A Bitter Truth

Chapter Seventeen

We went back into the hall. Nothing had changed. Lydia had asked Daisy to bring tea, and now she was coaxing her mother-in-law to drink a little. Gran stood behind Mrs. Ellis’s chair, a frown on her face, and something in her eyes that disturbed me. Margaret and Henry sat in a corner talking in low voices. I could see that she’d been crying.

But the cause of this, Inspector Rother, was standing by the window, where I was sure he’d been watching Roger Ellis talking to me. He turned as we came in.

“I have to close this inquiry,” he said doggedly.

Gran spoke, and I hardly recognized her voice. “I think you will agree with me that my daughter-in-law is not well enough to be interrogated. But I suggest that you consider the fact that if a body was found on our property, it doesn’t follow that one of us is the murderer. Be very careful about accusations that you will not be able to support when the Chief Constable of Sussex sends for you.”

“There are three men dead in Ashdown Forest, Mrs. Ellis. How do I explain them?”

“I’m not a policeman,” she answered him. “I’m not required to explain anything.”

Inspector Rother took a deep breath. “I must meet the doctor from Groombridge. As soon as I have taken care of that, I’ll be back at Vixen Hill, and I expect Mrs. Ellis to be well enough to answer questions.”

And he was gone.

I stood there, looking at this shattered family. They stared back at me.

Gran said, “Why does that child know you better than her own father?”

I answered, “She’s been told she was an orphan. The reason she clings to me is that she knows me. I must take her back to France, and then proceedings may begin to bring her here legally, if that’s your decision. She-” I looked for a way to say it gently. “The nuns who have cared for her will wish to say good-bye.”

“No,” Mrs. Ellis said before Lydia could speak. “I don’t care how she has come to us. She’s here. Roger, tell her that we don’t want Sophie to return to France.”

Caught on the horns of a dilemma, Roger Ellis said, “She’s not my child. Wherever her birth was recorded, her father is listed as Gerard Hebert. I shall have to declare her illegitimate in order to claim her.”

Mrs. Ellis began to cry. Gran said, a hand on her daughter-in-law’s shoulder, “There must be a way.”

Lydia said, “What does it really matter? She’s here. We’ll simply keep her.”

I wanted to tell them that they couldn’t, that the nuns were grieving for a child they believed to have been burned to death.

But before I could speak, we heard another motorcar pull up in the lane outside the door.

“See who it is. Tell them to go away,” Roger said to me, since I was nearest the door.

“It’s probably the doctor from Groombridge searching for the Inspector,” I replied as I went to the door and opened it.

I stood there transfixed.

Simon Brandon was just stepping out of the motorcar, and his face was bruised, a cut ran from close to his eye to the corner of his mouth, and one arm was in a sling.

“You’re still here,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Bess, but it has been a very long four-and-twenty hours.”

I found my voice. “What happened to you?”

There was a distinctly pleased note behind his words. “I had a small task to perform. Don’t ask, I can’t tell you. But it ended very satisfactorily.”

He’d been in France. It was something he’d been eager to do since the day war was declared. But he’d been set on the sidelines, an adviser, his experience consulted again and again, but his vast talents never put to their full use.

“I’m very glad,” I said faintly. “Are you all right?”

“I will be in a day or two. More important, are you?”

“It’s been a very long four-and-twenty hours,” I answered in my turn, and he was instantly alert.

Roger Ellis was at the door. “Who is it? I told you to send them-” He broke off. “Brandon,” he said in acknowledgment. And then he looked over his shoulder, before adding, “I think it would be for the best if you took Sister Crawford back to The King’s Head. We’ve had a difficult time here, and she may feel more comfortable in other surroundings.”

I turned to him. “I’m not leaving without Sophie. She’s my charge, not yours.”

“Sister-Bess. Give them a few days to get used to the fact she must leave.”

