Death of an Avid Reader (35 page)

‘Intrigued? It destroyed us, the shame, the disgrace, the injustice.'

‘Wrong word. Sorry. I suspected there had been a poor investigation. I will tell you, but you must give me the gun. I don't want to take you into custody. You have waited too long for justice.'

She hesitated, keeping the gun firmly jammed in Castle's neck, yet she looked at each of us in turn.

When our eyes met, I forced her to hold my gaze. ‘He won't wriggle out of it, Mrs Carmichael. He made a chalk mark on the spot where Marian was to be buried. Because under another slab is your father's body. A bullet is too good for him. Let him face the full force of the law, for all his crimes.' She did not put down the gun. I kept on talking, this time to him. ‘The discovery of Mr Nelson's body would have ruined you. You were the embezzler, and you killed Mr Nelson when he found out. You took no chances about excavations down there. You killed Dr Potter because he suspected something. He had remembered that Mr Nelson disappeared around the same time as a ‘ghost' came into the library one night, probably to wash its hands and brush its hair after the dastardly work of burying a body. Dr Potter would have persuaded the committee to sell these premises, and the digging would begin.

‘You tried to blackmail Mr Lennox, telling him Marian was buried there, and that you had her hair, her locket, and the letter that he wrote to her.'

There was a tap on the door. Moving cautiously, not taking his eyes off Castle and Mrs Carmichael, Wallis opened the door a fraction.

‘Sir, we have taken statements from the staff.'

‘Good.' Wallis handed him the piece of paper on which Peter had drawn Castle's likeness, and the burial spot in the basement. ‘I want the flags removed in this part of the basement, and some careful digging. Send word, and then come back here.' He closed the door. ‘Mrs Carmichael, the gun, if you please.'

Marian said, ‘You'll find a Guy Fawkes that Peter buried instead of me.'

Wallis took a step towards Castle. ‘That won't be all we find, will it, Mr Castle? It would suit you if Mrs Carmichael shot you now, wouldn't it?'

‘No!'

Castle closed his eyes. His head came forward in something like a nod of defeat.

Mrs Carmichael clicked the revolver.

Castle said, ‘Nelson found out about me. I had no choice but to deal with him.'

Mrs Carmichael hissed in his ear. ‘My father, Sam Lennox, Dr Potter, the library's most avid reader. You killed them all. Shooting is too good for you.'

Her hand fell to her side. I took the gun. ‘It's all right now. You can close your eyes and see him. Your dad will know you kept faith.'

She stared at Castle. ‘I knew there was a reason you haunted the library, and that it was nothing to do with a love of books.'

We stood clear, letting the inspector do his job.

‘Edwin Castle, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Mungo Charles Nelson, Horatio Erasmus Potter and Samuel Lennox. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say will be taken down in evidence and may be used against you. Do you understand?'

Castle might have been a toad, croaking. ‘Yes.'

The inspector stepped aside, nodding to the two constables who had appeared. One of them, holding handcuffs, glanced at the inspector, with the unspoken question, Do we use them?

The inspector nodded. ‘Take him to the bridewell.'

When they had gone, the inspector led Mrs Carmichael back to Lennox's chair.

The telephone began to ring.

Mrs Carmichael neither saw nor heard.

Marian stepped in and picked up the receiver. ‘The Leeds Library, Miss Montague speaking.' She listened. ‘Mrs Carmichael is away from her desk. May I take a message?' She picked up a pencil and began to write. ‘Thank you. I will pass that on.' She hung up the telephone, and wrote another couple of words before handing the paper to me. ‘For you, Mrs Shackleton.'

The message read,

From Librarian, Keighley, Miss Sophia Wells works as a counter assistant at Bingley Library.

Thirty

She was not difficult to spot, being the only member of staff on duty at Bingley Library. A little above average height, and slender, she had a widow's peak, light brown hair, the same shade as Sam Lennox's, and uneven features. She looked more like Lennox than her mother. Slightly gangly, she was not unattractive but by no means beautiful. She had a high forehead and long straight nose. Nothing pale and interesting about her, her cheeks had a good colour. Yet she had her mother's stillness, and way of carrying herself erect. She was dressed in grey.

I glanced along a shelf of history books, and then left the library. Sykes was waiting outside.

‘Don't keep me in suspense.'

‘It's her. I'm sure of it.'

‘So what now?'

‘I wish I knew whether Sophia has been told about the adoption. If not, it would be kinder to let Mrs Bradshaw break the news.'

Sykes brandished the
Bingley Bugle
under my nose. ‘The paper came out today. They may already have seen our announcement.'

As we stood discussing what to do, Sophia came out of the library wearing a black coat, a red scarf, mittens and matching woolly hat. We were to the right of the door. She turned left, and did not see us.

‘Follow her, Mr Sykes. We can't afford to lose her now. Come back and find me in the café.'

Sykes is good at tailing people. He pulled down his hat.

I pretended to look in a shop window, and then another, keeping an eye on him to see which way he went. Something in the window caught my eye, a pair of earrings. When I looked again, there was no sign of Sykes.

The café had a menu in the window. I stood reading it. By the time I reached the last item, stewed plums and custard, Sykes was beside me again.

‘You were right first time. She went into the photographic studio, through the shop and into the back.'

‘Then that was probably Mrs Bradshaw I spoke to last week. How annoying! She could have saved us so much time. I've half a mind to go straight to Sophia.'

‘It may not have been,' Sykes said. ‘But it probably was. There's a youngish chap in there, the photographer I expect.'

As we went into the café, I felt a surge of relief. From our seat by the window, we would see Sophia when she returned to the library after lunch. ‘We've finally pinned her down. If Sophia and Mrs Bradshaw want nothing to do with us, I can at least report to Lady Coulton that I have found Sophia, and that she is well.'

Sykes picked up the menu. ‘Her ladyship wants more than that. She wants to see her daughter before she dies.'

‘I expect she does. I wonder how I will manage it.'

The waitress came. We ordered soup and cheese sandwiches.

‘Will we go to the photographic studio mob-handed?' Sykes asked.

‘Why not? You may have more luck with Mrs Bradshaw than I did.'

‘I was thinking of the photographer. If he's still there, I could keep him talking, have my photo taken while you break the news to Mrs B., that there is no hiding place from Kate Shackleton.'

I smiled. ‘You want your picture. You'll have it enlarged, framed, and hung above the stairs at home, the
paterfamilias.
'

‘You read my mind.'

It was another half hour before Sophia passed the window on her way back to the library.

Sykes asked for the bill.

Slowly, we made our way to the photographic studio.

‘Nice place,' Sykes said, surveying the window display. ‘And is that her, the woman you spoke to last week?'

‘Yes.'

‘She's the right age.'

The clapper rang as we stepped inside. The woman and the young man looked up. Straight away, I saw that she recognised me, but he was the one who spoke.

‘Hello.'

‘Nice place,' Sykes said, turning to me. ‘You were right. '

The man beamed. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘Mr Felton?' Sykes asked.

‘Yes, that's me.'

‘And Mrs…?' Sykes looked at the woman, whose hair was done in a slightly different way. She had pinned her braids atop her head.

‘Mrs Bradshaw,' the young man said, when she did not answer for herself.

‘Well then you can take my photograph if it's all the same to you, Mr Felton.'

Mr Felton frowned, looking from Sykes to me. ‘And yours too?'

‘Perhaps but we want one of Jim, just on his own, to send to an elderly aunt.'

‘Excellent.' Mr Felton drew back the curtain and ushered Sykes through to the studio.

I laid the
Bingley Bugle
on the counter, open at our announcement. ‘Shall we go in the back, Mrs Bradshaw?'

She rose.

I followed her behind the counter. ‘Who would have thought it,' I said loudly enough for Mr Felton to hear, ‘I remember you from Scarborough, and we have a friend in common.'

She led me into a neat kitchen-cum-living room.

Had there been more time, I may have approached her in a more tactful, leisurely way, but Mr Felton may prove a quick snapper and have Sykes out of the studio faster than you could say, Watch the birdie.

She stood beside a well-polished round table and folded her arms. ‘Now's not convenient.'

‘The whole village will have seen this newspaper announcement by the end of today. You will need to think of something.'

‘You'd no business advertising for us.'

I decided against telling her that there would have been no need to advertise had she told me the truth last week.

‘All you need say is that a distant relation was sorry to have lost touch with you. Invent a legacy if that helps.'

‘It's her isn't it, her ladyship.'

‘Yes.'

‘After all this time.'

‘She won't bother you for long. She's dying and wants news of her child. Does Sophia know she is adopted?'

‘No, and I'm not going to tell her.'

‘It's up to you to tell her, before she finds out some other way.'

‘Is that a threat?'

‘No. I do know what I'm talking about. I'm adopted myself and I always knew it.'

‘She's not ready to know.'

‘At twenty-four? Then when will she be ready? I'm sorry to be so blunt, but knowing I was adopted made no difference at all to how I felt about the parents who brought me up. They are still my real parents.'

‘It was supposed to be secret. How can I tell her, after all these years? It's as if I've lied to her.'

‘It can still be secret, between you, Sophia and Lady Coulton. Don't you think Sophia deserves to know?'

I was not too sure of my own argument. The circumstances for Sophia and for me were so very different.

Mrs Bradshaw sat down heavily. ‘What does Lady Coulton want?'

I took the chair opposite her. ‘To know how you are, both of you. She was concerned when she lost touch. I've been searching for you for ten days. Everyone I met speaks highly of you and Sophia, including the staff at both schools. You've done a good job as a mother. No one can take that away.'

‘She doesn't want her back?'

‘No. But it may be she would like to see her once before she dies.'

‘You've picked the right day to come. Bonfire Night, and you've put a firework under me, a rocket.' Mrs Bradshaw put her forearms on the table and interlocked her fingers. ‘I wouldn't have had a child, if not for her.'

‘Then tell Sophia, when she comes home from the library.'

‘You've seen her?'

‘Yes. She's a credit it to you.'

She nodded. ‘Come back after tea. I'll tell her when she comes home.'

‘Will Mr Felton be here?'

‘No. I shut up shop at six. He goes home to his family. He'll be checking the bonfire with them, setting up the guy.'

‘He seems a nice man.'

‘Cedric Felton's my cousin's lad. He's been good to us.'

‘I expect he's glad to have you here.' I stood up. ‘Six o'clock then.'

‘Make it half past.'

We took the few short steps from the living room back into the shop.

Felton and Sykes were emerging in jolly mood from the studio.

Mrs Bradshaw said, ‘Would you credit it, Cedric, this lady bought fish from us when we had the shop in Scarborough.'

‘Well,' said Cedric. ‘It's a small world.'

Sykes paid for his photograph.

We walked back the way we had come. When we were a few yards along the road, Sykes asked, ‘How did you get on?'

I told him, and that we had a few hours to pass in Bingley.

‘Do you know what, this would be a good time for me to catch up with my old chum at the Ramshead Arms. Coming?'

‘No. You go. It's a fine afternoon. I fancy a walk up to Cottingley. I'll see you back at the car at about quarter past six. Keep your fingers crossed that Sophia won't take the news too badly.'

*   *   *

I returned to the shop at twenty-five minutes past six. The sign on the door was turned to Closed. Not wishing to rush them, I once more looked at the photographs in the window.

It was Sophia who came to the door.

‘You better come in, or we'll have the whole street gawping.' She held out her hand. ‘I'm Sophia Wells, the person you've been looking for. I saw your piece in the paper today.'

‘Kate Shackleton. How do you do, Sophia.'

‘I don't know how I do. Come through. Mam's upset.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘It's only natural I suppose.'

‘But more of a shock to you?'

‘Perhaps it will hit me later.'

‘Sophia, I'm adopted, too. I didn't meet my birth mother until last year, though I knew about her.'

‘Is that true? I thought you'd been spinning Mam a yarn.'

Mrs Wells was seated at the table, which was set with sandwiches, and cakes on a tiered stand.