by Anne Morice
‘The fact is,’ she told me, ‘I don’t take on private patients, as a rule. I get as much work as I can cope with at the hospital. Miss Stirling was a special case, but now that she’s passed on I’ve got these free periods and when you told me on the phone that you were a friend of hers, I thought: “Right-ho, that’s Fate, then,” but now that I’ve seen it, Mrs Price, I don’t think there’s much I can do for that wrist of yours. It wouldn’t be fair to pretend otherwise. It’ll clear up in no time, you mark my words, and massage isn’t going to help one little bit. Not that I’m not flattered that you thought of consulting me, because I am, and I don’t know what Ron’s going to say.’
‘Did you visit Miss Stirling every day?’ I asked, accepting another cup of coffee.
‘Except for weekends. I used to look forward to it. To be honest with you, there wasn’t a great deal I could do for her either, but it cheered her up, and then again she’d been used to massage all her life. Didn’t feel right without it, she used to say, poor old soul.’
‘So you must have been with her only a few hours before she died?’
‘Yes, and it’s funny about that. I remember saying to Ron that she seemed so cheery that day. I just couldn’t believe my ears when I heard on the eight o’clock radio that she’d gone. Less than a week ago! Doesn’t seem possible somehow.’
‘Still, I suppose elderly people often cave in very suddenly?’
‘Gracious, yes. You don’t have to tell me that; and she was up and down like mercury. And then that other poor creature falling out of the window, only a few days afterwards! Her niece, would it be?’
‘Grand-daughter-in-law.’
‘That’s right. A real chapter of accidents, you might say.’
I gathered from these reflections that neither the eight o’clock radio nor the Storhampton grapevine had so far reported the third death at the Rectory, so did not refer to it either, but said:
‘I’ve just come from the inquest.’
‘Have you, really? What happened?’
‘Nothing much. A police officer gave his report and then there was the medical evidence, which was purely technical and over my head. After that, the coroner adjourned for a week, to give the police time to find out how it happened.’
‘Poor chaps, I wouldn’t want their job. Poor girl, too! You knew her, I expect?’
‘Not very well. It was really Miss Stirling and Mrs Craig who were my friends.’
‘Funny that, when you think of the different age groups. Still, Miss Stirling was one of the lucky ones who stayed young in heart, as I often used to tell her. She loved to be surrounded by young people too, and that’s a sure sign. None of that carping and complaining you get from some of our senior citizens. In fact in my view she rather spoilt that grandson of hers. What was his name?’
‘Piers? Digby?’
‘Piers, that’s the one. Always put me in mind of Southend. We didn’t see so much of the other one but this Piers was often there, specially the last few weeks. He was very fond of his grannie, by all accounts, and so handsome, isn’t he? You couldn’t find it in your heart to say no to him.’
‘Was he there the last time you went?’
‘Might have been, I don’t recall. But her solicitor was, I do remember that. Poor chap!’
‘Oh, of course, you witnessed the will, didn’t you?’
‘Little knowing, as you might say. And then they got Maureen in for the other signature. Can’t you fancy another biscuit?’
‘I’d love to, if you’re sure . . . ? They’re so good.’
‘Go on, help yourself. You look as though you could afford to put on a bit of weight. Still, I suppose you have to be very strict with yourself in your line of work.’
‘Maureen was the day nurse, was she?’ I asked, cramming down yet another biscuit.
‘No, that was the other one, I forget her name. Miss Stirling just used to call her Nursie and so did Mrs Craig. Quite a middle-aged sort of person, she was, and inclined to be bossy, if you know what I mean, when there were too many visitors. No, Maureen was the night nurse.’
‘But she was on duty on Wednesday, the day Miss Stirling died?’
‘No, she wasn’t. Can’t have been, because the other one was there too, but Maureen was always hanging around in her off-duty hours. These young things don’t need much sleep, I suppose, and from what I know of Miss Stirling she wouldn’t have been the kind to keep her dancing attendance all night. The fact is, she made rather a pet of Maureen. I expect it was because that Piers got on so well with her; always giggling together over that tape recorder thing. I didn’t care greatly for her, personally. She was pretty enough, I grant you, but an eye to the main chance if ever I saw one. Sometimes I thought Mrs Craig should’ve put her foot down; and as for her training and knowledge, well, I wouldn’t give you tuppence.’
‘How did you get on with Albert?’
‘The manservant? He was polite enough, but I didn’t have much to do with him. Bit snoopy, I’d say, but then some of these foreigners are. His wife was quite a pleasant sort of person. Always saw to it that I had a cup of tea or coffee before I left.’
‘Have you seen her lately?’
‘Who, Maree? No, but then I haven’t been up there, you know, since Miss Stirling passed on.’
I was so staggered by the discovery that someone, apart from Albert, actually knew his wife’s name that I temporarily ran out of questions and Mrs Chalmers glanced surreptitiously at her watch. Nipping in again at top speed, I said:
‘Somebody told me they’d come to live round here. The house with the blue gate, I think they said.’
‘Well, I never! I must keep a look out for her. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know they’d left the Rectory; but I suppose the old place will be sold up now. Sad to think of it, but you can’t expect time to stand still. And it definitely won’t for me. I must get along to the hospital now, or I’ll have Matron on my tail. Sorry I can’t be much help with the old wrist, but if I were you I’d exercise it as much as I could. Do pop in, though, any time you’re this way, and let me know how it’s getting on. I have enjoyed meeting you.’
She came out to the porch to see me off and I thanked her and apologised for taking up so much of her time, but she wasn’t listening. She was looking away from me, down the road, and she said:
‘It’s funny you should mention Maree moving out here. The one with the blue gate is number six; I hadn’t realised it. That’s where Maureen lives.’
‘Oh, are you sure? I didn’t know she was a local girl. I thought Dr Macintosh got her through some agency in London.’
‘So he may have done, but she’s living here now. I ran into her the other morning, going in with a lot of parcels, and she told me she was sharing number six with three other girls from the hospital. There’s quite a few houses round here are like that. People buy them up and put in a few sticks of furniture and let them to the nurses. Quite profitable, I shouldn’t wonder, but the girls prefer it to being in the hostel, with all the rules and regulations. Well, I mustn’t stop. Cheery bye for now, and do drop in again.’
‘Successful morning?’ Toby enquired, when I joined him in the summerhouse before lunch.
‘One door shuts and the door of number six opens,’ I informed him, sounding as cryptic as I could.
XVI
(i)
On Wednesday night Robin and the Chief Superintendent of Dedley C.I.D. made their arrest and by Thursday morning he was all set to shoot back to London. I agreed to go with him, since my appointment with Gerald Pettigrew had been fixed for the following day, but stipulated that we should both return on Friday evening, for Betsy’s funeral. It was to be held at the Storhampton Parish Church one week to the day after her mother’s.
Her death had been prominently featured in most of the papers, under headlines of which ‘Third Death in Singer’s Home’ was a typical example, but there was no reference to accident or murder, so the police were presumably playing it ve
ry cagily.
She also got three paragraphs in the Times Obituary column, from which I was astounded to learn that she had achieved a brief operatic success, making her debut at the age of seven as the tot in Madame Butterfly. Evidently her voice had nowhere near approached Maudie’s class, but she had trained under some distinguished teachers and had sung several minor rôles before her retirement in her early twenties. I assumed it was her marriage which had cut short this promising career, but when I consulted Toby on the subject he said it was a well-known fact that she had been sufficiently talented for Maud to become frenzied with jealousy and to use every stratagem at her command to undermine Betsy’s confidence. However, as most of Toby’s well-known facts were invented by himself on the spur of the moment, I did not take this as gospel.
Sophie had been cremated privately in London on Wednesday morning without fuss or publicity, and one way and another poor old Margot and Co. were going through a pretty bleak patch. I should have felt a lot worse about it than I did, had not some friend telephoned me within half an hour of my reaching Beacon Square to report that Piers had been seen at a first night with a very pretty girl in tow. He had been tight-lipped and preoccupied, making notes on his programme and giving it out that he was there at the behest of his editor, but the mask had slipped once or twice and, in the considered opinion of my informant, he was not absolutely inconsolable.
Betsy had once told me that if you were only to see Gerald when he was sitting down you would never guess there was anything wrong with him, but this was no longer true. He had undergone a shrinking process, as though the paralysis which afflicted his lower limbs were now encroaching on the rest of his muscles and he were succumbing to it without a struggle. His mouth twitched spasmodically and once or twice his hand embarrassed him by giving an involuntary jerk, but for the most part he was motionless in his wheelchair behind the desk, and the merry, seafaring eyes had grown glazed and dull, like those of a man already half dead.
‘You’ll appreciate,’ he said, in a flat, formal voice, ‘that the circumstances have changed since I asked you to come and see me.’
‘I know and I half expected you to put me off. Since you didn’t, I concluded there was some formality to be gone through in connection with Maud’s bequest. However, as it now looks as though I won’t be getting that, anyway . . .’
‘Why do you say that?’
I explained briefly about the missing ring, though omitting any mention of Betsy’s suspicions about the other jewellery, and he said:
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I knew nothing about it. No doubt Betsy would have told me, but as you know I never saw her again after Maud’s funeral. I’ll have the matter taken up and we may be able to recover it for you, but I’m passing all this business over to my partners. I don’t feel equal to dealing with it myself any longer.’
‘Well, for goodness sake don’t go to any bother over the ring. That’s the least of my worries.’
‘In any case, it had nothing to do with my asking to see you. There was something else, which at the time I regarded as infinitely more pressing.’
‘You mean, like Betsy’s safety?’
A flicker of interest lightened his expression and for the first time he looked squarely back at me as he spoke.
‘I had my eye on you, you know, when I was holding forth to them all about Maud’s will, and it struck me then that you were probably the only one of the bunch who had genuine affection for Betsy and in whom she might be likely to confide. I can’t say about Jasper. He may have been fond of her, in his own peculiar way, but he makes a fetish of callousness and he and I have nothing to say to each other. He would have been useless to me as an ally.’
‘Will you tell me why you needed an ally and what you were afraid of?’
