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  ‘And the jury still couldn’t agree?’

  ‘Another judge, another talking to, so they went back in and came out and said he wasn’t guilty. It was the nearest thing to Not Proven you could have.’

  ‘So she’s Peter Loomis’ child.’ Charmian considered the fact. Had Lady Mary known? But of course she had, and it explained some of her anxiety. She had known but said nothing. Must have realized I would discover, Charmian thought.

  ‘That information hasn’t come out.’

  ‘No, not yet. But it will.’

  ‘Where is he? Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘He’s at Chantrey House, that’s the family house, National Trust property now, but he has a place in the grounds. He lives there with his mother. Yes, I have spoken to him. He’s upset but had nothing to add that helped. Not so far,’ Feather added thoughtfully. ‘His mother tried to be helpful. Loved the child.’

  ‘Is it a part of the case? I mean has it got any bearing on the child’s disappearance?’

  ‘I don’t know. All I know is the kid is missing, and we haven’t found her.’

  Might never find her alive, but he did not say that aloud. All the same, the unexpressed words echoed round the silent room. Nor did he say ‘And what is your interest in this, ma’am?’ being too canny and cautious.

  Charmian obliged him: ‘The mother is a friend of a friend.’

  ‘You know her, do you, ma’am?’

  ‘No, never met her.’ Although she might be interested in doing so quite soon.

  Feather reflected. ‘ Pity, I would have liked your opinion of her.’

  ‘Don’t you trust her?’

  Feather was thinking it out: ‘It’s more as if she doesn’t trust me.’

  ‘She’s in shock.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, that too. I accept that, and I went slow with her. But she didn’t want to talk.’

  ‘Some people are always distrustful.’ Charmian frowned. ‘But you believed her? She was telling the truth?’

  ‘I believed she was telling the truth as far as it went. But I feel that there is more that she is not telling … I don’t know if you’d feel like it, ma’am, but I’d be glad if you had a talk with her.’

  You and Lady Mary, thought Charmian. ‘I will.’

  Feather hesitated. ‘It’s not quite over, either.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Something horrible … A doll, left on her front door. I don’t know if she’d tell you. Doesn’t like to talk about it.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  ‘And I don’t know what to make of it … I’m not sure if she’s telling me the whole truth.’

  ‘About the doll?’

  ‘About anything.’

  ‘Have you seen the doll?’

  ‘Yes, just an ordinary plastic doll. Forensic have it at the moment.’

  As she moved towards the door, he stopped her with a word: ‘She’s dead, of course.’

  Charmian stood frozen. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Feel it.’ He held his hands and stretched the fingers wide. ‘Feel it there.’

  As far as Charmian was concerned, this was Day One.

  She had made a few enquiries and learnt that the affair between Biddy Holt, Driscoll, she had been then, and Peter Loomis was well known and that the birth of the child had preceded the murder of Peter’s wife (for whom no murderer had ever been found). There was a suggestion that it was the arrival of the child that had precipitated the murder. But Lady Mary said that Biddy had got married quickly to Holt, a marriage of convenience, and withdrawn from the scene.

  Charmian went through a routine day at her SRADIC headquarters, dealing with an average day’s work, but her mind was thinking about Biddy Holt and her daughter. Under the influence of these thoughts, she left early, and made for home.

  Home was Maid of Honour Row, her tiny Victorian house, where she was greeted with detached politeness by Muff, her large tabby cat, and by a note from her friends and neighbours the retired white witches, Birdie Peacock and Winifred Eagle.

  ‘Taking Benjy for a dog-training class.’

  Benjy was Charmian’s dog but he lived with Birdie and Winifred.

  ‘A friend of ours runs it for special dogs. We think Benjy will benefit.’

  A training class for dogs run by a witch or a warlock? ‘Better be careful, Muff,’ she advised. ‘Benjy may come back with a few anti-cat spells.’

