The Lost Child (10 page)

He patted her hand, ‘Put it in your pocket, don’t let Ada see. You might want to share it with your pugnacious little companion, see what she makes of it.’

At the sound of the door being opened Elaine thrust the thing in her pocket and turned to watch as a squat, thickset woman with a knitted brow and a look of purposeful determination negotiated a huge tea tray through the door. ‘Miss Ada say to bring this here. She will be along,’ she said in a thick Slavic accent whilst peering around in an attempt to find a clear surface where she could rest the tray.

‘Let me help.’ Elaine moved forward to help with the burden as Pavla finally settled for resting the tray on a worn footstool, which was the only unfettered surface available. Elaine received a grateful smile in return.

‘I clear a space.’ Pavla gracelessly plonked a pile of papers and magazines on the floor to release a side table for its intended purpose.

No wonder the place was in such disarray if all they did was rearrange the rubble, Elaine thought as Pavla smiled at her again. ‘Do you mind if I use the bathroom?’ She was eager to wash the dust off her hands. Dirt and grime on her skin was never a sensation she could stand for long. The combination of Jean’s remains, the gravel from where she had picked up Albert and the dust from the little bottle was prickling and bothering her skin as if she had been spattered with acid. Usually she would have carried wet wipes in her bag, and a bottle of antibacterial hand gel, but her bag was at the cottage and the urge to be clean was overwhelming.

Pavla looked confused, ‘Bathroom?’ she pondered, ‘Ah, you mean toilet. Yes, yes please follow,’ she added, having logically worked out what Elaine actually wanted.

Elaine had to admire her aplomb; negotiating the English language at all was no mean feat. Let alone being expected to understand the subtle social niceties that dogged the vernacular of the classes. Gratefully she followed Pavla across the hall to the cloakroom, which was discreetly hidden beneath the vast, curving staircase, which led to the upper floors of the house.

As she left the little room, hands still damp with relief, she paused. Angry voices floated down the stairwell and echoed round the hall. Eavesdropping was not something she would have normally chosen as a pastime, but given the tone of the conversation above her it would have been more embarrassing to make her presence known. Staying back in the shadows she attempted the impossible task of not listening to what was being said.

‘Do you have any idea how much it costs to live in London and maintain the kind of lifestyle that’s necessary?’ She recognised Alex’s voice. Unctuous and overbearing.

‘Please Alex, you have to understand, we have barely enough as it is. I’m reduced to employing foreigners and only one at that. The house is falling down around us and the gardens are a ruin. I ask you, what do you expect? I can’t conjure money out of thin air.’ Ada’s words were clearly a plea for the application of reason.

‘Then sell up! I could bring you a hundred people willing to bite your hand off for this place – it could be a hotel, a golf club, anything but this miserable mausoleum.’ Alex’s voice sounded sulky and was loaded with childlike resentment.

Elaine felt embarrassed for him, his petulant voice made her cringe and shrink back further into the shade of the staircase.

Ada stood her ground. ‘That is not going to happen, it’s not mine to sell. Albert is the incumbent, not you or me, and while he is alive it’s his to keep. You should be grateful to him, he’s been extraordinarily generous to you.’

Alex snorted, his derision echoing down the stairwell like a beast released from Pandora’s box. ‘That old fool! He should be in an asylum, and you know it. I could you know, wouldn’t take much to have him committed, make him sign it over.’

‘But you won’t, will you Alex. It wouldn’t look good for you, people won’t vote for a man who puts his own uncle in an institution, even if you convince them it’s for his own good. Besides, you know we can’t sell even if he agreed. There are worse things that could come out.’

There was a short silence, dogged and heavy with unbearable tension. ‘Am I never to be forgiven for that?’ Alex whined.

‘I’m afraid you must look elsewhere for forgiveness Alex, as you must look elsewhere for money. I cannot help you.’

Elaine flinched and braced herself further into the shade of the stairs as she heard Alex emit a bellow of frustration. Something smashed, and a small shard of china dropped from the top of the staircase and tumbled across the tiles, finally coming to rest just in front of her feet. For a moment she was afraid that the old lady had been harmed, but Ada’s shocked cry of ‘Alex!’ reassured her.