“If I give them a few days, they will have grown so attached to her-and she to them-that it will be impossible to take her away. If you will ask Daisy to pack my things, I’ll go up and fetch Sophie.”

“For God’s sake,” Roger began.

But I said, “You didn’t want her.”

“Dear God, Bess-”

“There’s a solicitor in the Street of Fishes. Go and speak to him, if you want her.”

I walked past him and into the hall. It was going to be very difficult, even for me. But if I left her, for the Ellis family it would be like losing Juliana all over again. And I didn’t know what else to do.

To my surprise it was Henry who came to my aid.

He stood up for me, saying, “It can’t be any other way for now. You must see that. She’s not yours. This child. But if you insist on having her, there’s a proper way to go about it.”

When I came down with Sophie in my arms, there was no one in the hall but Simon Brandon and Roger Ellis.

As Simon escorted me to the motorcar, Roger Ellis brought the valise that Daisy or someone had hastily packed.

I suddenly remembered the Major’s motorcar, but before I could mention it to Simon, Roger Ellis came to shut my door, saying to me, desperation in his voice, “Both Claudette and Gerard Hebert were fair.”

I knew at that moment that he couldn’t accept Sophie until Lydia believed that. And I thought she could be brought around to it, given time. She too would prefer not to dwell on that night with Claudette Hebert. It would be Mrs. Ellis and Gran who would fight hardest to hold on to the knowledge that Sophie was Roger’s child.

And then Simon was turning the motorcar, and we were heading toward Hartfield, leaving Vixen Hill and Roger Ellis behind us.

After we had reached the track, Simon spoke. “You’d better tell me everything.”

I did, ending with what, next to Sophie’s welfare, worried me most. “Who is the murderer, Simon? And is it finished, all this killing?”

“Go back to the facts you know, Bess. Leave everything else out of the equation.”

I smiled. “Easier said than done.”

We were just coming into Hartfield. “What am I to do about Sophie?” I asked as she reached up to touch my face.

“If you really want to return her to the nuns in Rouen, I’ll see to it for you.”

He had the means, I was sure of that. I wished with all my heart that I could leave Sophie’s future in Simon’s capable hands. But the more contact I had with her, the harder it was to be objective.

“Let me think about it. Please?”

“You’ll have children of your own one day, Bess. She isn’t yours. She never can be.”

“It isn’t that, Simon. It’s what I’ve done to hurt so many people. I don’t want to make the wrong decision about Sophie too.”

We had reached the inn, and when Simon had seen to the arrangements, I took Sophie up to my room and settled her. She asked two or three times for le chat, and I told her that Bluebell hadn’t come to The King’s Head.

After she’d been fed and put down to sleep, I went next door to Simon’s room and sat disconsolately on the chair by the window.

“If I could fix it, I would,” he said gently.

I smiled. “Would it were as easy as that.”

Taking a deep breath, I began with the facts.

“George Hughes came here when Alan Ellis was dying. And nothing happened to him. He came again when the memorial stone was to be set in place. And this time he was murdered. It’s possible that he went to meet someone-the note I discovered-or that he encountered someone when he went for a walk that last morning. He often went to Juliana’s grave.”

“All right. Let’s look at that. If he’d prepared to leave first thing-his valise in his motorcar, nothing left but to say his farewells-why did he take the time to walk?”

“Everyone thought to say good-bye to Juliana. And then Davis Merrit, a blind man, went for a ride on the heath after Lydia came to see him and told him what George had said. He often went riding. His horse could find its way back to Hartfield, if the Lieutenant got lost. This time it did just that-but without its rider.”

“I’ll just look in on the child,” he told me and was back quickly. “Asleep. Go on.”

“The police believe Lieutenant Merrit rode out to find George and kill him. But how did he, a blind man as I said, know where in all the heath to find George Hughes? Or that he was walking at all?”

“Had Lydia seen him on her way to Hartfield?”

“She never mentioned it. Nor did the police. So I must assume she didn’t.”

