Death and the Dutiful Daughter

by Anne Morice

  No direct reference was made to my illustrious husband and I agreed with the chief inspector that I was Mrs Theresa Price, also known professionally as Theresa Crichton, of Beacon Square, S.W.1., and currently residing at the home of Mr T. Crichton of Roakes Common.

  ‘Correct me if I am wrong,’ he began, slightly overdoing the false humility, when his sergeant had noted these particulars, ‘but I understand you are the sole individual present without family connections with the deceased lady?’

  ‘With either of the deceased ladies, come to that.’

  He jerked his head up, as though suspecting me of levity or worse, and I said:

  ‘There has been a funeral here today, you know.’

  ‘I was aware of the fact, thank you, Mrs Price. We happen to be investigating the death of Mrs Sophie Roche.’

  ‘I only mentioned it,’ I said, ‘because Miss Stirling’s funeral was my reason for being here at all. As you’ve seen, it was more or less a family occasion and I am not related to them but my husband and I do have rather a special position in the house.’

  He heard me out with weary patience while I explained what this was, but he was clearly paying little attention and even signalled to the sergeant not to bother to write any of it down.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Price. This is all very interesting, but in future I should be grateful if you would confine yourself to answering my questions.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘I understand from Mrs Craig that you were with her when she discovered the deceased?’

  ‘Well, not exactly, no.’

  ‘Indeed? Then may I ask why Mrs Craig is under the impression that you were?’

  ‘We’d both been looking around for Sophie, you see, and when I went back into the bedroom where she’d been lying down, Mrs Craig came inside from the balcony and told me about the railing having collapsed and that she was afraid it was Sophie down on the terrace.’

  ‘But you did not ascertain any of this for yourself?’

  ‘No. The important thing was to get to her as fast as possible. She could have been alive, for all we knew.’

  ‘But when you reached her you formed the opinion that she was already dead?’

  ‘I know she was.’

  He smiled secretively, as though I had fallen into a trap which had been specially prepared for me.

  ‘And then you went indoors and phoned Dr Macintosh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You knew that she was dead and yet it did not occur to you to contact the police first?’

  ‘It passed through my mind, but I was in Mrs Craig’s house, so naturally I did as she asked.’

  ‘Leaving Mrs Craig alone with the deceased while you were away?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And approximately how long was that?’

  ‘Not more than three minutes. I’d called the number once already today, so I didn’t need to look it up.’

  ‘Thank you. And now I want you to think carefully before giving me your answer to this: when you returned, was everything on the terrace exactly as you had left it? And did it remain so until Dr Macintosh arrived, which I take to have been some ten minutes later?’

  ‘Yes to both,’ I replied, relieved for some reason which I could not pin down that he had phrased the questions in such a way that I could answer truthfully and yet make no reference to the episode of Margot’s hat. ‘The only difference was,’ I went on, ‘that Piers had joined us by the time the doctor arrived. He’s Sophie’s husband.’

  ‘You’re quite certain that was the only difference?’

  ‘Positive.’

  I could not swear that he was satisfied, but I knew better than to repeat my denials or throw in any defiant stares and after a short pause he switched to a new tack.

  ‘You knew that she was pregnant?’

  ‘I knew that she claimed to be.’

  ‘Oh? You’re implying that it might not have been true? Was she given to prevarication?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, but she was rather childish and sometimes went to extreme lengths to draw attention to herself.’

  ‘Well, that may be your opinion, Mrs Price, but I can assure you that she was speaking the truth in this instance. And, in your personal opinion, was there anyone who might have had a grudge against her?’

  ‘Why? Do you mean it wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘We have no reason to think otherwise, but we naturally have to rule out the alternatives; and perhaps you would be kind enough to allow me to ask the questions?’

  ‘Yes, of course. The answer to your last one is that practically everyone had a grudge against her occasionally, because she could be such an almighty bore, but I take it that’s not quite what you’re after?’

  ‘You are correct.’

  ‘Then the answer is no.’

  ‘And you are aware of no suicidal tendencies?’

  ‘Well, there again, I’ve heard her threatening to kill herself, when things weren’t going her way, but I don’t think anyone ever took it seriously.’

  ‘I see. Well, thank you for giving me such a full statement. There is one further thing I should like you to do.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘I want you, if you will, to make a complete timetable of your own and everyone else’s movements, so far as you can accurately place them, from the time you arrived here until you and Mrs Craig went out on to the terrace and found Mrs Roche. Would that be feasible?’

  ‘I’ll do my best. The trouble is . . .’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Price?’

  ‘I’ve been here since ten o’clock this morning and surely the relevant time, from your point of view, is after the funeral?’

  He gave a slight smirk, as of one who had scored a point. ‘Beginning with your arrival at ten o’clock, if you please, Mrs Price.’

  ‘Very well. It may take a little time, but I’ll start on it as soon as I get home.’

  ‘Oh, come now! No time like the present, is there? Why not see what you can do while the details are still fresh in your mind? I suggest the morning-room. You’ll be nice and quiet in there and I’ll see that no one disturbs you. Sergeant, take the lady into the morning-room and then ask Mr Piers Roche if he can spare me a few minutes.’

  I left the room with my escort, feeling that, in some unfathomable way, the chief inspector had come out on top after all. Whether his last request was simply a device to keep me under surveillance or whether the entire interview had been leading up to it was something I could not be sure about, but it was plain from his complacent manner that his objective had been achieved.

  (iii)

  Solitude and fresh surroundings brought a slackening of mood. Sitting at the morning-room desk and staring out on to the terrace, I spent the first ten minutes in a torpor of lassitude. Various isolated images of the day’s events bobbed about in my head but the only thing which held my attention for any length of time was the patch of paving, just within my line of vision, where Sophie’s crumpled form had lain. Nothing now remained except some smudged chalk marks to show that it had ever been there but I was struck with the picture of that sad, limp figure inside the old fawn dressing-gown, and the fur hat beside it. In a determined effort to dislodge it, I got up and removed myself and my writing materials to an armchair by the fireplace.

  With the view from the window now behind me, concentration on the task in hand began to seep through and I unscrewed my fountain pen and put my name and the date at the top of the page. Underneath them, I wrote:

  ‘10 a.m.-10.20 (approx) with Jasper Craig in the morning-room.’

  I studied these two breathtaking items for a few moments, then tore up the page and rewrote it, leaving out the approx. It had struck me that since it would apply in some degree to every single entry it would be a waste of man hours to include it, and anyway who was to know or care?

  The whole business took more than an hour to complete, partly because I kept remembering incidents out of sequence and had to go back to i
nsert them and partly because I ended by making two neat copies, one for Inspector Mackenzie and the other for Inspector Price, should he condescend to peruse it.

  It was while I was copying out the second that I was struck by the revelation which, if not quite on the level of Mr Watt’s when he noticed steam issuing from the kettle, certainly gave me a fair to middling jolt. I went mechanically through to the end of the schedule, my mind humming along this new track like an express train, then put the finished work into two separate envelopes, placed these in my bag and sat back to consider the next move. After some deliberation, I decided that it was necessary to begin with a personal inspection of Betsy’s room.

  There was no one in the hall and the drawing and dining-room doors were both shut. I raced upstairs, silent as a shadow, thinking how simple all this kind of thing was when one struck out with the bold dash, and a moment later gently turned the bedroom door handle and edged my way inside. The slightly depressing pay off was that I could just as well have sailed in banging my tambourine for there were two people in the room already.

  One of them was Betsy, who was busying herself with a collection of articles, including a hat-box, which were spread out on the bed. The other, lurking rather obtrusively in the background, was the red-faced young policeman. I also perceived that the verandah door was shut and had a sturdy rope knotted across it.

  This called for a somewhat different approach from the one I had mapped out and I said brightly:

  ‘Oh, hallo! I thought you might be here. Can I help?’

  ‘How sweet of you, my lamb!’ Betsy said, evincing neither surprise nor mistrust. ‘But no, I don’t think so. On the whole, we’re managing splendidly.’

  ‘Packing up?’ I enquired.

  ‘Oh, just a few bits and pieces, you know, which I might need. I’m moving back to the Stables, you see. Well, one could hardly want to remain here and I don’t think the chief inspector really wishes me to. So I thought it would be a good plan to get it over and done with, and this nice young man kindly came along to give me a hand.’

  ‘Sure I can’t help you with that?’ I asked, watching her place about a dozen little round tins in the hat-box, wedging them in with cotton wool and tissue paper.

  ‘You might put your finger on the knot for me. I’m such a mutt at tying up parcels. There now, what have I done with the string? Had it somewhere, I know. Yes, here we are! And could you find some scissors, my love? There should be a pair in the dressing-table drawer.’

  ‘And a good many other things,’ I said, opening it, ‘Brushes and combs and all sorts. Don’t you want to pack them as well?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she replied vaguely. ‘There’s no hurry, is there? Some other time will do for them. Now, finger ready? And I’ll borrow your pen, if I may, officer dear.’

  ‘It’s going by post, is it?’ I asked, when this transaction had been effected.

  ‘That’s right, my love. They’re legally Piers’s property now, but naturally he doesn’t want to be bothered with that kind of thing at present. So I thought the best way would be to pack them up and send them to his flat. He can go through them when he’s ready to. Thank you, constable; it’s a lovely pen.’

  ‘A gift from my wife, madam.’

  ‘Oh, are you married? How nice! Well now, Tessa, I do believe there is something you can do for me, after all, if you would. You’ll have to leave very soon, I know, so could you send this parcel off for me? The little post office opposite the war memorial stays open till six on Saturdays, and you have to pass it, don’t you?’

  I didn’t as she well knew but, catching her eye, I assented with no hesitation.

  ‘Then there are all these shoes,’ she went on with a rush. ‘They’re so heavy, aren’t they? If I were to push them all into one of these plastic bags, would it be any trouble to put them in the car, too, and drop them off at the Stables?’

  ‘No trouble at all.’

  ‘Oh, you are such a dear! Isn’t she, constable? And I can manage the rest on my own. Or perhaps Albert will bring them over for me this evening. Let’s see, though; you can’t carry all this lot down by yourself, can you?’

  Having no clue as to what answer was now required of me, I gave none, and she glanced doubtfully at the constable:

  ‘I wonder . . . ?’

  ‘Very sorry, madam,’ he mumbled, turning a still more fiery red, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t help you. Orders are I’m to stay here in this room.’

  ‘Well, of course, and we mustn’t think of your disobeying them. I quite understand. Oh, come on, you silly old Betsy, what’s the matter with you? I can help you down with the parcels myself. No objection to that, is there?’

  ‘None as I know of, madam.’

  ‘Come along, then. You take that one,’ she said, handing me the shoe bag, ‘and I’ll hump the box.’

  I took one of the envelopes from my purse and handed it to the constable, requesting him to pass it on to his chief inspector at the first opportunity.

  ‘All set now,’ I said, turning back to Betsy.

  ‘Come on, then. Quick march!’

  ‘I might have guessed he had instructions not to leave me alone in there,’ she remarked, as we plodded downstairs. ‘Wasn’t I a silly old billy not to think of it?’

  She sounded genuinely amused and I said: ‘Well, perhaps not always quite as silly as you pretend,’ and got a sharp look in return.

  We placed the two parcels on the passenger seat and, climbing in beside them, I said:

  ‘So they came back?’

  ‘What did, my lamb?’

  ‘The tapes.’

  ‘Oh, the tapes? Now, why should you say that I wonder? What a funny little creature you are sometimes. Drive carefully, won’t you, my pet? And try to come over and have lunch with me tomorrow. Robin, too, if he can get away. Goodbye, and thank you again for all your help. The cheese straws were delicious.’

  I dumped the shoes inside the Stables front door and then drove round to the war memorial. The post office was still in full swing, as Betsy had predicted, and before putting the parcel on the scales I verified its destination, as to which a certain curiosity had been aroused. It brought a bonus too, for it was addressed to Gerald Pettigrew, Esq., of Barrett and Pettigrew, Essex Street, W.C.2., and it reminded me that I had promised to telephone him for an appointment.

  VIII

  ‘Dear me, yes,’ Toby agreed. ‘A very terrible affair! Really, one’s own troubles quite pale by comparison. I wonder you take it so calmly, but I suppose violent death is a commonplace in your life nowadays?’

  ‘Not at all, and anyway this was an accident.’

  ‘So you keep saying. And a particularly unnecessary one, I should have thought. I mean, what a silly girl to go leaning on a balcony when it was tumbling down! It’s not as though she was at all heavy, is it? She must have flung her entire weight on it, wouldn’t you say?’

  Having after all arrived back at Roakes Common ahead of Robin, I had been obliged to concoct a watered-down version of the day’s events for Toby’s benefit. To conceal Sophie’s death from him was out of the question but I had considered it only prudent at this stage to omit the more sinister aspects, referring to it throughout my account as an accident and cheerfully throwing Dr Macintosh to the lions by hinting that the sedative he had prescribed for her had so dulled her wits that she had lost even the normal reflexes of self-preservation. Unfortunately, owing either to fatigue or lack of rehearsal, I had laid it on too thick and underestimated Toby’s fine capacity for separating the wood from the trees.

  ‘Did you ever meet her?’ I asked, hoping to steer him into safer byways.

  ‘Once or twice, though we never exchanged many words. Perhaps she didn’t know many, if she was as silly as you make out?’

  ‘Well, she wasn’t very bright, I agree, but it may not have been her fault this time. I keep telling you she was doped.’

  ‘I know you do, and I must remember to ask darling old Macintosh what he
gave her. LSD, by the sound of it. We must put it tactfully though. The medical profession is so apt to be touchy.’

  ‘Have you had occasion to consult him lately?’ I asked, grabbing at every straw.

  ‘Oh, he visits me from time to time, you know. I’m rather fascinated by this ulcer of his. Boots have a marvellous new mixture which is supposed to work miracles, and he promised to give it a try. I must get him up here one day and see how it’s going. Come to think of it, Tessa, I might kill two birds with one stone, if you don’t find the expression too tasteless in the circumstances. That terrible Lulu is always complaining that Harley Street is baffled from end to end by her migraine. I might persuade her to consult him. That should fix her, don’t you think?’

  ‘Would she listen to him?’ I asked, well pleased by the turn things were taking.

  ‘My darling, she would listen to anything if it was about herself. She is a thoroughly silly woman. Not quite so silly,’ he added dreamily, ‘as to lean her full weight on a broken balcony, however eager she was to see what was going on below. Tell me, though; how’s Piers taking it? Is he out of his mind, poor fellow?’

  I gave in. ‘Okay, Toby, so he’s not exactly prostrated by grief, so far as one can tell, but that doesn’t mean he pushed her, does it?’

  ‘I should hope not! Is anyone saying he did?’

  ‘Of course they aren’t. It’s well known, I admit, that he and Sophie had been on the brink of splitting up dozens of times, but they’d patched things up because of this baby, so why should he want to kill her?’

  ‘Who knows? Perhaps the patching up was more on her side than his. Perhaps he wasn’t so eager to be tied down. Anyway, why didn’t they get on?’

  ‘I think a lot of it was Margot’s fault. She’s so damn possessive about those boys. It amazes me that Piers slipped out of her clutches long enough to get married at all. I’m sure Digby will never manage it.’

  ‘Well then, I expect it was Margot who did the pushing. Having failed to break up the marriage by conventional methods, she resorted to desperate ones.’