by Anne Morice
‘How horrible!’ Lindy murmured. ‘How utterly ghastly! Pelham, how come you never told me?’
There was nothing wrong with the words, but something out of place in her manner, for her eyes were shining and she was leaning towards Serena in an attitude of thrilled expectancy. Perhaps Pelham was troubled by it too, for he had been fondling her long hair and now gave it a sharp tug, which jerked her head back and caused her to bite her lip in pain or shock, as he said softly:
‘Hush, my darling, don’t fret. It’s over now and it all happened a long time ago.’
‘Yes, it was ghastly,’ Serena agreed, ‘and I daresay that by some standards it was a long time ago, but although we don’t speak of it any more, it’s still very much alive in people’s minds around here. That’s why you must understand that it’s not a subject to be treated lightly and why I wanted you to hear the full story.’
‘But we haven’t heard the full story yet, have we?’ I asked. ‘There must be more to it than that; like who did it and why. Was he killed first and then tied up?’
‘No, and he hadn’t been assaulted in any way. He died quite simply from exposure.’
‘Why, that’s really terrible,’ Lindy said, sounding more controlled now, but still over eager. ‘When you imagine someone dying slowly like that . . .’
‘It’s best not to try to imagine it,’ Serena said sharply. ‘It was not my intention to harrow you and anyway what you say is not necessarily true. It may have been a slow death, but the doctor assured us that he would have lost consciousness quite early on. It would have been more like falling asleep, he said.’
‘And did they ever find out who did it?’ I persisted.
‘Nothing was ever proved, although there were theories galore, as you may imagine. I don’t think anyone actually suggested publicly that his mother was responsible, but I know it’s what a lot of people secretly believed. All the old history of her mental breakdown was dragged out again and there was a lot of half baked talk about relapses and brainstorms and all the rest of it, not to mention the well known fact that she had never really been fond of the child. As a matter of fact, poor woman, she did go completely out of her mind after the event and had to spend several years in the asylum, but that didn’t do her any good with the scandalmongers. On the contrary, they simply said it proved their point.’
‘But you don’t believe that she had anything to do with it?’
‘No, I do not. She may have neglected the boy sometimes and given him a sharp clip when her patience wore out, but there is nothing deliberately cruel in her nature. She could never have done such a thing.’
Having heard some strange and disturbing tales from Robin on the subject of baby battering, I was not entirely convinced. I knew how quickly the impatient slap could develop into far more sinister practice.
‘How about Ted?’
‘No, not Ted either. He’s a most placid man, even less violent than his wife,’ Serena answered, showing that, despite her brave assertions, she also held reservations about Alice.
‘Who could it have been then?’
‘Well, as I told you, there was a lot of talk, but nothing was ever proved. There were some gypsies camping near the village at the time and one of the more charitable theories was that one of them had been helping himself to firewood and, meeting Alan, had perhaps done this to stop him raising the alarm, not realising of course how long it would be before he was found.’
‘But why remove his clothes? That doesn’t sound very consistent.’
‘It might have been to intimidate him, they thought. As he hadn’t been assaulted, there was no question of a sex maniac or anything of that sort, and something which lent colour to the gypsy theory was that the whole clan moved on the next morning. They would probably have done so in any case, once the word got around, whether one of their own people was responsible or not. The police caught up with them fairly quickly, but needless to say they didn’t find a shred of evidence. So there the story ends and I am sure you can all see what misery could be caused by dragging it out again.’
These concluding remarks, although embracing us all, were aimed chiefly at Pelham, who gave Lindy’s hair another tweak before acknowledging them. Then, having taken his time in knocking the ash from his cigar and speaking very soberly for once, he said:
‘Curious, isn’t it, how distorted memories become with the passing of time? Obviously, I got the outline of the story in a letter from somebody living here at the time; and yet, because everything about this place is so bound up with my own childhood, that particular episode has found its way into the rest of the lore and become as vivid to me as though I had actually been present. Curious, very curious!’ he intoned thoughtfully. ‘I should make a lousy witness, shouldn’t I, Tessa ducks? Hearsay is quite inadmissible in the British courts, I understand.’
Anybody could have seen that Serena was not wholly satisfied with this explanation, but before she had a chance to comment Jake had taken advantage of the slackening of tension to embark on a round of fervent handshakes and farewells. For a man whose chief claim to fame in his declining years was his longwindedness, he could certainly be quick off the mark when it suited him.
While Serena was seeing him off Pelham and Lindy also drifted away and a few minutes later Serena and I bade each other goodnight outside her bedroom door. She was almost collapsing with fatigue.
‘Yes, I am,’ she confessed, when I accused her of it. ‘It has been a specially trying evening, of course, but I do find myself getting so dreadfully tired these days.’
‘And that’s not all, is it, Serena? You’re worried too, I believe. Has it anything to do with Pelham?’
‘Oh, Pelham’s a funny one, isn’t he? A mass of contradictions, really.’
‘Is that why you told us the story of the Thorne boy? To catch Pelham’s reactions?’
‘Partly.’
‘And was the operation successful?’
