When Darkness Falls
Chapter 11
Sam held up the fingers of one hand, folding each one down as she counted.
"So that's Doris Carseldine" she said, tucking her thumb down to touch her palm, "Trevor Flaxton" she added, pressing her index finger over, "Colonel Boswick and his wife, and Roger Carseldine….although he's dead so that doesn't count."
Sam's face contorted, the corner of her mouth tracing a path across her face. She stared at her now closed fist.
"Sir?" she asked, turning her upper body to face her boss.
"Yes, Sam" Foyle responded, unable to hide his smile. He let his cup and saucer rest on his knee and waited.
"You didn't charge Teddy Flaxton, did you, Sir?" She drew in a deep breath, ready to give what Foyle knew would be a carefully chosen, though hastily delivered, dissertation on why she thought someone wasn't guilty and why leniency should be applied.
"No" he quickly replied, saving her the trouble – she looked tired. "Luckily for him, there was never any money to receive, so technically he wasn't guilty of a crime….and he was only fifteen at the time. The law doesn't see him as responsible for his own actions."
She contentedly exhaled. "The poor boy" she said, shaking her head. "Only fifteen. He loses his father….and now he's lost his mother, too." She turned and let her hands flop into her lap. "It doesn't seem fair, Sir."
"No. It doesn't."
Sam raised a hand and covered her mouth as she yawned, her eyes closing. Milner stood and refilled her cup, holding the saucer steady with one hand as he poured in milk from a small glass jug.
On her last visit, Mrs Stewart had brought a second suitcase with her. Although it was smaller than her usual one, it weighed much more and Foyle almost dislocated his shoulder when he collected her from the train station. When they arrive back at Steep Lane, finding Sam waiting rather impatiently in the kitchen, her foot on an upturned box, Mrs Stewart flicked open the locks to display all manner of home made delicacies – from pickled eggs in a jar to a little pot of strawberry jam – that had been donated by Rev Stewart's parishioners after hearing about his daughter's plight. Sam's eyes went wide as she took in the spread. She oo'd and ahh'd, running her hands over the finery. When her hands touched on a packet of powdered milk, she looked up expectantly at Foyle. He'd used up the last of his own milk two days before and she'd had to endure, although not entirely silently, tea without milk. He hurried to put the kettle on and Mrs Stewart made all three of them weak but very milky tea. It was the last of that very milk that Milner now added to Sam's cup.
Sam smiled her thanks to Milner and brought the full cup down to rest on her lap.
"Constable Browne seemed to be…." Sam said, turning to look at Milner.
" …..taxing" Foyle quipped and adjusted his body's position in the wide chair. As his fingers rubbed his temple he added "troublesome".
"I was going to say useful, Sir" Sam said, frowning. "He did help you to decipher the code in Mr Carseldine's book.."
"True."
" ….and I bet Teddy Flaxton was rather grateful for a swift ride to the hospital, Sir."
"Well.."
"I'd say," she continued, her tone a little reproachful but not lacking in respect, "that he was...essential." She covered another yawn with the tips of her fingers and, when her ability to speak returned, added "indispensable."
Raising his eyebrows at her unintentional rebuke, Foyle stood and gathered her crutches from against the book case. He stretched his fingers to hold both in one hand, keeping his other hand free. "What little ….and rather infrequent help …. he did offer," Foyle said as he stepped towards her, "we were very grateful for." He passed her the crutches then placed one hand under her right elbow, gently helping her to stand. "Either way," he quietly added, stepping back to let her find her balance, "we'll both be very happy to have you back, Sam."
Sam's face contorted and she pressed her lips together. As her brow furrowed, Foyle immediately stepped forward and touched her elbow. "What's wrong?" He searched her face, dipping his head to catch her eye. "Pain, Sam?"
"No" she quickly replied and shook her head. "No, it's just that, um…."
"I wasn't trying to rush you, Sam" he said, hoping that he hadn't put her under any unrealistic expectation to speed up her own recovery just to placate his surly attitude. After all, the whole reason for him having her here was to make her recovery as smooth and carefree as possible, not add to her troubles. "I'm sorry."
Sam shook her head again and this time added a smile. "Please, Sir, don't be sorry. You've been more than generous ...and accommodating. It's just that I've been thinking..."
Sensing the change, he cheekily said "what, again?" His mouth twitched.
She smiled back and dipped her head as the colour in her cheeks rose. "I just need to make a decision, Sir, and …..it's not an easy one..."
"Can I help?" he asked, tilting his head.
"No, I'm afraid you can't, Sir. No one can. This one's all up to me, I'm afraid."
Taking a moment to study her face, he nodded. "I often find that I make better decisions…. in the morning ….after I've had a good rest."
"I agree, Sir."
Smiling, he walked beside her as they made their way slowly to the small bedroom beside the kitchen – a throwback to a time when such a house would have had, at the very least, a chambermaid to accommodate.
"Good night, Sam" Milner called as Foyle held open the living room door for her.
"Good night, Milner."