The Murdering Wives Club Read online

  “I’m in charge here,” I say but don’t sound like I am at all.

  “If you need to think so,” Eve purrs. “You’ve no idea who or what you are dealing with. I’m willing to help you. I’m prepared to put my life in danger to share everything I know. I want you to catch these women before they do any more damage. You should be grateful. But, Mr Davenport, you don’t seem grateful and neither does your woman here. I’ve changed my mind about speaking with you. I don’t want to go through with this.”

  “You’ve signed an agreement.”

  “I also swore to love, honour and obey.” The voice is again amused by its own sound. “A woman changes her mind quite often, Mr Davenport.” She pauses. “Tell me, are you one of the Davenports who socialised in County Down? We may have met before?”

  I know from her files that Eve Good is middle-class and poor to boot. I doubt she socialised in my parents’ circles, or my own.

  She reads my mind. “You think you’re above me? I can tell by your face that you think I’m not good enough for the likes of you. Huh!”

  I’m glad that I cannot see her expression. There’s a chill in the room and it’s making me shiver. “No,” I lie. “I’m thinking of where I might have been in County Down and where we might have met.”

  She stalls at that on an intake of breath.

  I sense that she wants to retaliate and wait.

  But she must think better of more confrontation because she sighs and says, “You, what are you called again?”

  “Norah. I’m Norah.”

  “Irish Norah, with a southern accent, working with a British military man? I bet your people what to kill you too, Norah? We’re both traitors to our kind.”

  Norah doesn’t answer. I’m not sure of how to protect her. I don’t know enough about Norah’s past to be useful. I mentally kick myself.

  “This is not about us, Mrs Good.”

  “Call me Eve. I’m not good in any way. Kanaster is my maiden name. I should never have married John and the name galls me.”

  “Eve it is then. You’ll have our undivided attention for the next few visits. But don’t waste this opportunity. I’m not a patient man.”

  “Let me be very clear here, Mr Davenport. I won’t tell my story to a woman. You are wasting your time.”

  Chapter 5

  Laurie Davenport

  Our lodgings on the outskirts of Armagh are not far from the prison. Norah is very quiet on the journey back in the hired vehicle. The chatty driver tries to make conversation but both of us are dumbstruck and tired. Have we come all this blessed way for nothing?

  We agree to rest for an hour and then she’ll come to my room and we’ll go downstairs to eat as arranged with our hostess.

  Lying on the bed and staring into the dappled blackness brings no ease. Exhausted from the journey, I still cannot close an eye. I never expected Eve to be that awful. I should have realised that she would be. She’s a killer and not a normal human being. Yet, in other ways she seems very ordinary.

  Leaving us she was adamant that she would say very little. We have learned little about her or what is going on.

  “Is this a huge club?” I asked. “Who funds and runs this organisation?”

  But she didn’t want to divulge that crucial piece of information.

  I sit up.

  Opening my briefcase is of no help. I cannot read the files or her words so cannot access the information. I fling the case off the high bed and it scatters its contents out onto the wooden floor with its fringed rug. I stand out on the floor. I feel the papers underfoot and hope I manage to pick up all of them. I might slip on them.

  The window lets in the fading daylight. I can vaguely see the shards of sunlight and the dressing table’s mirror is large as it reflects glimmers that make me squint.

  I wish to change my socks and I have to concentrate to feel them in the suitcase. Why does everything take such effort? Giles packed well but I wish he was here. I like to be well-dressed at all times and this evening I want to look more than just presentable.

  I’m as ready as I can be when there’s a timid knock on the door and I hear Norah ask, “May I come in?”

  A tired me opens the door and I smile. “You look lovely, Norah.”

  “And how do you know that?” she says with a chuckle. “But thank you. Let me look at you. You are a little dishevelled.” Her breasts are right close to me as she fixes my top buttons and tie slightly. “There. Perfect, sir.”

  I wonder if my facial scars are as bad as they feel. The ripples are large from my forehead over my right eyebrow and they extend over my cheek right out to where my ear should be. It is a mess of flesh but I can still hear well thanks to surgery. I’ve lost hair from my right sideburn and I feel it might be a terrible colour or be extremely off-putting.

  She links my arm.

  “Lead on!” I say.

  An hour or so later we return to my room to discuss strategy. Dinner was plain but good, and I feel mellow after a couple of whiskeys.

  I remove my shoes with my toes and walk carefully forward, feeling my way to lie on the bed. How nice it would be if she would lie in beside me! Even on top of the covers, she could nestle into my shoulder and we could rest together.

  “What the heck will we do now?” Norah asks as she sits.

  Even though I don’t need to, I close my eyes and listen to Norah talk on about possible solutions to the dilemma of Eve’s stubbornness and paranoia.

  And I fall asleep.

  I’m woken by Norah’s screams and the uncontrollable coughing starts. Smoke. I am surrounded in thick throat-clenching air. Norah has my hand and she is pulling me towards the door, shouting, “Fire! Fire! We need to move out. Now! It’s bad!”

  Nightmares aren’t hot like my shoeless feet are. We reach the landing. Flames lap at my calves. I cannot burn again. The smell of my flesh on fire is not forgotten. The smell rises in my nostrils immediately but there’s no burning sensation anywhere. However, fear freezes me to the spot.

  “We must move on, sir! Please! Trust me.”

  The coughing is impossible to stop as Norah leads us through the darkness without hesitation. Down the stairs we fumble and falter but she never once lets go.

  Suddenly, there’s a man’s grab at my arm and I’m tossed over shoulders with an “I got you!”

  The cool air of the evening hits my feet and I’m placed on a metal garden chair.

  “You’re safe now,” a man says and then asks, “Can you see me?”

  I try to reply but the coughing takes over.

  “He’s already blind – he was damaged by shrapnel in Italy,” Norah says to my left. “I’m here, sir. I’m here. All is fine. Everyone got out.”

  “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” I asked, grabbing at the hands I know are hers and following them to her shoulders and cheeks. She seems intact and breathing calmly. I wheeze.

  Her hands holds mine to her face. “All is fine. I’m not hurt. You’re gasping though.”

  “My lungs are bad since the pneumonia in hospital.”

  “Of course. But don’t worry, it’s over now – the fire is almost out.”

  My knees tremble. I feel silly for being the one who is in need of the rug they bring. “I’m the pathetic victim in all of this.”

  “You’re not alone, Laurie. And you would laugh if you could see me. I’m mortified. You’re respectable – fully dressed as I just covered you with a quilt when you fell asleep on the bed. But I’m only in a flimsy nightdress. I didn’t even grab my dressing gown when I smelt the smoke. But, thankfully, a very handsome young fireman gave me a coat.”

  “How good of him,” I say and grit my teeth.

  Chapter 6

  Laurie Davenport

  Back in Davenport Manor, with a stethoscope to my chest, is not where I want to be.

  “In and out a few more times, Laurie, if you don’t mind,” the doctor says and I wheeze in time to his instructions. “That sounds all right now but,
dear me, you’ve had a lucky escape. And it was possible arson, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “They have some idea who set the fire?”

  “No, we don’t know. There are always religious tensions to consider and then I’m British. So we were possible targets.” Inwardly, I’ve promised myself for the fiftieth time that I will not be going back to Northern Ireland anytime soon. “Thankfully, the lady of the house was alerted by Norah and not caught up in the blaze.”

  “And it wasn’t a cooker or stove? Could it have something to do with the owners? Could they have upset someone?” he asks.

  “Possibly.” I am lying. Norah and I presume it was to kill us in our rooms.

