A Fatal Secret. Faith Martin

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      ‘Who? Lallie? Oh no, sir. None of the lads were working. They had time off because of the holiday see, like me. Mr de Lacey is good like that. Besides, Lallie doesn’t like fuss and rumpus. He’s a bit simple-like, sir,’ he confessed, lowering his voice a little, lest the man hear them. ‘Had a bad war, see. Doesn’t like loud noises and lots of people. Mind you, he’s fond of young’uns sir, and wouldn’t hurt a fly, he wouldn’t,’ he added anxiously, lest the coroner get the wrong idea.

      ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t,’ Clement reassured him mildly. ‘I suppose he knew the boy though?’

      ‘O yerse, sir, we all did, sir, and right fond of him we were too,’ the head gardener said sadly. ‘Being such a particular friend of Miss Emily and all, he was always about, the two of ’em running wild. Mind you, they didn’t do no damage. We often saw them about the place, playing hide-and-seek and cops and robbers and whatnot. And helping themselves to the fruit and all, when they come into season,’ he added, with a wry smile. ‘Young Eddie was rather fond of the golden raspberries, as I recall. I used to pretend to try and catch ’em out, but always made enough noise so they heard me coming and took off, gigglin’ like.’ Suddenly his face fell as he realised that he wouldn’t have to do that ever again.

      ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mr Cricklade,’ Clement said quickly, before the old man could dwell on it. Then, as a seeming afterthought, he added, ‘The family’s housekeeper…?’

      ‘Mrs Roper, sir?’

      ‘Yes. She seems rather, er, protective of the family?’ He offered the opening gambit gingerly. In his opinion, servants either liked to gossip about each other, or shut up like clams. But he was betting that the housekeeper’s prickly personality and obvious sense of entitlement hadn’t won her any favour with the rest of the staff.

      The old man grinned wryly. ‘Oh yes, sir, she be that. Of course, her and the old Lady, Mrs Vivienne – Mr de Lacey’s mother – were like this,’ he said, holding up his hands and entwining two fingers together. ‘So you can understand it, I ’spect.’

      ‘Oh I see. It sounds as if she’s been here some years?’

      ‘Oh yes, sir. Not that she’s a villager, mind. Born and raised in Brighton she was,’ the old man said, shaking his head and making the seaside town sound as if it were on a level standing with Sodom or Gomorrah. ‘But she met a lad from the village here when he was billeted near Hove during the war, and he married her and brought her back here to live. The old lady took a shine to her and so she went into service like. At first, it was supposed to be just while her Wilf was off fighting. But he didn’t come back from the war, o’course, like a lot of our brave lads didn’t, and so she sort of took to devoting herself to her mistress, like, as the ladies sometimes do. Yerse, real devoted to Mrs Vivienne, she was.’

      Clement nodded. Yes, that explained quite a lot.

      ‘Well, we shall probably see you around from time to time, Mr Cricklade. If, in the meantime, you can think of anything you think we should know, just say so,’ Clement adjured him heartily.

      The old man, however, looked slightly puzzled at this. ‘Like what, sir?’ he asked cautiously.

      ‘Well. Did Eddie ever look worried or scared that you can recall? Did he ever confide in you about anything that troubled him? Did anything you saw him doing strike you as odd? Did you ever see him talking to strangers?’

      ‘Oh right you are, sir. But I can tell you now, there was nothing like that. He was just a happy, normal little kiddie. And as for strangers…’ The old man shrugged graphically. ‘Round here, everyone knows everyone, if you see what I mean, sir. And like as not, everyone knows everyone’s business before you even know it yourself.’

      Clement, who’d also grown up in a small village, did.

      ‘Mind you,’ the old man said, then hesitated when both Trudy and Clement looked at him keenly.

      ‘Yes?’ Clement urged.

      ‘Well, it might mean nothing, sir,’ the old man began, clearly reluctant to start what he’d finished. He began to shuffle his feet and looked uncomfortable, glancing up at the big house, then away again.

      ‘It’s all right, the squire has given us carte blanche to ask anything we want,’ Clement said.

      The old man nodded. He might not have understood the fancy French-sounding words, but he got the gist of it all right. He sighed heavily.

      ‘Ar, well… See, sir, it’s on account of something sort of odd the boy said to me once.’

      ‘When was this exactly?’ Clement asked sharply.

      ‘Oh, a week or so before Easter, I reckon it must have been. I caught him tearing across the kitchen garden, almost trampling some strawberry plants. Told him to keep off. There was no harm in him, sir, but he could run a bit wild and be careless like, like all kiddies when they’re playing “chase” and such.’

      ‘I’m sure he was a good lad,’ Clement said, trying to keep a check on his impatience. ‘But what was it he said that made you worry?’

      ‘Well, not to say I worried, as such,’ the gardener said cautiously. ‘I just didn’t understand what he meant, sir. He asked me if all grown-ups were rich.’

      Clement blinked. ‘Well, that sounds pretty normal to me. I suppose to most children, grown-ups always seem to have more money than they do!’

      ‘Yes, sir, that’s more or less what I told him, an’ all.’ The old man grinned. ‘But then he looked up at me, all serious like, and said something like, “Yes, but are they usually mad when you find out?” Well, sir, that sort of stumped me a bit,’ the old gardener admitted.

      ‘So what did you say?’ Clement asked, intrigued.

      ‘I asked him if someone was mad at him, and he shrugged, and said he thought they might be.’

      ‘Did he say who?’

      ‘No, sir, he didn’t. At that point, young Miss Emily, who he was playing chase with, ran up and “tagged” him and the pair went haring off. ’Course, at the time, I just forgot about it.’ The old man scratched his nose and looked uneasily at the coroner. ‘But now… well, it just makes me wonder a bit, what he could have meant, like.’

      Clement nodded. He could well see how it might. A young boy hints that he’s got on the wrong side of somebody, and a week later, he’s found dead at the bottom of a well. He would wonder a bit too.

      ‘Well, I’m sure you have nothing to reproach yourself for, Mr Cricklade,’ he said heartily. ‘Children often say things that don’t amount to much.’

      ‘Thank ’ee, sir,’ the old man said, feeling at least better for having got things off his chest.

      They took their leave of the old man, who set off to check his new potatoes for black fly, and Trudy looked at the coroner sharply.

      ‘Do you really think the poor lad had made an enemy of somebody?’ she asked.

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