Murder at the Maples: A Flora Lively Mystery Page 10

  ‘I had wondered about that. It doesn’t seem a very patriotic name for a club, considering what was happening in England at the time.’

  ‘Miss Lester told us how diabolically Joan of Arc – or Jeanette, as she was really called – had been treated by the English. It was more to do with her being a woman than a great general, she said. A man who fought so hard would have been an enemy, of course, but he wouldn’t have been so feared. So reviled. They couldn’t cope with the fact that she was a woman, a girl, and yet was stronger and more powerful than any man.’

  ‘Or that her armies killed thousands of English soldiers, presumably.’

  ‘Well, that too. But Miss Lester only saw things through her own personal lens.’

  Don’t we all, thought Flora. She said, ‘So your Miss Lester saw men as the enemy.’

  Joy nodded. ‘You have to appreciate this, Flora, to understand what happened next.’

  Flora said she did. She sipped her cooling coffee and told Joy to carry on with her story.

  ‘We built a kind of tree house in the lower branches of the Venus Tree – some of them were so thick you could sit two people side by side across the width. We snuck rugs out of the school, and we made a rope ladder so it was easier to climb up. There was an old wooden swing hanging off one of the branches so we knew we weren’t the first girls to use the tree. Dizzy would sit up there and tell us stories about pupils who’d come before us and all the wonderful adventures they’d had. She made it all up of course, but she told a great story. Very atmospheric. I had some wonderful times in that tree. It helped me forget everything else. My mum and dad. The horrible eczema and the itching and the pain, and the teasing from the other girls up at the school. The thought of not belonging anymore was too much to bear.’

  Now we’re getting to it, thought Flora. ‘She sounds like one of those magnetic types. Someone who can get other people to do anything.’

  ‘She was.’

  ‘What was it she wanted you to do?’

  Joy took a shaky breath, ragged on the exhale. ‘Aubrey was always asking if he could come to the tree with me. He wanted to listen to Dizzy’s stories too. So I did a terrible thing – I showed him where it was. And one day he turned up during one of our meetings. I didn’t even know he was there until we were about to go back to lessons. Frances lowered the ladder and climbed down first – she must have nearly stepped on his head. I think he’d fallen asleep, otherwise he’d surely have realised we were about to come down. Anyway, before we knew anything about it, Frances was screaming and Dizzy was sliding down the ladder and there was Aubrey, running away across the grass, Jack bounding behind him.

  ‘There was no mistaking who it was. There weren’t any other boys – or dogs – at the Grange. Dizzy and the girls guessed right away that I’d shown him our special place, and I was in so much trouble.’ Joy’s eyes clouded over. ‘They didn’t talk to me for weeks. Even Miss Lester noticed. It was horrible.’

  Flora reached for a tissue from the box on the dresser and handed it over.

  ‘It must seem silly to you, an old lady crying over what a few spiteful girls did years and years ago,’ sniffed Joy, wiping her eyes.

  ‘No, it doesn’t. Kids can be hurtful, girls especially so.’ Why, she could tell Joy plenty of stories about her own school days. Once Flora’s school mates found out she was adopted they had teased her mercilessly. One girl even made up an entire family, claiming to know for a fact that they were Flora’s real parents, and that they had abandoned her because they were rich and clever and she was the runt of the family, too small and useless to fit in.

  Oh no, Flora didn’t need to be told about spiteful schoolgirls.

  ‘So, anyway,’ Joy said, sitting back and squaring her shoulders as if for battle, ‘it came to a head three weeks before the end of term. We were all going home that summer, the war was well and truly over and our families wanted us back. I thought I would just die if no one talked to me, I was desperate to be accepted again. So when Dizzy came up with her plan, I felt I had no choice but to go along with it.’

