admirers, who’ve been ringing up since breakfast asking for her. All that dancing last night seems to have done wonders for the walking wounded. If you’re going to go, you might as well do it today. At least you won’t have it weighing on your mind over Christmas.’
‘I’m sorry, my dear, I’ve been caught up in this long enough, I know.’ Madden had been contrite. ‘But I have to be sure I’ve done all I can. Followed up every lead. I can’t explain it exactly, but I feel we owe it to Rosa. To her memory.’
‘And so do I.’ Helen’s kiss had served as a seal on her words. ‘But don’t be too late back. I want us all to be together this evening.’
Soon afterwards she had dropped him at the station on her way to her surgery and Madden had found Stackpole waiting for him on the platform, with the welcome news that extra trains would be running to cope with the flood of travellers expected over the Christmas period and he would have no difficulty getting back to Highfield once his selfimposed duty was done.
Another figure in a police constable’s uniform was waiting on the platform at Liphook when Madden’s train arrived, this one considerably shorter in stature than Will Stackpole, but no less portly.
‘Bob Leonard, sir.’ The bobby touched his helmet. Well past middle age, he sported a grey toothbrush moustache and veined red cheeks. ‘We’ve not met, Mr Madden, but I know you by name. Weren’t you with the Yard once?’
‘I didn’t think there was anyone left who remembered that.’ Madden laughed as they shook hands.
‘Ah, well, when you’ve been in this job as long as I have …’ Leonard chuckled. ‘I was due to put my feet up four years ago, but then the war came along and there was no one else to do it.’ He nodded at the train from which Madden had just alighted and which was still disgorging passengers. ‘You might have picked a better day. Don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘er so full.’
The same thought had come to Madden as he’d sat wedged in a corner seat while they’d crawled along at a snail’s pace. Despite the cramped conditions the holiday spirit had been well in evidence and the sound of a sing- song had reached his ears from another compartment a little way down the corridor in the antique carriage. Reprieved by the needs of wartime from the junkyard perhaps, it had been decorated by photographs of straw- hatted girls walking arm-in-arm along a seaside promenade with young men clad in white flannels. Phantoms from another age.
Many of those travelling had belonged to the services and some were still recovering from their wounds. Noticing that an army sergeant standing in the crowded corridor outside was on crutches, Madden had given up his seat halfway through the trip, and when they had finally reached his destination he had paused long enough to help another injured soldier, this one an officer with a bandage covering one eye, who was stepping down uncertainly on to the platform behind him with the help of a cane, oblivious to the salutes which a pair of privates were offering him as they strode by.
Although it had stopped snowing during the journey, the grimy slush covering the platform was deep underfoot and Leonard suggested they take refuge in his office, which was nearby and where he would give Madden directions to the Grange.
I don’t know the young lass myself,’ he said as they plodded through the snow, down Liphook’s main street. ‘Except by sight. Will told me you wanted a word with her, but not why.’
The unspoken question required an answer. The Liphook bobby had done them a favour, after all.
‘If it’s the right girl, she was on the same train as a young woman who was murdered in London a few weeks ago. Another Pole called Rosa Nowak. She was working for me as a land girl. Apparently they knew each other. Rosa was murdered less than an hour after they parted at Waterloo. I want to have a talk with Eva. I want to know what happened on that journey.’
‘You’ve been in touch with the Yard about this, have you, sir?’
The tone of Leonard’s query was polite, but firm, and Madden smiled.
‘Yes, don’t worry, Constable. I’m not acting on my own. I’ve been helping the police with this. In fact, I may want to ring Chief Inspector Sinclair from your office later when I come back.’
‘You’ll be welcome, sir.’ Leonard looked relieved. ‘In fact it might be easier for you to do it from here than from the Grange, say. The telephone lines are jammed at the moment. It’s the Christmas season. But I can get through to the Yard all right, and if you need to ring me from the Grange you’ll have no trouble. The village exchange isn’t affected.’
Sweating slightly in spite of the frosty air, glad of the boots he’d put on that morning, Madden strode down the narrow lane. Walled on either side by dense woods, the road was more than ankle-deep in fresh snow and the louring sky threatened another fall soon. Since leaving the outskirts of Liphook he had not seen a living soul; only the cries of a flock of plovers wheeling overhead had broken the silence of the white-clad countryside all around him, and in the deep stillness he had found his thoughts drifting back to the past: to the bitter winter of 1916 when he had huddled with others around flickering spirit stoves in the trenches before Arras, trying to thaw the thick chunks of bully beef in their mess tins. Once a prey to memories of the slaughter, and to the nightmares that had plagued his sleep for years afterwards, he seldom thought of that time now. But on emerging from the woods into a landscape of flat, gently rolling contours not unlike the killing fields of northern France, he found long-forgotten images returning to fill his mind.
He had wasted little time in Liphook, staying only long enough to warm his hands at the small wood fire burning in Leonard’s office and to receive directions from the constable on how to reach the Grange.
‘There are no signposts up any more. They took them down during the Jerry invasion scare. I dare say it’s the same over at Highfield. But if you follow the road to Devil’s Lane and turn right at the crossroads, you can’t go far wrong. Watch out for a fork in the road when you reach the old mill, though. Left will take you to the MacGregors’ farm, and you don’t want to end up there.’
There seemed to have been little traffic on the lane recently — he saw no marks of tyre tracks in the virgin snow — but after he had been walking steadily for a quarter of an hour he heard the sound of muffled hoofs behind him, and, turning round, spied a pony-and-trap driven by a broad-shouldered figure well wrapped in winter garments coming his way. He moved to one side of the road to give it passage, but when the trap reached him it came to a halt.
‘Where are you headed? Can I give you a lift?’
The voice was a woman’s, though it would have been hard to judge her sex by appearance alone: clad in an old army greatcoat, she was also wearing a fur-lined cap whose earflaps, tied beneath the chin, hid most of her features.
‘I’m going to a house called the Grange,’ Madden replied.
‘Are you now?’ The answer seemed to interest the driver, and she leaned down from the trap’s seat to peer at his face. ‘Well, hop on, if you like. I can only take you as far as the crossroads, but that’ll save you half a mile’s walk.’
As Madden put his foot on the step, she reached down a gloved hand and hauled him up beside her.
‘You’re not from around here, are you?’ The face she turned to him, framed in fur, was fiftyish and weathered.
‘No. I came over from Highfield, in Surrey.’ He settled himself beside her. ‘Madden’s my name. John Madden.’
The woman had been on the point of flicking the reins; now she hesitated.
‘Not the John Madden who married Helen Collingwood that was?’
‘The very same.’ Madden grinned. ‘And you are-?’
‘Elizabeth Brigstock. Bess.’ She offered him a hand which he shook. ‘I knew your wife years ago, but only slightly. It was when we were girls. Our mothers were friends, but Helen’s died young.’
‘So she did. Before the war — the last war. I never knew her.’
‘We used to be hauled by our mas out to dances in the neighbourhood. In my case, anyway.’ She chuckled. ‘I was the perennial wallflower. I used to sit watching the couples, thinking the evening would never end. But Helen was such a beauty; she had to fend the young men off. But I did like her; she had such lightness of spirit. One of those people you were always pleased to see. I went abroad after the war and we lost touch, but I was told she’d got married again.’ She was still looking at him; but her gaze had lost focus and she seemed to be searching her
