Chapter 40
40
Olivia and Benji decided to be creative with the truth in order to convince the local police to investigate the shrieking pits. They had no proof that Annie Taylor lay beneath the stagnant waters of a medieval iron ore excavation site, but the more they talked about their theory, the more they both convinced themselves it was a possibility.
‘You weren’t here in 1911, so I’ll say I saw something,’ Benji offered. ‘Ernest is hardly here to disagree with me. I was only eight years old so it’s plausible that witnessing suspicious activity – perhaps a figure dumping a bundle in the water when I was out playing in the fields – might not resonate with me until now. And with all the questions you’ve been asking, I can say it jogged my memory.’
‘But what if they don’t find anything?’
‘Then the little boy of years ago got muddled.’ He shrugged. ‘No one’s going to blame me.’
‘Mrs Dunn will never speak to us again if we’re wrong.’
‘She’ll never speak to us again if we’re right. She cherishes Ernest’s memory and talks about him as though he was the very best of sons. I feel desperately sorry for her, but we both want Tanner to make peace with the past.’
It was an uncomfortable couple of days for the pair of them. Constable Peterson either didn’t care much about the fate of a young woman whose morals were questionable, as though it made her some lesser being, or didn’t want the hassle of organising such a search when, to his mind, the whole thing was so long ago and everyone had accepted the girl had run off. But Olivia felt passionately that Annie’s mother deserved the truth, even if her theory was correct and justice could not be administered.
In the end, the whole thing spiralled out of control, as gossip and whispers abounded. By the time the search was organised, it had become a frenzied circus. Curious locals and, indeed, at least two journalists gathered on the public right of way, in view of the shrieking pits, as volunteers in waders began the unenviable task of looking for something that might not even be there.
Rather tragically, within the first hour, and going on the theory that anyone dumping a body, particularly on their own land, would deposit it at the nearest accessible spot, human bones were found wrapped in a quilted bedspread, and weighted down by rocks. Not long afterwards, they also found what was left of a carpet bag.
Annie Taylor might have been led to believe she was starting a new life somewhere with her lover, but the man in question had never intended to honour any such agreement.
* * *
Olivia felt desperately sorry for Mrs Dunn. She hadn’t suspected for a moment that the last resting place of tragic, young Annie Taylor was on her land, and now Ernest’s precious memory had been tarnished. He would not be remembered as the charming and clever son who’d died gallantly fighting the Germans, but instead as the man who’d got an innocent young girl pregnant and then killed her because she stood in the way of his aspirations. His childhood friendship with Clarence had shown him a tantalising glimpse of a world he wanted to be part of and he’d been determined to rise to the top, through fair means or foul. Annie, a mere housemaid, however beautiful, would never have been enough.
None of the finer details could be proved, of course, and Ernest could never be made accountable, but when the inquest was held at the local police station, the body was firmly established to be her because of the approximate age and sex of the bones, and the discovery of a small crucifix, that Mrs Taylor identified as belonging to her daughter.
Benji, who had returned to boarding school mercifully free of measles, was not asked to testify, possibly because he’d been a child at the time. A couple of people came forward to say that they had occasionally seen Annie with Ernest but had not thought it particularly relevant until now. Others talked of being on the receiving end of his temper, and the coroner considered why Mr Dunn claimed to have seen Annie heading for the station when she’d clearly never left the village.
But one thing was certain: Annie had met a violent end. The skull was crushed one side. Her former sweetheart, Mr Seth Tanner, had been called to give evidence, and possibly be ruled out as a suspect. Mrs Dunn, in her misery, had suggested that he could have killed Annie in a jealous rage and planted the body on their land to frame her beloved Ernest, but when it was determined that the bedcover she was wrapped in had belonged to the Dunn household, there was little doubt in everyone’s mind what had occurred.
The coroner duly recorded a verdict of unlawful killing by person or persons unknown.
Many of the villagers had been shocked by the former gardener’s appearance when he gave his evidence, although he wasn’t the only one in Merriford Lode to bear the ugly scars of war. One of the local farmers had been so badly burned that no one, apart from his immediate family, had seen him since he’d returned. Tanner, however, did not seem to mind the stares and pitying looks. They washed over him like the ford that swept across the Merriford road. He gave the impression of a man who simply no longer cared. Life had thrown so much at him and he couldn’t fight it any more. And yet, Olivia knew that he had the capacity to care, and care deeply.
She found him after the inquest, sitting near the recently erected memorial cross in the churchyard. He would know every single name carved into the stone, and probably went to school with most of them. Ernest Dunn was the third name down.
‘May I join you?’ she asked.
‘I can’t stop you, Miss Davenport. The church belongs to everyone.’ It wasn’t said unkindly, just stated as fact. He absent-mindedly gestured for her to take a seat, and briefly got to his feet as she did so.
She sat to his right so that he had to look at her.
‘Always thought of Ernest as a decent bloke,’ he finally said. ‘Grew up with him, although he was a bit older than me. Was in awe of him, truth be told. He had big ambitions, whereas I was taught to do my duty, know my place and be grateful that I had a bed to sleep in at night.’
‘Nothing wrong with ambition,’ she said. ‘As long as you aren’t hurting others. You have a love for nature and an enquiring mind. There is no reason you couldn’t eventually become a head gardener at a place like Merriford. Even boot boys become butlers, you know.’
‘Excuse me for my bluntness, miss, but that’s a ridiculous notion. With one arm?’
‘One arm doesn’t stop you managing staff, planning garden designs or overseeing cultivation, crop rotation and expenses. Surely, the whole point of being at the top in any sphere of life is to direct those below you to do the physical work?’
He huffed at that, but it was a considered huff.
‘Don’t forget, I was the young girl who thought anything was possible – even women fighting Vikings.’
She saw the corners of his mouth turn up, like they had all those years ago. He was a man who wanted to smile but didn’t want to be seen to. And yet the number of times she had shared a hearty guffaw through the wall with Seth proved that, deep inside, he had the potential to enjoy life and revel in its magnificence.
‘I remember.’ His face became more serious as his thoughts returned to Annie. ‘I had no idea she was carrying a child. No idea she was even seeing another man behind my back until she disappeared and the rumours started.’
‘I know.’
He swivelled on the bench to face her, even though he would get no better view from a missing eye. She admired him for not attempting to hide his injuries at the inquest or subsequently. That took courage.
‘How do you know?’ He leaned towards her. ‘What is it about you, Miss Davenport, that makes you think you know me? That makes you suddenly want to contact me and atone for your behaviour as a child, interfere in my life and pursue some inexplicable desire to see me succeed? I’ve had Her Ladyship corner me earlier and all but beg me to take up my former job. And then an old neighbour told my mother this morning that you’ve been asking about Annie for weeks. Your interest in me makes no sense.’
She spun him the same tale she’d spun Cynthia: that she wanted to help the veterans of the Great War. It could be any one of the Fairchild sons sitting before her now, with similar injuries, and she owed every returning soldier a debt of gratitude. The whole country did.
He seemed to accept this and turned back to the stone cross.
‘I’m not the same person I was before the war, and I weren’t in a great place even then. I’m afraid I can’t help but question God when he allows some of us to bear more sorrow than others. Or allows a murderer to escape justice.’
‘This enduring melancholy isn’t you. There’s a much more optimistic version of yourself deep inside that you need to find,’ she insisted, frustrated by his attitude.
‘I have nothing, nothing ,’ he stressed, ‘to be happy about. The girl I loved was unfaithful to me, my father died a horrific death, I lost the job I loved…’ he gave her the side-eye ‘…I lived through a war of unparalleled magnitude, and now find myself of no use to anyone. I’m neither wanted nor needed.’
‘Can you hear the words coming from your mouth?’ She was angry now, jumping to her feet and raising her voice, despite herself. ‘You’ve been offered employment when there are thousands of returning servicemen who would give their right arm for such an opportunity. And offered a small cottage in the village, to boot. Yes, there’s a two-mile walk every day, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with your legs – so don’t even start complaining about that.’ She’d done all of this for him – secured him a position, found him a house with his mother, and solved the disappearance of the girl he’d loved – and all he could do was feel sorry for himself.
Tanner looked bewildered by her outburst and frowned as she crossed her arms, her flared nostrils finally relaxing.
‘If I gave my right arm for the cottage, I really would be no use to anyone,’ he commented – a trace of his humour resurfacing, but she was too angry at that point to acknowledge it.
‘Mr Tanner, I’m afraid I have no time for your self-pity. Do you think you’re the only one who has suffered? I took myself to a dark place for many months, but I fought my way back out again because life goes on. And being here, standing in the dappled sun of this late-October day, is a privilege that my parents, Annie Taylor and the three oldest Fairchild boys do not have. How dare you waste your life when you are still alive to make a difference to the world. How dare you not even try. ’
And she spun on her heel and walked away.