“And it wouldn’t be helpful to Merrit, if she spotted Hughes as she returned home.”

“True. Which must mean that somehow Lieutenant Merrit knew where and when to find George Hughes. And that would explain why George went for such an early walk, even though he was in something of a hurry to leave Vixen Hill and all the embarrassment he’d caused.”

“So far so good.”

I took a deep breath. “Simon. That message I found in the umbrella. What if it was dropped in there after the meeting took place. A good many people were at Alan’s memorial service in the churchyard. Anyone could have passed it to George Hughes then. But that leaves us with another quandary. Why would those two men wish to meet? The police haven’t been able to come up with any connection between them so far. Except Lydia.”

“They didn’t know where to look.”

“Good God, are you telling me that you’ve found a link?”

He nodded. “Actually it took your father’s connections to uncover it. There was a general court-martial two years ago. Merrit and Hughes were asked to sit on it.”

“A court-martial? I would never-but what was the case?”

“A Sergeant, one Albert Halloran, was accused of shooting an officer in the back during an attack across No Man’s Land. It could have been accidental, God knows there’s chaos in a charge, and no one can be sure when he fires who will suddenly step in the path of the shot. But in this case, the Sergeant had had words with the officer, and he was still angry when he went over the top. This was reported, and it was decided to try the man to get to the bottom of it. The court decided, unanimously, that the shooting had been intentional because the slain officer had warned the Sergeant that he was in danger of being sent back for dereliction of duty. He was sentenced to be hanged, but before it could be carried out, he overpowered his guards and escaped. It was thought that he managed to reach Boulogne and sail aboard a hospital ship bound for New Zealand, but when the ship was searched in New Zealand, he couldn’t be found.”

“He’s back in England looking for revenge?”

“It’s possible. Bess, what was unique about Merrit?”

“He was blind.”

“That’s right. He couldn’t recognize faces.”

I remembered Lieutenant Merrit stepping out the door of Bluebell Cottage and tapping his way down the street here in Hartfield. “But the blind often compensate by developing acute hearing. He could recognize a voice. And when he learned that George Hughes was coming to spend the weekend with the Ellis family, he wanted him to see the owner of the voice he’d heard.”

“Men who have served on courts-martial seldom meet to share a glass of beer in the local pub and talk over the trial,” he agreed.

“William Pryor. Willy,” I said, getting up and walking across to the hearth to warm my hands.

“You can’t be sure of that. Only that someone here in Ashdown Forest could be Halloran.”

“Do you have any idea what this man Halloran looks like?”

“The description could fit half the men serving in the British Army. No distinguishing characteristics. Medium height, medium coloring.”

“I’ll never be able to convince Inspector Rother to look into this. I wonder if George and Davis Merrit actually did meet? Or if the killer got to each of them first?”

“Or if Merrit accidentally got the message into the wrong pocket.”

I shivered. “How awful! But George went to the churchyard that morning, didn’t he?”

“To meet Merrit-or to say good-bye to Juliana? We’ll never know.”

“Simon. There’s George Hughes’s accident. As he drove to Vixen Hill. He swore there was something in the road. But when he and Roger Ellis went back, there wasn’t.”

“Halloran couldn’t have known when he was coming to Vixen Hill.”

“But he could. George stopped here, at The King’s Head, to brace himself for talking with Roger about Sophie. He could have been seen in time to prepare the accident. If George was here in Sussex, Davis Merrit would be able to have any suspicions confirmed. And so both had to die.”

“It’s too late to do anything about this tonight, Bess. But I think tomorrow we ought to speak to Roger Ellis before talking to Inspector Rother or one of his constables. Meanwhile, I should lock my door, if I were you.”

I was halfway to the door when I stopped. “It all makes perfect sense. Except for the death of Dr. Tilton.”

“To throw us off the scent? It might raise eyebrows if the only victims had a link with Halloran.”

“Yes. Of course. He was found on the grounds of Vixen Hall. A case could be made for his learning something in the postmortems, and coming to speak to the family. Or to blackmail them. Who can say?”

He touched the wound on his cheek. I thought it must be hurting. But Simon would never tell me if it did. “I’ll walk you to your door. Don’t forget to lock it.”

“I’ll be all right. Good night, Simon.”

I opened Simon’s door and turned to walk down the passage to my room. And saw Gran standing in front of my door, staring in my direction.

“Gran? Mrs. Ellis?” I said.

“Can we talk, Sister? Isn’t there a parlor downstairs?”

“I should look in on Sophie. It’s nearly time for her to wake up.”

“It will take no more than five minutes.”

I hesitated, then said, “Yes, all right.”

We went down the stairs and found the little parlor empty. Gran closed the door after her, saying, “I don’t want to be interrupted.”

Sitting in the nearest chair, I reminded her, “You said no more than five minutes.”

“I’ve come to ask you if you thought that the nuns who had charge of Sophie could be persuaded to accept a large sum of money in exchange for allowing us to keep her. I should think, given the situation in France at the moment, money could buy many necessities for the children in their care. Medical treatment, food, soap, clothing. Shoes. Children grow so quickly.”

“It’s not a question of money. Sophie is a citizen of France. There are laws. The nuns would be guilty of breaking them.”

“At least you could ask, my dear. It could do no harm. And possibly a great deal of good. The other children would benefit, and Sophie would have a new life with people who care very deeply for her.”

“She isn’t Juliana,” I said.

“I’m an old woman, Elizabeth Crawford. I know this child isn’t Juliana. But we could watch Sophie grow into womanhood, which we were denied when Juliana died so tragically, and it would make up, a little, for all we’ve lost.”

“I will speak to the nuns on your behalf,” I said. “But I can make no promises.” I’d said that once before. To Lydia. Promising that I would at least look for the child.

“I can ask no more.” She nodded to me and opened the door.

“Have they taken Mrs. Ellis away?” I asked.

“They have. That idiot Rother wouldn’t allow Roger to accompany her. She insisted that she would be all right. God help Rother if she isn’t.”

She left then, striding out the door with the support of anger to keep her strong.

I went back up the stairs to my room. When I opened the door I called softly to Sophie, so as not to startle her, then crossed to the bed. The little nest of bedclothes that I’d made for her was empty. I looked around the room, thinking that she might have crawled out of it and fallen asleep behind a chair or under the bed.

She wasn’t there. I opened the door and went down the passage to Simon’s room.

Even before I got there, I knew what must have happened.

While Gran had kept me busy in the parlor, Lydia must have slipped up the stairs and carried Sophie away.

Simon answered my knock at once, saying as soon as he saw my face, “What is it?”

“Sophie is gone. I think Lydia took her. The elder Mrs. Ellis was just here-I think to distract me while it was done. We’ll have to go after them.”

“Yes, get your coat. I’ll meet you at the motorcar.”

I ran back to my room for coat and scarf and hat, then raced down the stairs. Simon had already cranked the motor and was behind the wheel. We were rolling almost as I shut my door.

“They couldn’t have too much of a head start,” I said.

“We’ll find them,” he said grimly.

Ahead of us, crossing the main street in Hartfield, was Willy. He paused in the middle of the street, staring straight at us, then moved to the verge. I looked at him as we passed and saw that same expression in his eyes. Sly, knowing that he was tricking us, enjoying the joke on us.

“He’s a healthy man, why isn’t he in the Army?” Simon asked with interest.

“He’s unfit mentally. Or so they say. He couldn’t take orders, follow instructions, be trusted in the field.”

“A very good disguise for a man who doesn’t want to fight.”

We were beyond Hartfield now, and there was still no sign of the Ellis motorcar ahead of us on the track. “They’re driving too fast,” I said. “The sheep-”

Simon said nothing, his eyes on the road.

