Season Of Darkness (4 page)

Tyler was shown into the drawing room by an elderly maid dressed in the conventional garb of women in service: the three white
C’s
– cap, collar, and cuffs – and a severe black frock. She was stooped and looked as if she should have been pensioned off years ago. The room was now the girls’ common room. The precious paintings had been removed, leaving patches on the walls where the wallpaper was brighter, and none of the furniture matched. Nonetheless, flooded with sunlight that poured through the tall windows, the room was cheery.

The warden, Miss Stillwell, was waiting for him. A thin woman, she was plainly dressed in a pale green linen frock. Her iron-grey hair was braided and pinned in a coil at the back of her neck. She was seated in a straight-backed chair near the fireplace, her knees pressed tightly together, her feet side by side in their sensible brogues. She was of the class and
generation of women who had been taught proper posture, along with proper behaviour. In spite of all this severity, she had a pleasant face with well-defined laughter lines at the corners of her eyes.

“Inspector Tyler, please have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you, Miss Stillwell. But I would appreciate a glass of water.”

“Certainly. It has been dreadfully hot. Violet, would you bring the inspector some cold water?”

The maid left on her errand, and Tyler took a chair facing. There was no way he could slouch in that hard chair even if he’d wanted to. He put his hat beside him on the floor, momentarily thrown back to school days and the lessons about good manners drummed into him by his teachers.

The warden gave him a wan smile. “I am so glad to see you, Inspector. As you can imagine, when I heard the news about Elsie Bates, I was appalled.”

“What do you know so far, Warden?”

“Not much, to tell you the truth. Rose Watkins returned to the hostel about half past seven this morning. She had gone in search of Miss Bates, who was expected in the lorry about half six but who had not yet arrived. Rose was clearly dreadfully upset, but kept repeating she couldn’t say what it was about except that Elsie had been in a bad accident, and that a police officer would be here soon.”

“Where is Miss Watkins now?”

“She is resting in her room.”

“I will need to speak to her.”

“Of course.”

“Are the other girls in the house?”

“No. I thought it better for all concerned if they went about their business until we had more information. They all have
bicycles so I sent them off to work.” She glanced at him. “I hope that was the correct thing to do.”

“I’m sure it was, Warden.”

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Shortly after they had left, I received a telephone call from Sir Percy. He said that Elsie was dead and the police were treating it as a suspicious death. Is that the case, Inspector?”

“Yes, I regret to say, it is.”

The maid returned carrying a jug of water and an empty glass on a tray. She placed them on the table beside Miss Stillwell, who waited until she withdrew before she poured water for Tyler. Her hand shook and she splashed some of it as she handed the glass to him.

“Please continue, Inspector.”

He gulped back the water greedily. “Miss Bates was discovered lying at the side of the road. She had been shot in the head.”

“Goodness gracious! … Do you know by whom?”

“It was not by her own hand, I can assure you of that.”

She nodded, understanding, as he himself had, what a vital girl Elsie Bates had been.

“The Land Army lorry was some ways up the road and I believe she had been riding her bicycle. We found one close by. It’s maroon with a wicker basket on the front. Would that have been hers?”

Miss Stillwell nodded. “The Land girls can have a regulation-issue bicycle if they wish, but some of them prefer to get better models of their own.” She took a deep breath. “Elsie was proud of hers.”

“It fits that description, I presume?”

She nodded again, lips held tightly together.

“She was lodging in Whitchurch, I believe,” said Tyler.

“That is correct. She was a forewoman and living out was
considered a privilege of the position. Her job was to collect the girls here from the hostel and drive them to the different farms where their help had been requested.” Again the wan smile. “Elsie fretted against rules, and she was often late … I was the one who had to deal with the complaints from our farmers, and I’m afraid she saw me as a hard task maker. But, as you are no doubt aware, we are still taken on sufferance here by many of the local people, and I was anxious that we establish a good reputation.”

Tyler finished off the glass of water.