  Muff was undisturbed, but moved to her feeding bowl where she took up her position. Charmian knew what was desired: she fed Muff, after which she changed her clothes, putting on jeans and a sweater. This was not to be an official visit.

  She took a last fond look at her house before she closed the door behind her. She had the idea she was stepping into strange territory.

  ‘It’s the doll.’ She held the key in her hand. ‘Just a little plastic baby.’

  It was getting dusky because it was turning into a damp November evening of the sort that the Thames valley knows well. Charmian drove out of Windsor, taking the Cheasey road but avoiding that lawless area, which everyone did if they could. Beyond Cheasey and before Slough was a wedge of open land which was still country with cattle grids and what looked like several groups of dark, low cottages put together to make a house. As Charmian walked across the grass towards The Vinery, however, she saw that she was mistaken. Sunk in the earth, built of dark stone with a low roof, a house, perhaps even this one, had been on the site for centuries. It looked strong and solid and immemorially old, as if its foundations had known the Roman invaders and had outlasted them.

  The Vinery was a house on which money had been spent, the white paint was fresh, the thatched roof looked well groomed as if someone had taken a comb to it, and in the barn, which served as a garage, was a shining new Jaguar. This too was white so it matched the house.

  She had parked the car on the grass verge, locking it carefully, since lawless Cheasey, home to many a skilful car-stealing family, was not far away. Her hand was raised to the antique brass knocker when the door opened.

  ‘I was watching, I saw you come.’

  ‘You were expecting me?’

  ‘Mary said you might come; I’ve been looking out for you. On and off, you know, and hoping … Mary said what a help you always were. I’m Biddy Holt.’ She held out a polite hand. She would always be polite, Charmian thought, looking at the small, sturdy figure in jeans and a white sweater. She had dark crisp curls, but her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses which could not entirely hide the puffy redness.

  Recent tears, prolonged tears, probably, you got to know the signs in this trade. What you couldn’t be sure of was the cause: straight grief, twisted guilt, plain anxiety, take your pick.

  ‘Mary said that I was helpful?’ Charmian felt both chastened and surprised by the judgement: she had not always been helpful to Lady Mary, more often sharply critical. Carping, she said to herself. That’s what I’ve been more often than not.

  ‘Are you on your own?’ she asked the girl. Biddy looked no more than a girl with her light young voice and small, neat features. Probably very pretty when normal.

  ‘Inspector Feather left a policewoman with me, but I sent her away after a bit. I wanted to be on my own.’

  Charmian nodded; she knew the feeling, but she was still outside the house, with Biddy holding the door. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Oh yes, sorry.’ She led the way through to a long, low-ceilinged sitting-room with a huge stone grate in which a log fire burned; a small white dog of indeterminate breed lay before it. He stood up and gave a low growl as they approached. ‘Quiet now, Tray … he’s edgy with all the people that have been in and out. He’s picked up the tension, dogs do, don’t they? Coffee? Tea?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you.’

  Biddy hovered, looked irresolute and distressed, then she motioned towards one of the big sofas that stood on either side of the fire. The dog at once leapt up. ‘Down, Tray. Miss Daniels, do sit down.’ She led
the way by sitting down herself at some distance from the fire. The dog crawled on to her lap and this time, she did not forbid him.

  She told her story: ‘We had breakfast together as usual, Sarah was a bit off her food, excited. Not ill, just a bit excited, she did get excited when she was going to school … she loved it, you see.’ She paused before resuming her story: ‘I was one of a group of mothers who did the school run, there isn’t a school bus, it’s such a small school, you see, it wouldn’t be economically viable, so we take turns. We are all friends.’

  She had got the message the night before that the father of a fellow pupil would be collecting the group, she didn’t know him, the bell had rung, her daughter had rushed to the door with her, appeared to know the man who was calling for her, and had departed.

  ‘And you didn’t know him?’

  ‘No …’ But Charmian picked up the hesitation.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I just have the feeling that I might have seen him.’

  ‘Where? Where did you see him?’

  ‘I don’t know, I can’t be sure … It might have been in a shop.’