We had turned into the lane that led to Vixen Hill before we’d caught up. To my surprise, I saw that Gran was driving I hadn’t known that she could. But then the war had taught women to do many things, and driving a motorcar was the least of them.

We caught her up before she’d even opened the driver’s door. She turned and stared at us over her shoulder, her face startled.

“Lydia isn’t with her,” I said sharply. “Look!”

Simon pulled up behind her motorcar.

“What is it?” Gran called. Stiff from the drive, she waited until Simon had come round to open her door and help her out.

“Sophie is gone,” I said, reaching her as she stepped down and quickly scanning the empty seats. “I thought Lydia had taken her-while you were speaking to me.”

“But Lydia didn’t come in with me,” she said. “She’s sulking in her room.”

“Are you certain?” I asked, looking up at the long window above our heads.

“Did you think I was tricking you with my offer? Of course I wasn’t. Go on, then, see for yourself.”

I opened the door to the hall and hurried up the stairs that led to the room above. I tapped lightly at the door, then opened it without waiting for an invitation.

“Lydia?” I said, looking for her. But the room was empty, and I turned to run back the way I’d come. She wasn’t in the sitting room, nor in the little room that Mrs. Ellis used, nor in the library. I opened the door to the drawing room, and there she was, staring up at the portrait of Juliana, her face swollen from crying.

“Where is Sophie?” I demanded. “Did you come and take her?”

“What do you mean, take her? Don’t be stupid, Bess, Roger would never let me keep her.”

I told her what had happened. Sitting up, she said, “Are you quite certain she didn’t simply wander down the hall? Bess! Oh, my God-Roger!”

She was already out the door, shouting her husband’s name. I went after her.

We reached the hall to find Simon standing there, Gran beside him, her face anxious, her hands hanging at her side. “Anything?” he asked.

“She’s not here.”

“What is it?” Roger demanded, striding into the room. “I heard motorcars in the drive-is it my mother?”

“It’s Sophie-she’s missing.”

Roger wasted no time on words. He caught Lydia by the arm, took her out to the motorcar. Gran followed. Simon was already turning the crank.

We drove back to Hartfield and searched the hotel, the environs, all the way up to the small church and down to encompass Bluebell Cottage.

She was small, and distances would tire her. So where had she gone?

Simon, meeting me again in front of Bluebell Cottage, said, “Someone took her. Why?”

“The police? No, they wouldn’t do such a thing. Simon-”

“Don’t panic, Bess. She’ll be all right, wherever she is.”

“No, she won’t, Simon. I’ve got to find her.”

But half an hour later even I admitted defeat. Sophie hadn’t wandered off. She’d been taken. Just as Simon had said.

W e collected, the five of us, in my room, and we searched that again. Simon brought his torch, and we looked under the bed again. But I knew it was useless. Gran said, “How long were you in Mr. Brandon’s room?”

“Half an hour? At most.”

“I don’t understand,” Lydia said.

“Where do we look next?” Simon was asking Roger Ellis.

“God knows. All right, let’s find the police and report this. The sooner we cast a wider net, the sooner we’ll have her.”

And so we looked for Constable Bates and reported the child as missing. He took down the details and suggested we drive to Wych Gate to tell Inspector Rother ourselves.

Three hours later we’d made no progress. Simon and Roger Ellis had taken it upon themselves to search the Forest, while Lydia and Gran took the Major’s borrowed motorcar and went to search Wych Gate Church. Margaret and Henry were waiting at the house to coordinate the search.

By the time I had come back to the village of Wych Gate with the rector, Mr. Smyth, driving, Mrs. Ellis was just leaving the police station there. She appeared to be dazed as Inspector Rother put her into his motorcar. But she looked up as we pulled in front of the Inspector’s vehicle.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Sophie is missing,” I told her. Turning to Inspector Rother, I asked, “Any news?”

