The Planting of the Penny Hedge Page 7

  ‘Good morning,’ she said in her naturally cheerful manner. ‘I have brought with me some bi-carbonate of soda and some extra cloths and brushes for scrubbing the bathroom. Are you going out today working on the case?’

  ‘I have a few things I want to do here first, like go through some old letters and what not, but yes I may pop out later.’

  ‘That’s not a problem, I figured you probably would be. Hence my helping or you would never get this place respectable.’ She smirked and took her bags through to the kitchen. ‘I’ll put the kettle on the hob, a cup of tea will certainly start the day off on the right foot.’

  Matthews returned to the living room and began cleaning the fireplace. It was grubby to say the least. Some of the ash and soot surrounding the open fire looked as though it had been there for decades. He knew he really needed to replace most of the furniture too, it was either broken or covered in layers of soot and dust; and he had still not had chance to change his uncomfortable bed.

  ‘Still smells the same, doesn’t it?’ Charlotte returned with a tray of cups and biscuits, not the fanciest of display but it was clean, and in this house that was a blessing.

  ‘It certainly does. I keep expecting her to walk around the corner any minute asking me what I’m doing here.’ He took the tray off of his sister and placed it on the window ledge, fearing the coffee table may not be able to take the weight due to its mould ridden legs. His grandmother had collected furniture, as well as cupboards worth of items, throughout her life and had never liked to throw anything away. Their mother had done a good job at clearing the house after she had died, but there was still a long way to go.

  ‘She would find it quite funny you living here.’ Charlotte smirked. ‘She loved this house, she’d be thrilled you are in it.’

  ‘She may be less thrilled if she knew I wanted to replace most, if not all of the furniture. It’s all long past its best.’

  ‘My neighbour is selling some of his furniture as he’s moving into a smaller house, I’ll see what he has left for you.’ Charlotte slurped her tea whilst perching on the window sill next to the tray. It was a little wobbly, but it was slightly cleaner than the seats. ‘It may not be new things but he has good quality things, I’ll pop in to see him later on my way home.’

  ‘Thanks Lotty, I think I am going to need everything.’

  They drank their tea and ate biscuits whilst reminiscing about their grandmother. Certainly, the matriarch of the family they had many a fun tale to re-call, and found themselves laughing and joking about all their old memories of her. When they finished their pot of tea Charlotte cleaned the cups whilst Matthews continued scrubbing the fireplace. She joined him back in the living room and began beating the cushions on the sofa out of the window, causing an almighty cloud of dust outside. There was a lull in conversation for a moment, as though neither one knew quite what to say to the other. They had always gotten on as siblings, but they had never really spent that much time alone in the last five or six years and had somehow become a little less connected.

  ‘How is Pops coping without mother?’ Matthews asked.

  ‘It was hard at first, you know, the shock of it all I suppose,’ Charlotte stopped beating the cushions for a second and sighed, ‘it sort of feels like she has just gone away really, you know like when she used to visit her sister in Edinburgh. It’s only been about a month since the funeral, yet these weeks feel like months.’

  ‘And how are you coping?’ Matthews hesitantly asked. ‘It can’t be easy on you living with and looking after father as well as working at the school.’

  ‘Oh you know what he’s like, so wrapped up in his work he is barely home or if he is he usually brings paperwork home to do. So, it feels more like living alone really. I see him for dinner, sometimes breakfast, and that is it really.’

  ‘Has he not got you matched up with a suitor yet, it’s all he used to talk about, getting you married into a good family.’ Matthews smirked, he knew this irritated his sister and he had always teased her about it growing up.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve met a gentleman myself; father and mother both met him before she died.’ She smirked back it him, looking proud of herself.

  ‘Really?’ he could not hide his surprise, especially given this was the first he knew about it, ‘and who is this gentleman, do I get to meet him?’

  ‘He’s called John Nicholson,’ she said with apprehension. Matthews looked at his sister confused, he recognised the name instantly, but surely she was winding him up?

