The Murdering Wives Club Page 9

  His thinning hair showed that his scalp was blueish and he was lying at a strange angle on the stairs. Some of him was on the last few steps and his head and shoulders were on the hard tiles which were streaked with blood.

  “John!”

  He didn’t reply. I could not see his eyes from where I was. I should have walked around him and seen if they were open. But I couldn’t move.

  “Dear God! John, answer me, please!”

  He had fallen. Hit his head.

  Dear Lord, let him be dead. “John? Answer me!”

  I didn’t want him to answer and I murmured prayers. “Please don’t answer me, John. Yes, I was bad woman.” I hoped that he had stopped breathing.

  I didn’t touch him. I should have tried to rouse him, but he might have stirred and come back and then what would I have done? No, it was better the way he was. What made him fall? Who made him fall …?

  I ran back up the hall and out the side door. I raced as quickly as I could up to the main road. The phone box was a long way down that road. It was empty. I dialled for an ambulance and then found myself circling each number for John’s work with my finger and found my panting eased while I waited on someone to answer.

  “Hullo!Help me, please. It’s John, my husband John. He’s fallen – he’s at the foot of the stairs. I was at a neighbour’s. He’s at home. I don’t know what ... Please send someone quickly. Yes. Sergeant John Good, Number 5, Newburn Crescent, Newburn. My darling John! Please hurry. Please send help. I can’t move him. Please come now!”

  I was impressed with myself when I slammed down the receiver. I didn’t let them ask me questions. I sounded very upset. Didn’t I sound distraught? I was distressed and in shock. I didn’t know what the hell had happened to John. I wasn’t even sure if he was really dead or if it was just wishful thinking.

  Did wishing it make it happen? Was it a lucky coincidence or something else? No one other than the women in Ravenscairn knew about my plans. Could they have done it? Would they? My mind was muddled.

  I looked up at the trees moving at the side of our house and realised that I had nothing to get away with. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t toss John down the stairs. It was an accident. I merely came home to find him in this state. I had nothing to fear. It was a tragic accident plain and simple.

  Inside, I peered through the bannisters at his slumped body. I couldn’t see his face well, nor did I want to, but I could tell that his body was lifeless. He was dead. There was no question about that. Sergeant John Good was gone and I knew nothing at all about it. The mirror near the side door showed me that I was smiling. I practised crying and waited to hear his colleagues coming to save him.

  They all came rushing in.

  “Dear Lord, I’m afraid that you might be too late,” I sob. “My darling John! Poor darling John!”

  There were many men in the house. They gave me some whiskey and one of them brought a woman in, possibly a police secretary, to sit with me in the parlour.

  “John’s a good man,” she said.

  I wondered if he had bedded her. She seemed very concerned about him.

  I shivered despite the heat of the whiskey.

  “Mrs Good?”

  A man I recognised as Constable Irvine stepped into the room.

  “I’m sorry. I’m afraid the doctor says that he’s definitely gone,” he said.

  But before he was finished I sobbed and aimed to keep crying.

  Irvine went on in a measured calm way that sent a fear through me. “We can tell that his heel caught in the carpet and he lost his footing. There was nothing to be done for him. We are very sorry for your loss.”

  I groaned a bit. Uncertain suddenly of how grief-stricken a loving wife should be. Tears formed in fear and I was glad of them. I wiped my cheeks and chanced a look at the uniformed man with the large greying moustache and the probing eyes.

  “They asked me to speak with you as we’ve met before. We’re taking him away. We’ve done all we can here, I’m afraid, and now it is a case of us helping you as much as we can.”

  “I have no one other than John. No one.”

  “Yes,” Irvine said with sorrow.

  I was a good actress because I even began to feel sorry for myself.

  “How can I manage without him?” I sobbed.

  Nobody said anything. I sniffed.

  “He did worry about you,” the woman said. “John was a good man. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  That made me glare at her.

  “Apparently John told his colleagues that he wanted you to see a doctor,” Irving said, coming closer. “That’s why he was home early – he said he had made an appointment for you. So, you must try to focus on staying well.”

