The Other Cathy (14 page)

‘Gennleman gi’ me this for ‘ee, miss.’

‘Oh, thank you, Seth! I’m so grateful to you.’

The lad grinned at her cheerfully. ‘Twas a reet pleasure,
miss. Gennleman gi’ me a shillun, too!’

Emma hurried back upstairs and along the corridor to her
own room. Once there, the door safely closed, she opened the
letter and read,
I
am eager to hear your news and will be at
the appointed place at the time you suggest. Rely on my dis
cretion. Gratefully yours, Matthew Sutcliffe.

She was seized by excitement, and at once chided herself
for her folly. What she had to impart was probably of trivial significance and Matthew would be unimpressed. But in her heart Emma felt sure it was deeply significant and she could
picture his astonishment and pleasure when she told him.

By afternoon the rainclouds had vanished and the sun
shone again. When Emma arrived at the library carrying the
two novels she was returning, Matthew was already there. He
broke off his conversation with the clerk and came to her at
once, saying in a dear, carrying voice, ‘Miss Hardaker! What
a pleasant surprise! I have just discovered this splendid
library and intend to become a borrower. There seems to be
an excellent range of works on all manner of subjects, do you
not agree?’

‘Yes, yes indeed, Mr Sutcliffe.’

‘And such a fine building to house the books.’ While speak
ing he was moving towards the window, and Emma followed
him.

She said in a whisper, ‘I am so glad you were able to come. I will tell you what I have discovered as briefly as possible.’

‘No, not here,’ he whispered back. Then, raising his voice,
he continued, ‘When you have made your selection, perhaps
I could escort you part of the way home, I believe our routes ar
e in much the same direction.’

She agreed to this plan and in little more than five minutes
they emerged from the Institute together. Matthew could see
that Emma was uneasy, and he said reassuringly, ‘Our being in company is perfectly innocent to any observer. We both
carry library books, and we shall be keeping to the main
thoroughfare. Now, what is it you have to tell me?’

It wasn’t merely the fact of being seen together that caused
Emma’s anxiety, however. Now the moment had come to
apprise him of her discovery, she felt suddenly aware of the enormity of what she was doing. That she, Hugh Hardaker’s daughter, should be taking sides with Matthew Sutcliffe in
an attempt to prove his innocence!

‘It was something my Aunt Jane told me,’ she began in a
breathless little rush. ‘She mentioned that after your father’s
death there was another overlooker appointed at the mill,
and I gather that this man was most unsatisfactory. He was
summarily dismissed by my father after allowing a large
quantity of cloth to be ruined due to his gross negligence.
Apparently there was a good deal of unpleasantness.’

‘Yes, I knew about that,’ said Matthew with a nod. ‘His
name was Wilf Holroyd, I recall.’

She gasped in amazement. ‘You knew? In that case, why
did you not make use of it at your trial? Surely he was someone who had a motive for attacking papa?’

‘I’m afraid your brilliant theory gets us nowhere,’ he said
in a disappointed voice. “The possibility of Holroyd being
responsible occurred to me at once, but it was discovered
that the man had died of the smallpox in Huddersfield a few
weeks previously.’

Unfairly, Emma’s first feeling was of angry humiliation.
He seemed to be willfully spurning the help which she had
swallowed her pride to offer him.

Matthew, closely watching her face, could see the inten
sity of her emotion, and he reproached himself for his harsh
ness.

‘I am sorry to be obliged to dismiss your idea out of hand,’
he said. ‘But I am nonetheless grateful to you, Miss Hardaker –
Emma. The very fact that you sent me that note touches me
deeply, for it means you’re no longer convinced that I was the
person to blame for your father’s death. It must mean that
you believe in my innocence.’

‘I do not know what to believe,’ she faltered, her cheeks
warm. ‘How can I be sure of anything? But if indeed you are
innocent, as you claim, then you have a right to be exoner
ated and have your good name restored to you. It would be the
least that could be done after all you have suffered.’

‘Then I am content that you should keep an open mind about me until my innocence is established. As it will be!’

‘But how?’ she asked unhappily. ‘After so many years, how
can you hope to prove anything?’

‘I shall succeed, never fear! As it happens, I have made a
discovery myself that might be fruitful. Indeed, I am con
vinced it will. Yesterday I was talking to your aunt —’

‘Do you mean Aunt Chloe, or Aunt Jane?’

‘Neither. I mean Blanche.’

‘I see!’

It was as if, Matthew thought, she had taken a hasty step
back from him, putting a gulf between them. What had she
guessed about Blanche and himself? He wanted Emma on his
side, not against him, so he must tread warily. His mind skirted round the truth.

‘I happened to be passing her house and decided to call.
Your aunt kindly offered me tea, and while we were chatting
we fell to talking about the past. She spoke of her husband,
and chanced to mention something about his odd behaviour on
the night your father died, which gave me cause to ponder. I
questioned her – I am certain she was unaware of the direction
of my thoughts – and yet another startling fact came to light.’

‘I – I don’t understand.’ This talk of his calling on Blanche, following so swiftly upon Emma’s feeling that Matthew had rejected her, made it difficult to grasp the meaning of his words. He and Blanche – what had been between them, what
was there now? The thought of them having a special relation
ship, of whatever kind, was like a lance in her heart. ‘Are you saying there was some connection between Uncle William’s behaviour and my father’s death? What was it that
Aunt Blanche inadvertently revealed?’

‘It was late, she said, not long before midnight. Blanche
was walking in the garden of their home.’ He paused fraction
ally, aware that this sounded highly improbable. ‘She almost
collided with her husband returning home, as she thought,
from an evening’s gambling. He was too preoccupied to be aware of her presence, which she attributed to the effect of liquor, and she managed to slip past him into the house unnoticed.’

