Against the Light Page 22

  ‘She was the one who fastened the bracelet around Lucy’s wrist, wasn’t she?’

  She snatched up the discarded sewing again, but her hands were shaking. She threw it down and finally said, ‘Very well then, yes. Yes, I’m afraid it was. She is a darling, but she’s old now, and … old-fashioned. She loves Lucinda and for some reason the idea of her having something that belonged to me as a child pleases her.’ She toyed nervously with the brooch at her neck, her fingers restless against the black silk of her dress as he began to press her further.

  Yes, she was forced to admit after a while, the bracelet had been given to her at her christening by her godmother. She had worn it often as a child, until it grew too small. Nanny Ryan had been scandalized when she’d later been going to dispose of it along with other childish things, dolls and so on, and took charge of it herself. ‘It really wasn’t worth keeping. You may not have noticed, Inspector, but I am fussy about my jewellery.’

  Gaines didn’t recall that she’d ever worn very much of it, but he was trained to notice these things and had remarked on the quality of what she did wear: a ring with diamonds of the first water, a string of gleaming pearls probably worth more than he could ever hope to earn. The jet brooch and earrings she was wearing now were set in a fine tracery of gold.

  It was the bracelet that had given her away and roused his suspicions when Lucy had been returned wearing it on her wrist. Despite her denials, it had been patently obvious that the trinket was familiar to her. It was when he saw it, and realized what it might mean, that Gaines had first begun to regret having so summarily dismissed Inskip’s original suggestion that the parents might have been involved with the baby’s kidnapping. He should have realized it could not have been accomplished without the connivance of the mother: the opportune absence of staff; Newcombe’s obliging indisposition, which he was certain now had also been conveniently arranged between her and her mistress; Violet taking her daughter herself to the park … And then, there had been Violet’s rage at the sum demanded in the ransom note when it arrived, which had clinched it for him, and in part went to explain how Dudley Nichol had become involved in the affair. She had been hoping to share the ransom with Nichol, but even she had seen the whole scheme was losing credibility by the impossible sum demanded. The more he thought about it, the more possible it had seemed, but it wasn’t until he had seen those photographs of her as child, wearing that bracelet, that he had finally become convinced.

  ‘Agreeing for someone like Nichol to take your baby, that took some courage, Mrs Martens, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you? She was absolutely safe with Nanny Ryan.’

  ‘All the same, you must have been desperate for money to have run such a risk. Knowing your husband’s father as you do, it was by no means certain that he would eventually pay out the money, was it?’

  ‘No? Then let me tell you something about Emil Martens. You might find it hard to believe, but it’s very necessary indeed to him that he should be seen in a good light, that people should have a good opinion of him … why else do you think he makes sure his donations to charity are made so public? He needs everyone to feel Martens Bank is founded on trust and respect. He would have paid, eventually, no doubt about it. But not five thousand pounds, that was simply ridiculous! I never agreed to that at all.’

  ‘How did it come to be asked for, then?’

  ‘I’ve told you. I don’t know. And I’ve nothing more to say.’

  ‘In your own interests, Mrs Martens, I would strongly advise that you tell me everything you know.’ She shook her head, stubbornly mute, but he wasn’t going to let her get away with that. He’d come up against silent tactics before now. It took something of a struggle, akin to drawing teeth, but at last she seemed to see that ultimately she could not win, and eventually, bit by bit, he began to get the rest of the sorry story from her.

  She had asked Nanny Ryan to look after Lucy for a few days, giving her the reason that she was between nannies. She seemed to take it for granted that he would understand how desperate that situation would make her seem. ‘She knew Struthers had left, but I told her the new one hadn’t yet arrived and there was no one to look after Lucinda, and she was more than delighted to do as I asked. She lives alone now she’s retired, but she misses the children she used to look after.’

  The plan, she went on, had been that Dudley should arrange for a woman to meet her in the park, where the baby would be handed over. The woman would simply wheel Lucy to where Nichol was waiting with a motor car in which baby and perambulator could be stowed. After which Dudley would then drive with her to Nanny Ryan’s house in Hamsptead, where she would be looked after for a few days.

  ‘Longer than you had agreed, though, before the ransom was demanded?’

  ‘Much longer. That was when I knew something had gone wrong. Everything went quiet, we heard nothing, until … It was quite dreadful, I knew Nanny would be wondering why I wasn’t taking Lucy home, although I was also certain she would be quite content to keep her as long as necessary. But I didn’t know what to do. Dudley had left here the day before Lucinda was … taken … and I had no idea where he was. He had told me he would get in touch, afterwards.’

  ‘And then the ransom note arrived.’

  ‘Five thousand pounds, yes! Asking for a sum like that made the whole thing look ridiculous – and Dudley wasn’t stupid. But then, Lucinda was brought back and it was all over, wasn’t it?’

  All over. The very words she had used then. But he also recalled her agitation – or had it simply been bewilderment?

  ‘You saw the bracelet and you thought it was your Nanny Ryan who had brought her back?’

  ‘Good gracious, no! Not at all. She’s too old to have walked with the pram all the way from Hampstead. I thought it must have been Dudley, of course. But I didn’t really care who’d brought her back. I was just too thankful she was with us again.’

  ‘But when you heard Dudley Nichol had been killed, you must have wondered who else had been involved. And about so many other things as well – not least, questions about that ransom note.’

  ‘There was no point in worrying about something I could do nothing about.’

  And, he thought, as far as she was concerned that really was the end of it. A regrettable incident that had occurred but could now be forgotten. She was not to blame, her child had been taken into the care of someone whom she trusted, with her permission. She felt fully justified and free of guilt, notwithstanding she had wasted police time and resources, about which she seemed ignorant that she might yet be charged.

  ‘Who was the woman you met in the park?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘Just someone Dudley knew.’

  ‘And how much of all this did your husband know?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Ferdie? He knew nothing!’ Sudden panic caused her voice to rise. ‘And he mustn’t know, ever! It’s over, with no harm done.’

  It wasn’t the first time Gaines had noticed the relationship between Martens and his wife was not perhaps what it seemed on the surface. Other instances sprang to mind of when he had shown that there was probably more of his father in Ferdinand Martens than anyone suspected.

  ‘Why do you think your brother killed himself, Mrs Martens?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Edmund?’ The abrupt switch startled her. ‘Who could possibly know that?’

  ‘Did you know about his affair with Mrs Fiore?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course I did. I’ve known about it for years. My God, everyone knew about his affair with that woman. What has that to do with anything?’ she asked sharply. Then her eyes widened. ‘You don’t seriously believe that had anything to do with his death?’

  ‘If you knew about her, you must have realized that it might have everything to do with it.’

  By now he had come to think there wasn’t anything much he wouldn’t be prepared to believe of Violet Martens. He could now see through the play-acting he’d witness
ed that first day, when Lucy was supposedly taken from her in the park. He had been sorry for her then, but now … He believed there were evil men – and women – who had committed far worse acts than she had ever done, as well as those of limited intelligence who were not responsible for their actions. Violet Martens did not have either excuse. She was an intelligent woman and far from evil. But he had rarely encountered anyone so monumentally self-centred. And he thought she was also astute enough to know exactly what he was implying, however much she was pretending.

  ‘Oh, come now, Inspector. This really is too much. If you are thinking anyone would blackmail him over that, your imagination really is running away with you.’ She laughed.

  Dudley Nichol’s original idea about the kidnapping had been inherently stupid and in the end ineffectual, but he was pretty sure he was right in thinking she might not have been willing to abandon the basic principle and had attempted to use the idea of blackmail on her brother. To an honourable man who publicly acclaimed integrity above all things, his sense of self-worth already lowered by doubts regarding the future of his hitherto unblemished political career, might not the threat to expose what had been going on in his private life have been the last straw? It would not have been, of course. Men had emerged intact through much worse. It probably wouldn’t have mattered, ultimately, to anyone in a similar position to Latimer’s. The point was, however, that Latimer had in all probability believed that it would.

