by J F Straker
‘Well, I thought so. But you know how odd some people’s voices sound on the phone. It certainly wasn’t a voice I recognised.’
Valerie handed her a drink.
‘You must need that. I’m terribly sorry, my dear, that you should have been dragged out here on a false alarm. I assure you I had nothing to do with it. Did this person say why I wanted to see you?’
‘No. Just that I was to come at once.’ Elizabeth sipped the gin and tonic appreciatively. ‘I thought perhaps Joe might have turned up again — drunk, perhaps, and pestering you to take him back — and that you needed my moral support. I couldn’t think of anything else. I knew you’d get Mrs Sillett in if you or Anthony were ill.’
Valerie shook her head.
‘Joe won’t bother me again; he knows I’m finished with him for good. Right now I think he’s in Australia. But this mysterious phone call worries me. It could be just a hoax — though a pretty dirty one, if you ask me — or it could be serious. I think we ought to tell the police.’
‘No,’ Elizabeth said. ‘We won’t do that. It must have been a hoax.’
‘But you can’t be sure.’
‘I think I can.’ She smiled faintly.
‘Oh! Well, in that case you must know who it was.’
‘Not for certain. But I’ve a pretty shrewd idea.’
‘Well, if you’re satisfied . . .’ Valerie said doubtfully, after a pause for an explanation that did not materialise. She finished her drink. ‘How is Aunt Charlotte? Did she kick up rough when you told her you were coming out to see me this evening?’
Elizabeth grimaced, nodding. ‘She certainly did. It so happens she’s off to London this evening to stay with a friend, and naturally she expected me to be there to see her off.’ She levered herself out of the chair and began to wander restlessly about the tiny sitting-room. ‘The fur fairly flew. It was still flying when I dashed off to catch my bus. Honestly, Val, you’re about the only person I’d have left home for tonight. I’ve been looking forward to these few days of freedom, and now I’m terrified that she’ll still be there when I get back. It would be just like her to cancel or postpone her visit; she has already threatened to do so once.’
‘Don’t worry, my dear. She’s a selfish old bitch; she’ll go if she wants to. But it beats me how you manage to put up with her tantrums. I know I wouldn’t. How long will she be away?’
‘About a week, I think. I wish it were longer.’
‘Won’t you be nervous in that big house by yourself? It’s very isolated. No one within screaming distance.’
‘I don’t mind that. But unfortunately I shan’t be alone. Aunt Charlotte has arranged for the gardener and his wife to move in while she’s away. Thank goodness, they don’t look like taking their duties as gaolers very seriously. They cleared off after lunch today — their first day there — and they won’t be back until ten or eleven to-night.’
‘Fine. That means you don’t have to hurry back. I know you’ve never been allowed a latch-key, so you won’t be able to get into the house until they return.’
‘I’ve got one now,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Aunt Charlotte gave it to me this afternoon.’
Valerie looked astonished.
‘How very odd! In the middle of the big scene?’
‘Oh, no. Before it started.’
‘Well, key or no key, you can still stay to supper. Now come up and say goodnight to Anthony. The poor child will think I’ve forgotten him.’
Elizabeth stayed. But as the evening wore on Valerie became worried and puzzled. Elizabeth wasn’t herself, she thought; she seemed keyed up, as though some momentous event in her life had just taken place — or was about to take place, perhaps. She could not concentrate for long on any topic, and least of all on the one — Aunt Charlotte — that most intrigued Valerie.
‘Can’t we forget her for this evening, Val?’ she said eventually. ‘You may find her amusing, but I don’t.’
Valerie wondered if the mysterious telephone call had disturbed her friend more than she cared to admit. If there’s anything wrong, she thought, I wish she’d tell me. We’ve never had any secrets from each other before.
By eight-thirty Elizabeth had already begun to watch the clock, and ten minutes later she said it was time for her to leave. Her bus passed the end of the road at five minutes to the hour.
Valerie did not seek to detain her. ‘I don’t like leaving Anthony alone in the house,’ she said, as she helped her friend on with her coat, ‘or I’d walk to the bus with you. It’s a dark night to be out alone.’
Elizabeth assured her that she wasn’t at all nervous; it wasn’t far, and there was a street lamp by the bus stop. But she felt less assured when the front door had shut behind her and she was alone in the street. Valerie had been right, it was a dark night. Heavy clouds obscured the moon; there was no rain, but a chill and blustering wind fought her every step of the way. It blew even harder at the bus stop. The street lamp was some comfort to her nerves, but it offered no protection from the wind.
Elizabeth shivered, turned her back on the wind, and pulled her coat tighter about her.
The headlights of a car turned the corner and came towards her, but as the vehicle began to slow she saw it was not the bus, and lost interest. She expected it to turn down the street she had just left. Instead it pulled over to her side of the road and stopped.
A man’s face, grey-haired and weather-beaten, peered out at her.
‘Good evening, Miss Messager. Can I give you a lift? I’m on my way back to Milford.’
It was Alan Torreck’s father.
He used to call me Elizabeth, she thought, as she thanked him and climbed in beside him. But that was before he quarrelled with Aunt Charlotte. He has hardly spoken to me since.
Knowing his antipathy to her aunt, she felt awkward in his company. She had even hesitated before accepting his offer of a lift. Yet she knew it was foolish to think that way. In the old days she had been fond of him, had called him Uncle Henry. There was no quarrel between them. Only the shadow of Aunt Charlotte.
She found difficulty in making conversation during the twenty minutes’ journey, and Henry Torreck was no more talkative. The weather and the few items of local interest were soon exhausted, and after that they were mostly silent. As they neared Milford Cross Elizabeth asked what Alan had been doing that evening, but Torreck could not tell her.
‘He had talked about going in to Wendingham,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know if he went. I haven’t seen him since half-past five. Why? Did he cut a date?’
‘Oh, no,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I just wondered.’
The Elms was in darkness when they reached it. Henry Torreck got out quickly to help her from the car, and for a moment they stood together in the lane staring up at the dark mass of the house. Elizabeth wondered what thoughts pos-sessed him; in Uncle Edward’s time The Elms had been almost as familiar to him as his own home. She knew from Alan that the bitterness had not left him, but surely there must be nostalgia too?
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Not only for the lift, but for saving me from that long walk up from the village. It’s rather spooky in the dark.’
He was still staring at the house. ‘Is there anyone at home?’ he asked abruptly, as though he had not heard her thanks.
‘There shouldn’t be.’ The question surprised her. ‘I’m on my own for a few days. Aunt Charlotte went up to London this evening to stay with a friend.’ Once more she found herself explaining about the Greens, though in less detail. ‘They’ll be back shortly. They’ve gone to —’
‘Listen!’
He gripped her arm. Elizabeth jumped, startled by the sudden command and the unexpected touch of his hand. She stood silent and motionless, wondering what had alarmed him, what she was supposed to listen for. There was only the wind in the trees and the sad creaking of tossing branches.
‘I can’t hear anything,’ she said, her voice low. ‘What was it?’
‘Some one moving on t
he path,’ he said. ‘Not this path, the one down to the river.’ He felt her shiver, and loosed her arm to grope inside the car for a torch. ‘I’ll walk up to the house with you. Maybe I was mistaken — maybe there wasn’t anyone there — but I’ll feel easier in my mind if I see you safely inside before I go.’
Elizabeth hesitated. For a brief moment she had shared his alarm, but now she remembered. If there was some one in the garden she had a shrewd idea who it might be. And the boys wouldn’t welcome Henry Torreck as a visitor.
‘There’s no need for you to bother,’ she protested. She fumbled in her bag, producing torch and key. ‘You wait here, and I’ll give you a shout when I’ve opened the front door.’
‘I wasn’t proposing to come in,’ he said stiffly.
Oh, dear, she thought; now I’ve offended him. ‘You know I didn’t mean it that way,’ she said. ‘Walk up with me by all means. I just didn’t want to be a nuisance.’
As they went he kept flashing his powerful torch from side to side. Elizabeth was alarmed lest it should light on a crouching figure, and that he would recognise the prowler and demand an explanation. But they reached the house without seeing anyone. She asked him to come in for a drink, feeling she owed him that; but he declined.
‘I’m late,’ he said. ‘Alan will be wondering what I’m up to.’ For the first time that evening she saw him smile. ‘I wonder what he’d say if I told him I’d been seeing a pretty girl home.’
Elizabeth laughed. He’s a dear, she thought. Why did Aunt Charlotte have to be so beastly to him?
‘He wouldn’t believe you,’ she said. ‘But thank you for the compliment.’
She stood in the dark hall and watched the light from his torch as it moved down the path to the lane. Only when the car had turned and disappeared did she switch on the electric light.
The house was very quiet. This is the first time, she thought, that I have come home and not been met by Aunt Charlotte. In all these years there has always been Aunt Charlotte waiting to scold or to fawn.
It seemed odd and slightly disturbing without her.
She went through to the kitchen, opened a window wide, and leaned out.
‘Bruce!’ she called softly. And then louder, knowing there was no one else to hear, ‘Alan? Michael? Anyone there?’ There was no answer.
Uncle Henry must have been mistaken, she thought. She shut the window and put a kettleful of water on the stove; the Greens would want a cup of tea when they returned, and she could do with one herself. Then she went back to the hall and telephoned the Tower Hotel.
It was Desmond’s father who answered; he wasn’t sure, but he thought Desmond was in his room. He had certainly been in to dinner. Did she particularly wish to speak to him, or would she leave a message?
Elizabeth summoned up her courage. She was somewhat in awe of the Honourable George, and over the telephone he sounded particularly aloof. ‘I’d like to speak to him, Mr Farrel, if it isn’t too much trouble,’ she said diffidently.
‘Hold on. I’ll send for him.’
What would he have said, Elizabeth wondered as she waited, if I had told him I am marrying his son tomorrow?
A clicking noise at the other end of the wire puzzled her momentarily. Then she heard Desmond’s voice, and realised he had been announcing himself with a synthetic kiss.
‘The real thing tomorrow,’ he said gaily. ‘And tomorrow and tomorrow. Has she gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hurray! Goodbye, Aunt Charlotte. Don’t hurry back.’ Another click. ‘Pretty crowded here tonight, I’m afraid.’ She interpreted this as a warning that others were within earshot, preventing intimacy in their conversation. ‘Where did you get to this evening? You foxed us all. What blew?’
‘That’s what I wanted to tell you,’ she said. ‘Somebody rang me just after half-past four to say that a friend of mine out at Cosmeston wanted to see me as soon as possible. Valerie French — you must have heard me speak of her. So I went. Aunt Charlotte was furious, of course, but I couldn’t let Valerie down. I caught the five-twenty bus. And then, when I got there, I found that Valerie knew nothing at all about it. The call was a hoax.’
‘Good Lord! Any idea who the joker was?’
‘I thought it was you,’ she said.
‘Me? Why me?’
‘I don’t mean you personally. But one of the gang. I thought it was a ruse to get me out of the way, so that I wouldn’t be involved in whatever tricks you were playing on Aunt Charlotte. Some one — I think it was Alan — suggested last week it would be better if I was out of the house when she left. Remember?’
‘Vaguely. Well, it wasn’t me. Alan, more likely, or Michael. Whoever it was, he messed up our arrangements; we wanted you there so that we could lay our respective clues. Any good if I come round now?’
‘I don’t think you’d better. I’m sorry I’d like to see you for other reasons, darling — but the Greens should be back any minute now. Have you seen the others this evening?’
‘Only Bruce. Oh, by the way! Michael is dealing with the telly tomorrow. Get me?’
‘Television?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘No, gram. Originally it was my job, but I’ve asked Michael to take over. At the back of my mind there’s an idea that I’m booked for something else tomorrow. Can’t remember what — but I expect it will come to me in time.’
‘So will the kitchen sink,’ Elizabeth threatened. ‘Any more talk like that and it’s off.’
‘Impossible. I’ve sunk my all in this venture. I’ll be calling for you at eleven sharp. Feeling nervous?’
There were voices in the kitchen; the Greens were back. She had wanted to tell him about the nocturnal prowler, but it was too late now. The Greens would certainly be listening.
Hastily she bade him goodnight and rang off.
‘I’ve put the kettle on,’ she said brightly as she entered the kitchen. ‘I thought you’d be glad of a cuppa. I’d like one myself.’
Mrs Green nodded. She was a meagre little woman, all skin and bone, with sunken cheeks and eyes and thin lips that drooped disapprovingly at the corners.
Her conversation was stilted, and seldom cheerful. Only a juicy morsel of gossip or scandal had the power to put a sparkle into her voice and eyes.
They’re a dismal couple, Elizabeth thought, looking at them. If I’m to be confined to this house with them for a week even Aunt Charlotte would be welcome. But then Aunt Charlotte . . .
‘Your aunt go off all right?’ asked the woman, busying herself with the teapot. Her husband had gone out again. He had not spoken to the girl, or acknowledged her presence.
‘Yes.’ It was the easier answer. ‘I hope you will be comfortable here. It was kind of you both to come.’
‘It’s a draughty house,’ Mrs Green said. ‘Very draughty. These old houses always are. You been out this evening, miss?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘You left the back door unlocked.’ The woman handed her a cup of tea. ‘You want to be more careful, miss. It’s lonely here. And dark. All them trees.’
Elizabeth stared at her. The back door unlocked? But she hadn’t used the back door. She had opened the window to call to Bruce . . . or Michael . . . or . . .
Or whom?
She sipped the tea thoughtfully, suddenly glad of its warmth.
* * *
The telegram came at ten o’clock the next morning. Mrs Green took the message over the phone and brought it up to Elizabeth’s room, where the girl was dressing. Elizabeth seldom hurried over her toilet; it was usually time well spent, for it was time away from Aunt Charlotte. But that Friday morning she had an even stronger reason for taking pains over her appearance.
The telegram was much as she had anticipated it would be. ‘Expected you yesterday,’ she read slowly, unravelling Mrs Green’s spidery, spineless handwriting. ‘Please wire explanation and E.T.A.’ It was signed ‘Donelly.’
Elizabeth smiled. They had got the name right, but E.T.A. was an ex
pression unlikely to be used by an elderly female.
Michael had not used his imagination.
Then she stopped smiling, aware that Mrs Green was watching her.
‘I wonder what’s gone wrong,’ she said gravely. ‘Perhaps Aunt Charlotte changed her mind at the last minute and stayed in Town for the night. She couldn’t have missed the train, or she’d have come back.’
‘It’s not that,’ the woman said. Her voice was shrill. From her apron pocket she produced yet another slip of paper and thrust it fiercely at the girl. ‘I found that under the mat when I was sweeping the hall. I was on my way up with it when the phone rang.’
It was a startling note, written in ungainly block capitals. ‘Pay up by Thursday or take what’s coming to you,’ it ran. There was no signature.
The girl considered it, amused. Whose pretty touch was that? Michael’s, probably. Perhaps it accounted for the footsteps Uncle Henry had heard the previous night. Yet if it was Michael — or any of them, for that matter — why hadn’t he answered when she had called out to him? Was he already out of earshot? Or was it because . . .
‘Shall you be ringing Williams, miss?’ asked Mrs Green.
Should she? Was that what the boys expected her to do? It was certainly what Mrs Green expected of her. But to call in the police now would mean delay in meeting Desmond. It might even involve postponing their marriage, for Williams, the village constable, was an eager and tenacious young man.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said, putting the note down on the dressing-table as she turned again to the mirror. She was not really interested in their plotting, and if they had wanted her to follow any particular course of action they should have warned her in advance. ‘Somebody is pulling our legs, I imagine. We’ll let Aunt Charlotte deal with it when she returns.’
The woman said nothing. Elizabeth settled herself on the stool, picked up a lipstick, and leaned forward to complete the adornment of her face. She suspected that she had shocked Mrs Green by her apparent callousness, but she wasn’t going to risk the postponement of her wedding. Once it had seemed to her the most unlikely of events; now it had become all-important.