Rennie Airth_John Madden 03 Page 7

  her arm. 'You are needed in the fields,’ the poster proclaimed,

  but made no mention of the work involved; of the grinding

  physical effort farm labour demanded, the backbreaking toil

  from dawn till dusk. The young woman in question had

  lasted less than two months before wilting under the strain

  and being shipped back to London. Thereafter, Madden had

  managed with the labour he had until the demands of the

  dairy, which fell more and more on May, had obliged him to

  look for outside help once more.

  May’s evident fondness for Rosa had been echoed later by

  her husband, George, when Madden and Sinclair found him

  in the tack room off the stable yard.

  'She never said much, not even to us, but she had a sweet

  nature,’ Burrows told them. He’d been busy repairing a

  broken harness: winter was a time for make and mend on the

  farm. 'Just ask our Tommy. She used to help him with his

  homework, though it wasn’t part of her job. But she liked

  kids, you could tell. She was going to be a teacher one day,

  she said. Tom was in tears when he heard what had happened

  to her.’

  Though not expected to appear that day – it was Sunday the

  two farmhands Madden employed, a pair of middle-aged

  brothers named Thorp, had walked over from the cottage they shared a mile away to ask whether the grim news they

  had heard from other sources was true. And each, it turned

  out, had his own special memory of the young girl and the

  brief time she had spent among them.

  'She were a worker, that one,’ Fred Thorp, the older of

  the two, wistfully recalled when they came upon the two

  brothers drinking tea with May and her daughter in the

  farmhouse kitchen. 'You never had to go looking for her.

  After she’d finished with the cows she’d be there asking what

  she could do next. Once I caught her muck-knocking

  He chuckled. 'It were pouring rain and we’d all given up for

  the day, but then I spotted her down there -’ he gestured

  in the direction of the fields – 'still at it, soaked to the skin.

  So I told her, “Now you stop that”, and I made her come in

  with me. Took her by the hand, I did, thought I might have

  to drag her, she was that set on staying.’

  His younger brother Seth had a more personal souvenir

  which he proudly showed to Madden and his guest.

  'She made this shirt for me, Rosa did.’ He’d patted the

  well-ironed garment he was wearing under his patched tweed

  jacket. 'And another like it from a piece of material I had off

  our cousin Mabel when she went to Australia before the

  war. I’d never known what to do with it till Rosa said to

  leave it with her. It’s a crying shame, sir. I hope you catch

  that bastard soon. Hanging’s too good for him.’

  The subject of Rosa’s skill as a seamstress had come up

  again when the chief inspector examined the girl’s belongings

  in what had been her bedroom. With Madden at his elbow,

  Sinclair had gone quickly through her clothes, few in number,

  but including one of the two embroidered silk blouses Helen

  had told him about and which he remarked on to his host.

  'Oh, she could do wonders with a needle and thread.’

  Overhearing his remark, May commented from the doorway

  where she was waiting for them to complete their business.

  'There was also that coat she made for herself, Mr Madden,

  do you remember? She was wearing it the day she went to

  London.’

  Helen, too, had recalled the garment when she arrived at

  the farm later to collect the chief inspector, having spent the

  morning visiting patients in the area who for one reason or

  another were unable to get to her surgery during the week.

  'It was an old coat of Rob’s which he’d discarded,’ she

  told him, referring to their son, who was a naval lieutenant.

  “I was amazed when I took her to the station that day. She’d

  made a hood from some of the material left over after she’d

  shortened it. And not only that, she’d changed the whole cut.

  I hardly recognized it.’

  With his precious weekend all but over, Sinclair had taken

  his leave then of Madden, who was committed to driving the

  tractor he’d been using for the past fortnight over to a

  neighbouring farm which had an urgent need for it.

  'We’re all sharing machinery now,’ he’d remarked. 'And

  everyone’s behind with the autumn ploughing as a result. But

  ours is done, thank God. We’ll have a chance to catch our

  breath. Winter’s usually a quiet time.’

  The chief inspector had long ceased to wonder at the ease

  with which his old partner had been able to turn his back on

  the profession where he had found such distinction and settle

  into the life of a farmer. A countryman by birth, it had

  needed only the accident of his meeting with Helen and their

  subsequent decision to marry to provide the impulse necessary

  to return to his roots. But that morning Sinclair had

  sensed a change in the other man, an uncharacteristic tension

  in his manner, which had shown itself during a stroll they

  had taken in the garden together after breakfast.

  Professing a wish to examine what damage had been done

  by the recent wind to his fruit trees, Madden had led the way

  down the long lawn in front of the house to the orchard that

  bordered a stream at the bottom of the garden. Beyond

  the brook lay a wooded ridge called Upton Hanger, which

  in summer glowed deep green but whose great oaks and

  beeches, stripped of their leaves, stood stark as skeletons in

  the leaden morning light.

