Two for Sorrow

Marta, there was simply no level on which he could compete.

Josephine smiled when she saw him, and he beckoned her over to the door. ‘Aren’t you coming to say hello to the girls?’ she asked.

‘In a minute, but I wanted a quick word with you first. Will you do me a favour?’

‘Of course, if I can.’

‘Will you come to Suffolk with me tomorrow morning? I’m going to see Ethel Stuke.’

‘Isn’t that you doing me a favour?’

He looked sheepish. ‘I can’t let you sit in on an interview like that, I’m afraid. I can’t even promise you’ll get to meet her. It depends on what she’s like and how much time we have. Sorry.’

‘It’s all right—I understand. But why do you want me to come with you? As nice as a day out in Suffolk sounds, I can’t see a favour—unless it’s purely the pleasure of my company.’ She smiled self-mockingly. ‘That’s understandable, I suppose.’

‘It goes without saying. But I need to speak to you about the past—the Sach and Walters case and Anstey, and I don’t know when else I’ll have time to do it. If we can talk on the way, it’ll kill two birds with one stone.’

‘Two jail birds, you mean?’ she said, but it wasn’t meant as a joke and she added, concerned: ‘How is Lucy?’

‘Not good. I gather the next few hours are crucial, but even if she pulls through, it’ll be a long haul to recovery. So you’ll come?’

‘Of course I will. I could do with a change of scene and a bit of sea air. It might clear my head.’

He refrained from asking why that was necessary. ‘It’ll mean an early start.’

‘That’s fine. Just tell me what time I need to be ready, and if you’re going to grill me too thoroughly, you’d better get the Snipe to send breakfast. I’ll tell you anything you want to hear for a flask of tea and a sausage sandwich.’

He laughed. ‘I’m sure she’ll do you proud.’

‘I don’t doubt it. Is Bill coming with us?’

‘No, there’s too much for him to do here, but he’s downstairs now if you want to see him.’

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not that. I was just wondering if I’ll have you to myself.’

As Penrose had requested, a car was waiting at Ipswich Railway Station, courtesy of the Suffolk police. Provincial train connections were few and far between on a Sunday, and, in any case, he had wanted to speak to the local force to establish that Ethel Stuke was still living at the address he’d been given, and that she was at home and happy to see him; it was a long way to go on a hunch, and even further if the hunch had decided to visit her sister in Bournemouth for the weekend. He and Josephine had used the train journey to go through everything she knew of the Sach and Walters case, but nothing fresh had come to light and he wondered now how much to tell her about his suspicions. There had been nothing in Celia Bannerman’s prison file except a record of exemplary conduct and a copy of her resignation letter prior to her taking an administrative post in a hospital in Leeds. Her alibi for the night of Marjorie’s death was solid, although, if the earlier end of Spilsbury’s estimate for time of death proved to be the correct one, she would still have had time to carry out the murder and get back to the club. If he was wrong, he didn’t want to compromise Josephine’s relationship with her former teacher; and if Bannerman did have something to hide, the last thing he needed was for Josephine to put herself and his case in danger by finding it impossible to behave normally around her.

He collected the keys from the station master as arranged, and they drove away from the town and out into open countryside. The East Anglian landscape was already scarred by the starkness of winter. With no leaves on the trees or crops in the fields, it appeared as a negative image of its fertile summer self, a world governed by absence, bracing itself for the long, dark months ahead.

‘Tell me about Anstey and what you remember of Lizzie Sach’s suicide,’ Archie said, handing her the map on which he had marked their route.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Who found her?’

‘The games mistress, I think. Her body was in the gymnasium. She’d used one of the ropes to hang herself.’

‘And were there any signs leading up to it? How long had she known about her mother?’

‘I don’t know, Archie. You’d have to ask Geraldine when she sent the letter. My impression at the time was that Lizzie killed herself as soon as she found out, but I don’t know that to be true. And as for tell-tale signs, I didn’t know her well enough to notice. I know it happened in the summer term, because we were all preparing for exams, so she’d have been at the college for nearly a year, but she’d never settled in from what I could see—and that makes sense now I’ve heard what Gerry had to say about it. But I doubt there was any warning of what she intended to do. The teachers at Anstey were very good, on the whole, and they genuinely seemed to care about our welfare. I think they’d have noticed and done something about it if she’d shown any sign of depression.’

‘How did Celia Bannerman react?’

Josephine thought before she answered, careful to distinguish between Celia’s reaction at the time and what she had said about the incident more recently. ‘She was shocked, obviously. I think she felt guilty because it happened while she was in charge, and because she brought Lizzie to Anstey in the first place.’

‘But it was professional sorrow rather than a personal sense of loss for a particular girl?’

‘You make it sound rather self-centred but yes, I suppose it was.’ She looked out of the window at a mill, admiring the way the light reflected off the sails. ‘It was so strange for us all—I’ve never known an atmosphere like it. Anstey was such a noisy place, you know, at every hour of the day—with so many girls crowded into it, it was bound to be. Yet the next morning the whole school seemed to be populated by ghosts. It didn’t last long, although it shames me to say it: I look back on her death now and I see the tragedy of it, particularly since I’ve talked to Gerry about it, but I think that’s an age thing. I hate to admit it, but there was a scandalous fascination about it for us girls. The teachers really felt it, though. I imagine there was an awful lot of black coffee drunk in the staff room that day, and a few recriminations handed round.’

‘I’m surprised Lizzie didn’t go to Bannerman when she got the letter. Wouldn’t that be the automatic reaction if you found out something like that—disbelief? A need to have it confirmed?’

‘It depends who told you, I suppose—she trusted Gerry and would have believed her. And we don’t know how much she remembered, do we? She wasn’t a baby when it all happened, so perhaps the story fitted with something she had a dim recollection of. Adults think they’re clever enough to keep things from children, but that’s often an illusion.’

‘All the same, you’d think she’d seek some sort of clarification, but she didn’t, as far as you know?’

‘No, not as far as I’m aware. If she’d gone to Celia, the suicide would have been prevented, I’m sure. Of course, I have no idea if she knew what an influence Celia had had on her life.’

‘I suppose it was suicide?’

‘For heaven’s sake, Archie—what else would it have been? She left a note.’ Penrose wondered if Fallowfield would be able to trace that note through the Birmingham police. ‘And it seemed significant to me that she’d chosen to die like her mother. Surely that would have been very hard to fake?’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he agreed reluctantly.

They passed a sign to Framlingham, and Josephine turned back to look in that direction. ‘We really are getting close to my roots now,’ she said.

‘What? You’re a Suffolk girl?’

‘On my mother’s side, a couple of greats ago. They brewed beer somewhere between Framlingham and Saxmundham, apparently.’

‘Just think—you could be related to Bill. That really would make his day, especially if there’s a free pint involved.’ He slowed the car to take a sharp right-hand bend. ‘Do you know it, then? Did you ever come here with your family?’

‘No, and as an adult I’m afraid my Suffolk travels begin and end in Newmarket. I’m easily waylaid by the Rowley Mile. I’d like to get to know it better, though,’ she added, as they drove down a high street flanked on either side by handsome houses and small shops. The sun finally broke through the clouds for a second, burnishing the pavements as if cued by her enthusiasm, and she exclaimed in delight. ‘This is lovely. I may have to move south after all.’

‘You don’t think it’s all a bit too perfect?’