Mulligan's Yard (41 page)

To add to the confusion, someone was hammering at the front door. Amy ran to open it, found Ida Hewitt and Sally Hayes, with Stephen Wilkinson in the background.

Ida stalked into the house, straighter and stronger than she had been in years. ‘I see Mr Mulligan’s car’s here,’ she said, ‘so is Mona about?’

Amy waved a hand in the direction of the parlour. ‘Just go in there, both of you. We have a rather difficult situation here.’ After making this understatement, Amy forgot all about
Stephen Wilkinson and closed the front door.

James rattled down the stairs two at a time. ‘No sign of anyone,’ he said.

‘Mr Mulligan?’ Sally crossed the hallway. ‘Where have you been? Your dinner’s all dry and Mary’s on her own because Mrs Kenny went to the funeral
and—’

‘Not now, Sally,’ he said. ‘Go into the parlour and— How did you get here?’

‘Mr Wilkinson’s van,’ replied Sally. ‘He drove us up from Mrs Hewitt’s house – I went there to search for you.’

‘Very good of him, I’m sure,’ said James. He opened the front door and found Stephen Wilkinson standing on the step, cap in hand, plainly prepared to offer further help.
‘Thank you for waiting.’ James placed a hand on the good man’s arm. ‘Would you take Ida, Mona and Sally home, please?’

‘Certainly.’ The brother of Guardian Wilkinson cleared his throat. ‘Is there something wrong?’

This man was trustworthy, had been cast in a mould so different from his male sibling’s.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Young Sally Hayes was talking about the woods, said that she and Diane Hewitt had seen a light among the trees. Little Joe says he saw it, too.’

It appeared that Eliza had found the sense and the wherewithal to light a fire. But Margot was chief priority for the moment. ‘So there is a fire in the woods, Mr Wilkinson?’

The visitor shook his head. ‘Well, if there is, I saw nowt on the way up here.’

‘A fire would have been visible from the lane,’ said James. ‘Especially at this time of year with no foliage to hide flames. Unless it has been put out, of course.’

Stephen stepped into the house. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Mulligan, but there’s a chill wind blowing outside.’ He fiddled with his cap. ‘From what I heard, it
wasn’t like a fire, just a small light, you understand.’

‘Not at all, don’t apologize. I’m sorry, we should not have left you standing there. A small light. Not a fire,’ James mused aloud.

‘Is there trouble on?’ asked Pendleton’s baker and post-office keeper. ‘You see, I’d offer more help, but I’ve a batch of small tins and oven-bottoms in
and—’

‘Thanks,’ said James, ‘but there are enough of us, I think.’ He paused. Another man could be useful . . . No, let Stephen go off and see to his shop. ‘Er . . . if
you see Eliza or Margot Burton-Massey on your travels, will you let me know?’

‘Certainly.’ Stephen got back into his van, waited for the women, wondered about Eliza, Margot and his baking. Mr Mulligan looked in a right state, whites of his eyes a bit
bloodshot, hair even more out of order than usual. Ah, well, this wasn’t getting his bread rolls ready, was it?

James closed the door, leaned his head against it for a second. Was Amy right? Was there hell on earth? He felt as if he hadn’t slept for three days, exhaustion dragging at his muscles,
tension promising to give birth to a sizeable headache.

In the parlour, Amy, Mona, Ida and Sally sat in grim silence. ‘I’ve told them,’ said Amy eventually, ‘that Margot and Eliza are both missing.’

James sighed, pushed his hands deep into pockets. ‘Mr Wilkinson is outside – Mr Stephen Wilkinson, Ida. He will take Sally back to the Grange, you and Mona to Bramble
Cottage.’

‘I’m going nowhere,’ declared Mona. ‘Looked after that girl all day I did, and I shall see the job through.’ She could stay awake, she could.

‘Go home, Mona,’ advised Amy.

‘But I—’

‘In the van, all three of you, this minute,’ ordered James, a distinct edge to his tone. ‘There is nothing you can do here. If necessary, I shall drive round and mobilize all
farmers and land workers. Neither of you would be capable of joining a search party, so go home right now.’

‘There speaks a schoolteacher,’ mumbled Amy, as three docile lambs left the room.

He stopped in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder at the frightened, brave young woman. ‘Never underestimate a teacher, Amy, for his is the hand that rules the world.’

Diane urged Joe through the garden. ‘We can be back before she gets home.’ His legs were not as strong as they needed to be, but exercise was good for him. This
would be exercise, walking from here to the woods. ‘Come on, stop messing about. It’s a mystery, this light, and I want to get to the bottom of it. Gran won’t be coming home for
ages, I’m sure.’