Mrs. Ellis, collecting herself, asked, “Are you sure you looked everywhere? The kitchen, the attics, the public rooms? Was it Lydia? Surely-”

“She says she didn’t. I believe her. But who could have done this?” Desperate, I asked the Inspector, “Is there any family in the Forest by the name of Halloran?”

“It’s not a local name,” he replied. “Why?”

“There isn’t time to explain,” I told him. “But if I’m right, if we find Sophie, we’ll have your murderer as well.”

“That’s what Ellis told me. Grasping at straws, that’s all it is. But I promised to help, and I’ll keep my word.”

Mrs. Ellis asked to come with us, and I decided that even as tired as she was, she would worry less if she were with us.

Rother drove away in the direction of Hartfield. Mrs. Ellis said, “Quickly. Where have you looked?”

I told her, and she nodded. At the rector’s suggestion we decided to stop at the churchyard, and we searched that again, torches flashing in every direction, then the church itself, and Mr. Smyth even went up into the tower. I walked partway down the path to the little stream, and then turned back.

If Sophie lay at the bottom of the path, I didn’t want to know.

And then we went back to Hartfield. It had occurred to me that we’d seen Willy in the street there, Simon and I, before the search had begun in earnest. If he’d taken Sophie, she had to be somewhere in the village.

It took me a quarter of an hour to find the man who called himself Willy.

He was squatting by a horse trough, washing a pair of gloves, his hands red from the cold water, a frown between his eyes as he concentrated on what he was doing.

When I approached, he stood up and faced me. For an instant I had the urge to back away. There was something about him that was repellent. But I stood my ground and said, “I’ve come to ask you if you saw anyone with a little girl-about two years of age, very fair. She was in the hotel until earlier in the evening. We don’t know if she wandered away or if she was taken away.”

He stared at me, and at first I wondered if he’d even understood my questions.

Then he said, “I don’t want any trouble with the police.”

“They won’t trouble you. Just tell me what you saw.”

“I didn’t see anything. I’ve already had trouble with the police over the watch. I’m afraid of them.”

“But you must tell me-if the little girl will be harmed, I need to know. I need to find her.”

“The police are already looking.” He gestured toward the inn. I could see that Simon had just returned and was getting out of his motorcar, crossing to speak to the rector and Mrs. Ellis. “But it won’t do any good, will it?”

“Please, Albert. Try to remember. Were you near the inn earlier in the evening?”

But he shook his head and turned to wring out the tattered gloves and hang them over a nearby bush. A cold wind was starting up, and he shivered. “My name isn’t Albert,” he said with an odd dignity. He started to walk on, his bare hands buried in the armpits of his coat.

“I’m sorry. Willy. I’ll buy you a new pair of gloves,” I said. “If you will try to remember.”

That got his attention and he turned around. “Will the police take the gloves away as they did the watch?” he asked. “He said it was mine to keep. Always.”

“Who said?” I asked. “And why won’t it do any good for the police to look?”

He ignored my questions. “Will they take the gloves?” he pressed.

“No. The gloves will be yours.”

“For always?” That sly look was there again. This time I recognized it for what it was, the craftiness of a man who had lived by his wits for so long he was forever looking to find an advantage. Someone who would give him coins, as Davis Merrit had done, who would promise him a watch in return for a lie, or offer him a pair of gloves in return for the truth. His only loyalty was to opportunity.

“For always,” I promised.

He considered the bribe and finally said, “My hands are cold. Bring me the gloves, and I’ll tell you what I saw.”

There was a dry goods shop near the greengrocer’s. They were just closing, but I went in to look at men’s gloves, resenting the wasted time. But it was necessary, and I waited my turn with the clerk, counting the seconds as she finished wrapping a scarf for the woman ahead of me, assuring her that it was pure Welsh wool and would last a lifetime.

I bought the gloves and asked that a scarf be added to my purchase, then hurried back to the street to find Willy.

But he’d vanished, just as Sophie had done.