‘Not altogether.’
‘It was all true though?’
‘About Alan? Yes, every word of it, though not quite the whole truth.’
‘And you’d have expected Pelham to know that?’
‘I expect he did, my dear. Anyway, Tessa, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Everything will sort itself out, I daresay. You run along to bed now, and sleep well!’
‘Oh, I will,’ I assured her. ‘That’s the last thing to worry about.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
1
It was to rank among the more spectacular false promises, for scarcely an hour later I woke in terror from the kind of nightmare that makes one frightened of falling asleep again, only to find that the cries and groans which had haunted my dreams had pursued me into the conscious world. It took a minute or two to grasp that they were coming from another room, considerably longer than that to rouse myself to climb out of bed and investigate.
The only reply to my knock was another volley of groans, so I opened the nursery door and went inside. The centre light , was on and Nannie was leaning back in the chair where I had last seen her, wearing a blue dressing gown, with a grey cardigan wrapped round her shoulders like a shawl and a tartan rug covering her legs. Her complexion was livid and she was clutching her stomach and feebly twisting her head from side to side. Aware though I was of her habit of magnifying the slightest symptom of ill health into crisis proportions, I could not believe that this was a fake performance, still less so when I came near enough to see the terrified, imploring expression in her eyes. It was no time for silly questions, so I put my hand against her forehead, in what I hoped would pass for a soothing gesture, at the same time murmuring some vague phrases of reassurance. Her skin was cold and damp, which alarmed me still further, but endeavouring to speak calmly I said: ‘Just try and hold on for a minute, Nan, while I get Primrose to ring the doctor. I’ll come straight back.’
Instead of bringing comfort, this seemed only to increase her distress and she began trying to gasp out some words, at t
he same time clutching my free hand in one of hers:
‘Mustn’t . . . let . . . happen,’ she whispered.
‘No, don’t worry, Nan, nothing’s going to happen. The doctor will be here soon and then you’ll be all right.’
Her grip on my hand tightened spasmodically and she drew in a shuddering breath:
‘No . . . no time . . . help me . . . should have told them . . . tell Mummie not her fault . . . not my baby . . . should have had a boy . . . not that other one . . . mustn’t blame . . . sorry Mummie . . .’
The voice died away and her mouth gaped open. A strange, inhuman sound whistled up from her throat, as her head jerked convulsively backwards.
I had seen more than one corpse in my time, but this was the first to have died in my presence and I think the shock of it must account for what I now perceive to have been a slightly odd reaction. Instead of raising the alarm, I gently withdrew my hand, then crept very quietly back to my room and sat down at the desk. There was a pad of airmail paper inside the brocade blotter and some ballpoint pens on the flower painted china tray. After a few seconds’ steady concentration I was able to recall and write down the fragments of phrases in the order in which she had uttered them; and having done so folded the sheet of paper, put it in my bag and returned to the nursery.
Nothing had changed, but, seeing it now with a more detached eye, I felt saddened by the indignity her death throes had reduced her to, and pulled the rug up over her knees until it completely covered her. As I did so, something slid on to the floor and I bent down to pick it up. It was a pair of gold rimmed spectacles.
2
The mood of calm efficiency started to thaw round the edges when I discovered that Primrose was not in her room. It was in such a fearful state of upheaval that it was impossible to tell whether the bed had been slept in or not, and although her absence adequately accounted for the fact that no one but me had heard Nannie’s cries, it also added its mite to the sensation I had felt ever since setting foot in West Lodge of some sinister element hovering just behind my shoulder.
Serena’s bedroom was the next objective, but on my way there I met Lindy emerging from the bathroom and providing yet another shock which, although not comparable with what had gone before, was alarming enough, for she looked wretchedly ill. Her hair was hanging loose, but tucked behind her ears and she was mopping her face with a wodge of paper tissues.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.
‘Just that I’m going to die, that’s all. Sick to my stomach. You finally heard me, I guess? Or don’t tell me you’re feeling bad too?’
‘Do you think it was something you ate?’
‘Has to be. God, I never felt so awful in my whole life. This is the third time I’ve had to get up. What are they trying to do? Poison me or something?’
‘Who?’
‘Oh, Jesus, I don’t know. Forget I said it. You couldn’t tell me where I would find something I could take to stop it? I don’t see any stuff I can recognise in these bathroom cupboards.’
‘Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t help, but I’d say you were safer without medicine. The doctor will be here soon and if you really think it’s food poisoning you ought to wait for him to treat it.’
She leant against the door frame, pushing back a damp coil of hair which had flopped over her fate and saying wearily:
‘My mind’s gone atrophied, I guess. Why would the doctor be coming? You mean someone else is sick too?’
‘Yes, but I can’t explain now. It’s Nannie and I’ve got to talk to Serena right away. You might ask Pelham to get up and put some clothes on though.’
‘Oh, Pelham! He’s asleep. It’d take a bomb to wake him.’
‘Then kindly explode one under him. I think he’s going to be needed.’
She stared at me, mute and glassy eyed, then with a mighty effort prised herself away from the door jamb and drooped off to her room, a broken reed if ever there was one. I waited until she had gone inside and then knocked on Serena’s door.
This should have marked the end of my responsibility and have allowed me to sink into the passive role of tea maker and errand runner, but there was still some way to go before that stage was reached. As so often in great emergencies, it was the trivia surrounding it, rather than the tragedy itself, which dictated the course of events and the trivia in this instance was that Serena had taken a sleeping pill.
She was lying on her side, so still and waxen that my heart turned over at the sight. Then, moving closer, I saw that her lips were parted and she was breathing normally. I began to call her name, softly at first, then louder and more desperately and finally placing a hand on her shoulder, literally to shake her awake, so that she started up with a cry of terror. Recognising me, she became very incoherent, evidently under the impression that she had overslept. I thought it advisable to let her run on, returning to reality by easy stages, but unfortunately I had left the door open and while she was still babbling away Primrose marched in. She was wearing jeans under a dirty old raincoat and looked very repulsive and pleased with herself.
‘What’s all the commotion?’ she asked haughtily.
And where the hell have you been?’ I snapped back, not from any deep curiosity, but because her self righteousness provided an excuse to vent some of the nervous irritation which had been building up over the past fifteen minutes.
‘Over at the stables. Something I had to see to.’
‘At this time of night?’
‘One of the mares is in foal and I’m a bit bothered about her, if you must know. Not that I’d expect you to give a damn.’
‘Anyway, there are more important things to discuss at the moment. I’ve got something very serious and urgent to tell you both, so try and get a grip on yourselves.’
Naturally enough, Primrose’s arrival, fully clothed, had done nothing to correct Serena’s misconceptions and she had been moving about the room in the purposeful manner of one preparing herself to face another day, but one of my remarks did eventually sink in and she turned and asked in a dazed voice: ‘What time is it, then?’ before picking up her bedside clock and peering at it in disbelief. ‘Only half past twelve? I don’t understand. Why are you both here?’
‘I’m trying to explain,’ I told her, ‘but it’s not a thing to be thrown at you when you’re semi-conscious. I’ve got very bad news and it concerns Nannie.’
‘Good God, why didn’t you say so before?’ Serena demanded, rather unfairly in my opinion. ‘Do you mean she’s ill? If so, what are we all standing about here for? This is no time to be worrying about my state of mind.’
‘Yes, it is, because there is nothing more anyone can do for her.’
‘You don’t mean . . . ? My God, Tessa, you’re not trying to tell me . . . ?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry, Serena, she died about twenty minutes ago. I was with her, but there was nothing to be done.’
‘How can you possibly know that? Why didn’t you call me?’
‘Because then she would have died alone and neither of you would have wanted that.’
‘But it’s unbelievable! She was perfectly all right this evening. At least . . .’
‘I honestly don’t know, Serena. It looked to me like a particularly violent attack of indigestion, which could presumably have overstrained her heart, but you’ll have to wait for the doctor to tell you. Hadn’t you better call him, incidentally?’
I had included Primrose in these remarks, but as she was standing behind me they had been addressed directly to Serena, who had not taken her eyes off me since I made my initial announcement. We were both therefore equally unprepared for what occurred next.
Roaring like a wounded bull, Primrose stumbled past me and flung herself on her knees beside her mother:
‘Oh no!’ she screeched. ‘Oh, poor Nan! What have I done? It’s all my fault. Oh, Mum, Mum, whatever shall I do?’
‘Now, stop being silly!’ Serena admonished her, at the same time mechanically stroking her hai
r. ‘And please don’t make a fuss, darling. There are things to see to and we must try and keep calm. The most important thing is to get hold of Richard, but I beg you to stop this nonsense about being to blame. That’s not going to help anyone.’
‘But it’s true. Damn you, can’t you understand anything? I should never have left her. I thought she was just making it up to stop me going out. And all the time she was literally dying! Oh God, I could kill myself!’
‘Stop this at once, Primrose, do you hear me? I don’t know what it’s all about and I’m sure you don’t either, but you must try and pull yourself together.’
Primrose’s response to this advice was the rather discouraging one of a long, earsplitting wail and into this tumultuous and affecting scene shuffled Pelham, wearing dressing gown and pyjamas and regarding us with pouting, bleary eyed disgust.
‘I should be infinitely obliged if you would make a little less noise,’ he informed us, ‘or, failing that, keep the door shut. My wife is far from well and this racket is keeping her awake.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that,’ Serena replied in a distracted way. ‘We must get hold of Richard without any more delay. I suppose you couldn’t possibly ring him up for me?’
‘Who the hell is Richard?’
‘Oh, you know, Richard Soames, Father’s partner’s son, who took over the practice. It’s still the same number, four four one.’
‘I daresay it is, but I have no intention of ringing him up. There isn’t the slightest need for a doctor. A modicum of peace and quiet is all we ask,’ Pelham said, padding out of the room again and shutting the door behind him.
Serena stared after him with a blank and hopeless gaze, but Primrose, having dried her eyes, now blew her nose with a ferocious bellow and launched into an entirely new act: