Without a Trace (38 page)

The older woman clammed up. She was clearly bright enough to realize that, by insisting Christabel knew nothing of any of it, she would be admitting to having done it all herself.

‘If the psychiatrist at the asylum finds Christabel fit to stand trial, she will be charged jointly with you for these crimes and, although you may escape the noose, you’ll both spend the rest of your days in this prison. You’ll be separated, too. You won’t be able to protect or care for her here.’

Miss Gribble hugged her arms around her and rocked on the chair. She was a very plain, big-boned woman, and her white hair, scragged back in a bunch at the nape of her neck, only served to draw attention to her grey-tinged complexion. DI Pople had seen on her medical record that she was sixty-seven, but she looked strong and her arms were very muscular.

‘What am I to do?’ she bleated out, all her former belligerence gone. ‘Christabel is innocent of any crime, she’s just like a child. She trusted me to do whatever needed doing. Whatever you do to me, she will suffer more.’

‘Tell me the truth about everything and then I can make sure she gets the help she needs,’ DI Pople wheedled. ‘Now tell me why Sylvia ran away with her baby, and how you managed to find her. It must have been hard, as she’d changed her name.’

‘She left because I tried to curb her wildness.’

‘Okay,’ DI Pople said. He guessed this woman had put Sylvia through hell because she’d had an illegitimate mixed race baby. ‘So what made you want to track her down again? Surely the problems you’d had with her when Petal was born would still be the same?’

‘Christabel wanted to see her. I tried to make her see it wasn’t a good idea, but she kept on and on, so in the end I agreed. I got a private detective to find her.’

‘Did it take him long?’

Miss Gribble pulled a face. ‘Yes, the man spun it out in order to take Christabel’s money. His name is Frank Wilson; he was a retired policeman living in Ashford. He died just after he gave me his report. That was back in April 1953, so I expected Sylvia might have moved on from the address he’d given us. But we thought we’d go and see, anyway.’

‘Did you drive?’

‘Yes. Christabel can’t. I learned after her husband went missing.’

‘Any reason you chose Coronation Day?’

‘Yes, I knew the roads would be quiet. But it was much further than I expected.’

‘And the plan was? Just to see Sylvia and Petal, or to bring them back to Mulberry House with you?’

‘To see them, maybe have a little holiday down that way. I didn’t expect Sylvia to come back, she was always strong willed, even as a little girl. But Christabel was sure she would. All the way there she kept talking about redecorating Sylvia’s room, and where the child would go to school. I kept warning her Sylvia wouldn’t come, but she took no notice of me.’

‘What time did you get to Sylvia’s house?’

‘Just on noon. We’d left at first light, because we were afraid we wouldn’t find it. Mr Wilson had given us a map of where the cottage was. Good job he did; it wasn’t easy to find.’

‘So this man Wilson had been there himself?’

‘He didn’t say, but he must have done, as the map was hand drawn.’

‘Okay, so you arrived at Stone Cottage. Now tell me exactly what you saw, and how Sylvia reacted to seeing you and Christabel. And then what happened.’

The woman just sat there, her eyes almost closed, and DI Pople thought she wasn’t going to say anything further. He waited, trying hard not to snap at her again and remind her that he didn’t have all day.

‘It was pouring with rain,’ she suddenly blurted out, her eyes still half closed, as if she’d gone back to that day and was about to relive it.

She and Christabel had been at the beginning of a steep, muddy track which ran down under overhanging bushes, giving it an almost tunnel effect. She was hesitating to drive down because of the mud.

‘Can we be sure this is the right track, Gribby?’ Christabel had asked. She had invented the affectionate nickname ‘Gribby’, when she was a child. Since she had grown up, in company she used ‘Miss Gribble’, or ‘Maud’, but when it was just the two of them it was always Gribby.

‘Wilson said there was a milestone on the hill just by the track, and we saw that,’ Gribby said.

‘But what if we get stuck in the mud?’

Despite hesitating because of the mud, Miss Gribble was irritated by Christabel’s question and began to drive down. ‘We won’t. Stop worrying,’ she replied.

Christabel worried about everything. Whether she’d be too hot or too cold, if she should wear blue or green, that the car wouldn’t start, that they’d get a puncture. She was incapable of doing anything, or going anywhere, without constant reassurance that everything would be fine.