  “If you’ve been across the sea, then I needn’t ask if you are going out more often? This summer sunshine will also brighten the days.” I hear him move the hanger which holds my uniform. “But why go to Armagh of all places? Is Northern Ireland not a dangerous part of the world with all those Irish rebels and whatnot? Or did you have a personal reason for taking Miss Walsh to the guesthouse?”

  I ignore his tone and answer him back curtly, “It was not for pleasure. It was a private matter but I can assure you that it was not for pleasure at all.”

  “I see,” he murmurs.

  “I’m glad one of us does,” I reply.

  “I’m sorry. You’ll need to take it easy for a few days.”

  Then he goes through a list of instructions for me and my medications.

  “Miss Walsh is in fine health too. There’s no sign of any injury.”

  “Good, that’s the best news!”

  “She’s a fine woman,” the doctor says, clasping his bag shut. “You are both lucky to be alive.”

  “Indeed. She’s also very brave. She saved my life.”

  “The world is full of heroes,” he replies, “but it’s not often a woman gets to be one.”

  If I wasn’t so angry at the world, I might agree with him that it is indeed a good thing to have a woman rescue a man. But the thought sinks me into a hole of resentment. I never wanted to be hero, until it was impossible to ever be one. I don’t like being rescued over and over again.

  “Our boys are turning this war around,” he goes on. “News reels in the cinema are bringing us all a little hope that things will change soon. I’m sure that the reports of those missing or killed must be hard on you – but we must soldier on as they say, eh?”

  “Yes.”

  I wish he’d shut up and leave but it seems he is assessing my state of mind. Why is it that I fear he’ll be reporting everything to Norah or Freddie? I listen to him pull on a coat or jacket and decide that I can be polite for a few more arduous seconds.

  “I hope that this won’t bring back those nightmares?” he asks on his way to the door. “You’ve been improving so much. I think Miss Walsh is doing you a world of good.”

  “Miss Walsh is just here until I get back on my feet.”

  “Very good, Mr Davenport,” he says from near the door. “I’ll leave you now and please follow all of my instructions to the letter and all will be fine. Goodbye.”

  The door closes and I breathe out, lowering my hunched, tense shoulders. Thankfully Norah is unharmed and we’re home safe and sound. That’s all the matters right now.

  The ring of the telephone shrills downstairs and I just know it is Freddie. I get up and count my steps towards the door. Opening it, I cross the landing to the top of the stairs. My home is as my parents decorated it when they themselves got married. I’m sure there are repairs to be done. The floors possibly need new carpets and the walls must require a lick of paint, but thankfully I cannot see it. There’s a window open somewhere as there’s a nice wash of fresh air on the landing. Norah is on the telephone at the bottom of the stairs in the main hallway.

  She is listening, making short responses that don’t reveal what she is being told – by Freddie, I presume.

  “Yes,” I hear her say at last. “Yes, of course. I’ll let Laurie know.”

  A further long silence.

  Then she says, “That’s terrible!”

  She does more listening.

  “A knife! Stabbed? How is that possible in a prison? Did Eve say who attacked her? No?”

  Another pause.

  Then, “You want her taken to where, did you say, sir?”

  Silence again as she listens.

  “Yes. It was definitely arson, sir. It looks like someone wants us stopped. Yes. Awful, sir. He’s doing fine, thank God. The doctor has just left. But now I have to tell him all that. Most disturbing.”

  A silence.

  Then, “Of course we need to be extra careful. I’ll insist on it. Yes. The Home Guard might do a night-time patrol. I’ll talk with them.” A pause. “Oh, right. Yes. Yes. If you think that’s necessary. Thank you, sir. Goodbye, sir.”

  The receiver clunks into place.

  “Can you help me come down? I’m still a little shaky!” I call. I can manage the stairs but I want Norah close to me and any excuse will do.

