Instantly the smell of damp, stale water and algae assailed her nostrils. But the well was obviously deep, and she couldn’t really see to the bottom of its depths.
‘Eddie! Are you down there?’ she called.
Silence.
Trudy stood back. She would have to take a proper look, of course, so there was nothing for it but to pull the rest of the lid away – allowing more light to filter inside, giving her a better view. But she quickly found, much to her annoyance and chagrin, that tug and pull and heave as she might, she simply couldn’t shift it. It didn’t help that, over the years, the wood had warped and sunk into the outer rim of the well, making it hard to get a proper grip on it.
Grimly, she realised she was going to have to get some help. Which would just give her colleagues something else to crow about! A poor little girlie who needed a big strong man to help her. She could already hear them sniggering. As if she hadn’t already been the butt of enough jokes all day, thanks to a grateful peer of the realm!
Grunting and groaning, and almost wrenching her shoulder out of its socket, she finally admitted defeat and stood panting for a moment.
Of course, it was unlikely that the boy had climbed through the gap and gone into the well. But you never knew. A boy eagerly on the hunt for chocolate might not have stopped to consider that the people in charge of hiding the Easter eggs might have considered the inside of a disused well an unfit hiding place!
So she took a breath then blew two long blasts on her whistle. It rent the quiet air, and sent a flock of peewits in the nearest field shooting up into the sky, giving their iconic call of alarm.
After a minute had gone by, she repeated the process, and soon heard a voice hail her from the edge of the woods. Her heart fell when she recognised Rodney Broadstairs’ figure moving quickly down the hill towards her.
It had to be him, didn’t it, Trudy thought mutinously. The golden, blue-eyed boy of the station. As she’d known he would, he started to grin at her the moment he saw her predicament. ‘Hello, what have you found then, gorgeous?’
Trudy nodded at the well. ‘I can’t get the lid off – I think it’s stuck. But there’s a gap at the side, big enough for a boy to get through. It needs to be checked out,’ she said, feeling annoyed that she sounded as if she needed to justify herself to him.
‘Yeah, I suppose. Hey, you down there Eddie?’ he bellowed, leaning over and peering into the darkness. Trudy had already done the same, without any result. And once again, the silence remained stubbornly unbroken.
‘Right then – let’s get this lid off,’ Rodney said, rolling up his sleeves a little and taking an awkward grip on the edge nearest the middle of the well. Since he had a longer reach than she did, he did eventually manage to lift and drag the cover to one side, but Trudy wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t smiled at how hard he found it. The language he used was colourful enough to make her mother blush.
Sweating and red-faced, he finally let the heavy wooden circle fall onto the ground. And as one, Trudy and Broadstairs leaned over the edge of the circular red bricks and peered inside.
Trudy hadn’t really expected to find the boy in there. So the sight of a dank circle of unbroken water didn’t surprise her. But then she saw what looked like hair, floating just below the top of the water surface. And below that, a slightly lighter shade of something submerged showed through under the dark, stagnant water.
‘Eddie was wearing a white shirt, wasn’t he?’ she heard Rodney say gruffly beside her. His voice was hoarse and dry, not at all like his usual, confident, cocky tone. And when she dragged her eyes away from the sight of that small patch of floating hair, she saw that he looked pale and slightly sick.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, her own voice wobbling precariously. Before they’d left, Sergeant O’Grady had given them a brief description of the boy, and what he’d last been seen wearing when he’d set off with his pals to hunt for the eggs.
Forcing back the tears from her eyes, Trudy lifted her whistle to give three sharp, quick blows.
As she did so, Rodney Broadstairs climbed onto the edge of the well and started to lower himself gingerly down. There would be a bit of a drop, even for him, for the well looked to be over six feet deep.
She hoped he wouldn’t fall on top of the boy and wondered if she should stop him and tell him to wait for somebody to come, perhaps with a rope.
But then she realised they simply couldn’t wait. There was just a chance that the boy might still be alive. But with his face fully submerged, and only his hair floating just below the surface, she knew how unlikely that was.
And as she waited for her colleagues to come running, she couldn’t stop the tears from falling at last. Because she knew that the poor boy’s mother and father, waiting at home for news, would soon have their hearts broken forever.
‘Calling Probationary WPC Gertrude Loveday.’
Trudy, hearing her hated first name called out loudly for all to hear, shot around and rushed forward to the usher, before he could call her for a second time.
‘Here, coming!’ she said breathlessly, hurrying towards the door being held open for her. She just had time to tug down her tunic top and make sure her cap was straight before entering the room.
It was three days since the death of little Eddie Proctor, and the inquest had been opened first thing that morning.
In a row of benches to one side, the public had filled the seats to overflowing, and in the front row, she recognised many of the immediate Proctor family.
She’d gone with the local police constable that awful day to break the news of Eddie’s death to the boy’s mother and the rest of his family, and had comforted the poor woman as best she’d could. Now she gave a brief sympathetic nod to Doreen Proctor, a small brunette woman whose brown eyes looked enormous in her pale face.
Forcing herself to keep her mind on the job, she turned her attention to the coroner, Dr Clement Ryder.
Her friend and mentor nodded at her politely but with no signs of open recognition, and looked so much his usual calm and authoritative self, that Trudy felt herself relax.
He also didn’t look the least bit ill, she noticed with a distinct sense of relief. It had been some time since she’d last seen him, and she must have been subconsciously dreading doing so, in case she saw any worrying signs of something being wrong with him.
‘WPC Loveday, I understand you were the one to find the boy’s body?’ Clement began professionally.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said.
‘If you will be so kind then as to tell the jury in your own words what happened on the afternoon of Sunday, 2nd of April?’
Trudy turned to face the jury and gave a succinct, accurate report of what had occurred that afternoon. When she was finished, she cleared her throat and glanced questioningly at the coroner, but he had no questions for her. Her account had been full enough that there was nothing that needed clarifying or pursuing.
*
Outside the court, Trudy trudged back a shade despondently to the station. Tomorrow was the day she was to be lauded in front of the press and the city’s top dignitaries as the heroine of the hour, but never had she felt less like celebrating anything.
*
After Trudy’s departure, Clement called the medical witnesses, who testified that the boy had died of a broken neck, and not due to drowning at all. As Clement had expected, this caused a bit of a sensation in the court.
It was soon explained