Gribby had assured her early this morning that her blue print dress and toning cardigan would be perfect whether it was hot or cold, that she looked lovely in it, that the car would start and that, if they did get a puncture, Gribby would know what to do. She hadn’t anticipated so much rain and mud, but she wasn’t going to admit that.

‘What a funny little place,’ Christabel said as they came out of the overhanging bushes into a clearing and saw Stone Cottage nestling into the woods and the little garden, pretty with flowers. ‘Rather picturesque, though. Fancy Sylvia planting flowers! She never used to be interested in the garden.’

Gribby turned the car around, leaving it in a stony area so they wouldn’t get stuck. She wanted to get this visit over and done with as quickly as possible, to let Christabel see that Sylvia was coping with the child, that she was happy living here, and then they could go.

As they got out of the car, both putting up umbrellas, the side door on the cottage opened and Sylvia stood there in the doorway.

She looked startlingly different. Her blond hair was dyed red, and they’d interrupted her styling it, as one side of her face was framed with curls, the other side still a mass of silver curlers. She was wearing a simple floral dress and her feet were bare. Six years had added maturity to her face, a confidence that was apparent even before she spoke.

‘What brings you here?’ she called out. ‘If it’s trouble, then get back in the car and go.’

‘Oh, Sylvia, don’t be so hostile!’ Christabel called back. ‘I’ve missed you so much, and I just wanted to see Pamela.’

‘Her name is Petal now – as I’m sure you are aware, if you tracked me down here. Come in out of the rain but, I warn you, I wasn’t expecting visitors and we’re going to a Coronation party in the village this afternoon.’

Christabel tried to embrace Sylvia as they went into the house, but she backed away.

‘I can’t be doing with all that false stuff,’ Sylvia said, her eyes flashing. ‘You, Gribble, were vile to me and cruel to Petal, and you, mother dear, were an apology for a woman, let alone a mother. So say your piece and then go. I want nothing to do with you, and nothing from you.’

Christabel let out a sound, part sob, part expression of shock. ‘I want to see Pamela!’

‘There’s no child here called Pamela,’ Sylvia hissed at her. ‘And I’m not Sylvia any longer, but Cassandra.’

‘May I see Petal, then?’ Christabel asked.

‘Just for a few minutes, and if you frighten her I’ll throw you out,’ Sylvia warned. ‘Petal, sweetheart!’ she called out at the bottom of the stairs. ‘There’s some people who want to meet you.’

Miss Gribble felt nothing but resentment when the child came down the stairs. The little girl was all smiles, her tight curly hair fixed up in a sort of top knot with a red ribbon. She wore red shorts and a red-and-white striped blouse.

But what really upset her was the way Christabel reacted.

‘Oh, isn’t she beautiful!’ she gushed. ‘Come here, you darling girl.’

‘I’m going to be Britannia in the fancy dress this afternoon,’ the child announced. ‘Mummy made my costume. Would you like to see me in it?’

‘I would indeed,’ Christabel said eagerly. ‘You know, I’ve wanted to see you for such a long time.’

‘Enough of that,’ Sylvia said with a note of warning in her voice, and moved between the child and Christabel. ‘You relinquished all rights six years ago.’

‘I need to talk to you in private,’ Miss Gribble said to Sylvia in a low voice. She felt she had to let the girl know she wanted nothing more than to let Christabel see her and the child and then they would go. But she couldn’t say that in front of Christabel. ‘Where can we go?’

‘Nowhere in this cottage – it’s too small,’ Sylvia replied.

‘Could Christabel and Petal go and sit in the car, then?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got things I must tell you, and I can’t with Petal listening. Please? Just for a few moments.’

Sylvia looked a little apprehensive but nodded her agreement. ‘Okay. Petal adores cars, and it can’t do any harm as long as she sticks to asking about school and stuff.’

She went over to Petal and stroked her face. ‘Look, sweetie. Would you just go and sit in the car with this lady for a few minutes so I can talk to her friend?’

Petal nodded and readily took Christabel’s hand. She was giggling as Christabel held the umbrella over them both to run to the car.

Sylvia turned to Miss Gribble the moment they’d gone. ‘Now what do you want?’ she asked. ‘If you think I’m coming back, you’d better think again. I wouldn’t cross that threshold if my life depended on it.’

