The Lost Child (9 page)

Derry gave her a vigorous nod.

‘Lovely, sooner you than me mate, I prefer a burger myself,’ she quipped.

Derry grinned and gave out a snort of laughter. He started to rummage inside his coat, pulling something out which was lost to Brodie’s view, concealed as it was within in his big hand. ‘F-f-f-f-fffor you.’ He threw the object.

Brodie saw something small and grey come hurtling towards her. On instinct she scuffled back, expecting to be confronted by something else that was small, furry and dead.

At her feet lay a grubby child’s toy. She picked it up and turned it in her hands, recognition and horror dawning as she examined the little furry dog. It was filthy, rimed with age and it was missing one of its glass eyes. ‘Where did you get this, Derry?’ Her voice came out in a tentative whisper as the thing she held in her hands inserted its significance into her mind.

‘D-d-d-d-d-dowwn there.’ He pointed to the crypt.

Brodie looked back at the trap door and thought about what lay beneath it. She shuddered. ‘Do you know who it belonged to?’ she asked, the implication of his anticipated answer causing her heart to beat faster.

Derry nodded vigorously, and looked around him, as if the walls of the chapel might have ears. Wide-eyed, he leaned forward, ‘M-m-m-m-m-ma, M-m-m-m-m-mandy’s.’

Brodie looked at the giant man who was crouched before her – she knew from the village gossip that everyone thought he was the one who had abducted Mandy and that he had killed her and buried her body somewhere in the vicinity. She eyed the dead rabbit with the lolling head and gauzy eyes and contemplated whether she thought this man could have done the same thing to a child.

The dog lay in her hand like a totem. In almost every photograph of Mandy the dog was a feature. Mandy had called it Barney and the fact that she could never be parted from it had become the stuff of legend. Barney had gone everywhere the girl had gone, except to her grave.

Brodie had to ask, ‘Did you hurt her Derry, by accident?’

Derry shook his head vigorously once again and began to rock, ‘N-n-n-n-n-n-ot me. N-n-n-n-ot me.’

Brodie believed him, her gut told her he wasn’t lying because she had the feeling he didn’t really know how. ‘Someone did though, didn’t they? Do you know who Derry, it’s important?’

He shook his head again, an exaggerated movement that told Brodie how hard he was trying to make her believe him. ‘E-e-e–e-e-e-sther knows, sh-sh-sh-she does.’

That was a fat lot of good to Brodie. She didn’t doubt that the horrible old woman could have had a hand in whatever happened, but it wasn’t like anyone could ask her now.

In the distance the church bell chimed out the hour. Derry started like a wary deer, a look of fear palling his features. ‘L-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l ate!’ he said by way of explanation as he leaped to his feet and began a lurching canter across the meadow and into the woods.

Brodie looked after him for a long time, the little dog still nestling in her hand. She didn’t know what to do. If she took the dog to the police they would want to question Derry again, and it wasn’t as if he could tell them much – it took him half an hour to get a word out anyway. Besides, there was a reason he had given it to her, there had to be. He must have had it the whole time otherwise the police would have found it. If she could find the crypt so easily then it was pretty likely the police had too. But why had he kept it? He must have known it would incriminate him further. Brodie thought about it hard, tried to put herself into his shoes… and realised that he wouldn’t have thought that at all. He knew he was innocent so he wouldn’t have even considered that something might make him look bad. It was like the cardigan; from what she could remember being told he had voluntarily given it to the police. He hadn’t hidden it or tried to destroy it, he had tried to be helpful. Even though everyone else had assumed that it was an admission of his guilt.

Brodie knew what she had to do. Carefully stowing the dog inside her jacket she set off for home, a plan forming in her mind.

*

Elaine was becoming used to Brodie calling in for breakfast, so much so that she automatically catered for two. Though it had only been a few days, Brodie had managed to wheedle her way into her affections in the most surprising way. Elaine did not embrace relationships easily. The years tied to her mother had made her reluctant to form attachments that might bind her and dictate her time. Brodie had struck a chord, which resonated in a way unfamiliar to Elaine, and she was mesmerised by the depth of affection she was developing for the intense, socially awkward girl. When Brodie sent her a text to say that she wouldn’t be over that day Elaine was surprised by the disappointment she felt. Bereft of company she struggled to know what to do with her time, eventually deciding that she really ought to deal with Jean’s ashes. There was only so much time that the woman could languish on the shelf in the porch before it became remarkably indecent.