  I stayed silent. I thought it was an odd statement as I always had refused to see any of John’s mind-men. Irvine reminded me of a bad smell in a small space.

  “We’ll all miss him,” he continued, glancing around the room.

  “Yes,” said the woman.

  “Would you like to see him?” Irvine asked in that toneless way.

  I disliked his moustache too.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “We cannot leave you alone,” said the woman. “Is there anywhere we could take you?”

  “I’ll go to stay with Marjorie on the corner. I look after her now and again.”

  “She’s been out to the road to see what’s happening. A kind old soul.”

  “Caring for her will keep me busy.”

  “But don’t let her annoy you with talk of intruders.”

  “Intruders?” I asked and I didn’t have to pretend to be startled – I was.

  “She’s saying that perhaps John didn’t fall –”

  I gasped and he stopped.

  “Don’t worry,” Irvine said. “None of us like to think it can all end with no explanation. Even a woman her age doesn’t like to think of ... the end.” He rubbed down his moustache with his thumb and forefinger. “We can help you with the arrangements. Anything you need. We look after our own.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What about his family?”

  “Like me, he was mostly alone. He has a sister somewhere in England. I’ll try to contact her.”

  “John mentioned that you were worried about the future?”

  “Me? Was I?” I was starting to come out of myself a bit more.

  “You’re a fine woman, Mrs Good. Once our men are done in the hall I’ll take you over to Marjorie’s.”

  “Aren’t they finished yet? That carpet should have been changed long ago ... I’ve got caught on those threads many times.”

  “Don’t distress yourself now, Mrs Good. You’re not at fault here. This is just one of life’s horrible tragedies.”

  I moaned a little and he patted my hand awkwardly. I was uncomfortable with him near me. “Will I ever be able to get my heart to stop pounding like this?” I asked him. “Will this all be a horrid dream in the morning? I’ll never get over this. Never. My darling John is gone for good. Gone for good.” I hid my face in a cushion and my shoulders shook.

  The cushion hid my grin. I was a monster, an evil woman.

  But the wonder of it was – I did not kill John Good.

  Chapter 16

  Laurie Davenport

  “Irvine. Is he in your files?” I snap at Norah the moment she’s finished reading.

  “Yes,” Norah sighs. “I did research who was involved in Eve’s case at the start of all of this and I tried to contact him. But I’m afraid that he’s not available to question. He enlisted and has been reported missing in action. Many of the men who were involved in this initial investigation are no longer with us. We are thwarted at every turn.”

  “Tim Harbour. Any joy locating him?”

  “Not yet. I’d say the lad would be long gone by now. This all happened many years ago. He might have emigrated or be lost in the war too. We cannot find him.”

  “Tilly? Her cousin?” I try next.

  �
��She knows very little more. I finally got her to a telephone yesterday while you had your nap and I got her to speak to me. But the poor woman had a breakdown following Eve’s trial. I had to tread very carefully. All she knew about the murder of her husband Frank is in the files. Gruesome stuff which I won’t read to you unless I have to. Tilly did tell us how women contact the Sinful Roses though. Their reputation spreads by word of mouth, of course – but actual contact is made through a newspaper advertisement.”

  “A what?” I ask, pulling myself to stand and pace about. “They advertise? In what paper?”

  “Apparently it is in select women’s magazines and national papers. It is a simple mention of Ravenscairn House being open to appointments. I haven’t noticed them myself. She says the ads alert women to the opening of a ‘Ravenscairn location’ that then is open for a few months. These locations can be anywhere. It seems the only fixed location is Lydia’s home, Ravenscairn House. Of course, as Eve knew the actual house she didn’t have to wait for an advertisement – she wrote to the house directly. Women have to write to the address given, stating their name, address and that they wish to be a Sinful Rose. It is understood that they will be investigated discreetly and so the women must wait on a reply which gives them an appointment.”

  “And it is sitting there in papers and magazines?” I ask, bewildered by such a blatant business. “My good God!”