Miss Gribble’s hackles rose immediately, just as they always
had when Sylvia showed a lack of respect for either her or her mother. She’d been a wilful child who had always gone against any form of authority. As she got older, she’d become scornful because her mother was weak, and she’d done her best to drive a wedge between herself and Christabel. Miss Gribble tried to control her rising anger, because she knew Sylvia would never agree to her terms if she thought she was being put under pressure.

‘It’s your mother’s nerves,’ she said. ‘You and the child are all she thinks about – she’s always asking about her, crying for hours sometimes. I’m afraid she might have a complete breakdown unless you allow her some contact with you both. I’m not saying you have to come to the house. You could stay nearby, and she could come to you.’

‘Even if I had the money to go all that way, why would I even consider seeing a woman who allowed you to mistreat and manipulate me?’ Sylvia snarled. ‘I don’t care if she has a breakdown, a mother’s job is to protect her child, and she didn’t, because she preferred to go along with what you, a bloody monster, told her to do. You were inhuman, and you are never going to inflict the kind of things you did on me on Petal. I hated you my whole childhood, and now I’m old enough to rationalize it all I hate you even more.’

Lashing out was what Maud Gribble always did when anyone upset her. This was why she kept her distance from people. Mostly, the lashing out was just shouting abuse or throwing something. Any form of physical violence she generally managed to control. But Sylvia’s words cut right into her, and she couldn’t hold back.

She sprang at Sylvia, catching hold of her two upper arms and shaking her like a rag doll. She must have done that hundreds
of times while Sylvia was growing up. But, this time, she couldn’t stop.

Sylvia’s head began lolling to one side, and Miss Gribble let go of her arms, took her head in her two hands and slammed it backwards.

It was the horrible crunching sound that alerted her to the fact that she’d banged Sylvia against the edge of the stone mantelpiece and not the wall. She let go of the girl and she dropped to the hearth like a sack of potatoes, leaving a trail of blood across the fireplace.

Panic took over. She glanced out and saw Christabel and Petal happily chatting in the back of the car. They hadn’t come to try and take Petal away, but she knew it would make Christabel very happy if they could drive away with the child.

‘So that’s what I did!’ Miss Gribble said, finishing up her story. ‘I collected up a few bits of Petal’s from upstairs and picked up a diary of Sylvia’s, because I thought it might have some information about her in it. Then I went to the car. I said I was driving Petal down to the village party and that her mum would follow on when she’d done her hair.’

DI Pople was astounded at the way Miss Gribble had graphically described the scene, both seeing and then killing Sylvia. It was almost like hearing a play on the wireless. There was no doubt that what she said was the absolute truth. He thought she was utterly mad, in as much as she had no real conception of the evil of what she’d done.

He was so astounded he felt faint.

‘Tell me, then,’ he said, pulling himself together so as to continue. ‘Did Christabel have any idea of what you’d done?’

‘None. She did ask why she couldn’t say goodbye to Sylvia,
but that was all. Petal got a bit anxious when I didn’t stop at the village hall, but I said it was too early for the party and we’d have a little ride in the car. Later I told her that her mother was following us down to our place the next day on the train.’

DI Pople gulped. ‘And what did she say to that?’

‘She starting crying and making a fuss because she hadn’t got her fancy-dress costume and she was missing the party. I had to smack her.’

‘You casually killed the mother and took the child away?’ DI Pople was incredulous.

‘I didn’t mean to kill Sylvia, and I certainly didn’t want to take the child. But I had to, didn’t I? I couldn’t leave her there.’

‘So when did you tell Christabel that you’d killed her daughter?’

‘I didn’t. I told her that Sylvia had admitted she was struggling to keep body and soul together and couldn’t get a decent job because of Petal. I said I’d suggested we took Petal home with us, then, once she’d found a good job, Sylvia could come down to see us.’

DI Pople shook his head, amazed that Christabel would believe this. But, clearly, she’d been conditioned since she was a small child into doing whatever Miss Gribble said.

‘And, once you got home, how did you explain away the need to keep Petal hidden from view?’

Miss Gribble gave him a pitying look. ‘Because of her colour, of course.’

‘How long did you think you could keep her hidden? What about school? If she became ill? Surely Christabel isn’t so crazy she wouldn’t consider these things?’