outraged, even though she could not in all truth have denied that at the back of her mind, if unacknowledged, had been the thought that she might at last have met Lieutenant or Captain Right out there. In her contacts with those other young women who had come out to India, some hopeful, painful in their determination to please, others hard-eyed and determined â and especially when she met the men who were on the look out, stationed out there without a woman â her disillusion was complete. She had taken the next available boat back to England and Folbury, knowing she was being tagged with the even more insulting and utterly degrading term: Returned Empty.
But the experience had at least taught her the value of independence, and she had not returned to live at Alma House. With the money left to her by her father she had set up her own household here in Parkside Crescent, a tranquil, tree-shaded curve overlooking the municipal park. It was a very pleasant location, the house was pretty, and at last she began to live as she wanted to live. She began to take an interest in the affairs of the town and became a pillar of the congregation at Holy Trinity. At home she lived in a state of mild disorder, doing a little painting and becoming renowned for her precise and expert needlework, much of it for the church. She dressed for comfort in the old-fashioned clothes she had once packed away, in roomy skirts and hats with large brims from under which her sweet face smiled and her hair straggled. She gardened and also learnt to cook. But none of it made up for the one thing she longed for: a child of her own. A husband, she had firmly decided after meeting those who might have been available to her in India, she could absolutely do without.
Hardly a day passed that she did not look in on the motherless new baby, little Margaret, to make sure she was being looked after properly by the nanny Osbert had procured, but it wasnât the same as having a child in her sole care. She had never envisaged her dearest wish would very soon be granted, particularly not in the way it was, when her sister Caroline had died suddenly and tragically of pneumonia, leaving an only child with a father who proved himself totally unable to cope. The shock of his wifeâs death was too much for Jack Dysart, always a weak character. He had thereafter walked through life in a daze until one day he stepped out into the road without a glance either to right or left, straight under the feet of the big shire horses pulling a loaded open charabanc on a works outing to the races in Worcester, and was killed immediately.
And that was how little Katherine had come into her life, where she soon emerged into a forthright little person with a bright, quick intelligence. Determined that Kay, as she soon decided to call herself, would not be left in the same position as herself, it became her mission in life to see to it that the child had a sound education, and when she announced her wish to become a doctor, Deborah had done all she could to encourage and support her.
Eight
Inspector Waterhouse had returned from his daughterâs wedding, not pleased to find Folbury police station buzzing with excitement and its formerly leisurely pace revved up several notches, a murder having occurred and the enquiry being well underway, a detective inspector previously unknown to him installed as the investigating officer, and all without his permission. On the small side for a policeman, with a toothbrush moustache, Waterhouse liked the sound of his own voice, but this time he had to listen, inwardly fuming, while Reardon brought him up to date. But Waterhouse was a conscientious police officer with long years of service behind him, and he was smart enough to realize that it was in his interests to be cooperative in the present circumstances. At that moment, the investigation hadnât warranted much more than a couple of his uniforms to do the house-to-house
But the experience had at least taught her the value of independence, and she had not returned to live at Alma House. With the money left to her by her father she had set up her own household here in Parkside Crescent, a tranquil, tree-shaded curve overlooking the municipal park. It was a very pleasant location, the house was pretty, and at last she began to live as she wanted to live. She began to take an interest in the affairs of the town and became a pillar of the congregation at Holy Trinity. At home she lived in a state of mild disorder, doing a little painting and becoming renowned for her precise and expert needlework, much of it for the church. She dressed for comfort in the old-fashioned clothes she had once packed away, in roomy skirts and hats with large brims from under which her sweet face smiled and her hair straggled. She gardened and also learnt to cook. But none of it made up for the one thing she longed for: a child of her own. A husband, she had firmly decided after meeting those who might have been available to her in India, she could absolutely do without.
Hardly a day passed that she did not look in on the motherless new baby, little Margaret, to make sure she was being looked after properly by the nanny Osbert had procured, but it wasnât the same as having a child in her sole care. She had never envisaged her dearest wish would very soon be granted, particularly not in the way it was, when her sister Caroline had died suddenly and tragically of pneumonia, leaving an only child with a father who proved himself totally unable to cope. The shock of his wifeâs death was too much for Jack Dysart, always a weak character. He had thereafter walked through life in a daze until one day he stepped out into the road without a glance either to right or left, straight under the feet of the big shire horses pulling a loaded open charabanc on a works outing to the races in Worcester, and was killed immediately.
And that was how little Katherine had come into her life, where she soon emerged into a forthright little person with a bright, quick intelligence. Determined that Kay, as she soon decided to call herself, would not be left in the same position as herself, it became her mission in life to see to it that the child had a sound education, and when she announced her wish to become a doctor, Deborah had done all she could to encourage and support her.
Eight
Inspector Waterhouse had returned from his daughterâs wedding, not pleased to find Folbury police station buzzing with excitement and its formerly leisurely pace revved up several notches, a murder having occurred and the enquiry being well underway, a detective inspector previously unknown to him installed as the investigating officer, and all without his permission. On the small side for a policeman, with a toothbrush moustache, Waterhouse liked the sound of his own voice, but this time he had to listen, inwardly fuming, while Reardon brought him up to date. But Waterhouse was a conscientious police officer with long years of service behind him, and he was smart enough to realize that it was in his interests to be cooperative in the present circumstances. At that moment, the investigation hadnât warranted much more than a couple of his uniforms to do the house-to-house
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