  Joy was far away now, in another place and time. When she spoke again, her voice was almost childlike. ‘Dizzy said I had to invite Aubrey to come along to the Venus Tree. She said to tell him he could come and listen to her stories with us. He’d be pleased, I told her. He was a nice boy, not like the men Miss Lester talked about. Dizzy just grinned at me. They would make him a nice surprise, she said. There was a mine shaft near the tree, we’d known about it since the day we made our den, and we would all work together to pull the wooden boards off the top. Then we’d cover it with branches and leaves, and mark it so only we would know where it was.

  ‘I went and found Aubrey. He was in the vegetable garden with his dad. He came when I called him and his dad smiled. He was happy that day – his dad was in a good mood. He asked if Jack could come. I said yes, if he liked. I didn’t tell him anything else. He followed me into the woods and out into the clearing. I made sure we approached the tree from the right direction. The others were there already, Frances and Melody leaning against the trunk, Dizzy sitting on the wooden swing. She had this bright blonde hair, I can remember it so clearly. The sun was behind her and her hair was almost glowing. She looked like Venus herself. Aubrey couldn’t take his eyes off her. He couldn’t believe he was actually being allowed to join in. I wasn’t thinking, not really. I suppose I knew what was about to happen but I’d blocked it from my mind. I was doing what Dizzy told me. It was like a joke, just like the whisky and the umbrella. A test I had to pass. So I did what I’d been told to do. As we reached the hole I stopped and bent to tie my lace. Just like we’d planned. Aubrey and Jack walked on.’

  Joy stopped. Flora was hardly breathing.

  ‘And then?’ Flora whispered. ‘What happened then?’

  Joy looked away, her face twisted with remorse. ‘They fell in, of course. Dizzy never failed in anything she did. Her plan worked perfectly. The dog went in first, he’d been pulling ahead on his lead. And then Aubrey went in straight after him.

  ‘I heard the dog yelp – it was like nothing I’d ever heard before. Aubrey must have landed on top of it. Hopefully it died instantly.’

  Flora noticed how Joy had moved from him to it, trying to depersonalise the dog, distance herself. She couldn’t say she blamed her. But there was still more she needed to know. Although Joy was clearly wrung out, Flora couldn’t let it go just yet.

  ‘What happened to Aubrey, Joy? Did you help get him out of the shaft?’

  He couldn’t have died, not if Joy believed Aubrey and Mr Felix were one and the same. That was something, at least.

  ‘That was the worst of it, perhaps,’ Joy said, not meeting Flora’s eyes.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Joy turned her face to the light, her powdery cheeks streaked with tears. ‘I never saw him again. Nobody did. We ran, Flora. Frances, Melody and me. Even Dizzy ran. We ran away from the Venus Tree and we never went back. Even though we could hear him calling and crying all the way back to the school. We never went back.’

  ***

  Flora walked across town, heading for Shakers, trying to process her thoughts. Try as she might, she could not get them straight in her head. Images competed for attention: Otto pulling on his lead as she walked along the riverside; Mr Felix sitting on the ground beside his overturned scooter; a teenage Joy, climbing up a rope ladder to hero-worship an enigmatic girl, desperate for approval, no matter what. And the caretaker’s son, walking across a clearing, his faithful dog forging ahead, pulling like Otto, and then plunging down through sticks and leaves, down to the depths of an abandoned mine shaft, dragging its owner behind it. What a horrendous way to go. To be crushed by the one you loved the most.

  Another image, hauntingly poignant: a young boy, frightened and alone, sitting at the bottom of the shaft with his dead dog. No one answering his calls.

  But he had gotten out, Joy was sure of that. She’d told Flo
ra that the caretaker had left the school the next day. And there was no search, no fuss at all. So someone must have heard his cries and pulled him out. Him and his beloved pet.

  ‘Did you get into trouble?’ Flora had asked, but Joy shook her head.

  ‘So Aubrey didn’t tell on you? He didn’t tell them what you did?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he told them exactly what we did. His dad’s job extended to groundsman, he knew where the mine shafts were and there was plenty of evidence we’d been using that tree as a den. No, I’ve thought about this for years and my best guess is that Aubrey told his dad and his dad told the headmistress everything, and she refused to believe it. Or refused to act upon it, which is more likely. So Aubrey and his dad left. What choice did they have?’

  Flora slipped into an alley off Dogpole and headed for the castle, taking a short cut to avoid the late morning shoppers and tourists that crowded Shrewsbury’s main thoroughfares. As a child she’d known these streets so well she could navigate them in her sleep. She’d prided herself on finding the quickest ways from A to B – a skill that turned her into her dad’s favourite navigator when she started helping out at Shakers as a teenager. The town had changed so much since Flora’s childhood; these days she often challenged herself to find her way around with only her nose and her memory to guide her. The narrow side street she entered now had once been lined with metal dustbins and littered with fag ends, but the boom had seen cute boutiques open alongside cupcake shops and a tiny gift emporium. Now it was deserted again, the shop fronts blank-faced and sorry for themselves, the bustle of shoppers a distant echo.

  Her sandals clicked on the cobbles. The lane narrowed even more and took a right turn up the hill. She picked up her pace, enjoying the slight burn in her thighs. Why should she worry about learning to drive? Walking was much healthier, not to mention good for stress.

  A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she swung around just in time to see the sleeve of a dark blue jacket disappear into a narrow doorway behind her. She paused for a second, then pressed on, her heart hammering unevenly. Silly to be spooked. Something else to blame Joy for. She focused on the top of the lane, on a red door that got nearer with every step. At the top she would turn right, then skip across another alley and emerge on Castle Gate. From there it was a mere hop down to Shakers.

  But when she reached the top she was dismayed to find that her legendary bearings had deserted her. Instead of the expected alley, mapped in her mind so clearly, there was another narrow street running perpendicular to the one she’d just marched up. She couldn’t see any way to cross it directly, and from here couldn’t get a view of the orientating crenellations of the castle to guide her. On impulse, she turned right anyway. This way took her further uphill – she would head up until she reached the top, which had to be near the castle, and from there could easily find her way down again. When you’re lost, head for high ground, was what her dad had told her whenever he took her walking as a teenager.

  This street was one she almost certainly hadn’t been up before. Flora observed the various buildings she passed, telling herself how interesting it was to be somewhere new in the town she knew so well. But in truth, the silence was bothering her. Or more specifically, the footsteps she kept imagining she could hear in the silence behind her.

  There was no one there. She turned now for the tenth time, but again the cobbled street was empty. Or had she seen a flash of blue again? Just back there, next to that broken wooden gate with the lion’s head knocker. No. She shook her head firmly and pursed her lips, bending her head into the hike up the hill, determined not to look back again.

  Something touched her legs. She was wearing her cut-off shorts and a light cotton T-shirt, the fabric starting to stick to her back already. When a warm sensation swept across her calves she let out a cry and jumped to the side, flattening her palms against the rough wall behind her.

  A cat. The moggy meowed and stuck its tail high in the air.

  ‘Well, thanks a lot,’ Flora told it, panting. ‘You scared the shit out of me.’

  The cat gave her a haughty stare, then showed her its rear. Flora laughed. She’d been stalked by a cat. Nothing to be so jumpy about.

  She reached the top of the lane and saw an archway to her left. Why, she knew exactly where she was – this led around the back of the Regimental Museum and brought her out at the foot of the castle. She emerged into sunlight and the relief of a crowded street, turned right and headed down towards the station. There was a new shop down here she loved, selling vintage quilts and patchwork cushions and beautiful, intricate designs on fabric, from wall hangings to tea cosies. A framed collage of a hare caught her eye, and Flora stopped to admire it. Someone pushed past, jostling her against the plate glass, and as Flora refocused she noticed a figure across the street behind her. His face was hidden by a dark blue hood. It was impossible to tell whether or not he was looking at her, but somehow she knew he was. She whirled around, her line of vision broken every few seconds by the shoppers piling past. The moment she turned the figure hunched and moved away with the crowd. Within seconds he was gone.