  ‘John Nicholson?’ His expression of confusion changed to humour. ‘Isn’t he the owner of the local football club, he must be twice your age and surely still with his wife?’

  ‘That’s John Nicholson senior, I mean his son. He turned nineteen just a couple of months ago.’

  ‘Oh thank goodness,’ Matthews chuckled, ‘and what does he do?’

  ‘He plays for the football team but is also an apprentice at the steel yard where the ships are made. His father owns that too, but is starting him at the bottom with the plan on working him up to take over the company. He is in Sheffield at the moment, been there a week, they have quite a steel industry down there, but he is due back tonight.’

  ‘Well, it seems you have it all planned out.’ Matthews sighed. ‘That will be both my younger siblings married before me, what a disappointment I am,’ he said it in a sarcastic tone.

  ‘Oh certainly,’ his sister teased, ‘I couldn’t possibly be seen with you out in daylight, an unmarried man at your age. People will wonder what is wrong with you.’ She laughed and gave him a playful tap on the arm. ‘You will find somebody brother,’ her tone changed to be more serious, ‘she is out there. But not if we don’t get this house cleaned, goodness you would scare even the homeless dogs away with a house this filthy. Now then, I will head on upstairs, I won’t get anything done with you talking to me constantly,’ she again smirked, ‘if you need to go out and do any detective work I don’t mind.’ With that she took herself off upstairs, where her humming could be heard as she cleaned.

  Matthews finished cleaning his living room as best he could, and after a couple of solid hours it was looking much better, other than getting new furniture there was little more he could do. The kitchen he had managed to clean too, and with a quick tidy up of the downstairs landing he was done, or at least for today. Charlotte was still upstairs singing to herself and apart from taking her a drink, he left her to it. He wanted to make a start going through the box of letters he had found in the wardrobe of James Robinson.

  The shoe box was filled with handfuls of letters, not all from the same person. The first one he came to read:

  My Dearest James,

  Your being away this long breaks my heart greatly. I think of you each day and wonder when you will return to me. You know I have always loved you more than anybody else in this world and would not wish to spend my life with anybody other than you. Promise me you will return soon.

  L x

  There were many letters from L, all of a similar nature, but none of them were signed with a full name, nor was there any indication where the letter had been sent from. It was not difficult to realise that they were from a lover, maybe even a wife, which made Matthews wonder why Mr Robinson had left his apparent life to come to Whitby.

  Another pile of letters from a different sender soon caught the attention of the detective, the letters again had no clear indication of where they had come from, but the content did seem a little strange, and each of these letters was dated, which helped the detective to place them in order. The handwriting was messy, but still readable and the tone of these letters were much harsher than that of the loving one. Matthews managed to find what seemed to be the most recently sent, it was dated less than a week before Mr Robinson was found dead on the beach.

  It read:

  May 2, 1891

  James,

  I employ you to see reason. You are chasing a rumour that may not even be true. I told you
everything I know before you left and here you are still in Whitby over eight months later with no more information than I gave. Stop this foolish witch hunt now and return home, before you get yourself into anymore trouble.

  WB

  There was a lot of letters from WB, each one cryptic and telling James Robinson to stop what he was planning and return home. Just like the other letters, WB never wrote his full name, neither did he put anything in the letters as to what he was advising James against.

  Matthews turned his attention to the Kelly & Co. Ltd 1881 addition of the Whitby Directory, which he had also taken from the victims’ wardrobe. The directory was filled with crossings out, random scribbles and torn out pages, it would take a lifetime to work through it to see if anything was actually useful. He flicked through almost the entire book without anything standing out. Names were crossed out on random pages, others were circled and some pages had been torn out completely. He was certainly going to need much longer to sit and crack any potential pattern.

