Property of a Lady

‘It’s a lot of hard work for you.’


‘I’ve got a couple of local girls in, helping,’ said Nell. ‘They’re being very good.’ She paused, then said, ‘You got the email?’

‘Yes, and I’m looking forward to hearing what else you found.’

‘Well, if you feel like coming back for a drink after we close . . . ?’

‘Seven o’clock? Can I bring some food? The Black Boar seems a bit harassed with cooking about half a dozen turkeys, and I shouldn’t think you’ll want to cook after today, will you?’

‘I hadn’t thought about it—’

‘We could order pizza,’ said Beth hopefully, and Michael laughed.

‘You sound like one of my students. Pizza it is. I’ll order for half-past seven.’

The pizzas had been consumed with enthusiasm, and Michael had solemnly viewed some drawings Beth had done of Wilberforce and said they were extraordinary like him. He would take one back for his study at Oxford, he said.

Beth went contentedly to bed, taking with her the story of Wilberforce stuck in the panelling, which Michael had related over the pizzas. Nell had scooped up the pizza boxes and taken them out to the kitchen bin, and Michael had refilled the wine glasses.

‘Nice,’ he said as she came back to the sitting room and curled into a low seat by the fire. ‘Firelight’s traditional for ghost stories, isn’t it? I read the article about William Lee. I’ve been trying to decide if he really did kill Elizabeth.’

‘Twelve good men and true thought he did.’

‘Elvira didn’t seem to believe it, though. That part about how she clung to William’s hand . . .’

‘It’s evocative, isn’t it? But you know,’ said Nell, ‘I don’t think a child would believe a thing like that about her own father. She was almost eight when he was hanged – she’d have known him very well, and she’d remember him quite clearly.’ Her eyes darkened briefly, then she said, ‘Also, most of this information is second-hand, if not third. Harriet’s journal is a memory of something told to her when she was a child.’

‘And the chaplain might have been painting purple patches,’ said Michael, thoughtfully. ‘Elvira said the murderer was still trying to find her. She said his mind had – what did she call it? – touched the black marrow of the world’s history . . . Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.’

‘She said she heard him singing as he searched for her,’ said Nell, who had shivered slightly at his words. ‘He sang that song I heard in the churchyard.’

‘Harriet heard that as well. Or,’ said Michael, ‘was Harriet simply dredging up the memory of what Elvira told her? Like Jack thinks Ellie did with Alice. Because that meeting with Elvira clearly made a deep impression on Harriet.’

‘I heard the singing as well,’ pointed out Nell. ‘Oh, but that was after I read Alice’s journal, so maybe I was doing the same thing.’ She paused to drink some more of the wine.

Michael said, ‘Have the police found any trace of the man who took Beth?’

‘No. The policewoman who stayed with me while she was missing – Lisa – phoned yesterday to check she was all right. She said they hadn’t got any leads at all. They’re putting it down to a tramp, I think. Someone who took Beth, then panicked and beat it out of the area. She was left inside the church, by the way. They found traces of hair and shreds of wool from her scarf. There were a few hairs on a kneeler – they think that had been put under her head for a pillow, and a woollen cassock thrown over her. They said she’d have been perfectly snug and warm.’

‘Who put her on that grave, though?’

‘I don’t know. Neither does Inspector Brent. Someone who wanted her to be found, maybe? I suppose,’ said Nell, ‘the tramp theory might even be the truth.’