not Alan, nor Roger nor Mother nor me. I think we realized then, my brothers and I, that she would always be there. George, oddly enough, said it best, that we only had to shut our eyes and we’d remember.”
I thought about this traumatic event marking the childhood of the Ellis children. It would have left such terrible scars, deep and unhealed for all time. And for George as well?
“Thank you for telling me,” I said quietly. “It helps to understand, a little, what this family has suffered. And why Lydia wants children so badly, and her husband doesn’t.”
She turned to face me, as if she needed to confess something that was on her mind. “Henry says that George wanted to believe a child he’d seen amongst the refugee children must be a second Juliana. He says George
It was a very perceptive remark.
She took a deep breath. “I expect I ought to go up to Lydia and tell her that the police want her.”
I went on to my room, wishing I could talk to Simon. With a sigh I sat down by the window and stared out at the ordered, civilized knot garden below me, such a vivid contrast to the wild and gloomy heath. And then Lydia came into my line of sight, hurrying through the intricate maze of paths, looking over her shoulder, as if she was afraid something or someone was after her. She disappeared into the stand of evergreens at the end of the knot garden, the heavy boughs closing after her like a shield, protecting her from whatever it was she feared.