Joe, not convinced by his sister’s words, dragged his heels. ‘She’ll be back in a minute, she’s in the baker’s van. He’ll have to come back to his cakes and I
bet he’ll fetch Gran home.’

Diane tutted impatiently. There definitely had been a light in the woods: she had seen it, Joe had seen it, Sally had seen it. This was a great opportunity for adventure, a factor that had
disappeared from Diane’s life when the stealing had stopped. She missed the sensation of living on the edge, that flow of life-blood through her veins when she had stood within a hair’s
breadth of discovery. He was still dragging his feet.

‘Come on, Joe,’ she begged for the umpteenth time.

Joe did not share his older sister’s addiction to adrenaline. ‘We’ll get in trouble,’ he moaned.

‘She’s at the farm,’ whispered Diane, dropping her voice in case a neighbour might hear. ‘You know what she’s like, Joe – she could talk the four legs off a
horse. Once she gets with Miss Amy, it’ll be all mohair and three-ply. You know what Gran’s like when she starts on about knitting and crocheting. She could be up yonder till gone
midnight.’

‘I’m scared,’ he replied truthfully.

‘So am I – that’s what makes it fun.’

‘Well, I don’t reckon it’s funny, our Diane.’

She stopped walking. ‘Go back in, then. Get in bed, then put pillows in my bed, make it look as if I’m asleep.’

Joe swallowed. He hated being in the house alone, had never been alone at night. ‘I can’t.’

Diane emitted a long-drawn sigh of utter impatience. She loved her little brother, but he could be a right pain in the neck. ‘Then we can blame it all on me if Gran comes home before we
do. Say I made you do it.’

‘All right.’ With extreme reluctance and on legs that were still not quite up to scratch, Joe followed his sister into a darkness that promised only to thicken once the trees began.
He was terrified, while Diane, used to anticipation, was merely excited.

‘Diane?’

‘What?’

‘It might be a bogeyman.’

She clicked her tongue with all the expertise of her grandmother. ‘Don’t be so soft,’ she chided. ‘There’s no such thing as the bogeyman, Joe. And there never
was.’

He sniffed the air in the manner of an animal seeking prey. Emerging slowly from his trance, he rose, stretched, inhaled again. Although the wind shook branches nearby, he was
alert to other movements, subtler shifts of space and air. Foxes? he wondered. Badgers, owls, bats? Or was humankind approaching?

Peering into a sliver of broken mirror, he smoothed his hair, dragging strands across the balding central track, glueing the pieces in place with macassar. Peter Wilkinson did not notice the
sickly smell of this application, as he had used it for years. Meditation had revived him. He sipped at a cup of dandelion and burdock, wiped his mouth, lowered the stove’s light, drew back
the wicks of two lamps. Something told him that his time had come, that the moment of triumph was close at hand.

His heart lurched, but he commanded it to beat evenly, steadily. He must not make mistakes, as he might alter the course of existence for ever. This could just be his finest hour, the zenith of
his life so far. Should he be proved wrong, should Margot not put in an appearance, there would be another chance tomorrow.

A twig snapped. In spite of enormous self-control, he shuddered momentarily. It could be anyone, might even be the papist from Pendleton Grange. No, Margot walked in the woods; this was likely
to be his lady, his destiny.

He opened the door just a tiny crack, fastened an eye to the resulting small space. ‘Ah, it’s you.’ His tone was conversational. ‘You are the wrong one. Just a moment,
please.’ Confused for a split second, he hesitated before picking up the necessary equipment. He knew exactly what had to be done.

After pouring fluid on to a rag, he left the hut completely, took hold of his victim, held the cloth to mouth and nose. There would be no pain, no terror. With not the slightest compunction,
Peter Wilkinson grabbed a stone and crashed it into the unconscious skull. He had made his decision, and no-one must get in the way.

Ida and Mona entered the cottage, waved as Stephen Wilkinson parked his van across the lane. ‘Nice chap, that,’ said Mona. ‘Bit different from yon brother of
his.’

Ida eased off her coat, hung it behind the door. ‘Brrr, it’s cold out there. I’ll make a brew.’

‘Mr Mulligan had me watching the queer feller just before our Tilly died. We found that lass, you remember, that naked girl in my new house. Mr Mulligan reckons Peter Wilkinson were
responsible.’ Mona eased herself into a fireside chair. ‘Where’s the kiddies gone, Ida?’

‘Bed,’ came the reply from the kitchen.

‘Best place,’ Mona said. ‘I’ll not be stopping up long meself. Even the marrow in me bones is aching.’

