A wayward alcoholic whose wife committed suicide. God, the gossips would have had a field day.”
“If she killed herself when Grace was a baby it must have happened at least twenty-five years ago.” Anne seemed detached, un bothered “I hadn’t even met Jeremy then.”
“Was he here?”
“Oh, Jem’s been in Langholme for ever.”
“But I know what these villages are like,” Vera insisted. “People still talk about the war as if it ended last week. Even if Edmund never came back to Langholme they would still have remembered he existed, speculated about what had become of him.” “Not in my hearing,” Anne said lightly. “It’s not as if the Fulwells mixed socially with the rest of us. Robert didn’t come into the Ridley Arms for a pint on Friday nights. Lily never joined the women’s darts team. She made a thing about her kids going to the village play group but I bet she never took a turn on the rota to wash out the paint pots or muck out the sand pit There was always a nanny to do that. The Fulwells live in splendid isolation in the Hall. Nothing has really changed for generations. The villagers are involved as employees tenant farmers, estate workers but the private lives of the family don’t really have any impact. It’s still very feudal. You must know that. We all have our proper place.”
“So you didn’t know Robert had a brother?”
“I think I might have heard that there was a brother, working abroad.” “Who told you that?”
“God, I really can’t remember, Jeremy probably. Does it matter?
Presumably, if he’s such a black sheep it was a story the family put about.”
“But you hadn’t heard anything about the wife’s suicide or an abandoned child?”
“No, but it’s not something they’d be proud of, so they’d hardly spread it about.”
“How are they playing that part of the story now?” Vera asked.
“What do you mean?” “As you said, it doesn’t show the family in a good light. I mean, allowing Edmund’s child to be fostered rather than caring for her themselves. What sort of a spin are they putting on it?” She seemed rather proud of the political jargon.
“I don’t know. I’ve been here, haven’t I, except for one day out at Kimmerston. I haven’t had much of a chance to listen to gossip.
Besides, I’m not a member of the ladies’ darts team myself.”
All these questions convinced Rachael that Vera’s apparent indiscretion in passing on information about Grace’s background, information which would probably soon appear in the tabloids anyway, was a tactic. It was her way of taking the investigation forward. So she came to regard Vera’s visits with suspicion. Each session was some sort of test and Vera was trying to catch them out.
The next day Vera came in when they were eating lunch. Anne and Rachael had been on the hill surveying one of Rachael’s squares. It had been a good day. Outside Anne lost her pose of cynic and entertainer and Rachael found her company restful. They’d stood on the moor together and watched a goshawk fly out of the forest to swoop onto a young grouse. On the way back to Baikie’s they’d passed the crow trap. Inside a different bird was hopping and flapping and pecking at the corn, but neither of them mentioned it.
It wasn’t much of a lunch. As Rachael had suspected, Edie hadn’t really taken to the domestic life. She had begun with enthusiasm but become bored very quickly. She had brought with her a pile of novels and seemed set on making her way through them. A great opportunity to catch up on some reading,” she told Rachael. Cooking got in the way.
And then she took a great interest in the young police officers who were now conducting a fingertip search of the marshy land close to the burn. She knew all their names and occasionally Rachael heard her give advice about girlfriend troubles, sympathizing about the stress of the job.
This time Vera had come to tell them that Edmund Fulwell had disappeared. Edie offered her a bowl of reconstituted minestrone soup, which she accepted and she sat with them at the table, eating it with great noise and relish between questions.
“Does he know that Grace is dead?” Rachael asked.
“Oh yes. We traced him quite quickly from the information your boss brought that first night. He lives and works out on the coast. He’s got a job as chef in a flash restaurant there and lives in a flat over his work. At least he did. God knows where he is now.”
“What happened?”
“Of course we went to tell him Grace was dead as soon as we found out where he was. I sent young Ashworth. He’s good at the compassionate bit. If we’d known more of his history at that point perhaps we’d have been more circumspect. At least we could have arranged for someone to keep an eye on him.”
“What did Joe Ashworth make of Grace’s father?” Edie asked.
“Well, he had no idea he was going to do a runner. Edmund was shocked of course, angry, guilty, but that was only what you’d expect.”
Edie nodded. “The classic symptoms of bereavement.”
“Oh, Mother!” Rachael muttered under her breath. “Do shut up.”
Vera continued, “He even carried on going into work. His boss is a friend, Rod Owen. I think they were at school together. Somewhere in the south where you sign up at birth. Mr. Owen told him to take off as much time as he needed, but he said he preferred to be working. It gave him something else to think about, company I suppose. And he said while he was creating in the kitchen he couldn’t be drinking. Ironic really, considering what must have happened later.” “I thought you didn’t know where he is now?” Rachael said.
“We can guess,” Vera said crossly. “Knowing his past. I’ve seen his medical records.”
“Bouts of alcoholism, you said,” Edie probed delicately.
“Mother!” Rachael shouted. “You can’t expect Inspector Stanhope to tell us what’s in the man’s medical records. They’re confidential.”
“Not the details of course.” Edie was unabashed.
“I think,” Vera said, ‘ the years his drinking has been a symptom of his illness, not a cause.” Then, quickly, looking at Rachael, “That’s my own interpretation. I couldn’t possibly divulge… “
“No,” Edie agreed. “Of course not.”
“I went to see Mr. Owen yesterday. We had a long talk. He was kind enough to give me lunch. He said it wasn’t up to Edmund’s standard of cuisine but it was certainly acceptable to me… “
Anne had been wiping the last of her soup with a piece of bread, apparently taking no notice of the conversation. Now she interrupted suddenly. “What’s the name of the restaurant where Grace’s dad works?”
Vera was put out to be stopped in mid flow. “The Harbour Lights.
Why?”
“Nothing. I’ve eaten there a few times. The owner introduced me to the chef. Grace’s father. I can’t even remember what he looked like now. A coincidence, that’s all.”
They all stared at her but she seemed not to notice and lapsed back into a brooding silence.
“What did Mr. Owen tell you?” Edie asked the inspector.
“Well… ” Vera gathered herself up for a juicy revelation. Rachael was embarrassed by the conversation. Vera and her mother could have been two old ladies huddled for a gossip at the back of a bus. She wished she had the strength to walk out and leave them to it, but she was curious too. “Apparently he’s had bouts of depression for years, even before his wife killed herself. That’s why Owen wasn’t too surprised when Edmund disappeared this time. It’s his standard response to stress to walk out and drink himself into oblivion. Of course we’re looking for him in case he does something stupid. In the past he’s threatened suicide. He ended up in St. Nick’s for a couple of months when Grace was at school.” “Oh,” Edie said. “I wonder… ” Then thought better of it and broke off.
“What?” demanded Vera.
“Nothing,” Edie replied. “Nothing, I just… ” She stopped and seemed to change tack completely. “When we were out the other day Rachael and I went to see Alicia Davison.”