  ‘Selling or buying?’

  ‘Oh, not selling … he wasn’t someone who worked in a shop. No, he must have been shopping.’

  ‘Can you recall the shop? It would be worth knowing.’

  Biddy frowned but no illumination appeared in her face. She shook her head, her eyes going blank. ‘ Can’t see anything.’

  ‘Food shop? Clothes? Shoes?’ What was there left? ‘Flowers? Fruit and vegetable.’

  ‘Might have been food,’ said Biddy. ‘Yes, could have been.’

  ‘Small shop? Large shop.’ Don’t let it be a supermarket, no hope of tracing a stray man there. But even this was denied her. Biddy shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t get any further.’

  ‘Keep on trying,’ said Charmian. ‘It’s worth it … Why did you tell Inspector Feather that you didn’t know the man who came for your daughter?’

  ‘I thought I didn’t.’

  ‘But you thought your child did know him? And that was why you yourself accepted him? Your daughter went off cheerfully, even gleefully, you said.’

  ‘You’re putting the wrong gloss on what I said. She just seemed to accept him, she was placid. For instance, she put out her hand and smiled. I said: “That’s all right?” And she nodded. Of course, I thought it was. I thought he was Harry. But don ‘t read too much in to it. I didn’t say she went off as if she was going to a party … I think that might have puzzled me. Alarmed me, even. I’d have noticed that. As it was it all seemed so normal … it wasn’t till Harry turned up, late and full of apologies, that I panicked. Harry was upset too, I can tell you.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I rang the school and she wasn’t there. That’s when I learnt she hadn’t been present for several days. Then I did go over the top. I remember screaming. Then I told the police.’

  She’s lying, for some reason, she has slightly, very slightly changed her story, the details are a tiny bit different; she might have seen the man, Sarah didn’t eagerly greet the man but went off placidly, although she had been excited earlier.

  ‘I’m telling the truth,’ said Biddy quickly. ‘Really, I am, it’s just that when I was speaking to you just now, I suddenly thought, that, yes, perhaps I had seen him before. Perhaps he was watching, following me.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  Biddy shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’

  Maybe you shouldn’t, thought Charmian. A step too far.

  She frowned. ‘If your daughter was collected as usual each day, then she must have been delivered as usual even if she never appeared at the school. What happened in between? Did no one see her go off? Didn’t you think it strange?’

  ‘Of course I do, I think it’s bloody strange, I blame the school.’

  ‘Inspector Feather says they seem a relaxed outfit and that you yourself have often kept Sarah away without warning so they didn’t think much about it, blaming you, but that they would have got in touch pretty soon. It does sound as if whoever took your daughter knew the school. You haven’t got any idea who that person could be? What about her father?’ He was the obvious suspect.

  But Biddy was firm. ‘No, no, he would have come himself, not sent a stranger.’

  What stranger? Charmian thought. She changed the subject. ‘What about the doll? You found it outside?’

  ‘Yes, by the bay tree at the front door. Not hidden, I think it was put there so I would find it. Perhaps by Sarah, and that frightened me.’

  ‘And it was definitely one of your daughter’s dolls?’

  ‘Yes, she’d broken the nose, I knew it by that, the Inspector took it away. I didn’t want him to.’

  Charmian considered. ‘Yes, he’d want to do that. I’d like to have seen it.’

  ‘I can show you the others.’

  ‘The others?’

  ‘Yes, she had a family of them.’

  Biddy led her through to another sitting-room which was more of a child’s play-room in which there were plenty of toys, Sarah had not been deprived of playthings judging by the rocking horse, the doll’s house and the toy train. On a sofa, ranged side by side, were a group of dolls, some dressed, some completely naked. They were all of a size, just about four inches, small and made of pale pink plastic. The round faces and blank eyes stared at Charmian, a sad and sombre semicircle.

  She turned to Biddy: ‘They’re tiny.’

  ‘Yes, she’d liked little dolls, and of course being all the same made them more of a group. She gave them different names, the one that came back was called Little.’

  Charmian picked up one naked object. ‘That’s Small.’

  Charmian held it in her hands. Just a little plastic doll with no clothes on. Certainly not beautiful, hard to tell if it was much loved.

  ‘Just an ordinary plastic doll,’ Feather had said. But it wasn’t ordinary. Not this one. Small had his or her left eye blacked out.

  Charmian raised an eyebrow and Biddy answered: ‘ Sarah has a slight cross in one eye and she thought Small was starting one.’

  ‘Ah.’ Now she came to look again, it seemed to Charmian that several of the other dolls looked as though they had run into eye trouble. ‘That can be cured.’

  ‘Of course, it will be,’ said Biddy quickly, but she looked away, not meeting Charmian’s gaze. Charmian could see tears in her eyes.

  ‘Why did you feel you wanted to see me?’ she enquired gently. ‘What was wrong with Inspector Feather? He’s a good man.’

  ‘He didn’t believe me, I could tell. It was in his face.’

  Charmian nodded. She had picked up a truth here. Policemen got that look, probably she had it herself. And as it happened, Feather had not entirely believed Biddy Holt.

  ‘He seemed to think I could have told him more, that I was keeping something back. It was in his face, in his voice. And he didn’t appear to be doing anything. No one was looking for Sarah.’

  ‘Oh, they are, you can count on that. I saw Sarah’s photograph on TV myself and your appeal.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I appealed,’ said Biddy, ‘and that was when I felt how hopeless it was, how I was talking into the air and no one was listening.’

  Charmian knew that a police sweep of all the open land and woods was under way, but when you were near Windsor Great Park that was some task. Other officers were calling door to door in Windsor itself. They would move on to Merrywick and Cheasey later. The search would then extend to Reading, Slough, and Oxford. London itself would be added to the list.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ she said. ‘I’ll call in all the records, and then if I decide it is needed, I will send in my own investigating team.’

  At the same time, she could hear Feather’s voice in her ear: ‘She’s dead, of course.’

  Biddy looked at her, she took off the dark spectacles an
d stared into Charmian’s face. Her eyes were streaked with small red veins. ‘I want her back.’

  ‘You’ll have to trust me.’

  As she sat in the car, she looked back at that dark old house with the sad family of dolls inside it. A house that had known tragedies and mysteries in its time, the sense of the past was strong.

  She drove towards Windsor with Feather’s voice in her mind, the sense of unease was so strong that it was no surprise somehow to see the Castle burning.

  Then, not on impulse, because it had been at the back of her mind all the time, the worry about Kate being so strong, she took the turn in the road that led her towards the Princess Mother and Baby Clinic where her godchild lay in bed.

  It was a short drive so she was there quickly. Too quickly, because she wanted to think how to handle Kate. Kate in good health could be tricky, always loving but impetuous and spirited: sick, she was difficult.

  The Princess Clinic was new, only three years old, expensive, and full of the sort of modern technology that would have alarmed those earlier patients of the old hospital and before that, in the days of the Foundlings’ Hospital, would have seriously surprised those even earlier sad souls who had borne their babies without benefit of clergy or midwives and laid the infants on the hard grass of Baby Drop land.

  In fact, the wire and tubes which had been attached to Kate when last seen had alarmed Charmian herself. She took a deep breath while she prepared to face them again.

  Inside the hospital was white and pastel, determinedly not frightening, but managing somehow not to be welcoming, not to be a place you would walk to unless you had to. It smelt of money, though. No one poor was delivered in the Princess Clinic.

  ‘Dead already, dead already.’ Feather’s voice came with her as she went past the reception desk, took the lift, then walked through the corridor.

  Kate was resting on a mound of pillows. Her face was very thin and white, the bones showing the cheeks, her eyes huge. She was, although no one had told her, yet she had probably guessed, very ill.

  Charmian kissed her, carefully, gently, she was so fragile.