  Matthews knew what he really needed to do was visit some of the bars that James Robinson spent his evenings, he hoped that speaking to some of the regulars might lead him to something useful he could work with. As today was Saturday he knew tonight would be an ideal time, as most bars were at their busiest. He knew that Robinson had been barred from a number of the public houses in town, but recalled his work colleague mentioning his intention to visit The Black Horse Inn the evening of his death.

  It was now mid-afternoon and a knock on the door startled him. He wasn’t expecting anybody but half anticipated it to be his father to see how things were going. It was not his father, but a young junior officer.

  ‘Detective Matthews?’ his deep voice whispered. He was a tall muscular man who was barely out of his teenage years, and looked a little nervous.

  ‘Yes,’ Matthews replied.

  ‘Detective I have been sent to give you this letter, and also bring you news.’ He handed the letter over and Matthews waited for the news.

  ‘Well, go on.’

  ‘Sir, I have been on Havelock Place again today with another officer finishing questioning the residents regarding the murder. Most residents had heard about it but none knew of the man.’

  ‘I see, well we tried, good day.’ He went to close the door on the young officer.

  ‘Wait,’ he said, the most animated he had been the entire time, ‘there is more.’ Matthews sighed, and returned the door to its open state.

  ‘Be quick man, I am busy.’

  ‘One of the residents sir, didn’t know anything about the victim, but has admitted to building the wooden fence like contraption that held the victim. She called it a penny…erm, something.’ The young officer rubbed his forehead as he tried to recall what he had been told. Matthews froze for a moment.

  ‘What house number?’

  ‘Number five, Sir.’

  ‘Thank you officer.’

  Matthews slammed the door, and headed for the kitchen to retrieve his hat and coat. The letter in his hand almost forgotten for a moment. He quickly ripped it open at the kitchen table, it was from Mr Waters, the coroner.

  Detective,

  I have now completed my initial examination of the body. I can determine that the man’s cause of death is drowning. He was not dead before coming to the beach. However, given the strange circumstances surrounding how he was discovered I intend on doing further examinations, and should anything come to my attention I will inform you.

  Mr K.Waters

  Matthews read the letter over twice. Not dead before? He was puzzled. How could a man like James Robinson, who looked as though he could take on most professional boxers, struggle in a little wooden contraption that could be snapped over by a child. It just didn’t add up.

  He folded up the letter and placed it in his brief case for later, shouted upstairs to his sister that he was going out, and raced outside. He couldn’t believe he already had somebody admitting to have made the penny hedge, and he was certainly apprehensive to find out who this person was.

  Chapter 12

  Detective Matthews walked to Havelock Place, it was only two streets away from his own house on East Crescent. He had with him his briefcase, with notebook inside ready to interview the person who knew about the penny hedge. He was trying to imagine what kind of a person he would be speaking to, especially now knowing that James Robinson was not dead before being tied to it. As he walked, he couldn’t help but think of his life back in York, and how he wished to still be there. He may have only been a constable in York, but it was more than he wanted. Here in Whitby as a detective he had never felt so far out of his comfort zone; the most difficult part of his job in York was chasing common thieves and trying not to fall over in the uneven cobbled lanes. He had helped on a number of bigger cases in York too, but had never been in charge of a case. He was used to getting statements from people, and even comforting those he had to deliver bad news too; but never had he been the sole, or lead investigator of a crime. His father’s promoting him, not to mention transferring him back to Whitby, he had to admit was a lavish gesture that he could see was done in good faith. Many officers would certainly jump at the offer, but Matthews hated knowing that the promotion was due to his father’s own wish and not his own personal achievement.

  As he approached the house on Havelock Place his eyes wandered on towards the doorway of Mr O’Sullivan, the gentleman who found the body. Strange to think, he thought to himself, that the person who found the body is just two doors away from the person I am putting on the top of the suspect list. He hadn’t even met the person at number five Havelock Place yet, but if they are admitting to making the penny hedge then he knew it was the closest to a suspect he had so far.