  “We’ll have to see if one is advertised close by,” Norah says from where she is sitting on the creaking couch. “If we find such a place, we might go take a look at it. I should drive us, you know. We could ask Giles to take out your car?”

  It hasn’t occurred to me that Norah can drive. I forget that she’s a capable woman.

  “I’m not sure that I would let even you drive my Crossley. Charlotte was keen to get behind the wheel but I was having none of that. Women are not good drivers.”

  “Hiring cars is expensive. When there’s one sitting at the manor it seems silly that I’m not allowed to drive it,” Norah says, sounding determined.

  I can hear that she doesn’t like me mentioning Charlotte and I go to sit on the couch too.

  “I need talk to you about a few other things.” I search for her hand.

  She doesn’t give it to me, and I smooth mine over the soft seat instead.

  “There’s no need to bring up that kiss,” she replies. “We have work to do. Is it about work?”

  Everything in me that was hopeful curls into a ball and silently crushes itself. She regrets the kiss. She doesn’t want it to happen again. Norah doesn’t want me. My temples ache, my heart sinks and I think instantly of morphine.

  “Let’s discuss the case instead,” she says confidently.

  “I think one of us should telephone Lady Dornan,” I say, heartbroken that Norah is cross about our glorious kiss. “We should arrange a visit to London to meet with her if she hasn’t moved permanently to County Down to be away from this blessed war.”

  “I’m glad that you finally think that she may be Charlotte’s contact. I’ve thought for quite some time that she’s a person of interest. I’ve asked the General to look into her past.”

  “Have you now? You and Freddie have long conversations when I’m not about? How cosy – you and Freddie!” I say childishly.

  “You think I do nothing all day?” she snaps. “I know you do! You men seem to think that women are incapable of thinking and achieving. I work hard while you snooze upstairs or sit about in here feeling sorry for yourself!”

  The truth of that hits close to the bone but I refuse to agree with her. How dare she think I’m wallowing in self-pity! She has no idea of all that I’ve endured – or all that I worry about. Not a clue!

  My temper rises to meet hers. “I do hear you constantly on the telephone. Is that what you call work?”

  I can feel the resentment rising within me that she wants to forget our kiss. It makes me angry that she wants to reject me and something that was so nice. It was she who kissed me! She gave me hope. And now she’s angry and nasty. It’s cruel of her.

  “I’ve put a great deal of thought into this case for you, you know,” she says. “Even though I think it’s all a load of rubbish, I’m here because of you.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it! It’s more likely that you’re trying to please Freddie. You’re probably sweet-talking him for more perfume! Yes, that’s what I think you’re doing!” How I came up with something so jealous-sounding and silly I’m not sure but it doesn’t stop me folding my arms and scowling. I’m angry with her.

  Norah is furious too. “Despite listening to that Eve woman’s words for hours, you think that we women are all worried about things like nylons and lipstick!” she says, rising from the couch with a dramatic flounce. “There are women fighting and working hard in this war and men choose to turn a blind eye to it.”

  I hear her sit down again. There is a pause.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry to use that phrase. It came out. But women are doing everything a man does to fight and survive for the good of mankind. Why do you still think we’re not capable of evil deeds too? We are capable of doing whatever we put our minds to.”

  “I hear you,” I say quietly, thinking that I’d rather be kissing her than having this conversation. “I know that you’re a very capable young woman but I must say that you sound like one of those fervent agitators.”

  “And so what if I do?” Norah asks.

  “Let’s talk about this later,” I say, searching again for her hand. I want to hold it. But I find her knee. I squeeze it and she moves away. Oh dear. I have alienated Norah. “Shall you or I telephone Lady Dornan?”

  “You do it!” she snaps.

  “Can you dial the number for me later?”

  “We’ll have to teach you the way to do it for yourself. And let you practise.”

  I scratch into my hairline and say, “Good idea.”

  “Do you believe Eve?” Norah asks, sounding mellower. “Do you believe her that John fell?”

  “Do you?” I ask for I’m not certain what she wishes me to say and I don’t want to annoy her further. “I’m almost afraid to give my opinion.”

