Free The Murder of Patience Brooke by J C Briggs Page A

and then something triggers a break out of emotion, as it were.’
    â€˜It is interesting what she said about Patience. She was jealous, I think, that Patience was a lady, that she seemed self-assured, even contented. And the business with Fidge was the trigger which provoked such anger against Patience. We need to find out what was in that note.’
    â€˜You don’t think she read it?’
    â€˜No, I don’t. I can see her tearing it up in temper. It did not matter to her what it said. What is interesting is that Lizzie said that Patience was pretending. That annoyed her. What we do not know is what or who Patience really was. We thought we knew her, but now I wonder who was hiding under that demure exterior.’
    There was a knock at the door and Davey was there, looking considerably more cheerful than he had on Friday. He had enjoyed the company of the jovial Constable Rogers whom the superintendent had enjoined to make friends with the boy, and he had welcomed Punch back to his stable, and Mr Bagster. Davey gave Dickens a note. It was from the superintendent who was presently in the stable, ready to listen to what Mr Bagster had to say about Patience Brooke. Dickens was asked to join them while Davey had his lunch in the kitchen. He told Mrs Morson that he and the superintendent would go to St Mark’s, and then to Godsmark’s chapel, and that he would probably return to the Home on the following day.
    â€˜You will manage?’ he asked.
    â€˜I will do my best to keep them occupied. The making of bread and soup for the poor will keep them busy.’
    â€˜I see how tired you are. I will try to find someone to assist you. I will ask Miss Coutts – which reminds me, I shall have to tell her about Patience. Fortunately, the superintendent has done his work well in keeping the matter quiet. That will please her, and she will be sorry about Patience, even if she disapproved of our manner of employing her.’ He sighed. ‘I hope that this does not put her off our work. We cannot do without her money.’
    â€˜I hope so, too. I hope it is not my employing Patience that brings ruin here.’
    â€˜We both did it, and we both had faith in Patience, but I cannot help wishing that we had known more about her. Still, what’s done is done. I must go now.’ He hesitated, unsure how to leave her. He took her hand. ‘Georgiana – take care. Lock the doors carefully at night.’
    â€˜I will.’ She smiled at him. ‘Until tomorrow then. Goodbye, and you must take care, too. Do not forget that you are in pursuit of a murderer.’
    â€˜I have the redoubtable Sam to protect me. He will make sure that Constable Jenkins keeps an eye on the house, and you have James Bagster.’ I hope, he thought.
    Dickens went out through the kitchen door and up the steps past the railings where Patience had hung. He quickened his pace, the memory urging him on to see whether it was possible that Mr Bagster had anything to tell them. Entering the stable, he saw the superintendent seated comfortably on a bale of hay with Bagster opposite. He saw a strong-looking, thickset man about the same age as the superintendent. He had large, capable hands, and large feet in workman’s boots and wore a canvas waistcoat and faded corduroy trousers. His eyes were bright blue in a weathered brick-red face and his hair was a faded straw colour. He looked what Mrs Morson said he was – a solid, good-natured, dependable man. He did not look like a murderer.
    Bagster greeted Dickens as an old friend, turning his frank but troubled gaze on him. ‘I can’t hardly believe what the superintendent has told me.’ He shook his head. Dickens gave a surprised glance at the superintendent.
    â€˜I have told Mr Bagster of Patience’s death,’ said the superintendent calmly. ‘And I have explained why it must be kept secret. He understands and has given me his word.’