  Matthews knocked on the large wooden, black painted door with a brass handle and knocker, and waited. The occupant appeared moments later, and the detective was slightly surprised by the person stood before him. It was not a muscular young man who could tackle Mr Robinson as he had expected, but instead he was greeted by an older woman clearly in her late sixties.

  ‘Can I help you sir?’ she spoke softly and smiled warmly at him. She looked tiny compared to the detective, and had snow white hair that sat on top of her head in tight curls. She had a pale complexion but wore makeup that made her cheeks slightly pink. She wore a long black dress that had delicate embroidery on from the waist up. She smelt extremely floral mixed with bi-carbonate of soda.

  ‘Good afternoon madam, are you the occupant of this house?’

  ‘I am sir. Are you the detective they told me was coming?’

  ‘My name is Detective Matthews, I was wondering if you could answer some questions, could I come in?’

  The woman stood back and gestured for him to come inside. As soon as he stepped into the house the heat hit him. The detective was directed into the living room, and despite it being May, and being a lovely day outside, she had a grand fire burning in the fire place. Matthews could feel himself sweating before he had even taken a seat at a small table and two chairs by the window.

  ‘Would you like a drink detective, I could do you a cup of tea, I’ve just made a pot.’

  ‘Oh no thank you Mrs…I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.’

  ‘Hutton, Ms Allison Hutton.’

  She took the seat opposite him; the small wooden table was only just big enough for the bay window, and the two seats had cushions to sit on that were so worn they didn’t give any padding what so ever. The living room was not overly large, but had in it a small sofa, and an arm chair that looked as though it was used more than anything else. It had a pile of knitting wool next to it, and a small table with a packet of tobacco and cigarette papers, as well as a bag of prescription tablets and an empty tea cup that had clearly just been finished. The walls were reasonably bare, with a small round mirror above the fire and a painting of Whitby abbey on the wall opposite.

  ‘Ms Hutton my colleagues tell me that somebody at this address has confirme
d they made a small wooden structure on the beach two days ago, I have reason to believe it may have been a penny hedge?’

  ‘That is correct detective, I made it.’ Her soft voice was so delicate and she seemed so rather concerned about the whole thing.

  ‘Did my colleague tell you about the body that was found?’

  ‘Yes sir, I was most shocked. He showed me the picture but I’m afraid I have never met the gentleman before, the officer who came couldn’t remember his name and I’m afraid I do not know either.’

  ‘Ms Hutton can I ask you when you made the penny hedge?’ Matthews took out his notepad.

  ‘It was on Wednesday evening, I should have done it in the morning before the tide came in but I haven’t been too well these past two weeks and I didn’t make it in time, so had to do it later in the day.’

  ‘Can I ask you why you made it?’

  ‘Oh, it has been a tradition in my family for longer than I could say. You already knew it was a penny hedge so I will presume you know the story about the hermit that was murdered at the abbey in 1159. Well the planting of the penny hedge has been a tradition ever since. Some say it is a silly old tale that isn’t true, but my family have all been involved in helping to make it. Sadly, I am the last one left, I have no children myself and fear the tradition will end with me.’ She let out a small chesty cough and retrieved a handkerchief she had stored up her sleeve.

  ‘From the information I read about the ceremony the hedge is usually constructed not on the beach but further up the harbour, so why did you do it so close to the town this time?’

  ‘As I mentioned detective, I have been unwell these last two weeks, I did set off with the intention to do it in the normal spot but I was out of breath by the end of the street, so decided not to travel far. I have barely left the house these past two weeks, the doctor has been three times but tells me it is a simple chest infection that will pass.’

  ‘Can I ask you…’ he was interrupted by the living room door creaking open. A young man, who looked to be in his late teens, walked in. He had messy brown hair and wore beige trousers and a grey cotton shirt. He looked most put out to see the detective, as though he had ruined what he was planning to say to Ms Hutton.