Had Annette known something was going to happen, I wondered, that arrests were imminent? Perhaps that explained why she was so keen for me to visit.

Martin began to walk along the corridor, towards the stairs. “There’s something, someone, you should see.”

Chapter 62

Chapter Sixty-Two

We did not speak until we reached the second floor. Martin cleared his throat. “Mrs. Brockman adopted a child yesterday, a baby by the name of William. There is a nursemaid in an adjacent room, quite oblivious to everything.”

He was going too fast. “Martin, I knew that Gertrude planned to adopt.” There was no point in saying that she was adopting her own child, hers and Eliot Dell’s. “But tell me, when was it decided to arrest the pair of them? I’d given up hope.”

“Sometimes evidence builds, and builds.”

Annette chipped in. “Thanks to Kate Shackleton and cohorts!”

Martin gave the slightest incline of his head. “Mr. Dell and Mrs. Brockman have been arrested on suspicion of murder. They’re to be escorted north and questioned in the presence of solicitors.”

Oddly enough, I no longer held their attack on me against them. It paled when set beside their other crimes. Attacking me was a kind of madness. They must have known there was no longer a way out. They vented their rage, and then continued to sleepwalk through the nightmare of their own making.

Their turning point came when Harry Aspinall refused to comply with their plans and wishes. After that, there was no going back, and no redemption.

“Does Mr. Brockman know that his wife has been taken into custody?”

Would this be a great shock, or had Benjie known? Somehow I thought not. Raynor would have protected him.

“Mr. Brockman will be informed by a local officer shortly.”

“I’d like to see little William.”

Annette tapped my arm. “Kate, I’m not a great one for other people’s babies. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Martin seemed relieved. “The adoption papers are signed by Mr. and Mrs. Brockman. The society would consider taking the child back if necessary.”

The baby lay in a Moses basket. The nursemaid beside him was a middle-aged woman, her black hair streaked with grey and with a severe centre parting. I thought she may not want me near her charge, but she was pleasant.

William looked up. He had a scrunched up little red face and slightly pointy ears.

I reached out my hand. He grasped my little finger in his tiny fist.

Oh Gertrude, what have you done? She had talked so blithely about adopting a baby that would be intelligent and with no bad blood.

I hoped little William would never know the true history of his parents, and that Benjie would not look at those pointy ears and think of Eliot Dell.