Murder in the Afternoon Read Online Free PDF Page A

the string. ‘I didn’t know who might be passing by and stick their big mitt through the letter box.’
    She spoke calmly as if explaining to a child, and for the briefest of moments I thought she must be the mother and Mary Jane the daughter. Time played a trick so that Mary Jane became an old woman, and Harriet the calm and thoughtful adult. Beside her solemn daughter, Mary Jane seemed flibbertigibbet.
    I glanced about the room. If one did not have to live here, one might describe it as picturesque, with its oil lamp on the dresser and candle holders on the mantelpiece. A well scrubbed deal table by the window held an enamel basin and jug. A pail and a bucket stood under the table. Another table stood against the wall, with chairs and buffets. A third, smaller table fronted by a spindly chair, held a Little Worker Lockstitch sewing machine. On either side of the range were fitted cupboards and drawers. On the far side of the room loomed a dresser. A blanket chest stood under the slope of the staircase. It was a crowded room. I pictured the family forever sidestepping, so as not to bump into the furniture.
    Mary Jane raked at the ashes in the grate. ‘We’ll soon have a fire going. You go back to bed, Harriet. It’s too early for school.’
    The child sat on a buffet by the table, watching her mother.
    Mary Jane picked up a newspaper and began to make a twist of it. Harriet leaped from the stool, snatched thenewspaper back from her mother and smoothed it. ‘Dad hasn’t read that
Herald
yet.’
    Mary Jane sighed. She reached for some shreds of bracken and placed a few chips of wood in the grate. ‘You haven’t fetched coal in.’
    ‘I was going to do it.’
    ‘Go on then!’
    The sleepy-eyed child slipped from the buffet and picked up a scuttle from the hearth.
    ‘Harriet! Put your shoes on.’
    ‘Here, give that to me.’ I took the coal scuttle from her. ‘Where do you keep the coal?’
    ‘Nay, Catherine. You mustn’t do that.’
    I ignored Mary Jane and followed as Harriet led me to a back door. It was bolted top and bottom. I shot back the bolts and the door swung open onto a long back garden with a couple of outhouses.
    ‘That’s coal ’ole.’ Harriet pointed to the first shed.
    Slipping on a pair of galoshes that were too big, she shuffled along beside me.
    In the coal hole, I picked up the shovel. It grated on the floor as I slid it under the heap of coal, filled it, and tipped the coal into the scuttle. Coals tumbled from the top of the pile.
    ‘You’ve to fill it to the top.’
    I scraped the shovel along the floor once more.
    ‘Do you know Dad, Mrs Shack …’
    ‘Mrs Shackleton’s a bit of a mouthful. You can call me Auntie Kate.’ I hadn’t meant to say it, but it came out.
    She frowned, and I realised I had made a mistake. She watched me tip the next shovelful of coal into the scuttle. When she spoke, she did not call me Auntie Kate.
    ‘Do you know Dad? Have you met him?’
    She looked at me steadily, waiting for a reply. She would make a good interviewer. A felon staring into those wide eyes would be enticed into telling the truth.
    ‘No, Harriet. I don’t know your dad. But if you’ll be kind enough and you don’t need urgently to go back to bed, you could take me to the quarry and show me where he worked.’
    It was hard, and perhaps even cruel, but I needed to talk to the child alone. After all, she claimed to have seen her father lying dead, and she did not look as if her eyesight failed her.
    Harriet gulped. Her fists tightened. She no more wanted to go to the quarry than her mother did. But she was braver. ‘I’ll get dressed.’

Three
     
    We walked in silence along the footpath. It was early enough for the wild flowers not to have opened for business. The quietness of the morning and the mildness of the scene lulled us into a gentle stroll, as though we had no particular destination. I hated to break the spell.
    How do you start a conversation with a child when the