The Seaside Corpse, page 20
“It wasn’t Nina,” said Oscar. “I told you that. It happened while you were having your bonfire, before I got to the camp. Nina was there with you and Everett, right?”
“Right,” I said. “And your suggestion of Yvonne seemed pretty unlikely.”
He waited, making me say the impossible words out loud.
“What I was trying to say before, when you ducked away…” Shivers ran down my arms. “Helen told a fib about where she was that night. Arthur thought the fib was yours.” I remembered the paper passed from Cavalier Jones to Helen. “This is a guess, but I think that really she was meeting someone else in the churchyard. Not Mr. B-C. Someone her father doesn’t know about. A beau.”
“I can see how her dad might be a problem,” said Oscar. “Speaking as someone whose own father is not an easy one to live with.”
“But Helen,” I said. “Can Helen really have killed someone?”
“The trouble is,” Oscar said, “that we don’t want her to be bad. She’s friendly and kind and looks out for us.”
“Looks out for us,” I echoed. A picture of Hector’s wan face against the dead man’s pillows leapt to my mind. “Oscar!” I said. “We’ve got to go back to camp at once! Grannie Jane told Helen to watch Hector especially tonight. His minder is a murderess!”
Chapter 28
A Sordid Explanation
P.C. Guff and Arthur were on the cliff path as we neared Camp Crewe at a trot. Aided by the light of the policeman’s lantern, they were pretending to have a boxing match, as young men were inclined to do for no reason that I had ever sussed.
“Why aren’t you with Hector?” I said.
“He’s sleeping,” said Arthur. “Where’ve you two been?”
“For a walk,” said Oscar.
“You’re certain he’s asleep?” I said. That was good. Helen had no reason to attack him in his sleep, had she? I’d suggested that Oscar tell Hector the whole truth, about what he’d heard in the graveyard and why he’d been there to begin with. Hector could be relied on to use his brain cells and his heart together in such matters.
“Where’s Helen?” said Oscar.
Arthur didn’t know where Helen was. P.C. Guff was on guard, he said, in case Miss Spinns tried to come back, or some reporter tried to sneak a look at the sea dragon. P.C. Sackett was stationed on the other side, by the trail to the main road.
“Who cares about a load of silly stones?” said P.C. Guff. “The sergeant’s gone off home and left us on duty! With a murderer roaming about!” And why was P.C. Sackett suddenly famous just for owning a boat, Guff wanted to know. He hadn’t even been rowing it when the big moment came! Sackett had been interviewed by two different newspapermen already, and here was Guff standing guard on the cliff well past his teatime. How was that fair? “You’d think it’d matter more who killed the old geezer than digging up a pile of bones. And what sort of woman spends her life looking at bones anyway?”
“A murderess, that’s who,” said Arthur.
“Arthur!” I said.
“What?” said Arthur. “It was Oscar who said the killer was a woman.”
“Shut it,” said Oscar.
“And why does Oscar think that?” P.C. Guff glared at Oscar. But then he smiled. “True or not,” he said, “it’s a good enough reason to get off this cliff. I’ll go tell the sergeant a certain new claim has come to my ears, and then I’ll go home to my Bessie.” He clomped away in high spirits.
“Arthur!” I said. “How could you blab?”
“Aren’t we all trying to find the murderer?” said Arthur.
“Have you never heard of loyalty?”
“I’m being loyal,” said Arthur stubbornly.
“You’re being a rat!” I said. “We’re your friends! And so is Nina!”
“P.C. Guff is my cousin,” said Arthur. “Blood is thicker than water.”
Your head is thicker than a loaf of bread, I wanted to say.
“We do all want to catch the killer, don’t we?” said Arthur.
“Yes, we do,” I said.
“Hector,” said Oscar, nudging me.
I started to run.
* * *
Spud had carried Hector back to the boys’ tent to sleep in familiar surroundings. When we burst through the door flap, perspiring from the run, Helen was kneeling beside his cot.
“Don’t touch him!” I said. Helen’s eyes went wide. My fists went up, ready to fight for Hector’s life, Oscar right behind me.
Helen screwed up her face and blew out a hefty breath. “I been expecting something like this to happen,” she said. “But not from you.” She edged her way past us and went out, without another word.
Hector pushed himself as close to sitting as he could on his own. “What is this about?”
I left Oscar to explain and raced after Helen, heart pulsing in my throat. What did she mean, she’d been expecting this? Was “this” an accusation of murder?
She was on her cot in the tent we shared, for where else could she hide?
“Go away!” she growled.
“Helen, please, I know you wouldn’t hurt Hector, but…”
“I would never,” she whispered, “and you of all people should know that. But, like I said, I been waiting. Someone was bound to accuse me.”
I sat across from her. In silence, except for a fly whirring about. Helen chewed the cuticle on her thumb, staring at my knees.
“Were you there?” I leaned forward. “In the churchyard that night?”
“I didn’t kill him. I’m almost completely certain that I—”
“But…you pushed him?” There. Her eyes locked with mine.
She nodded. And then she vigorously shook her head no. And then the tears spilled out.
“I pushed him,” she said, sobbing the words, “but we weren’t so close to the edge. I don’t see how—it could never happen like that…”
“What did happen?” I whispered. “Why were you there at all?”
“You’re not to tell my dad, you hear?”
I nodded, hoping with all my heart that I could keep such a promise. Though how could I, if she were hanged for murder?
“I went to meet my Ned.” She spoke to the cup on the nightstand, not to me. “We hardly see each other in summer while the circus is touring so much. We meet in secret because nobody can know, see? Because of my dad.”
“Nobody except Cavalier Jones,” I said, remembering the paper that had exchanged hands.
“Excepting him,” she agreed. “He helps us sometimes. Like for Wednesday, Mr. Jones gave me a note from Ned that said Joy B, sunset, so I knew Ned would come to the cemetery after the evening show.” She squeezed her eyes shut and huffed out a big breath. “Only he weren’t there. And he never did come.”
“He was helping Oscar’s father after Mr. Jones punched him,” I said. “Ned took Mr. Osteda back to the Royal Lion.”
“I know that now,” said Helen, “but on Wednesday I waited next to the stone for Joy Brownscombe, Our Mother, At Rest, where we always meet. Things go wrong, you know? I can’t get away, or sometimes Ned can’t. We’ve agreed, we wait half an hour before giving up. Then we try again, next chance.” She pushed a damp curl from her cheek and I saw that she was perspiring.
“My hair was under my hat, of course, so he didn’t know it were me. And I didn’t hear him, with the wind picking up and the tide coming in. Then suddenly, ‘Hallo, sweetheart’—his voice out of nowhere, nearabout making my heart stop.”
“Not Ned?” I said.
“Mr. B-C! Standing right behind me. I jumped up, and his face showed I weren’t who he expected. I said hello, while inside I were cursing at being seen. I look around to warn Ned, thinking maybe he’s late because he saw a stranger and tucked himself out of sight. ‘Helen?’ says Mister. It comes out ‘Helllllen?’ And I think, Oi, he’s drunk. I say, ‘Who were you expecting?’ ”
Helen reached for the cup and took a sip of water, making a face.
“Ugh,” she said. “That’s been there a while.”
Keep telling, I thought. What happened next?
“He says, ‘Never you mind who, and what about you? Alone in a graveyard at nightfall,’ he says. ‘You’re up to no good, am I right?’ ‘No!’ I say, raising my voice, in case Ned is close enough to hear and stay hid. ‘No! That’s not true!’ Only he’s getting stroppy now. ‘I always thought you were a good girl,’ he says, ‘but you’re every bit as sneaky as your dad.’ ‘My dad?’ I say. ‘What makes you say that?’ And he says, ‘His little temper tantrum today didn’t fool me. He’s hiding something. Robbing us blind, most likely. Or selling stories to the newspaper.’ ‘He isn’t!’ I say. ‘He never would! He sings in the choir on Sundays, he does.’ And the Mister laughs this nasty laugh, and I get prickles up and down my back. He already tried to fire my father in the afternoon, same as Everett, and now he’s here, swaying drunk, and where’s my Ned? But instead of leaving off and walking away, that’s when I made my big mistake.”
Helen put her face in her hands, and I saw the shiver go through her.
“What mistake?” I whispered.
“I could have shut my stupid mouth, but he were getting my temper up. I said, ‘If anyone’s sneaky, it’s you, Mister, out here sozzled and waiting for someone named Sweetheart, instead of home with your wife.’ ” Helen looked over at me and lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug, her eyes again welling with tears.
“See?” she said. “I could have made things better, but instead I made things worse. ‘Remember?’ I say. ‘Your wife?’ So, he gets all fiery-eyed and takes a step at me, starting to rumble with that voice that claims how he’s the only one who knows anything. ‘How will your sainted father take the news that his daughter is loitering in churchyards after dark?’ he says. ‘How will he like being fired because of his precious little girl, eh?’ He’s threatening me! And that scares me silly. What if he does tell me dad? We need every penny! And what if I lose Ned? Now I’m trembling with fury, because how dare he? We work so hard! Mister takes another step toward me and I shout, ‘Don’t you dare come any closer,’ and—”
She was really crying now, but trying so hard not to. She took in a deep, ragged breath.
“I gave him a great old shove,” she said. Her arms shot forward, palms raised, showing me. “Quick and hard. Surprised him, I did. Surprised meself! He staggered backward, being legless with the whiskey, and that were my chance. I ran past the graves and all the way to the Cobb. The wind were blowing steady, spray from the sea near as strong as rain, and it cooled me down. I began to think, Crikey, what happened to Ned? But I knew I’d better get back to camp. I took the road, not the cliff path, praying Mister were drunk enough not to remember in the morning. I were sick with dread, walking back. What if I saw him along the way?”
But she hadn’t seen him. No one had ever seen him again. Not alive.
A picture flashed in my mind of the balding spot on the back of his head. Not something I’d ever have noticed if he hadn’t been lying facedown on the pebbly shore with his hat long gone.
“We weren’t that close to the edge,” Helen whispered. “I’ve relived it a thousand times. We were scarcely past the last gravestone. We—”
“Wait,” I said. “Think again. You pushed him—”
“Hard,” she said. “I admit. It were hard.”
“You said he staggered. Did you see him hit the ground?”
She closed her eyes. She made a shoving gesture with her hands. She was remembering by looking at the picture in her mind.
“He fell on his arse.” Helen opened her eyes and choked back a laugh. “One leg up in the air and his mouth round like a drain.”
“Did he say anything?” I said.
“I didn’t stop to listen,” she said. “I ran like I never run before and hope never to again.”
“I’m glad you got away,” I said. “It sounds horrible from start to finish.”
“I pray the Missus never has to know,” said Helen. “Imagine looking her in the face and saying he was meeting a sweetheart.” She covered her eyes again. “And my dad!” It came out muffled. “What’ll he do if he hears about me being there?”
“I hope you never find out,” I agreed.
She rolled onto her side and lay down. “I’m knackered,” she said.
“Night, night, Helen.”
Would anyone believe her story? I tried not to breathe until she began to snore. Was I a ninny for believing it myself? But I did believe her. She pushed Mr. B-C and she saw him hit the ground. The ground. Not the thin air over the edge of a cliff, followed by a harrowing wail. She had not killed him.
Had someone else been there to take advantage of the professor’s inebriation? Other than Oscar? Oscar had no reason to rush out and push a man off a cliff. Had Ned been hiding nearby after all? I needed Hector! I pulled on a cardigan and retrieved my torch from under the cot. I slipped outside and darted toward the boys’ tent, not bothering with shoes. I’d got halfway across the grass when the twin beams of a motorcar’s lights jumped down the rutted trail and sent me scuttling for cover.
“Everett!” Nina emerged from her tent, calling his name in a low voice. I heard the click of car doors and the rumble of two men’s voices as they approached. Nina thanked Mr. Osteda repeatedly, while I crouched behind the boys’ tent. How could I explain if I were spotted in such a situation?
“Isn’t it too late now to wake Oscar?” Nina said. “Leave him here till morning.”
“I’ll check on him.” Mr. Osteda’s voice came closer to where I was huddled around the corner. “Maybe he’s awake.” I heard the flap lift. I heard him murmur Oscar’s name and get no reply. I held my breath as he withdrew and said good night and started the engine of his motorcar.
“Until tomorrow!” said Mr. Osteda, and drove away.
A half minute passed, with only crickets making noise.
“Welcome home,” said Nina. “You look terrible.”
I heard Everett chuckle, and risked a peek.
“I missed the big day,” said Everett. “I could weep with frustration. I would pay good money to bop that policeman on the nose.”
“Do you want to see Izzy? She’s still wrapped, of course, so there’s nothing to see except the size.”
“You know I do!” said Everett. “Have you got a torch?”
“This way,” Nina said. I froze as a torch beam danced on the dirt. She led him toward the shop yard, where the ichthyosaur lay in all its bundled-up glory. While they were out of sight, I crept around to the flap of the boys’ tent and slipped inside.
Three voices gasped in unison. “Aggie?” They were awake! They’d been pretending to sleep so that Oscar wouldn’t be dragged off by his father!
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re lucky they didn’t see you!”
“What happens with Helen?” said Hector.
“Ssh! Wait!” I said.
We waited. We’d done a lot of waiting this day. I sat on a heap of rumpled clothing near the door. Not too long later, we heard the returning murmur of voices, and then the words as well.
“You’ll tell me everything tomorrow,” said Everett, “but now, I must sleep. The bed last night was no more than a board.”
“The snail-witted sergeant is running out of suspects,” said Nina. “Spud, Mr. Osteda, Miss Spinns for a minute and then you.”
“Your turn next,” said Everett.
“Why didn’t he start with me?” she said. “If he had an ounce of brain matter, he’d know I’ve got the strongest motive.”
“Ssh,” said Everett. “Don’t say that.”
We waited again, for the swishing of tent flaps, the steps of someone on the path to the backhouse, a gurgle from the tap. And finally, silence for long enough that we dared to speak again. Arthur, now asleep, mumbled occasional words and made odd lip-smacking sounds.
“You hear what we are suffering this week?” said Hector.
“Will you please listen and help think what to do?” I said. “Oscar was right—”
The tent flap whooshed open. A torch beam tried to blind me and I nearly fell over in surprise. Everett’s whisper was as clear as church bells.
“If you are back in your own tent before I count to ten, Miss Morton, I shall not have seen a young lady consorting with boys after dark.”
Chapter 29
A False Accusation
Helen and I awoke to a scuffling outside. The sudden arrival of unwanted company at tent doors was becoming a regular event!
“How does this blasted thing open?”
Helen’s eyes widened in terror. I’d tied the cords last night after learning what might occur when taken by surprise. I fumbled them open now.
“G-good morning,” I said, “Nina.”
“Will you come out, Helen?” Nina peered around me. “Or will I come in?”
Helen whimpered. Her eyes were like those of a bunny trapped by a tiger.
“Out,” she croaked. Having the tiger inside was more than she could bear. Nina waited while Helen and I tugged on our dresses, not bothering with hair or stockings. As we slid into our shoes, Helen whispered, “Don’t leave me alone with her.”
Looking past Nina, I saw Arthur following Oscar toward the cliff path. Where could those two be going? And together? At this hour? The sun had not yet got its whole self above the horizon!
“I believe, Helen, that we have something of importance to talk about,” said Nina, “though possibly not within your father’s hearing?”
Helen made that mewing noise again.
“We’ll walk around the little meadow,” said Nina. “Follow me.” She wore no shoes, but did not so much as blink as we set out through brittle grass and spiky stalks.