The stone stairs above her resounded with a furious pounding and the metal balustrade sang as Alex thundered down like an angry bull. At the bottom he stalked across the hallway, his gait rigid with indignation, and slammed out of the front door.

Elaine was profoundly shocked. She had never witnessed an adult behave in such a way. Her mother had been difficult and manipulative but there had never been violence; this was a whole new maze of human behaviour to negotiate. Her first instinct was to run upstairs and find Ada, offer her some comfort, some reassurance, but she doubted this would be welcome. She had already picked up on Ada’s discomfiture when she had been forced to expose Albert’s eccentric existence to a stranger.

She waited for a moment and heard Ada gathering up the bits of broken china at the top of the stairs. Cautiously she moved out from the shadows, looking up to check that Ada couldn’t see her. Fortunately the landing was unoccupied. She slipped as silently as she could across the hall and back into Albert’s room.

He was asleep in his chair, snoring gently. Elaine spotted a woollen throw resting on the back of a sagging sofa. As quietly as she could, she took it and spread it over the sleeping man. Then she crept out through the French doors onto the terrace. She sat down on the balustrade opposite the open door, hoping that Ada would spot her there and understand how awkward it would have been to stay in the room with the sleeping man, sipping tea. Eventually the woman appeared, seeming to have regained all her former composure. She stepped out onto the terrace and walked towards Elaine. ‘Oh dear, did he doze off on you? I’m so very sorry. I hope you managed to drink some tea before he fell asleep.’

Elaine smiled. ‘I did, thank you. I didn’t like to stay in the room with him, it seemed very rude.’ She hadn’t drunk any tea, but felt it would be rude to say so.

‘I quite understand. I’m afraid our social graces are sorely lacking these days and we don’t entertain quite like we used to. Age can be a great burden.’ Ada paused and looked back towards the house. ‘Are you enjoying your stay?’

Elaine noticed that Ada was staring at her neck; instinctively she reached up and adjusted the scarf. ‘Yes I am, it’s a beautiful place and the cottage is charming.’

Ada nodded. ‘Yes, it seemed sensible to put them to some use. We used to let them to the estate staff but as the estate has shrunk so have the number of people. It would have been a poor show to let the cottages go to ruin. I’m so very glad you like the cottage, I chose the furnishings myself.’

That little fact didn’t surprise Elaine one bit, it was fairly obvious that the cottage had been furnished by someone with utilitarian and somewhat eclectic taste. ‘It’s lovely. You’ve made it very comfortable and welcoming.’ She lied. It had been furnished with everything from Hallow’s Court that had been considered too good to throw away yet surplus to requirements.

Ada inclined her head graciously. ‘You’re very kind.’

‘Well, I’d better be going. Thank you very much for the tea. I hope your brother feels better when he wakes. It’s been very nice to meet you.’ Elaine said, unable to ignore, and quite grateful for the subtle cue to leave.

She made her way back to the cottage along the same lavender lined path she had used earlier, stopping to retrieve Jean’s abandoned urn as she passed. On picking it up she felt a pang of guilt, this really wasn’t the place she should have put her but it was too late. Even Jean deserved greater peace than this.

As Elaine walked, the last few dusty grains of Jean fell from the near empty urn. They formed a Hansel and Gretel trail of crumbs on the gravel path, which would connect her daughter to Hallow’s Court until the wind decided to change.

Chapter Six

Brodie got off the bus, pulled up her hood and made her way down the quiet residential road towards her destination. A few hours in the library had revealed his identity, and a few pounds of her precious money had bought her the address of the man she was looking for.

Once she had located the right house she paused and steeled herself, remembering to pull down her hood and smooth out her hair before she knocked. The perfectly painted green front door sported a heavy brass knocker, which resounded down the entire street when she tapped it against its elaborate brass plate. The sound made her feel as if she were the only person alive in the whole road, not even a net curtain was twitched to belie her presence.

A woman eventually opened the door. Brodie hadn’t been expecting that. ‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked.

‘Um, I’m looking for Jack Pearson, is he in?’

The woman looked her up and down, frowning. ‘He’s in the garden. Not being funny love, but what do you want?’

‘I wanted to talk to him about one of his old cases.’ Brodie said with more confidence than she was feeling.

The woman opened the door wider, crossed her arms and planted her feet firmly. ‘You do know he’s retired.’

Brodie nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s an old case. I read about it in the papers and I know he was in charge, I just wanted to talk to him about it. It’s about the little girl who went missing, Mandy Miller.’ She fingered the toy dog, which lay in her pocket.

The woman put her head back, curious, ‘And why would you want to know about that? It must have been years before you were born.’

‘It was, but I’m her sister, and something’s come up. Please, can I talk to him?’

The woman sighed and slowly shook her head as if wondering at her own judgment. ‘Come on in, I’ll ask him, but don’t be surprised if he doesn’t want to see you. He never did get over that one.’

Brodie followed her down a long hallway and into a tidy, modern kitchen, where she was told to wait while the woman went down the garden and into the greenhouse. It took a few moments but eventually Jack Pearson emerged, peering out of the greenhouse towards the house as if trying to get a glimpse of his young visitor.

The woman trundled back up the path, ‘He says to go on down. I’ll bring you a pot of tea.’

Brodie thanked her and made her way towards the greenhouse along the neatly bordered path. The garden was immaculate and precisely laid out. Rows of vegetables grew in orderly ranks, each perfectly labelled and standing to attention. Not a flower or a leaf dared to dip its head or sag. It didn’t strike Brodie as the domain of a man who missed the fine details.

Having reached the greenhouse she hovered in the doorway, watching as the man she sought carefully planted seedlings from a big tray into individual pots. ‘Pull up a crate, I’ll be with you in a sec. These won’t survive long if I don’t get them done now.’ He hadn’t even looked up at that point.

She stepped in and sat down on an upturned wooden crate and watched as he carefully handled the tiny plants.

‘So, you’re a Miller are you? My wife tells me you want to talk to me about Mandy,’ he said, finally turning towards her.

Brodie swallowed, he had the kind of eyes that could bore right into you and they were topped with a pair of impressively bushy eyebrows. ‘Yes, I wanted to ask you about the investigation and why no one ever found anything.’

Jack Pearson wiped his hands on a cloth and pulled up another crate. He lowered himself onto it with and puffed out a sigh of weariness. ‘We didn’t find anything because there was nothing to find. It was like she vanished into thin air.’ He paused and took a good look at her. ‘You have the look of your sister. Not Mandy – Fern. You’re skinnier though.’

Brodie grimaced, Fern was not her favourite person, ‘Thanks,’ she said in a manner that caused him to laugh and slap a hand on his thigh.

‘Not much gets past you does it kid? I take it Fern’s health and temper hasn’t improved with the passage of time.’

‘I don’t see much of her, thank God.’ Brodie muttered, trying to avoid his gaze.

Pearson chuckled again, ‘What about your mother, she coping these days?’

Brodie fiddled with the zip of her jacket, Shirley was always a sore subject. ‘She’s in Woodlawn, she took an overdose.’ She was ashamed to admit what a fuck-up her family was, especially to this man who clearly had prior experience of the Miller clan.

Jack shook his head slowly, ‘I’m sorry to hear that, I hoped she’d learn to get past it in time. Poor woman. So, what did you want to know specifically? It’s a long time ago mind and I’m an old man with a rusty memory.’

Brodie supposed that was his way of telling her that there were things he couldn’t discuss, she had already discovered that Mandy’s case was cold but still open. ‘The cardigan, I want you to tell me about the cardigan.’

Jack rubbed his hand over his face and sighed, ‘Rosemary Tyler found it, in a hut her brother used as some kind of den. He was a bugger for poaching on the estate and had all sorts of junk in there. But nothing else that connected him to Mandy. We had to arrest him, but we got nowhere. The poor bloke was terrified and we could barely get word out of him. We had to call in a psychiatrist in the end and he confirmed that it was unlikely that Derek Tyler had had anything to do with Mandy’s disappearance. Besides, the sister swore blind that he was at home all day.’

‘How come she found it?’

Jack leaned forward. ‘The world and his wife were out looking for Mandy, not an inch of that area wasn’t covered. Rosemary had got wind that people were pointing the finger at Derek. They weren’t well liked as a family and Derek got blamed for a lot for things that happened around there, so she said she knew someone would try and set him up. She looked in his hut and saw the cardigan, knew it couldn’t be connected to him because he’d been with her that day. So she called us. In her own skewed way, I think she was trying to protect him.’