  She hadn’t answered his question, but now she said, almost defiantly, ‘Well, we shall never know why my brother did what he did, shall we, Inspector?’

  Sadly he had to admit she was right. He was pretty certain his theory was correct, that the crisis over his political beliefs wasn’t the only cause, but he couldn’t see how he could ever find any proof of that.

  Seventeen

  Alice had been determined not to let the tragedy of Edmund’s death keep her from her duties at the Dorcas, for the clinic felt to be the one stable point in her life at the moment. Once there, she could put aside the desolate thoughts that threatened to swamp her, and begin to face the questions hanging over her future.

  Charles Markham, Edmund’s solicitor and close friend from schooldays, had spent time with her, discussing the terms of Edmund’s will. ‘I’m afraid he’s left Manessa House, in its entirety, to his sister,’ he’d said in some slight embarrassment. ‘Do you have any problems with that?’

  ‘None at all, since he’s inserted the proviso that I may live here, in our part of the house, as long as I wish. Which won’t be for long – but it will give me time to find somewhere of my own. After all, I shall hardly be destitute with what he has left me.’ There had not been as much as had been expected: large withdrawals over the last few months had been left unaccounted for. But by her standards she would do well enough, with money to buy a more modest property of her own, and to help keep her in moderate comfort for the rest of her life. ‘I’m happy that Violet should have the house.’

  As a consequence of this, Violet was being especially agreeable to her, though she herself was obviously looking and feeling very much under the weather, an understandable reaction, Alice decided, to what she had been through, the awfulness of Lucy’s kidnapping, and then the loss of her brother. Alice well understood this. She herself was still dealing with the guilt she knew a suicide death always left behind, questioning how much of it had been her fault. If she had been more understanding and sympathetic, if she had encouraged Edmund to be more open and talk about his inner feelings, might this not have happened?

  After they had finished discussing the terms of Edmund’s will, Charles Markham had said, ‘He wanted you to have this.’ He handed her a letter. ‘And his diaries,’ he added, taking a sizeable parcel from a drawer. The diaries all politicians kept if they ever intended to write their memoirs, Edmund had told her at the beginning of their marriage. He called them his daybooks, there was nothing personal in them, they were simply a record of events, meetings and conversations with other MPs. Chilled by the thought that he had after all left her some communication, she had felt quite unable to read them immediately, especially the letter, which had been left to be opened by her, tellingly, ‘in the event of my death’. It was as she had thought: he had been ambivalent about taking his life, right up to the last moment. Its contents might give her a clue as to why, but just now, she did not feel strong enough to bear the burden of the torment that must have faced him.

  Resolutely she had forced herself not to dwell on these dark thoughts – they would get her nowhere. Far wiser to concentrate on her work at the Dorcas, where she insisted on going every day to work. She was being thought odd in doing this, people were rather shocked, for some reason, but that only made her feel rebellious. She was in mourning, but that didn’t mean she should remain in purdah.

  Today, the influx of needy patients having dispersed, she pressed on with bringing her records up to date, and when she had finished that and tidied her desk, she picked up the notes she’d made for her meeting with Sam in a few minutes. On the way out, catching sight of herself in the small mirror in the corner, she paused to smooth her hair, then turned away and left the room, refusing to acknowledge how pale she was looking.

  Sam was by the open front door, talking to a dirty-faced boy in patched fustian trousers cut short at the knee, bare-legged and wearing ill-fitting boots, who had just delivered what appeared to be an urgent summons. ‘I’m sorry, Alice, we can’t have that talk just now,’ he said. ‘I’m needed elsewhere. Tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course. It’s not important.’ He raised his eyebrows and she suspected he knew very well that the private conversation she’d requested was very important to her. He had guessed she was going to ask him to reconsider her position here at the clinic. She hoped she wasn’t being unduly optimistic about his likely reaction to her proposal. She didn’t really think he would be averse to her going into partnership with him, and thought he would welcome the sharing of the work and the expenses of running the clinic, but she was also sure he would urge her not to be too hasty about making such a decision. He had already told her she should take more time off to get her bearings, as he put it, but that was the very last thing she wanted to do, to have the empty hours stretching before her with nothing else to do but relive the traumatic events of the last few days. Did nobody understand that the work here was her salvation, as it always had been?

  She took another look at him now, his stocky frame leaning against the doorpost, almost as though he needed its support. He looked very tired indeed. Sam, with his seemingly inexhaustible energy, who was normally able to put in an amount of work that would have killed a lesser man! She knew he’d been called out twice the previous night. Added to that, Hannah was nearing her time and caring for a pair of boisterous twins in her condition, and in their cramped quarters, was no easy ride. It was taking its toll on her. Emma Pavel had supplied them with the name of a girl to help out but the situation still laid heavy demands on Sam, too.

  The boy on the doorstep was shuffling from one booted foot to the other, waiting for an answer, no doubt anxious about the fate of the coppers he’d earn by running the errand – but only after he’d delivered the message and received a reply. ‘He said you was to come right away, Doctor. She’s asking for you.’

  ‘All right, sonny,’ Sam said with a sigh. He patted the lad’s shoulder. ‘Tell him I’m on my way.’

  The boy shot off and Alice asked, ‘Who is it? Who’s asking for you so urgently?’

  ‘Old Mrs Tooley, Prosser Street. Sorry about this, I promise we’ll talk tomorrow, Alice,’ he said, turning to fetch his bag.

  ‘I’ll go.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s your patient, but I’m sure I can cope with whatever’s needed.’

  He looked sorely tempted, but then he shook his head. ‘She has me on a bit of a string, old Roisin, to tell the truth, and I doubt if she’s at death’s door, but you never know with her, and she is nearly ninet
y.’

  ‘There isn’t anything you can do that I can’t.’

  He really did look exhausted, but he shook his head. Then he laughed suddenly. ‘Well, I suppose if the old biddy’s asking for me and not the priest, she can’t be that bad. You’re a brick, Alice, but don’t forget to tell Paddy Tooley it was me sent you to look after his mother.’

  He gave her Mrs Tooley’s notes and they spoke briefly about the heart condition she suffered from. She was, he said, very much inclined to play on this, sending for him whenever she felt like it, enjoying the drama of it and not least the opportunity to show the world she had the means to pay for a doctor’s visits. But since there was always the chance she could go at any time, for that reason alone Sam couldn’t afford to ignore any summons. ‘And why not, if the Tooleys are prepared to pay?’ he asked, affecting a cynicism Alice knew he didn’t feel. ‘Don’t let her intimidate you … she can be an old tyrant and she will do that if she sees she can, but she’s all right if you stick up to her and don’t object to being called Doctor Alice.’

  A lot of people used the familiarity and Alice never minded. It was their way of lessening the distance between themselves and someone they all too often imagined could perform miracles. If Sam, with his jocular bedside manner, was Doctor Sam to Mrs Tooley, it meant he was as much a favourite with the old lady as he was with most of his regular patients, she guessed.

  ‘All the same, go easy on her, she’s not the old witch you might think.’ He laughed again, as if recalling something she’d said or done that amused him.

  She went to fetch her bicycle out of the backyard and wheeled it along the narrow passage which ran from front to back of the house. She had a general idea of the direction of Prosser Street, but Sam had given her more precise directions and as she made her wobbly way over the cobbles, she began to wonder where her impulse was going to lead her, what she’d let herself in for. She felt a stab of uncertainty, but the name of Tooley at that address had been too much to ignore.