  'She worked mainly with the cows, you know, Angus.’

  Madden had spoken without preamble, taking the chief

  inspector by surprise. His attention had seemed to be fixed

  on the broken branch of a plum tree which he’d picked up

  from the ground and was examining. 'She had a gift for it. I’d

  hear her talking to them while she was milking. In Polish,

  I imagine. She called them by their names. I think she was

  happy here. Or less unhappy. I’ll have to find someone local

  to take her place. May needs help in the dairy, but I can’t

  face asking for another land girl. Not till this is settled.’

  He had looked at Sinclair then.

  'You will keep me informed, won’t you, Angus?’

  Though spoken in a quiet tone, the demand had brooked

  no refusal, and the chief inspector had been swift to reassure

  his friend. But he’d been struck as much by the depth of

  feeling evident in Madden’s voice as by the look in his eye,

  which had seemed to reflect a stronger emotion; one, though,

  he was not used to seeing there: a cold, controlled anger.

  'John’s furious, though he tries not to show it,’ Helen told

  him later that day when they were driving to the station.

  'He never thought of Rosa as an employee. He saw the sadness

  in her from the first. The grieving. To him she was

  someone who needed help and comfort, as much a casualty

  of war as any wounded
soldier. And now she’s gone and

  there’s nothing he can do about it.’

  They had continued in silence for a few moments. Then

  she had spoken again:

  'And something else. It’s reawakened an old pain in him.

  Not that he’s said so in so many words, but I can tell. The

  daughter he lost . . . you remember that?’

  She was referring to an episode in Madden’s life before

  he’d met her, an earlier marriage, which had ended in tragedy.

  A young detective at the time, he and his wife had had a

  daughter, but soon after her birth, the two of them had

  contracted influenza and died. Madden had witnessed the last

  hours of his child as she struggled for life, and the experience

  had left a wound in him which only the love he’d found later

  with Helen and the life they had made together had healed.

  Or so the chief inspector had always believed.

  'He dreamed of her the other night for the first time in

  years and he wondered why. I think it’s because of what

  happened to poor Rosa. She was in his care, you see. But he

  couldn’t protect her.’

  Her words had remained in Sinclair’s mind until they

  reached the station, where, having elected to return to

  London on an earlier train than he might have rather than

  risk being delayed until all hours by the uncertainties of the

  rail schedule, he had discovered with little surprise that the

  early train was no longer early; that at the very least it would

  be an hour late. Preferring the company of his hostess to the

  cramped squalor of the waiting room, he had returned with

  her to the churchyard where he sat now, with his coat

  buttoned up over a thick scarf and his hat pulled down low

  against the persistent cold, watching while she attended to

  her self-imposed task.

  'Poor Angus. It’s been a miserable weekend for you. We

  haven’t had a chance to talk about other things. For instance,

  I wanted to hear about your lunch with Lucy. Did you really

  invite her to the Savoy? That sounds far too grand for her.’

  Busy raking the scattered leaves into a heap, Helen glanced

  up, smiling.

  “I was the one who felt privileged.’ The chief inspector

  grinned in response. Childless himself – and a widower he

  had observed the Maddens’ golden-haired daughter with

  fascination over the years, watching her grow from a strong

  willed child, and via a stormy adolescence, into a beauty cast

  in the image of her mother. 'Not to say envied. She turned

  every man’s head in the room.’

  'If you think to please me by saying that you’re making a

  grave mistake.’ Helen’s attempt at severity, contrived as it

  was, had little effect on her auditor. Sinclair’s grin merely

  widened. 'Turning men’s heads seems to be my daughter’s

  sole ambition. And her only achievement to date. And no

  matter what she claims, I can’t believe she’s contributing to

  the war effort.’

  On leaving school, and despite the opposition of her

  mother, who had wanted her to try for university, Lucy

  Madden had enlisted in the WRNS, a move which had

  enabled her not only to slip the parental leash, but to obtain

  a posting in London, much to the disapproval of Helen, who

  thought her daughter too young at eighteen for such an

  adventure.

  'How she’s managed to get herself assigned to the Admiralty

  is beyond me. She can’t be remotely qualified for any

  sort of position there.’

  It had been on the tip of the chief inspector’s tongue when

  Helen had said this to him some months ago to point out

  that Lucy’s qualifications were all too obvious and that men

  of rank, none of them spring chickens any longer, liked

  nothing better than to have youth and beauty in close proximity,

  the better to burnish the image they had of themselves.

  'And any idea of Aunt Maud being a suitable chaperone is

  quite unrealistic. Poor dear, I doubt she knows what time of

  day it is, never mind what hour Lucy gets in at night. She may have survived the Blitz, but whether she can cope with

  the presence of my daughter under her roof remains to be

  seen.’

  The lady in question, a spinster now in her nineties, lived

  in St John’s Wood, and Lucy had lodged with her since

  moving to London.

  'Still, at least I’ll get a chance to talk to her when we go

  up,’ Helen said, returning to her job of raking the leaves.

  'And Lucy, too, if I’m lucky, though she’ll probably claim

  that some crisis on the high seas requires her to be at her

  desk. If she has such a thing. It’s a ploy she’s discovered to

  avoid being interrogated, one she knows I can’t get round. At

  least I used to know the mischief she was getting up to. Now

  I haven’t the least idea, and I don’t know which is worse.’

  Unable to keep a straight face any longer, she began to

  laugh. But the change of mood was fleeting, and after a few

  moments her expression grew serious again.

  “I didn’t mention it earlier, Angus, but I rang Mrs Laski

  yesterday evening to tell her how shocked we were. I’ll talk

  to her again when I see her at the funeral. I want her to know

  at least that we cared for Rosa. That we feel the loss of her.’

  Unhappy with her thoughts, she stirred the mound of

  dead leaves with her rake.

  'It’s so wrong,’ she burst out.

  'Wrong?’

  'Unfair, I mean. Undeserved. Without cause or reason.

  We’ve been living for years with death all around us. Violent

  death. First the Blitz and now these dreadful flying bombs.

  The knowledge that anyone might be killed at any moment.

  People we love . . . our children.’

  Biting her lip, she looked away, and the chief inspector

  understood what it was she dared not say. A year had passed

  since the Maddens’ son Robert had been posted to a destroyer

  assigned to the perilous Murmansk convoys. Out of touch

  for weeks on end, his long absences – and the silence that

  inevitably accompanied them – were a source of anguished

  concern to his parents.

  'But this is different, somehow. It’s got no connection to

  anything, not even the war. All poor Rosa did was go up to

  London to see her aunt. Don’t you see – it makes a mockery

  of death?’

  She turned and found the chief inspector’s sympathetic

  gaze on her.

  'It’s meaningless. That’s what I’m saying. All those others,

  her family, her people. Dead, all of them. And now her own

  life lost for nothing.’

  Turning the collar of his coat up against the driving

  sleet, Billy glanced at Madden, who like him was standing

  with his hands plunged in his coat pockets and the brim

  of his hat pulled down as protection against the tiny flecks of

  ice swirling about in the air around them. There were questions

  he wanted to put to his old chief, but now was not the

  moment.

  Instead, he looked about him with curiosity. It was the

 
first time he’d been in a Jewish cemetery and he was struck

  by how different it was from a Christian churchyard, how

  bare of decoration and adornment. Stretched out before his

  eyes were row upon row of flat, closely packed graves with

  hardly a headstone among them. Nor was any relief to be

  found in the gravelled pathways lacking any bordering tree

  or flower to soften their stony lines. Here the bleak reality of

  death was undisguised.

  'Not much of a turn-out, is there, sir?’

  He nodded towards the small group of mourners, most of

  them elderly women, who had gathered around the freshly

  dug grave at the end of one of the rows some distance from

  where they were standing. The sudden icy squall had driven

  them to seek warmth together and they stood huddled under

  their umbrellas with bowed heads like sheep caught in a

  blizzard.

  “I doubt Rosa had many close friends,’ Madden murmured.

  For some minutes he’d been standing with his eyes

  fixed on the ground before them, lost in thought. 'It was part

  of her sadness, the solitude she’d chosen.’

  'No young man, either,’ Billy remarked. 'Not that we

  were expecting one.’

  Again he was tempted to probe Madden’s mind, to ask

  him to enlarge on something he had said earlier, before they

  had reached the cemetery, but mindful of the occasion he

  kept his impatience in check, and instead glanced over his

  shoulder at a small brick shelter near the gates of the cemetery,

  hoping to see some sign of life within.

  'I wish that rabbi would come,’ he muttered. 'The sooner

  we get the old lady home, the better.’

  Earlier, having met the Maddens at Waterloo station and

  driven them up to Bloomsbury to collect Rosa Nowak’s aunt,

  Billy had been shocked to discover how frail the stricken

  woman appeared to be; how distraught at the loss of her

  niece. He had gone upstairs himself to knock on the door of

  the first-floor flat, and to give Mrs Laski the two suitcases

  containing Rosa’s belongings which Madden and Helen had

  brought with them from Highfield. Though familiar with

  the statements she had made to the Bow Street CID, it

  was the first time they had met, and Billy’s first reaction on

  seeing her had been to wonder whether she would be equal

  to the ordeal ahead of her. White-haired, thin to the point

  of emaciation, and with trembling hands, she had wandered