  I hear her climb towards me. Then there’s a waft of her scent and the feel of her hand on mine. I link into her arm and purposely nestle in closer. If she senses it she doesn’t flinch and we descend the stairs in silence. We are almost dancing as we cross the hall and enter the warm drawing room. She guides me to the chair next to the double doors that lead out into the garden. She helps me sit into my favourite chair which faces into the sunshine.

  “That was the General. You heard?” she says.

  “Yes. What has happened to Eve?”

  “A knife attack. I don’t know the full details. But she’s been taken to the jail’s infirmary and Fredrick’s arranging to have her brought to England. He says it will take a while to get permission to do that. Eve will be happy though. This is what she wanted all along. She wanted out of that place and, according to Fredrick, she only has a few nasty scratches. Nothing fatal. She’s like a cat with nine lives. She won’t say who attacked her. Happened on the night of the fire. A clear message for us to stop with this investigation. Don’t you think so?”

  “Definitely. Someone want us to stop what we’re doing and they want Eve silenced.”

  “And the General is sending men to look over the garden and the house. To assess if we need protection. Before you give out, you have responsibilities to the staff.” Norah thinks she will have to convince me that we need protection but I wouldn’t risk her life again. “It will only be for a short time. I’ll ask the Home Guard to check on us occasionally.”

  “That’s fine.”

  She seems shocked that I agree for she breathes deeply and then resumes her news. “Fredrick has insisted that Eve writes down all she knows. He has promised that they will be ‘for your eyes only’. Typical Fredrick! Doesn’t think about what he’s saying. And she has to realise I’ll have to read them for you. Or perhaps she thinks Fredrick will? Anyhow, there will be letters coming from her soon. He says that he’ll send over them over as she writes them, on the promise that she will stay in the prison hospital and then be moved to safety. In time she’ll probably be brought over here to Fredrick’s base at Thistleforth House. I’ll read the letters to you and, when she gets to Thistleforth or wherever she may be, we can question her then.”

  “Well, we’re certainly not going back to Armagh! So, that’ll have to do.”

  There’s a pause. I sense she is hesitating.

  “I’m afraid that I may have more bad news for you,” she says. “I’ve sent for some tea.”

  “That’s not it, I hope? Is tea bad news? When was tea ever a nasty thing in England?” I mock, trying to assess where exactly she is standing. I wish to find her shadow and look at it.

  “No, silly. I’m trying to tell you some more worrying news. I’m sorry to say ... Mrs Davenport is also missing. Her car was found abandoned on some waste ground on the outskirts of London. The lights were on and the engine left running. Her handbag was on the front seat. I’m sorry, Laurie. It doesn’t lo
ok good.”

  I hold my breath and search for an emotion. “Charlotte? Gone? Are they sure?”

  “Very. She was seen driving away in that vehicle twenty minutes before. She’s not been back to her hotel and her acquaintance has not seen her since.”

  “A man, you mean? This acquaintance? Her new lover? He’s not seen her in how long?”

  “She went missing late on Friday, June 30th. The day we went to Ireland. Three days ago now. Not a dicky-bird from her since.”

  “Why didn’t Freddie tell me when it happened?”

  “He thought you might want to come rushing back and they had spent time and effort getting us to Northern Ireland. You won’t be allowed anywhere near that case, Laurie. And what could we have done anyway?”

  “I suppose you’re right. Do you think these women we are finding out about took Charlotte? This Murdering Wives Club? Did they take my wife?” I’m thinking aloud.

  “It seems they might have heard about us meeting Eve. Or, this might not be connected in the slightest. Mrs Davenport could have annoyed the wrong people. She has been gambling heavily.”

  “Ah. I’ve known about her addictions for quite some time. But she never came to me for money. I thought she must be quite accomplished at it. Perhaps her other men furnish her with cash and gifts?” I shudder at my indiscretion. A husband shouldn’t even think such things about his wife. Since returning home from the war, tears can come easily but they don’t appear now. “Isn’t it odd? I don’t know how I feel. I cannot cry or worry any more about her. It seems that I have reached my limit.”