Condemned R.C. Bridgestock (good fiction books to read TXT) 📖

‘I played in it as a child with Lily. Hide and seek was great fun in that big house.’ Josie paused. ‘You see so much has been written, and more rumoured about the Aldermans and Crownest, that we simply don’t know what is true and what is false, and probably never will.’ Josie swallowed hard. ‘What I do know from my research is that Agnes, the local midwife, was a pagan. She was a stunning woman, with the face of an angel in her youth I heard my father say, on more than one occasion.’

‘Do you know if Agnes had any children, other than Lily? There would be no contraception available in those days and it seems strange if she was as sexually active as has been suggested, that her dalliances only resulted in one pregnancy.’ said Annie.

There was a long pause in which Josie yawned, ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think that’s something that you should ask Lily.’

‘I think we should be going,’ said Winnie after a few moments. She stood up and put a hand on Josie’s shoulder. ‘Enough is enough for one day, my dear friend, eh?’

Josie nodded her head in agreement, grateful it seemed, for the fact that Winnie knew her well. She was tired, very tired, and more than that, she felt emotionally drained.

The journey home was hazardous, as much to do with the meandering of the country roads, as to the darkness and rain which did not help on the unlit roads. The conditions did not allow Charley’s concentration to drop enough to process the chat with Josie properly, never mind talk, so much of the chatter was between Winnie and Annie. When they dropped Winnie off outside her house, with a hug and a cheery ‘see you tomorrow,’ the car seemed very quiet for a while.

Annie was unusually quiet, as if in thought. ‘Could our body in the cellar be Agnes, do you think?’

‘But why would she be buried at Crownest, and surely Lily would know whether her mother had died or gone missing?’

‘As well as being a midwife, Agnes also laid out the dead… It could be Catherine. Maybe she never did get to Australia?’

‘But, if it was Catherine, then why would Lucinda be sent for safe-keeping by the kindly Father Michael to Australia to join her? He must have had contact with Catherine when she arrived in Australia to set up Lucinda’s passage.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. We’re going to have to keep an open mind. I’m going to send Mike with you to interview Lily tomorrow. We need to prepare an interview strategy. I’d like to know the time that St Anne’s Church priests spent in the locality, and as much background information that is known about the church, and its inhabitants during the time of the Aldermans. We also need to inform Lily of our intention to see what lies beneath Seth’s grave.’

‘I was involved in an investigation dealing with paedophile priests,’ said Annie after a while. Her voice was flat and unfeeling.

Charley’s concentration on the wet road surface was such that she didn’t see the tear that trickled down Annie’s cheek. ‘Child abuse is unpleasant. All children deserve to have a safe and happy childhood,’ she replied.

‘The priests had been touching young boys, and taking lewd pictures of them. Of course they denied everything, but eventually years later they were found guilty, and sentenced, and I hope they will never ever be released,’ Annie said.

‘Even now, it sometimes takes years for the perpetrators to be found guilty,’ said Charley stealing a glance across at Annie, whose head was turned to look out the window.

‘Yes, but not before Ashton Gloveria committed suicide.’

Charley turned and eyeballed Annie. ‘You knew Ashton Gloveria? I was in the Old Bailey when the case was being heard…’

‘He was my brother.’

‘He was your brother? But, you’re called Glov…?’

Chapter 20

It seemed to Charley that the Crownest murders had taken over her life, and engulfed her remit as the SIO, to the extent that she was forced to fight a growing sense of loneliness and vulnerability, as days turned into weeks, and still there was no sign of a resolution. The pressure from the hierarchy to get the cases solved owing to increasing costs and use of resources didn’t help. At times she struggled to keep her composure. Her day-to-day functions were unaffected; the difficulty was caused by the disorientation brought on by the need for results and the number of unanswered questions. As she went over the evidence again, and visited the mortuary again, her sense of smell begged for something other than the stench of death, and to touch something other than through plastic gloves. Ultimately there was only one sense she could depend on, and one that she had become increasingly reliant on – her gut feeling.

Sitting quietly at her desk a week later, whilst the others were about their duties, Charley became aware of the hypnotic whisper of the wind swirling around the building. She closed her eyes and fancied she felt the breeze upon her face and hair. The urgent need to be in the saddle became overwhelming. Charley ached to feel the familiar vibration of horses’ hooves thud upon the ground beneath her, and the gentle tug on reins slipping through her fingers as she galloped across the moors.

Anxiety rose from deep within. She simply had to get away.

Fleeing from the office, with her coat over her arm, a dismissive wave of her hand, and ‘I’m on my mobile if you need me,’ Charley’s speedy exit was curtailed within a few steps of the CID office door, where she was confronted in the corridor by Ruth and Flora. Ruth smiled; a smile that suggested happiness. It was a fact that the typist and her guide dog had a formidable relationship, and Charley felt a pang of jealousy.

Charley concluded that everyone needed someone to go to at times like these.

Driving on the open road, where her mind was not