Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

I had begun to make myself a cup of tea. Now I set the tin back in the cupboard, put the cup and saucer on the shelf, caught up my coat, and went flying down the stairs.

It made no sense to sit here in London. I needed to talk to Victoria.

I stopped at Mrs. Hennessey's door and knocked.

She didn't answer, but as I was about to turn away, the door finally opened. Her eyes still heavy with sleep, she said, "Oh, Bess, dear. I was just doing a little ironing-"

I smiled. She never liked to be caught napping in the afternoon.

"I have to travel to Little Sefton, Mrs. Hennessey. That's in Hampshire. The train leaves in half an hour. Sergeant-Major Brandon will be coming here looking for me. Will you tell him where I've gone? Tell him it's important or I would have waited."

"Of course, dear, I'll listen for his knock. Should you be going on your own like this? You'd make so much better time driving with him, given the way the trains are these days."

But I had no idea when I could expect him.

"I must hurry if I'm to find a cab. Please don't forget, Mrs. Hennessey."

"No, dear."

And I was out the door, hurrying down the street to the corner by the bakery where I hoped to find a cab. Nothing. I all but ran to the next block, heads turning as I passed more sedate pedestrians.

Finally a cab saw my wave and slowed down just in front of me. "Waterloo Station, if you please," I said, slamming the door even as I spoke.

It was the same train that Captain Melton had taken, and I nearly missed it. Crowded with soldiers, the corridor filled to capacity, and no seat to be had, I resigned myself to an uncomfortable journey. And then a young private noticed me. "Sister-" He shyly offered me his place in the first compartment.

Thanking him, I sat down, struggling to catch my breath. Scraps of conversation floated around me and over my head, but I paid no attention. I was hoping that Mrs. Hennessey wouldn't fall asleep again and miss Simon's knock at her door.

Settling myself at last, I watched the outer villages of London slip past and the sun begin to sink in the west, a great red ball of flame that cast long shadows over already misty landscapes. Lights were coming on in village houses facing east, and in the increasingly frequent farms. The weathervane on a church spire reflected the sun long after the churchyard below it lay in purple shadow.

Too beautiful an evening to be hunting a murderer.

The soldier on my left asked where I was going, and I smiled to myself. He was very young. I must have been two years his senior at the very least, but he was tall, broad shouldered, and about to do a man's job. So I listened to his stories about growing up in the Fen country and how different it was from the scenery turning dark before our eyes.

And then Great Sefton was the next stop, and I turned to wish him well, wondering if one day I'd see him in a surgical theater, or if he would even survive his first weeks in the trenches.

The lamps were lit in the station as I stepped down from the train, and I went inside to ask the stationmaster if he could find someone to take me to Little Sefton.

"I'll be glad to, Miss." He finished the list he had been making, looked at his pocket watch and then the waiting-room clock. "If you'll have a seat on that bench, I'll find Sam."

He came back a few minutes later with a girl of perhaps seventeen driving a dogcart. She smiled at me as I stepped out of the station.

"Here you are, Miss," he said. "Sam will see you safe to Little Sefton."

I thanked him and opened the gate of the cart, stepping in and taking my seat.

"Do you drive people to Little Sefton often?" I asked.

"Fairly often. My father kept a carriage for station use, but the horses were taken away. I've got only the pony left."

We trotted out of Great Sefton, leaving behind a comfortable little town that had a pretty High Street and a handsome church set on a green up the hill from it. As the air cooled with sunset, a mist rose, turning the dark countryside a ghostly gray. The lanterns on either side of the cart seemed to encircle us in a soft, dancing light as the flames flickered. But if the mist worried Sam or her pony, neither showed any sign of it.

"Do you know Victoria Garrison?" I asked, to pass the time.

"Miss Garrison? Yes, she used to travel to London frequently, but that stopped after several months. She said she was bored with the company."

"In London?"

"Oh, yes indeed. I couldn't imagine being bored with London. I'd give much to go there myself. But my mum says she can't do without me, and besides, London is a pitfall for the unwary." She laughed as she said it. "I'm the youngest, and she holds on tight."

"Yet she allows you to drive strangers in the dark."

"It's safe enough. Mr. Hale, the stationmaster, wouldn't call me out if he didn't think it was all right."

Which sounded like a good enough plan. I could see she managed the pony with ease on the dark road, and knew the way so well she could see it in her head, every dip and twist, every turn, and how long the straight sections were. The pony too was at home out here in the dark. I wasn't sure I would like driving back to Great Sefton alone-even though it couldn't be more than three miles. But Sam seemed to like the night and the silence.

We came into Little Sefton on the far side of the village from the part of it I knew best, passing closed shops and even a small pub, light from its windows spilling out into the dark street, turning the mist to a murky orange. The shops thinned and houses took their place, and I caught a glimpse of the church through a tear in the mist.

"Where were you thinking of being put down?" Sam asked, slowing the pony from a trot to a walk.

Suddenly I didn't feel comfortable walking up to Victoria Garrison's door. I realized I should have waited for Simon. But it was already late, and by the time he reached Little Sefton, everyone could be in bed.

"Um. Do you know the Hart house?"

"Yes, indeed. I see him doing his banking in Great Sefton. He always has a kind word. I heard his nephew is to be hanged next week. Sad, that. I don't ever remember having a murderer in this part of the county."

"Sad, indeed," I said.

She drew up in front of the house, but it appeared to be dark to me, as if the Harts were away or had retired early. "Wait here, will you, for a moment? I'm not sure anyone is at home."

"Dark as the grave," she agreed, and I stepped down.

I walked out of the cart's comforting pool of misty lantern light and up to the door. I could feel the clinging mist, and shivered, glad of my coat. I found the knocker, lifted it, and let it fall. It sounded overloud in the night, but that was mostly my imagination. I could feel my nerves taut with what lay ahead.

When no one answered my summons, I tried again. Would anyone answer my knock at this hour? The Harts had grown reclusive-they wouldn't care to be disturbed-and after all, they had no way of knowing who was at their door.

What to do now?

I lifted the knocker again and gave it a substantial blow against the brass footplate.

I was on the point of turning around and walking back to the cart when I saw a light quivering in the window on the other side of the door. Then the door was opened, the light from a lamp almost blinding me.

"Mr. Hart?" I asked, unable to see who was behind the light.

"Miss Crawford!" he exclaimed in astonishment. "What are you doing here at this hour? Is everything all right? Have you had news of Michael?"

"Could I come in and sit for a while? I want to go to Victoria Garrison's house, but not just yet. Would you mind?"

"No, certainly not. I forget my manners. Do come in." As I did, he saw Sam waiting in her cart. "Did you come by train?" he asked me, and when I nodded, he called out, "Thank you, Sam. I'll drive Miss Crawford back to Great Sefton. Good night."