Free Blood-Tied by Wendy Percival Page B

another photo on top of the first. She slid her finger underneath, lifting them both carefully out of the frame, and turned them over.
    The second picture was of a group of people dressed in uniform, standing on the front steps of a large house. She took it over to the window and studied the people in the better light. Judging by the dress and hairstyle she guessed that the photograph had been taken in the 1930s. Had Polly Roberts ever been in service? Was she in the photograph? She must be, otherwise why keep a copy?
    Esme squinted again at the picture. There was something written in the corner? The name of the house, perhaps? The writing was faded but she could just make out an ‘M’ and possibly ‘Hall’. Then she noticed a date. 1937. So her estimate was correct. She looked at the house. There was something familiar about the building. She was sure she’d seen it recently.
    She turned back to the portrait. Perhaps the woman was Daisy. Esme was intrigued. Why was it on top of the wardrobe? Had it been discarded because of its broken glass and overlooked when Mrs Roberts moved out? If it was of Daisy, surely Mrs Roberts would have taken it with her and replaced the glass? And why hide one picture behind another? If it was hidden. Perhaps the frame was required and someone hadn’t bothered to remove the first photograph.
    Esme moved away from the window. She could try asking Mrs Roberts but, considering her current reticent behaviour, Esme couldn’t help feeling that she was unlikely to tell her anything. She gathered up the photos, carefully put the frame back together again, and put them in her bag. It was worth a try, anyway.
    The more Esme thought about the old lady’s behaviour, the more baffling it became. What was it that was too complicated to explain? No matter how she looked at it Esme couldn’t see it as anything other than suspicious. Gemma’s explanation of it being a simple case of respecting Elizabeth’s privacy was perfectly rational. Except that Gemma hadn’t seen Mrs Roberts’s alarmed reaction when Esme had mentioned the attack and her further distress when Esme had added that Elizabeth had been seen arguing with someone.
    Esme was becoming more convinced. The old lady knew something about Elizabeth’s attack. Or, if she didn’t know about the attack itself, maybe she knew the identity of the attacker?

9
    Reports on Elizabeth were encouraging when Esme next went to the hospital. Various tests had been carried out, the results of which, the house doctor said, allowed them a degree of optimism that Elizabeth might make a full recovery. The question they couldn’t answer was when. The burden of uncertainty hovered like a black cloud on a dull day.
    A morning visit was becoming routine now for Esme. A pattern had been established which meant that Esme rarely saw Gemma, who had developed her own habit of coming up from theatre at the end of her day shift. Esme felt that they should reconcile matters between them, for Elizabeth’s sake at least, but she guessed that Gemma would only be receptive to the idea if Esme agreed not to pursue her investigation. And she couldn’t agree to that.
    Elizabeth had been moved from the intensive care unit to a general ward, though continued to be monitored closely. That felt like progress of a sort. There was a physiotherapist at Elizabeth’s bedside when Esme arrived, working on Elizabeth’s limbs. She told Esme that inactivity was the greatest threat to her long-term recovery and keeping her muscles working was crucial.
    When the physio left, Esme sat for a while, simply watching Elizabeth. The bruising was less acute, though the change in colour barely improved Elizabeth’s appearance. Esme had been assured that the bones were slowly knitting back together. Leads and tubes remained but the clutter had lessened. The atmosphere seemed calmer, more reflective, as though Elizabeth was taking stock and deciding upon her next move.
    Since Esme had learned of