Pretty Maids All In A Row

by Anthea Fraser

  'I don't know what the hell he thinks. The point is, everything was all right until we arrived, whereupon mayhem promptly broke out.'

  'Our sense of timing could have been better. On the other hand, if the murder hadn't happened, the cottage wouldn't have become vacant and we shouldn't be here at all.'

  'Quite.' He hesitated, not looking at her. 'The reason for my ill-temper, though, is rather more personal. I want like hell to make love to you, and the frustration's building all the time.'

  She slid an arm round his neck. ‘I want it, too.' 'That bloody copper even suggested it was a motive for rape.'

  'Matthew! You never told me that!'

  'Of course I didn't. I shouldn't have told you now, but I felt I owed you an explanation.'

  'I'm seeing the consultant tomorrow. Perhaps there'll be better news then.'

  They moved apart as Carrie came in with a tray, feeling closer than they had for some time.

  'What bloody rotten luck,' Crombie said. 'Will she have an abortion?'

  'God knows. That at least isn't our pigeon. Hell, Alan, I'm beginning to wonder how many rapes there've been. We'd never have heard of this one, but for the pregnancy. As it was, Matron had a job getting her to report it.'

  'Did anything new emerge?'

  'No, she was pretty unforthcoming. Made Sally wait till she'd cooked Selby's lunch, if you please. Even then she didn't want to talk, and when she finally did, it was just a repetition of the other cases—woollen helmet and so on. Except for one thing. She didn't mention the nursery rhymes till Sally asked outright. And that really upset her.'

  'Well, it would. In nine months she'll be saying them again, and it'll bring it all back.'

  'Yep. I didn't think of that. So that's three rapes we know about, and one murder, and we're no nearer catching him than we were ten days ago. Let's hope to God it doesn't take another before we can nab him.'

  Delia arrived with Carrie that evening. 'I hear you want a shampoo,' she said. 'I can do it now, if it's convenient.'

  'Oh. Yes, thank you.' Jessica glanced at Carrie, who, with a strained smile, moved past her and went to the kitchen. 'The cloakroom basin won't be big enough,' she added. 'We'll have to use the bathroom.'

  'Righty-ho.' Delia was looking about her with bright, inquisitive eyes.

  'Perhaps you could help me. I've been given a new, lighter plaster today, but I'm still nervous of steps.'

  'Sure.' Side by side they made their way up the steep stairs and into the bathroom. So this was Delia Speight. More attractive than Carrie, with those deep blue eyes and curly hair, but there was something about her Jessica didn't take to.

  'I didn't know what shampoo you liked, so I brought a selection. The herbal's very good.' That'll be fine.'

  Delia had moved the bathroom chair to the basin and opened the holdall she'd brought with her. Out of it she took an overall, which she slipped on as she talked. 'Pretty hair you've got, haven't you? Well cut, too. Bet that cost you a bomb!'

  'It only needs cutting every six weeks. Unless I'm working, I wash it myself, but I haven't been able to manage since the accident.'

  'I hear you go up to The Willows,' Delia said chattily, shampooing Jessica's head with professional speed. 'Hardly a bundle of laughs, is it?'

  'I've only met Mrs Southern so far. She's a charming old lady.'

  'A sharp tongue, though. I do her hair, and it has to be just so.' She gave a contemptuous little laugh. 'Her and her Father Christmas!'

  'But she did see someone,' Jessica defended her. 'The police think it might be important.'

  'More fools them. She doesn't know if it's Monday or Christmas, that one, for all her snappy answers. Mind you, Miss Sampson's worse. Completely off her head. Wait till you see her.'

  'I'm surprised you go up there, if you dislike it so much.' Jessica hoped the towel had muffled some of her asperity. Delia gave no sign of noticing it.

  'Well, it's the money, isn't it? They pay full rates. Mind you, they can afford it. And it's only once a fortnight, on my half day. Keeps me in ciggies, if nothing else.'

  The shampoo finished, they moved to the bedroom, where Delia completed her work with a blow-dry. Jessica had to admit she was good.

  'That's lovely, Miss Speight,' she said in genuine pleasure as Delia put away her equipment. 'Thank you very much.'

  'We ought to get the press back for a photo. "Hair by Delia Speight"! I can come any time, just tell Carrie if you want me.'

  Matthew came out of the study as the two of them negotiated the stairs, and Jessica introduced him.

  Delia looked him up and down with her bold eyes, but all she said was, 'I'll see if Carrie's ready to come home.'

  'Are you pleased with it?' Matthew asked, as she disappeared into the kitchen.

  'Yes, very. I'm not sure about Delia, though. She's quite different from Carrie.'

  'Yes. I've a feeling if she'd been the one to show up that first day, we'd have looked elsewhere.'

  Delia reappeared. 'She's not finished yet, so I'll go on ahead. That's five pounds, Mrs Selby, including VAT.'

  'Let me.' Matthew stepped forward.

  'Ta. Well, see you again sometime.'

  'Quite a glamour puss, isn't she, that Mrs Selby of yours?'

  'I suppose so,' Carrie said listlessly.

  'Too bad she's not a regular. I could make a name for myself. We'll feel the pinch when they go, and your extra cash dries up. How long do you reckon you can go on working?'

  Carrie turned her head away, lips trembling. 'Oh, come on! It's not the end of the world. Lots of women'd give their souls for a kid.' 'But not this way! Not like this!'

  'You shouldn't take risks, I'm always telling you. Hey, I've just thought! What if Sister's been caught, too? That'd be a laugh!'

  Carrie spun round. 'A laugh? