Money Never Sleeps (19 page)

‘Hope for both of us.’ His face broke into a smile. The first smile of the evening.

F
ancy awoke in a strange bed, wondering where she was. The low ceiling was white plaster and sloping, with two corner beams. It was a double bed but she was alone. The pillows were soft and down-filled, the sheets clean and warm, a pink
eiderdown
hung over the edge. The curtains were pink, white and frilly. A feminine room.

The previous day’s events came drifting back to her and she wondered how she had found the strength to get out of the mine, wade the canal, climb the hundreds of steps. She felt stiff and bruised, aching all over. She wondered about her poor feet but felt no inclination to investigate. They could wait.

Then she remembered Jed. Where was he? He had helped her upstairs, out of her sodden and ruined clothes and into a clean flannel nightdress provided by the thoughtful landlady. He had cut off the duct tape and bagged it with the clothes.

She had fallen asleep almost immediately.

But where was he now? She wanted to know. Surely he had not abandoned her?

She heard footsteps coming up the creaking stairs and
stopping
outside the door.

‘Are you awake, Fancy?’

‘Yes, but only just.’

‘Betty’s bringing up a pot of tea. I couldn’t carry it.’

Jed opened the door. He was dressed, outdoor coat, carrying several carrier bags. Betty was following with a tray of tea. She smiled at Fancy.

‘Well, I must say, you are looking a lot better. That’s what a good night’s sleep will do for you. There’s a bathroom along the corridor. I’ll put out some soap and towels and shampoo. You’ll be wanting to wash your hair.’

‘Thank you, I do indeed. I need a good wash. That canal water….’

Betty looked bemused. She knew nothing about the canal or the mine. No one had told her the full story. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Breakfast any time you want it. I do B&B, you know, so it’s no trouble.’

Fancy looked stricken as Betty closed the door. ‘B&B? This is a B&B? I must pay her.’

‘Already taken care of, Fancy. I settled up this morning, before I went out.’

Fancy struggled to sit up, longing for that cup of tea, a luxury in bed. No one ever brought her tea in bed. She always had to get up and make it herself. There were two cups and she poured out both. It was pretty pink and white china. Jed nodded his thanks.

‘Did you stay the night here?’ she asked.

‘I did. The whole night. Your virtue is now compromised. But you were dead to the world, reeking of canal water, hair like a haystack. Decent bed, though.’

‘Always the perfect gentleman,’ said Fancy, sipping her tea. More nectar. ‘Never felt a thing.’

‘Nothing happened, much to my regret.’ Jed was grinning now, his glasses glinting in the sunlight from the window. ‘And to show you my appreciation, I’m showering you with gifts.’

‘I love being showered with gifts,’ said Fancy, as he put the carrier bags on her bed. ‘It’s my favourite shower.’

‘Castleton is not exactly a shopping Mecca, but you could hardly spend the day, pinned together in a blanket. Your clothes will be examined by forensics. They’re more rags than clothes, anyway. You’ll be amazed at what they can find. Traces from the boot of that car, for a start.’

‘Clever stuff.’

Fancy looked at the label on the big carrier bag. It was from a
walkers’ equipment shop. The small bag was from an unnamed boutique.

‘Had to guess the sizes,’ he apologized.

He’d bought her a packet of three white Sloggi pants and a soft white running bra, size medium. He had also bought a blue tracksuit with white flashes down the sides, again size medium, playing safe. No shoes, but a packet of ramblers’ white
double-strength
thermal socks, size medium.

‘I didn’t think your feet were ready for shoes.’

Fancy burst out laughing. ‘Is that how you see me, a medium girl?’

‘Sorry, is that wrong? I can take them back.’

‘No, they’re perfect,’ Fancy said quickly. ‘I’m sure everything will fit and I’m very grateful. It was thoughtful of you.’

Jed finished his tea. ‘I’ll see you downstairs when you are ready. Then we can talk. Take your time. By the way, that mine is called Pennyroyal. It closed twenty years ago. A lot of history down there.’

The bath was a luxury too. She wallowed in the warmth, washing the scented water over her skin with a big sponge. There was only a shower at Lakeside and only a shower at her converted church home. Both seemed a million miles away, a million years ago. It was if neither existed any more.

She washed her hair, rinsing out the reek of canal water. She must have smelt awful. Poor Jed. She dried herself and her hair with big towels, again blessing the generosity and kindness of her hosts. The underwear and tracksuit fitted, more or less. They were baggy and made for any shape of person. The
sky-blue
was a change after a week of wearing nothing but black and white.

No make-up. Her hair hung loose down her back, drying in the warm air. Socks on her poor feet. The cuts and scratches still hurt but the socks were big and comforting. She came down the stairs gingerly, hanging onto the hand rail, not wanting to slip on the polished treads.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ she said, tentatively, wary of her welcome.

‘What a transformation,’ said Fred. He was busy cleaning the bar. ‘Did the early beer delivery wake you?’

‘Never heard a thing.’

‘We’ve laid a table over here for you in the corner. Privacy, if you’ve got things to talk about. Breakfast menu on the table. We can rustle up anything you want.’ Betty was already busy, bustling about.

‘What are you going to tell me?’ Fancy asked Jed after ordering simple scrambled eggs and coffee. ‘About last night?’

‘There’s an awful lot to tell you,’ said Jed. ‘You’ll have to wait. We’ll find a quiet spot. Then we’ll go back to the centre and collect your things. They will have cleared your room out this morning. Room 425 is no longer yours. The girls will have done it for you.’

‘Good heavens. Has everybody gone home now?’

He nodded. ‘They’re getting ready now for the next influx of students.’

‘How awful. I never said goodbye to anyone.’

‘They have a website – perhaps you could post a message on there.’

‘That’s a good idea. I don’t want them to think I just walked out.’

‘You were dragged out.’

‘I had already packed everything except toiletries and night things. I don’t know what I’m going to do. The drive back to London is out of the question at the moment; my feet are too sore.’

‘Don’t worry about that. If you definitely have to go back to London, I could drive you, any day. Then you could collect your car later.’

‘There’s no reason to go back just yet. I could stay here for a few days,’ said Fancy, the idea taking hold. ‘I like Castleton. It feels very safe.’

‘There’s Peveril Castle to look at on the edge of town. Henry II
built it. A Norman church, big caverns open to the public. Then there’s the Town Ditch, although you’ve probably had enough of caverns and mines.’

‘No caverns. But a castle in the open sounds good. Yes, I’ll ask Betty if I can stay for a few extra days. I could give her a hand, washing up or something.’

‘Pubs have dishwashers.’

‘Shows how ignorant I am.’

‘But I’m sure she would enjoy your company.’

The toast arrived, hot and freshly crisp, no brown roof tiles. The butter melted on it quickly. Marmalade came in a lidded pot, not fiddly little packets.

‘So, Mr Detective Man, aren’t you going to tell me anything?’ said Fancy, her mouth full of hot toast. ‘I’m the victim here, remember?’

‘It’s all your own fault,’ said Jed, pouring himself another black coffee. ‘You brought it on yourself.’

Fancy gasped, then remembered to close her mouth. ‘What? Me?’

‘Yes, you, Miss Jones. I had a look through a couple of back copies of
Macabre Mysteries
and I found the cold case of
The
Missing Cover Girl
that I wrote for the magazine. You may remember it.’

‘It was very well written,’ said Fancy in a small voice.

‘But someone, and maybe it was you, had added a footnote. It said: “This cold case is getting warm. Perhaps there will be further developments in the case of
The Missing Cover Girl
. Watch this space.”’

‘Oh yes, that was me,’ said Fancy, trying to remember why she had put the footnote. ‘There was an empty space at the bottom of a page. It needed filling up. And I thought there might be more DNA evidence surfacing. You never know. And, of course, it was a plug to make people buy more copies of the magazine.’

‘Well, you did more than that. You alerted someone that quite soon the case might be blown open. So they decided to either scare you off, or kill you off. They nearly managed to do both.’

‘A sobering thought,’ said Fancy. ‘Do we know who it is?’

‘We’re getting close. But the DNA database came up with something interesting. They had a Jane Doe on ice. Jane Doe is an unidentified female body.’

‘I know that.’

‘She’d been in a road accident earlier in the year. No
identification
and no one came forward with a missing person. Eventually a Jane or John Doe will be disposed of, usually cremated, but a DNA record will be kept, or some small piece or organ, just in case.’

‘No one claimed this accident victim?’

‘No. But computers are wonderful. Her DNA print matched that of Thelma Marchant, the twin who disappeared all those many years ago, when Rupert Harlow was charged but acquitted of her murder.’

‘So he hadn’t murdered her.’

‘No, he was innocent.’

‘And then she was declared dead seven years later and Grace inherited her sister’s half of the brewery millions. Grace had it all. Grace also married Rupert. She had the man and the money.’

‘But Thelma wasn’t dead at all. She was living out her own life. We don’t know where or how, but she must have been furious. Firstly, she had wanted Rupert Harlow to be found guilty of her murder, and sentenced. I can’t remember if the death penalty was around then. And she wanted her rightful share of the
inheritance
. Instead of which, she got neither. Which made for one very angry woman.’

‘Why didn’t she come forward and claim her share of the inheritance?’

‘Perhaps she thought she would be charged with wasting police time by letting Rupert go to court on the murder trial. She may have thought she would go to prison or that Rupert would sue her for false evidence, the bloodstains.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Fancy, absorbing all these new facts. ‘It sounds like the plot of one of my books.’

‘Far too fanciful and far-fetched. Real life can be even more
astonishing. Let’s go back to the conference centre and fetch your things. You wouldn’t want to lose your lecture notes. They might impound them. And I need you to make a statement of
everything
that happened last night, everything you can remember.’

The landlady, Betty, was delighted that Fancy wanted to stay on. ‘Of course, we shall be pleased to have you around. Stay and recuperate. Castleton is a pretty place. When you feel better, you’ll be able to explore. People walk for miles.’

‘I could give you a hand. Make sandwiches or something.’

‘Are you any good at bar work?’ Fred asked.

Fancy looked blank.

‘Pouring a pint?’ Jed whispered.

‘I could collect glasses, wipe tables, stack the dishwasher,’ Fancy offered.

‘Done,’ said Fred. ‘You’re hired. When you’re wearing shoes again.’

Fancy met Jed outside the pub. She had plaited her hair, having nothing to pin it up with. No combs or grips. All lost in the canal. She eased herself into his low-slung car. Jed had forgotten to buy a toothbrush. She wanted her things.

‘I was glad it wasn’t your car boot,’ said Fancy.

‘You thought it was me?’ Jed hid his bewilderment.

‘By then I didn’t trust anyone. And you were always
disappearing
.’

‘It’s called work. Remember that funny word beginning with W?’

‘You told me you were retired.’

‘Semi-retired. There’s a difference. I didn’t want you to think I was watching you.’ He put the car in gear and eased away from the roadside.

He drove slowly through Castleton, pointing out sights to Fancy. ‘That’s another good pub. That’s a good café. That’s where I bought your tracksuit.’

‘I like this place,’ said Fancy contentedly. ‘I like it more and more. And all these great stretches of hills, rising everywhere, all around, so very green.’

‘Spoken like a true townswoman. They’re called dales.’

‘Now you’re making fun of me.’

‘Not everyone is in awe of being with a famous crime writer, especially when she hasn’t any shoes on and her plaited hair is coming undone.’

‘Perhaps someone ought to have a look at my feet,’ said Fancy, still feeling the soreness. And one felt swollen. Perhaps she had broken a metatarsal. They were such tiny, bird-like bones. ‘And I’m covered in bruises.’

‘I agree. A trip to A&E is on this morning’s agenda.’

‘Thank you. I don’t want to be a nuisance.

‘You’re not a nuisance.’ He was reading her reluctance. ‘They don’t do plaster these days for foot bones. They do strapping. The police surgeon should have a look at them, too. It’s all evidence. I do have to get a statement from you, if you can cope with going through it all again.’

Fancy nodded. ‘I’ll try to remember everything.’

The journey back to the conference centre was nothing like her previous journey. She had Jed with her and she was
overwhelmingly
happy in his company. She had never felt so completely at home with a man before. She remembered the tender way he had looked after her last night, removing her sodden clothes with every thought for her modesty and comfort.

Again sponging her sore feet, wiping the blood off her face and crusted nose. He had helped her into Betty’s voluminous
flannelette
nightdress, never a hand straying to the wrong place.

‘Thank you,’ she had said, touching his limp arm, forgetting he couldn’t feel it.