‘Nothing specific. There was something in the wind I didn’t altogether care for. I knew the will would be a shock, but Margot’s reaction went beyond normal disappointment. There was vindictiveness in it. She has always been a jealous and possessive woman, you know, and she can be vindictive. Betsy is . . . was . . . about the most defenceless person who ever lived and I knew by all the signs that she was worried and nervous too. I was going to ask you to keep a watch out; stick as close as you could to her and report on any mischief Margot might be brewing.’
‘What did you actually expect might happen?’
‘Again, nothing specific. Nothing nearly so terrible as this. I had a hunch that Margot would go all out, by fair means or foul, to get her hands on the estate, but it didn’t seriously enter my head that Betsy’s life might be in danger.’
‘Not even after that unfortunate accident of Sophie’s?’
‘But you must remember that I knew nothing about that until much later. Otherwise nothing would have induced me to go away and leave Betsy to the mercy of that crew. I’d have somehow got her to come up and stay with me in London for a while. Unhappily, no one thought of letting me know about the girl’s death and I didn’t get around to reading the newspapers until latish on Sunday. The truth is, I’m a useless old crock and the journey to Storhampton last Saturday knocked me up worse than usual. It was a strain all round.’
‘But when you did read about Sophie, did you suspect that someone had killed her in mistake for Betsy?’
‘I don’t know that I took it as far as that, but it certainly increased my uneasiness. I had half a mind to drive back to Storhampton that evening but I wasn’t in very good shape and anyway Betsy had an appointment here the following morning. Like a half-wit, I persuaded myself that this would take care of everything. I intended to put her on her guard, if I could, and persuade her to stay up in London. It wouldn’t have been difficult, you know. She was such a good, selfless woman, I had only to drop a hint that I could do with a bit of looking after, and she’d have moved into my flat like a shot.’
I looked away and allowed my gaze to range round the soulless office, with its sombre furniture and forbidding-looking books, for Gerald had groped for his handkerchief and was making snorting noises into it. I wondered whether his home surroundings were equally cheerless and how much of the remaining brightness in his life had been extinguished with Betsy’s death.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, putting the handkerchief away. ‘Change in the weather. Caught a bit of a chill, I think. Did you say something?’
‘Not aloud, but I had it in my mind to ask why you still wished to see me. It certainly wasn’t to explain how it was that you were unable to prevent Betsy’s death, because in the first place there was no need, and secondly you don’t know me well enough to care what I think.’
‘I do, as it happens. I told you just now that I’d had my eye on you and formed certain conclusions. I have to depend a good deal on first impressions nowadays. It’s a trick, if you care to put it that way, which I’ve tried to cultivate. Being physically handicapped makes it essential to develop some other capacity above the norm, to even things up a bit. I won’t bore you by telling you what my verdict on you added up to, but in this case it wasn’t based solely on personal observation. My partner, who’s quite a bright lad, got a similar impression when he saw you at Mrs Piers’ inquest. He’s a great cinema fan and he saw through your Mrs Price alias bang off. That’s why he was at such pains to keep an eye on you during the proceedings.’
‘Okay; so you guessed I was fond of Betsy and would be furious about her death, and you’re right. Also you and your partner presumably came to the conclusion that I wasn’t moronic, and I hope you’re right there as well, but it still doesn’t explain anything. It’s even less credible that you invited me here in order to tell me how wonderful I was.’
‘No, it was more by way of sounding you out, and I was pleased to hear you use the word ”furious”, instead of “shocked”, or “saddened”, because furious is how I feel too, among other things. If I had my own two legs I’d be after the brute who did it so fast you wouldn’t see me for dust; but that’s not on.’
‘So you’d like me to
go after him with my two legs instead?’
‘Not quite, and I’m certainly not asking you to put yourself at risk. That would solve nothing and I might have even worse burdens on my conscience. What I’m going to ask you to take on is something in the way of a watching brief, without, if you can avoid it, giving these people a hint that you are observing them and listening for undercurrents in what they say.’
‘And report back to you?’
‘If anything turns up. Luckily, we have this matter of a missing ring to work on, so no eyebrows would be raised if you were to call here once in a while.’
‘And what am I particularly to watch and listen for, Mr Pettigrew? I take it you have something or someone special in mind?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘you’re right,’ and then, to my profound astonishment, he added slowly, ‘I’d like you to keep a look out for young Digby.’
‘I must confess he’s the last person I expected you to name.’
‘Possibly, but I’m beginning to believe that one member of Betsy’s family, if not two in collusion, must have been responsible for her death, and one has to start somewhere. Digby happens to be the only one who, from my personal knowledge, has something to explain.’
‘Indeed? I suppose you can tell me what it is?’
‘Yes, and I think you may not dismiss it as casually as the police so easily might. By itself, it’s such a small thing but, as I say, one has to start somewhere. You may remember that I was the first of the party to return to the house after the funeral?’
‘Yes, the others were all at the grave.’
‘So we believed. In fact Digby was not.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I saw him as we drove in. Pete was going at a snail’s pace, which is the way I like it, and I saw Digby come round the side of the house, between the house and the garage, that is; and what do you suppose he was carrying?’