  ‘Excuse me.’ A young woman with an impossibly wide buggy stood to Flora’s left, giving her a hard stare. Her words were polite but her look said, ‘Get out of the way, idiot.’ Flora apologised and walked on, dazed. Was someone following her? Maybe she hadn’t been imagining the footsteps back in the alley. She shivered involuntarily. Whatever she had or hadn’t imagined, that person in the hoodie had been real. And she could swear they had been watching her. But why?

  She reached the busy road that led to the railway arches and breathed a sigh of relief. Although she hated to admit it, she was almost looking forward to seeing Marshall. If Flora was to be any help to Joy at all, she needed to get this Mr Felix business into perspective. Marshall would reassure her that it was nothing but the guilty mind of an old lady seeing revenge where there was none, tormenting herself with her memories.

  Well, he’d probably just say it was all bullshit, but that amounted to the same thing.

  Flora turned into the entrance to the arches, flinching as a train shot over the tracks ahead. She felt a drop of rain on her face and quickened her step. She headed for Shakers, keeping close to the buildings as the rain started to fall more heavily. She heard a noise behind her and turned, still jumpy. Her foot went sideways in a pothole, pain searing up her ankle as she started to fall. But before she hit the ground her forward motion was halted by a pair of strong hands, gripping her arms above the elbows.

  Flora screamed. She couldn’t help it, her nerves were frayed to shreds. But almost as soon as the girlish sound had escaped her lips she realised that the hands gripping her upper arms had already let go. She brushed herself down, mumbling an apology. She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks. The man in front of her wore a smart grey suit, tailored to fit perfectly. His green eyes regarded her with obvious concern.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. His voice was like chocolate.

  ‘It’s cool,’ Flora replied, flicking her fringe off her forehead. ‘No probs.’

  Had she just said “no probs”? And “cool”? Oh boy. This guy was going to think she was a total idiot. An idiot trying to imitate a teenager.

  ‘It was my fault anyway,’ she added, lowering her voice which had suddenly turned unaccountably high-pitched. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

  ‘No. I noticed.’

  Flora stole another look at the stranger. Out of Marshall’s mouth that statement would have been loaded with sarcasm, but out of this guy’s it seemed completely without guile.

  ‘I thought I was being followed,’ she found herself saying. ‘I was a bit spooked.’

  ‘That’s terrible. Are you okay?’ Genuine concern clouded his eyes. He looked behind her as if he might see the culprit hovering there. From the way his shoulders strained against the expensive fabric of his suit, Flora had no doubt he’d be able to sort out her hooded s
talker in no time.

  If only this guy had turned up a bit earlier.

  A sticky reminder of her fraught trail through Shrewsbury’s back streets lingered in the shape of sweat marks on the armpits of her T-shirt. She probably stank too, after panicking and practically running up the hill like that. Plus her hair was plastered to her head now, although they were reasonably sheltered from the diminishing rain under the canopy where they stood. Facing each other. Not talking.

  Seconds passed, and Flora found herself torn. For some unaccountable reason she wanted to prolong this odd meeting. She wanted to ask him what he was doing here – where exactly had he come from, anyway? And she couldn’t help but like the way his eyes held hers, crinkling at the corners in concern. He smelt fantastic, some kind of musky aftershave or cologne. If only he’d come across her looking normal and unflustered, not sweaty and staring over her own shoulder like a paranoid simpleton.

  ‘Are you lost?’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘Did you come down here by mistake?’

  ‘No.’ She smiled. In a minute he’d be offering to escort her home.

  And maybe he’ll get down on one knee and propose. Get over yourself, Lively! Flora gave herself an internal scolding. What was she doing, standing around in the car park with a total stranger? And … oh, just great. There was Marshall, leaning against the window, staring down at them. Craning his head to get a good look.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Flora said reluctantly.

  ‘Oh. Okay. Do you need a lift anywhere?’

  She smiled. ‘No, I work just here.’

  ‘Just where?’

  ‘There.’ Flora pointed to the faded sign above the entrance to Shakers. She noticed that the ‘r’ was so faded it was almost invisible. “Shakes” the sign read. He probably thought it was some kind of fast food outlet. Or worse.