They sat with their tea, each mulling over the day’s happenings; Margot’s confirmed pregnancy, Mrs Smythe’s hysterical outbursts, the disappearance of Eliza, then Margot.
‘Margot will have gone looking for that other one,’ said Mona. ‘And it’s been a long day for somebody what’s carrying a child. She were doing so well and all till
Eliza decided to go for a wander.’

Ida agreed. ‘Did you take her to the doctor’s, then?’

‘Aye, that’s where we were when Amy opened the shop. Still, it wanted doing. That young one needs to know where she stands. Ooh, I hope nowt happens to Margot. She’s a lovely
young woman once you get to know her. Then there’s the poor innocent little baby and all, I’m that worried about it, too.’

‘Will she keep it?’

‘I reckon she might.’ Mona glanced around the room, a look of puzzlement on her face. ‘Ida?’

‘What?’

‘Your Diane’s nightie’s still hanging on the clothes maiden.’

Ida looked at the item in question. ‘She’ll have her dirty one on, couldn’t be bothered changing them over more than likely.’

The two women stared at one another. ‘No,’ said Ida. ‘They won’t have gone out. They can’t have.’

Mona jumped up, almost spilling her tea in the process. ‘Shall I go and look, Ida?’

Ida nodded. She sat perfectly still while Mona trod the staircase, the answer plain in her mind before Mona shouted. They weren’t up there. Somewhere, outside on a bitter night, Diane and
Joe were busy getting lost.

Mona re-entered the room. ‘What must we do, Ida? This is getting daft now. Not daft funny, daft because there’s no sense to it.’

‘We mun get Stephen Wilkinson out again,’ replied Ida. ‘Long enough them two kiddies looked after theirselves while I lay there like a dead woman. There’s summat going on
in them woods, Mona. And my Diane is drawn to trouble.’

‘She’s a good lass.’

‘I know that, Mona, but she craves excitement, needs to go about acting like a flaming detective. Go on, love, fetch the baker back. He’s got to go up to Caldwell again and tell Mr
Mulligan what’s happening.’

Mona pulled on her coat. ‘Four missing now.’

‘And Sally said something about Mary Whitworth’s brothers doing a disappearing act as well. They’re supposed to be sleeping in the laundry, but there’s no sign according
to Sally.’

‘Six,’ pronounced Mona, before leaving the house.

Ida sat bolt upright in her chair. A feeling of great unease played along her backbone, chilly fingers reaching up her neck until the hairs stirred. She thought about Charlie, her only son, just
another private who had given his life in 1916. Her mind drifted to Brenda, wife to Charlie Hewitt, mother of Diane and Joe. She had never been a mother, that one. She was a prostitute, a
dyed-in-the wool streetwoman with no thought for anyone but herself.

Oh, how Ida had missed Charlie. She could see him now, playing jacks and bobbers, bowling a hoop, having a game of football with an inflated pig’s bladder, marching off to war, so proud in
his uniform. ‘And now I’ve lost your kids,’ she told him. ‘Mind, I will say that daughter of yours has a head on her. But I told her to stop in, I did. Watch over them,
Charlie. Please make sure they come back to me tonight.’

She gazed into the dying embers, remembered how she, like Brenda Hewitt, had been of little use to Charlie’s children. ‘I just lay there,’ she whispered, ‘lay there
praying for death so I could join Charlie. I never worried about them two poor kiddies. So I’m just as bad as blinking Brenda. Still, with a lot of help, I’ve done a sight better
lately.’

The clock ticked its leaden way towards nine. Ida and Mona were seldom up this late, while the children usually went up at about eight o’clock in wintertime. Where were they? What was in
the woods? And would whatever it was leave her grandchildren alone?

Mona came in. ‘He’s set off for the farm, Ida. Just got some loaves out, then off he went like a good ’un.’

‘He is a good man,’ Ida repeated. She watched her friend as she removed coat and gloves again. ‘I’m glad you turned up here, Mona. You’re a comfort.’

I’ll be no comfort if them children don’t come home, thought Mona. ‘We’re lucky to have one another, love. I know it’s a bit cramped, but I can’t imagine
living on me own now.’

‘We have to get them two back.’ Ida’s voice cracked. ‘She’s not a bad girl, our Diane. She’s just a bit on the adventurous side.’ The tears flowed.
‘I could have done more. I should have pulled meself together years back, when they needed me.’

Mona crossed the room. ‘Stop this now, Ida Hewitt. You’re not hitting yourself with a big stick no more, not while I’m living here. Your Diane’ll look after Joe
and—’