Scared to Death

by Anne Morice

  Sadly, however, extraneous events had moved faster than the Festival Committee and, by the time their plans were finally hatched, inflation had ensured that there would not be half enough money to carry them out. Bloody but unbowed, the Goodchilds had fought on regardless and an appeal fund, aimed at the general public, had been set up. This had raised a few more thousands, but it was still not enough and, six weeks before the scheduled opening, it had been announced that the Festival would be postponed until the following year, by which time it would have been pruned to more modest proportions and would be spread over a single week. It was at this point that the benefactor from London had stepped in so dramatically and saved the day.

  My principal informant in these matters had been Helena Plowman, the Hon. Treasurer and wife of Storhampton’s leading solicitor, and it was therefore to her that I now applied on Camilla’s behalf.

  Instead of falling over herself with gratitude and delight, as I had expected, she sent me spinning back on my heels by demanding to know why Camilla had not approached her direct, adding in a highly aggrieved tone:

  “Since she is officially engaged to my son, you’d think that would be the normal way to go about it.”

  “Well, honestly, Helena, now you mention it, I simply can’t imagine why she didn’t. I knew Bernard was your son, of course, but somehow the two things hadn’t connected. It comes of keeping one’s professional life in a separate compartment, I suppose. Perhaps she was under the impression that in view of the relationship it wouldn’t be ethical to ask you.”

  “But that’s absurd.”

  “Yes, it is; so I can only think that she was really angling for a job in the theatre and hadn’t the nerve to come straight out with it.”

  “Would there be anything for her there?”

  “Absolutely not. She’s had no experience. She’d be worse than useless.”

  “In that case, I suppose I’ll have to see what I can find for her. I happen to know that Debbie Fox, who’s in charge of the press and publicity, is at her wits’ end for volunteers. The trouble there is that it involves a good deal of leg work, and I don’t see that going down very well, do you?”

  “Quite honestly, no; but perhaps she could get her hands on a car? What sort of job would it be?”

  “I gather from Debbie the most urgent thing is to make a round of all the hotels and restaurants and persuade them to buy advertising space in the programmes and souvenir books.”

  “I thought the programmes had already been made up?”

  “So they had, but luckily they’d only reached the proof stage when the thing collapsed on us, so there’s still time to rake in a few more, if you really think Camilla’s serious about wanting to help.”

  I declared emphatically that such was my belief and, having tendered my profuse thanks, rang up Camilla to pass on the good news, which got the most snooty reception imaginable. I eventually managed to calm her down by stressing the importance of the job, which Debbie Fox, whoever she might be, would entrust to no other, but it was uphill work and the most irritating part of all was that I could not see what the hell I had to apologise for.

  It was not an unfamiliar position to be in, but one of the worst examples of its kind and I made a solemn vow with myself never to lift a finger again on behalf of any of the Mortimer clan, come what might. What did come, however, and in a matter of weeks, was a complete reversal of this sensible resolution.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Toby’s play, specially commissioned by the Festival for a fee of nothing, had been carefully constructed to suit the limitations of a converted Methodist Chapel, as well as to strike a topical note.

  It was a comedy with five characters, four of whom were leading lights of an amateur dramatic society, rehearsing a production which was to be part of a local Festival of the Arts, and the fifth being a professional actor imported for the occasion from London.

  If this sounds confusing, I have drawn the picture accurately and it also imposed rather a heavy strain on most of the cast. The difference between a professional and an amateur at work may be subtle, but it is instantly recognisable to most audiences and it is not too paradoxical to suggest that a trained actor has as much difficulty in portraying a gifted amateur as the least gifted amateur would have in portraying Juliet on her balcony.

  Since much of the comedy depended for its effect on these very nuances, it was not an undertaking to be treated lightly and the tough going at rehearsals, combined with the fifty mile drive to and from London every day, temporarily cut me off from everything and everyone not connected with either Beacon Square, S.W.1., where Robin and I lived, or the interior of the Chapel.

  During this period the weird goings-on at Farndale House lost most of their former impact and I rarely gave them a thought; but after two weeks of this grind there came an unexpected respite. Robin found that he had been selected to represent his division at a Police Conference in the north of England, which required him to be away for ten days. As a result of this, I moved in with Toby, which at least cut down the commuting distance to ten miles a day and, by a coincidence, this occurred just after a second, rather more disquieting incident concerning Edna and her double, although as before, opinions varied as to its authenticity, since there had been no other witness.

  It was Camilla’s version that I heard first. Evidently she had done rather better as an advertising saleswoman than either Helena or I had predicted and had recently been promoted to Assistant Press Officer. Her new job entailed working the editors of all the local papers into a white heat of excitement by bombarding them with photographs and thumbnail sketches of Festival “personalities” and she had come to the theatre to conduct some interviews with the cast.

  For obvious reasons, I was the guinea-pig in this enterprise and when I had filled her in with some missing items in the curriculum vitae, which did not appear to impress her very much, we repaired to the coffee shop on the corner, so that I could prime her on the kind of questions she should ask in forthcoming interviews.

  “Thanks, Tessa, that’s all quite useful,” she said when we had concluded this business, adding with a mournful, martyred sigh, “I just hope I’ll be able to carry on doing it, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t worry. It’s not all that difficult to get people to talk about themselves, especially actors. All you’ve got to do is hit on a theme, create an image out of it and make sure everything you report them as saying helps to build it up. It doesn’t matter in the least how true it is, so long as they’re flattered by it and go along with you.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’re right,” she said impatiently, “and it sounds absolutely dead simple, but the trouble is that I may have to pack it in before I’ve even got going.”

  Having warmed to her, as one does to people who come begging for advice and then actually appear to listen to it, I now found all the old hostility flowing back, with compound interest.

  “Well, I like that, Camilla! What the hell have I been wasting my time for, if you intend to throw the job up?”

  “I don’t want to throw the job up, of course not, but I may have no choice. There are so many outside pressures.”

  “What outside pressures?”

  “Well, Bemard’s not desperately pleased about my using his car so much, for one; but Edna is the main problem. She’s had another of these hallucinations, or whatever they are, and it’s fairly knocked her sideways this time.”

  “When was this?”

  “Yesterday morning.”

  “And she saw her own double again?”

  “So she claims. No one can make much sense of it, but something has certainly upset her pretty badly. Dr. Martin is quite worried this time. He hinted that she couldn’t possibly be faking her symptoms, so if she gets another of these turns I may be forced to resign, which is pretty bloody disheartening.”

  Camilla appeared to have forgotten that she had only taken the job in the first place as an adjunct to being on hand to help lo
ok after Edna and to have become more concerned with the means than the end, but I did not remind her of this, not wishing to antagonise her until I had elicited a few details.

  “But do tell me what happened? Where did she see the creature this time?”

  “In the garden, of all places.”

  “What was she doing in the garden?”

  “Wandering about as though she owned the place, according to Edna. That’s probably what brought on the seizure. I expect she was scared out of her mind that this woman was pinching the lettuces or something. No, I oughtn’t to be so unkind! It must have been a pretty ghastly experience, whether she imagined it or not.”

  “So no one else saw anything?”

  “No, I was at the office and Tilly had nipped down to the village. She was gone about twenty minutes and when she got back and went into the garden to see if Edna needed anything she found her practically in a state of collapse; panting and groaning and carrying on like a mad thing.”

  “What was the woman wearing? Fur coat and green velvet turban?”

  “No, quite ordinarily dressed, I gather, in a skirt and cardigan and sort of blue linen sun hat.”

  “Closely resembling a skirt and cardigan of Edna’s, no doubt?”

  “Not just resembling, she swears they were her own.”

  “So she was close enough to tell that? Did she see her face this time?”

  “Only in a blurred kind of way. The hat hid most of it, whereas Edna had the sun full in her eyes. Also she was probably going rapidly into a state of shock. She was practically unconscious when Tilly found her.”

  “One other thing, though, Camilla: did anyone think of checking her wardrobe to see if those particular clothes were missing?”

  “Not that I know of. You have to remember that it was quite a while before she was able to tell anyone what had happened. Tilly managed to bring her round a bit with what she called routine first aid. She’s a marvel, old Tilly, the way she rallies so calmly in every emergency. Then she telephoned Dr. Martin, who said he’d be round as quick as he could, but in the meantime Edna ought to be moved into the house, or at any rate a shadier part of the garden. It was quite a problem, that, because of course Tilly couldn’t possibly manage it on her own. Edna weighs a ton, as you can imagine. She tried to get hold of me, but unfortunately I was out on a job. Then she rang Bernard’s office to see if he could oblige, but that was no go either because he had to spend yesterday morning at the Reading Assizes. Anyway, the doctor had turned up by then and between them they managed to haul Edna upstairs, and he gave her an injection. She was sleeping when I came back at lunchtime, so there was no point in my hanging around and, as I’d made all these appointments for today, Tilly absolutely insisted on my sticking to them. So what I do now is ring her up every couple of hours, to check that everything’s okay, but, honestly, I can’t see how we can go on like this indefinitely, never knowing when or where this ghost is going to bob up next, not even knowing for sure whether Edna imagined it.”

  “Still, I can’t see what good you’ll do by stopping at home; not unless you’re prepared to watch her every minute of the day.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, obviously, if she had dreamt or invented it, she’s not going to be seeing any phantoms when there’s a witness around. On the other hand, if it’s true and there really is a living human being who is carrying out this persecution campaign, she will be equally careful not to manifest herself when there’s someone else there, specially someone young and active like yourself. The success of the operation would depend entirely on keeping her identity secret; but nobody can be guarded for twenty-four hours a day and, sooner or later Edna will have to be left on her own. Then, if she has another of these visitations, you’ll be no better off than you were before.”

  “Okay, since you’re so jolly clever,” Camilla said, reverting to the snarling exchanges of our childhood, “perhaps you’d care to make a suggestion of your own, instead of always criticising other people’s.”

  “As it happens, I would. If I were you, Camilla, I’d begin at the other end. Forget about Edna, for the time being and concentrate on keeping a close watch on her wardrobe.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After all, Camilla was not obliged to sacrifice her job, because a few days after the foregoing conversation Fernando Benjamin Mortimer, otherwise known as Ferdy, arrived at Farndale House. He was Camilla’s uncle, although only seven or eight years her senior, being the son and only child of her grandfather’s short-lived second marriage. He was an amiable, moon-faced young man, viewed with disfavour on account of his feckless ways by nearly everyone except Tilly, whose indulgence knew no limits, and by Vi and Marge, who were prepared to grant a reasonable amount of it to anyone who shared their passion for racing.

  I had been told that he earned a living of sorts, drifting from one undemanding job to another and regularly depositing the weekly pay packet at the nearest betting shop every Saturday morning, but, apart from this absorbing interest, was without ties of any kind and therefore usually able to step into whatever breach required him, provided it required no special skill or energy.

  The ostensible breach this time was the Farndale garden, which, in this mild early summer season, was rapidly getting choked with weeds and long grass and needing far more attention than could be bestowed upon it by a gardener on two mornings a week, even when supplemented by the odd hours which Tilly was able to contribute.

  Ferdy had declared himself able and willing to lend a hand and Edna had raised no objection, since however much she might openly despise him, he was one of the few people who neither argued with her, nor cast doubts on her tall stories. More important still, he was prepared to give up three or four weeks to weeding, mowing and clipping, simply in return for his board and lodging, and this was a bargain she could not resist.

  Unknown to her, of course, his real function was to provide an extra pair of eyes to watch over her and in an area, moreover, where she was most vulnerable and could most easily escape Tilly’s vigilance.

  Camilla had claimed full credit for this scheme, but I suspected that it had originated with Tilly, who was past master at planting ideas in other people’s heads and then falling over herself with admiration when they brought them out as their own, for the truth was that a certain coolness had always existed between Ferdy and Camilla. I had attributed this mainly to there being something naturally uncongenial, even ridiculous, in an uncle/niece relationship when the age difference is so negligible, but there was more to it than this, as I was shortly to learn from Vi and Marge.

  They had invited me to another meeting and, on learning to their horrified amazement that neither Saturdays, holidays nor even racing days were exempt from the grind of rehearsals, had suggested that I should dine with them instead, so that at least I could obtain a first hand account of the day’s sport. Toby, having also been invited, had also accepted. This was a rare concession for him, for it was his invariable rule not to dine out if he could possibly avoid it, but he made an exception of Vi and Marge. For one thing, they were superlative cooks and also possessed a first class cellar, lovingly put together by Marge’s bombastic husband and now coming into its own; but the most persuasive point of all in their favour was his well founded belief that neither of them had the least desire to marry him.

  All this just compensated for the undeniable fact that they could be rather boring about the horses they had backed, failed to back or been tempted to back, and the sums won and lost if only they had followed their hunches, or only not done so, but for once even this price was waived because another topic took precedence. Edna had also been at the meeting, accompanied by Ferdy, and there had been a fresh episode in her supernatural life, which, from one point of view, appeared as a breakthrough and, from another, as merely adding to the confusion. In short, the double had manifested herself again, although without the devastating effect of the two previous occasions. Edna was now no longer haunted by the fear t
hat she was, as she put it, “seeing things” for the simple reason that Ferdy had been seeing them too. The only drawback was that they had seen them on separate occasions and they were not identically the same things. However, as Vi reminded us, due allowance had to be made for the fallibility of all witnesses, and never more so than in the case of Edna and her stepson.

  Ferdy’s experience was as follows:

  Around the middle of the afternoon he had escorted Edna to the outdoor bar, which was situated midway between the paddock and the Tote and, having installed her at a table for two, went up to the counter to order their drinks. There was a great mob of thirst maddened racegoers already congregated there, and a staff of only two to deal with them and, not being one of Nature’s pushers, it had taken him a full five minutes to reach the front ranks. Having achieved this much, he had looked sideways along the counter, hoping to attract the bar-maid’s attention, when, to his mild annoyance, he had seen his stepmother right at the far end and already being served.

  The reaction was no stronger than this because being kept waiting was not an affliction which she suffered gracefully and such behaviour was fairly typical, except that it was somewhat unprecedented for her to pay for her own drinks when not absolutely obliged to. However, since, in the perverse way of bar attendants, this one had now noticed him and was asking for his order, he did not like to tell her that he was only looking, and went ahead with Edna’s instructions.

  When he carried the glasses over to the table Edna was sitting exactly where he had left her, tapping her feet and complaining bitterly about his sloth and inefficiency. Her bag, race card and newspaper were on the table, which was otherwise bare.