‘But why should she want to?’ asked Emma, still be
wildered.

It was proving more difficult than Matthew had expected. ‘Perhaps,’ he suggested, ‘she was afraid he might turn violent.’

They had been strolling down the village street as they
talked. Emma was glad that at this sleepy hour of a warm
summer afternoon there were not many people to take note of them, only a few women carrying wicker shopping baskets and a young soldier on crutches. Old Sarah, the dairywoman, came clattering along with her huge milk churn on wheels, and gave
Emma a smiling nod as she passed. Outside the butcher’s the
screech of a knife grinder’s wheel was shattering the quiet until, mercifully, the man broke off to exchange a joke with
the butcher’s apprentice who was whitening the step with
donkey stone.

‘The next day,’ Matthew continued when he could be
heard again, ‘Blanche discovered that her husband had arrived
home minus his greatcoat. What is more, it was never found
again. Now does it not seem strange to you that he had failed
to notice the lack of an overcoat on such a freezing cold night?’

Emma perceived the direction of Matthew’s reasoning, and
a feeling of cold dismay took hold of her. She could not believe it, she refused to believe it – not Uncle William, not a member of her own family.

‘Go on,’ she said shakily. ‘Tell me everything you have
discovered.’

‘It seems that William Hardaker was a heavy gambler, and
he owed money everywhere, especially to your father. But the
time had come when your father refused to pay any more of
his brother’s debts, and the situation was desperate. It’s my
belief that William went to see Hugh at the mill that evening, knowing he was there adjusting one of the looms, in order
to plead with him. And I believe they quarrelled – a quarrel
that culminated in violence.’

Emma came to an abrupt halt on the narrow sidewalk. She
felt slightly faint, and had to brace herself.

‘But this is all supposition,’ she protested. ‘There is no
direct evidence.’

‘It was supposition which convicted me,’ he reminded her
grimly.
‘Someone
killed your father, and the facts recounted
to me by Blanche point overwhelmingly to it being her hus
band. Just consider, he arrived home soon after the time established for your father’s death in a distracted state of
mind, which Blanche, understandably, attributed to the effects
of drink. But could not his strange mood be explained as
that of a man who had just committed a terrible deed?’

‘It is conceivable. But Aunt Blanche’s belief that he was
intoxicated is equally plausible, and far more likely. As to his
missing greatcoat about which you have made such a point, what are you suggesting that this indicates?’

He studied her, considering. Was she strong enough to face having the details of her father’s death discussed objectively, here in the street? Yes, surely, for despite her obvious bewilderment and consternation, her back was still erect, her
shoulders squared, and her head held high. With such poise went strength of mind, and she would not be a girl to break
down easily.

‘Remember, your father was done to death violently,
bloodily, stabbed at repeatedly with the pointed end of a
shuttle. Therefore it is unlikely that his attacker would have
escaped without getting a certain amount of blood on his
outer clothing. I suspect, I am convinced, that William Hard
aker removed his bloodstained overcoat and concealed it some
where before returning to his home.’ Matthew’s jaw went taut.
‘I am hoping that, by trying to see into the mind of a man who
is frantic to rid himself of the tell-tale evidence of a dreadful
crime, I can track down the hiding place he used. It would
appear that he left the Brackle Valley Mill and arrived home
within an hour of your father’s death. Therefore the hiding
place has to be somewhere near at hand. And if luck is on my
side there might even still be sufficient remains of that coat to turn my theory into a certainty. To prove that William
Hardaker killed his brother. But if I cannot do so by that
means, then I must find another way.’

They were standing outside the linen draper’s, and in one of
the small square windows Emma could see her face reflected. It
looked unusually pale. She felt her lower lip trembling and
knew that tears were very near.

‘All this – it all stems from what Aunt Blanche told you,’ she stammered huskily. ‘Perhaps it is not true, perhaps she
was inventing it.’

He looked incredulous. ‘But why should she do that? Why
should she wish to incriminate her late husband, and bring shame upon herself and her children? No, you may depend
upon it that Blanche was unaware of the significance of what she was telling me.’

A heavily laden dray came lurching down the cobbled
street, so overhung with bales of raw wool that they were
obliged to step back a pace to give it room. When the great
cart had rumbled past there was silence between them. Emma
felt a pressing need to escape from Matthew Sutcliffe. She
wanted to be alone to consider what he had told her coolly
and calmly, without the disturbing effect of his presence,
and free from his insidiously persuasive arguments.

‘There is something I need to purchase in here,’ she im
provised hastily. ‘Some sewing thread. So I will say goodbye to you now, Mr Sutcliffe.’

‘May I not wait? Then I can walk with you to Bracklegarth
Hall.’

She shook her head decidedly. ‘We have already spent more
than enough time in each other’s company. Any longer, and
it would certainly be cause for comment.’

    * * *

Emma arrived home feeling as exhausted as if she had walked
all the way up to Black Scar Rocks and back, instead of merely
into Bythorpe. She was still unable to refute Matthew Sut
cliffe’s theory. But there must be a flaw in it somewhere,
there must be! It was unbearable to think that her Uncle William could have committed a dreadful act of violence against his
own brother. Yet if what Matthew suggested was true, and
could be proved true, then it meant that Matthew himself
was innocent. Emma sighed deeply, not knowing what she
wanted to believe. She hoped to get to her room unnoticed
but was given no opportunity. The moment she entered the house, Chloe came hurrying into the hall to confront her.