Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

Jeffrey turned to Miriam. ‘Melody told Daniel about that conversation you heard here all those years ago, when the Hall was a care home.’

‘A care home? Wow!’ Terri gazed around their glitzy surroundings. ‘You’d never guess, would you?’

Jeffrey ignored her. ‘Was it a confession to murder? Was Roland Jones admitting to Dorothy Hodgkinson that he, and not her mother, killed Gertrude?’

Miriam gave an apologetic cough. ‘Robin should have kept that to himself. It makes me seem like an eavesdropper. I believe in people minding their own business.’

‘Of course you do, you’re the soul of discretion. The polar opposite of me, I’m afraid.’ Jeffrey beamed. ‘An incorrigible chatterbox.’

Miriam wasn’t mollified. ‘Some secrets are best left buried, if you want my opinion.’

‘I doubt any historian would go along with you, my love. Besides, it’s utterly fascinating to think that for all these years, everyone might have been mistaken. Is that why Gertrude’s ghost kept walking?’

‘You believe in the legend?’ Daniel asked.

‘Why not?’ Miriam bristled. ‘People think they are so clever nowadays. But they can’t explain everything.’

Terri said, ‘Go on, Miriam. Spill the beans! What did you hear?’

‘It was a very long time ago, dear.’ Miriam’s resolve was cracking, and Daniel suspected that she didn’t want to disappoint Terri. ‘I’m embarrassed to talk about it, to tell you the truth. It was only a snippet I overheard, and I’m not sure I can recall what …’

‘What exactly did you hear?’ Jeffrey asked. ‘That’s what we’re dying to find out.’

‘There were no private rooms in those days.’ There was a faraway look on Miriam’s leathery face as she lapsed into reminiscence. ‘Just a ward with half a dozen beds. I was making a cup of tea in a cubbyhole next to the ward when they were talking — pretty much where we are standing right now. Of course, they were both getting on in years. Older than I am now. Each of them was as deaf as a post, and they had to raise their voices to make themselves heard. You couldn’t help hearing odds and ends, however hard you tried to respect people’s privacy.’

Chafing with impatience, Jeffrey was about to interrupt, but Daniel got in first. At last they were getting somewhere, and the woman should be allowed to tell the story in her own way.

‘I’m guessing that Roland Jones didn’t confess outright to murdering Gertrude?’

‘Oh goodness me, no.’ Miriam sighed. ‘Really, it was no more than a few words that I caught. Only that Mr Jones said Dorothy’s mother wasn’t a murderer. He sounded very emphatic. And Dorothy agreed with him.’

‘Anything else?’

‘That’s all I can recall. I’m sorry, Mr Kind.’

‘Please call me Daniel.’ He suppressed his disappointment that the great revelation had proved a damp squib. Melody couldn’t conjure a book out of that. ‘So he may just have been trying to be kind to Dorothy?’

‘I suppose so. He was a nice old chap. Always apologising to carers, not that he was ever any bother.’

‘And Dorothy?’

Miriam wrinkled her nose. ‘She did a lot of good, I suppose.’

‘But?’

‘She was a bit … aloof. With Miss Hodgkinson, you always knew your place. Of course, you have to make allowances. She didn’t have the easiest start in life. What with her losing her mother so young. Family is so important, isn’t it?’

She was right, Daniel thought. When Ben Kind had run off with his mistress, it had taken years for the shock waves to subside. Louise had been badly bruised, and the divorce left their mother bitter for the rest of her life.

‘If Letty was innocent — someone else must have been guilty.’

‘I expect you’re right.’ Miriam shuddered. ‘Can’t we talk about something more pleasant?’

‘But remember what day it is!’ Terri raised her voice. The alcohol was talking now. ‘We have had two murders right here on Hallowe’en! You couldn’t blame Melody for feeling nervous.’

‘What do you mean?’ Jeffrey demanded.

‘Look what happened to Gertrude after she fell for the lord of the manor, and to that masseuse who snared the last chap who lived here.’ Terri’s eyes sparkled with glee. ‘Think it over. It really isn’t safe to be a mistress of Ravenbank Hall.’

‘Hush, Terri.’ Miriam clutched her broomstick, as if for reassurance. ‘You’re starting to frighten me.’

But there was no denying Terri the last word. ‘Let’s hope for Melody’s sake,’ she exclaimed, ‘that lightning doesn’t strike three times in the same place.’

Greg rang the bell at Undercrag within five minutes of his call. Hannah hadn’t so much as run a comb through her hair, but who cared? She was numb; she could scarcely feel her own hands or feet. And when she flung open the door, she saw a man who had aged ten years inside an hour.

He flung an arm round her, and kissed the top of her head.

‘I saw his car from the back of the taxi. Of course, I didn’t know it was Marc, I had no idea what he drives. He’d crashed into a tree — you know that sharp left bend, half a mile down the road to Ambleside?’

A wave of nausea washed through her. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

‘The cab driver and I jumped out, to see what we could do. The driver was bent over the steering wheel, he was obviously in a bad way. When I saw the fair hair, I realised it was Marc. I mean, I’d only ever seen him in the flesh for that half of a minute this evening, but it wasn’t an encounter I’m likely to forget in a hurry, know what I mean? We called the emergency services, and did what we could to help.’

He hesitated, and she had a vague sense that he wasn’t telling her something. But she wasn’t focused enough to quiz him about it.

‘He was breathing, that’s the important thing. The paramedics were brilliant, and got him out in no time. They’ll be checking him out in A amp;E right now.’

She detached herself from him. ‘How badly hurt is he?’

‘Too early to tell.’

‘Come on, no need to protect me.’

‘His face has a few nasty gashes, and I’d guess he’s smashed some ribs. Whether it’s worse than that, who knows? You know as well as me, it will depend on whether the internal organs have been damaged. The car’s a write-off. He must have hit that tree at full pelt.’

She covered teary eyes with a hand, swearing in bitter self-reproach.

‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘This isn’t doing Marc any good.’

For all his good intentions, if he’d touched her, she’d have smacked him, but he didn’t make that mistake. Her gorge rose, and she ran to the toilet, retching violently as she locked the door.

By the time she’d washed her face, none of the lager or the chip supper was left inside her. Her stomach hurt, a fierce pain raged in her forehead, her eyes throbbed in their sockets. But she couldn’t hide forever, so she pulled back the bolt and stumbled back into the hall.

‘I know what’s going on in your head,’ he said.

‘You reckon?’ She scarcely recognised her own voice, or the ravaged face she glimpsed in the mirror.

‘“It’s my fault, I should never have come back here.” But you can’t blame yourself for what’s happened to Marc. You will drive yourself crazy if you do.’

Maybe that’s what I deserve.

‘Stop it,’ he said, though she hadn’t uttered a peep. ‘No self-pity, you’re better than that. All that matters is … that he gets through.’

‘I need to go to the hospital,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Not yet.’ He stood in front of the door with his arms folded, legs planted wide apart, blocking her way out. Would he really hold her back if she was determined to go? ‘He’ll be in A amp;E. Maybe they’ll need to operate. Use the time to get some rest, and go and see how he is in the morning. You help him best now by not falling to pieces.’