“You say Miss Bates was something of a rebel. Can you tell me more about her? Was she liked, for instance? Did she have any enemies that you know of?”

Miss Stillwell considered the question for a moment, and he could see she was selecting what she thought was appropriate to say and what wasn’t.

“Initially, when she came here, I would say she had a chip on her shoulder. A rather large chip. She is … er, was, from one of the poorer sections of London, and some of the young women are from, shall we say, more privileged families. Elsie resented them and was only too keen to take them down a peg or two. She had quite a sharp tongue on her.” She chuckled. “She could dredge up language that would embarrass a sailor. I had to have her on the carpet over that. She had not had an easy life. Occasionally she’d let slip something about her family. Quite dreadful really. Drunk and disorderly all the time. She settled down and lost some of her belligerence. She wanted to get on, to shake off those early influences.” She took a handkerchief from her pocket and rubbed at her eyes. “Excuse me, Inspector. I know that Elsie and I had our disagreements and that she didn’t much care for me, but I grew quite fond of her. I’m sorry she didn’t know that.”

“So, no enemies that you are aware of? No one who might want to do her harm?”

“Not here. She was very generous to the other girls, picking up extra chores if they were tired, for instance. As I say, the more they all worked together, the more they all learned respect and affection for each other.”

“And outside of the hostel? Anybody who might hate Miss Bates enough to kill her?”

Miss Stillwell sighed. “I am not a young woman, Inspector, but contrary to what the girls sometimes think, I was once. I understand the power of love and what it can stir in a person. Elsie Bates was unusually attractive. She liked to flirt. I’ve seen how she was when we’ve had our male guests over. To put it rather crudely, she’d have the young men panting around her like dogs with a bitch in heat.”

This was the first hint of acerbity that had leaked into the warden’s speech. Tyler wondered if there was something personal in it.

Rather stiffly, she got to her feet and brought the jug of water over to him.

“It’s a little early to offer you anything stronger, I suppose.”

Tyler would have liked to accept, but he was on duty and, despite her good manners, he knew Miss Stillwell would be disappointed in him.

“Thank you, Warden. You have been most helpful. There is one more thing I’d like to ask you about. There was a gun beside Elsie’s body. A German Luger, issued in 1917. We will have to have it tested, but there’s little doubt it is the weapon that was used. Do you know if Miss Bates possessed such a gun?”

She stared at him in bewilderment. “Why no. No. I have no knowledge of such.”

“Would any of the other girls in the hostel have owned a gun?”

“Not that I am aware of. It is against all regulations.”

“Do you personally know anybody at all who might possess a German Luger? Anybody?”

“Not at all.”

“No names you heard bruited about? No gossip?”

This time, she looked rather affronted. If she could have bristled in that straight chair, she would have.

“I was taught never to listen to gossip, Inspector. I cannot help you in this regard.”

He closed his notebook. “Could I have the name and address of Miss Bates’s next of kin? I will have to notify them. And I will need to talk to all of the women. How many are billeted here all together?”

“Seven.”

“Do you have any kind of roll call in the mornings?”

“It’s not necessary. The girls know that breakfast is served between six and a quarter past six. It is their responsibility to get up. They look out for each other. The early risers wake up the sleepy heads.”

“Did you see who was at breakfast this morning?”

“Everyone except for Florence Hancocks, who is away on compassionate leave.”

Tyler wrote that down. “What time will they return?”

“It’s harvest time so they won’t be back before dusk.”

“Shall we say I’ll come about nine o’clock, then?”

She hesitated. “They don’t yet know what has happened. Fortunately, they are all working on a farm a little distance from town and it’s not on the telephone. You know how rumour runs rampant. I’d hate for them to hear some garbled version of what has happened. Will you be the one to tell them?”

“Yes, I will. And, Miss Stillwell, please accept my sympathy. I know what I have had to tell you has been upsetting.”

“Thank you. You have been most considerate.” She bit down on her lip. “One thinks that one will never be touched by evil if all of one’s life one has been surrounded by good people, but that is not necessarily the case, is it? Like so many others, I thought we had fought the war to end all wars, but look what has happened to us. And to Elsie Bates.” She reached over and pressed an electric button on the wall. “I suggest you talk to Rose in the library. It is much more private than here, and the girls use it as their sanctuary. I shall sit for a moment or two, then I will get the information that you requested.”

Tyler put his notebook in his pocket and stood up. There was something about Miss Stillwell that aroused in him an impulse to kiss her hand. He could see the young woman she had once been. Young and attractive. He wondered who had broken her heart.

The maid entered.

“Violet, show the inspector to the library, and fetch Miss Watkins down. Take them in some tea and see if Cook has any biscuits or cake to spare, will you?”

“Yes, ma’am. Is everything all right, ma’am?”

“Not right at all, Violet. But you will hear about it in good time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tyler followed the maid out, leaving Miss Stillwell to her reveries. He suspected she had given him a rather idyllic picture of life at the manor, but he didn’t think it was to deceive, so much as what she wanted to believe.

V
IOLET SHOWED
T
YLER INTO THE LIBRARY
. S
HE DIDN’T
say a word, the good and faithful servant. Like the drawing room, the library was bright and airy with deep recessed windows that looked out onto the lawn. The walls were lined with glass-fronted bookcases and there were a couple of brown leather armchairs arranged near the fireplace. There was a sign on the wall,
NO SMOKING!
But the lingering smell of tobacco in the air made him suspect that some of the girls were sneaking a fag or two. He walked over to the window. A padded seat was built into the recess, a nice comfy spot to sit and daydream or read. There was a magazine on the seat.
The Land Girl
. He flipped through the pages. There were numerous articles for the girls, such things as how to take care of their gum boots. One letter caught his eye. The subject was pigs.

He should send the piece to Winnie to use as a metaphor in one of his broadcasts.

He glanced out of the window. The dowager, Lady Somerville, was walking slowly across the lush lawn. She was accompanied by another elderly maid who could have been the twin to the one who opened the door to him. The maid was holding a white parasol over the dowager’s head. The estate manager, Arthur Trimble, was trundling a wheelbarrow
down the path. In spite of the warm day, he was well covered up in a corduroy jacket and breeches. He was wearing a brown cap, but when the dowager drew closer, he put down the wheelbarrow, removed his cap, and tucked it under his arm. Then he stepped forward, snipped off a rose, and handed it to the old lady.

Go ahead, you smarmy bastard
, thought Tyler.
There’s a war on and men are dying by the hundreds but she’s probably asking you to pick the bleeding aphids off the roses. And you will. We must keep our priorities straight, mustn’t we?

Ever since he’d come to live in Shropshire, Trimble had acted as if he was superior to the local folk, and rarely associated with them.

There was a tap on the door and the maid entered. “Miss Watkins, sir.”

She ushered in a young woman who was so tiny and scrawny, she hardly looked like an adult. Her dungarees hung on her.

“Thanks, Violet. Hello, Miss Watkins, I’m Inspector Tyler. I’ve come to ask you a few questions.”

She nodded. “I know.” Her tone was wary. He guessed that her previous experience of police officers hadn’t been one of mutual friendliness.

“Where would you like to sit?”

“Over by the window.”

She immediately went to the window recess. “Is there a chance of a cuppa? I’m parched.”

“It’s coming.”

She tucked her feet underneath her. “Can you call me Rose? I’m not used to Miss Watkins.”

“Of course. So, Rose, are you up to talking to me?”

“Glad to. It’s been a long bleeding morning by myself. Just going over and over things in me mind.”

“Didn’t you have any company?”

“Naw. The girls had to go off to work and that just left the maids and Miss Stillwell. She’s a good sort, really, but she and Elsie didn’t get along, and I weren’t in the mood to hear nobody running her down, if you know what I mean.”

After a light tap, Violet entered the room, wheeling a tea trolley on which sat a silver tea service and, heavens above, a plate of biscuits. She put it next to Rose and retreated quickly.