It had occurred to Elaine that the gardens at Hallow’s Court might be a suitable place. They were pretty and peaceful and she guessed that Jean might be as happy there as she would have been anywhere, though the likelihood of Jean being happy with anything was as incongruous in death as it had been in life. Consulting the Gardiner-Hallows and asking their permission had played through her mind but the delays and questions this might cause were off-putting.

Eventually Elaine concluded that what people didn’t know they couldn’t worry about – besides, this was between her and her mother. Her plan was to find a quiet spot and distribute Jean evenly and discreetly. After the debacle in the boot of the car on the day she had first met Brodie, the sooner and more efficiently it was done the better.

*

The gardens were lovely. A little neglected in places, but the skeleton of something beautiful wasn’t hard to recognise. Elaine made sure to stay out of sight of the house and after scouting around for a short time found a copse of rhododendrons with a hollow space in the middle. It seemed perfect. She could scatter Jean and no one would be any the wiser.

Checking to see that no one was watching, she slipped inside the canopy of thick leaves and tangled branches and emptied the urn, noting with surprise how much was still left. Jean seemed to go on forever, drifting about in languid grey swirls, which clung to Elaine’s trousers and caked her shoes.

‘For Christ’s sake woman, will you never let up?’ Elaine hissed, slapping at her legs and tapping her shoes against the trunk of one of the monster plants.

Eventually the dust settled and she was able to extract herself from the copse in the hope that the summer breeze would distribute the rest of the remains accordingly.

Had anyone been watching they would have been shocked at the lack of respect she had shown, and it occurred to Elaine that she should feel guilty about it, yet she didn’t. This was the first time in her life that Jean hadn’t dictated the terms, hadn’t manipulated her or cajoled in that needy wheedling way and it satisfied Elaine that she had finally been able to rebel. Jean was gone and it was time for change.

Satisfied with her morning’s work she ambled happily across the great lawn, which stretched out to the rear of Hallow’s Court, admiring the abundance of colourful flowers that grew haphazardly from the ragged borders. A team of gardeners could have made this place quite spectacular she thought as she bent to pick a sprig of lavender. She crushed it in her hand so that she could enjoy its pungent scent.

A distant cry of ‘Help!’ broke into her reverie, jarring her out of her sanguine mood and pulling her attention towards the house. She ran along the lavender lined path and through an untidy topiary arch towards the sound. In the middle of what appeared to be a neglected knot garden, a statuesque woman stood above the prone body of a man. It was her voice that had been calling for help.

‘What’s happened?’ Elaine asked, breathless from her sprint.

‘Oh thank goodness.’ The woman was wringing her hands, clearly anguished. ‘I was beginning to think no one would come. He’s had a fall and I simply can’t lift him on my own.’ Her words were plaintive. Her hands stayed their movement and clasped together as if the gesture could contain her concern.

Elaine crouched next to the man, he was breathing and conscious. ‘Are you all right, are you in any pain?’ She felt profound concern for the gaunt, almost skeletal man who lay in the sharp gravel.

‘It’s the damnedest thing, but I can’t seem to lever myself up!’ he said with a gentle laugh as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be lying with his face in the dirt.

‘Will you help me lift him?’ the woman asked. ‘There’s no weight to him really, it’s just that I can’t do it on my own.’

Elaine frowned, ‘I’m not sure we should try, if he’s broken anything in the fall we might do more harm than good. Perhaps we should call an ambulance and just try and make him more comfortable?’

‘Nonsense. I shall be right as rain once you get me back on my pins.’ the man insisted. ‘Nothing broken I assure you, just took a little tumble that’s all, now be a good girl and help me up,’ he said jovially, waggling his arm to show his impatience.

Elaine was reluctant but could tell that her objections would find no quarter. ‘All right, let’s start with getting you to a sitting position, but any sign of pain and we will have to call for an ambulance.’ She bent down and levered him up, swivelling him onto his skinny backside. He was so thin that she found it hard to believe that he hadn’t broken something as a result of the fall.

‘That’s the ticket! Halfway there already,’ he said enthusiastically, showing no signs of pain.

‘OK, now if you could crouch down on his other side and put his arm around your shoulder, I’ll do the same this side. We’ll lift him on the count of three.’ Elaine directed, getting into position and waiting for the flustered woman to do the same. ‘Right, one, two, three…’ They heaved and dragged the man to his feet.

‘There we go, I’m back up with my head in the clouds again,’ he chortled. Though he was still a little unsteady on his stick thin legs.

‘Oh Albert, for goodness’ sake, let’s get you inside.’ The woman had embarrassment and woe written all over her face.

Elaine took the bulk of his weight as they staggered awkwardly towards the tall French windows that opened onto the terrace. The shallow steps proved tricky but eventually they managed to negotiate the rangy Albert inside the house and into a chair, where he plopped gracelessly with an enormous sigh of relief. ‘That’s better. Well, this calls for a drink I’d say, wouldn’t you Ada?’ He clapped his hands together and appealed to the careworn woman.

Ada bristled, ‘I shall find Pavla and arrange for a pot of tea,’ she said imperiously.

Albert leaned towards Elaine and, placing his hand side on to his mouth, whispered loudly, ‘I take it the sun’s not over the yardarm yet. Never mind, we shall toast my rescue in tea made by the fair and lovely Pavla, our little Russian doll.’

Elaine couldn’t help smiling at him, despite the fact that she felt like she had inadvertently slipped into an amateur dramatic society’s interpretation of something by P.G. Wodehouse.

Ada gave out an exasperated sigh, ‘How many times Albert? She’s from the Czech Republic.’ She turned to Elaine, ‘Thank you for your help dear, you’ve been very kind, I’m sure introductions aren’t necessary really but I’m Ada Gardiner-Hallow, and this is Albert, my brother. Who cannot seem to help getting himself into trouble,’ she added, giving Albert a sidelong, disapproving glance. ‘Now, you have to be Miss Ellis, staying in Meadowfoot Cottage if I’m correct?’ She extended a long, delicate hand for Elaine to shake.

Her skin felt like porcelain, cool and translucent, the blue hued veins standing out and announcing their vulnerability. Elaine was struck by their ethereal delicacy. ‘Call me Elaine, and you’re very welcome.’

Ada treated her to a gracious smile. ‘I think a cup of tea is the least I can offer you for all your help, do excuse me for a moment.’

Left alone with Albert, who had closed his eyes and was humming a Gilbert and Sullivan aria as though he had forgotten she was there, Elaine was able to take in her surroundings. The room was huge, and looked as though it must have been the library at one time, though most of the books were piled haphazardly like teetering stalagmites around the room. The vacant shelves had been stuffed to the gills with hundreds upon hundreds of glass jars, bottles and small boxes. The scene was reminiscent of how Elaine imagined an alchemist’s lair might look. Each vessel appeared to contain something, tiny artefacts diligently collected and labelled for posterity. It was one of the oddest things she had ever seen.

‘Ah, I see you are admiring my collection.’ Albert peered at her through one open eye while the other remained obstinately shut. ‘It’s my life’s work you know, I collect and catalogue everything of interest.’ He paused as Elaine stepped closer and examined one of the shelves. She was looking at a pine cone, joined in its glass prison by a tiny piece of paper with the time and date on which it was found written on it. The adjacent jars contained leaves, seeds, shards of coloured glass, a ribbon, a button, dried flowers heads, a ring pull from a can, a pebble – it was an embarrassment of purposeless riches.

Albert hauled himself to his feet, stiff with age and the aftereffects of the fall. ‘You think me a foolish old man, eccentric and quite mad don’t you?’ His tone was not in the least accusatory. ‘You may well be right, I am certainly a fool.’ He paused for a second, a wan look passing across his sagging features. ‘I have something for you, a token. You see, everything is of interest if you are asking the right questions.’

Elaine watched with concern as he negotiated his way across the floor, carefully wending his way through the labyrinth of books, tables and
objet d’ art
that littered the room making it into an absurd obstacle course. He reached a shelf and looked along it, finally selecting a tiny jar thick with dust, ‘Ah, here we are.’

Laboriously he made his way back and presented it to her, pressing it into her hand as if he were endowing her with something precious, ‘Thank you.’ She was both touched and mildly amused by the gesture.