  “What a silly thing to say! I’m not that much of a cow.”

  I think on that for a time and then say, “I don’t believe her. She wanted him out of her life and she killed others. I’m curious to know how she’s going to explain all her other crimes away.”

  “She makes out that the women almost forced her into an impossible string of events. As if all of her wrongdoings are their fault. It beggars belief!”

  “It all does.”

  “Eve wants us to think that she went on a whim and got embroiled in a mess,” Norah says. “What nonsense! I’m almost feeling sorry for the Sinful Roses. It sounds like they are there for the good of oppressed women and this Eve has ruined things for them.”

  “Oppressed women?” I ask gingerly, hoping I don’t get attacked for querying her logic. “You think that these Roses have a moral compass?”

  “It sounds like they were set up with the intention of freeing women from the tyranny of their husbands. They do nothing wrong themselves other than discuss crimes. We could have a hard job proving that these women are actual criminals.”

  I sit open-mouthed.

  “Their ethos is to support vulnerable women and this Eve has ridden roughshod over everything and spoiled things,” she says. “They knew she was a loose cannon. This Alice woman was right. I’m angry for the Sinful Roses. I know, I know, I know that’s wrong. But there are many malicious men out there who are brutes to their lovely wives. I can understand why there is a need for such support. I can see why women engage with the process.”

  “Sweet Lord!”

  “There will always be those who break the rules but Eve was, and is, a total liability. They needed to stamp Eve out. I can see why. She’s a vile bitch!”

  “Let me get my ducks in a row here. You’re saying that you believe that the Rose
s are upstanding women? With a worthy cause? Do you think that they’re righteous people? These are criminals who tried to kill us and have kidnapped or murdered my wife!”

  Norah replies slowly, “We don’t know that’s the case yet. Your wife is known for running off for no reason other than she likes the drama and worry it causes. These other women might only have threatened Eve. I don’t trust or believe Eve Good. She could have easily harmed herself when she was cornered and now she aims to blame the Roses so that she is considered interesting.”

  “That’s plausible, I suppose. Well done – you’ve thought of a new angle to this.”

  As soon as I say it, I realise I’m trying to flatter her. Norah might strike out at being patronised. I hold my breath and indeed she does.

  “It’s my job, Laurie, and I’m as clever as any man,” she says coldly.

  “Oh, dear,” I mutter.

  Norah has got a bee in her bonnet and I have failed to remove it. What is a man to do with a woman who thinks that a Murdering Wives Club is a good, understandable idea? I am at a loss.

  There’s an opening of the door and the clink of teacups. Giles’ tea is welcome.

  “Is everything all right, sir?” he asks and Norah marches heavily out of the room.

  “Women are hard to fathom,” I say.

  Giles and I talk about the weather, Cook, and the grounds, before he returns to mentioning Norah.

  “She is on the phone to the General now and sounds quite animated – can you hear her, sir?” he whispers. “She’s a fiery one.”

  I can indeed hear her talking on the phone in the hall and realise the door has been left ajar.

  “Yes, I can hear it. But you think she’s a good woman, Giles? You like her? Yes? You think she’s a good egg?”

  Giles pours the tea and I wait. “We all like her, sir. But it’s not our opinion that's important. Do you think she is a good woman and do you like her?”

  I sit back in the chair and touch my scar. When I am with Norah, I am a man again. A whole man with a handsome face who is still blind but empowered. I have a purpose and a passion for livng. Is this Norah’s doing? Or my own? I credit Norah with my transformation and I am grateful to her for it. The fact she has a mind and opinions of her own are to be expected, and someday I might understand them. I want to. Charlotte was never one for debate or philosophy. I doubt she cared much about anyone, other than herself. Politics or women’s rights in the world was something that never arose. Maybe it mattered to her too but I never knew? Did I make her terribly unhappy? Is there something wrong with me? I know I promised myself to be less compliant when I returned home from Italy, but I want to please Norah. I just don’t know how to do that. I might ask Freddie what perfume she likes.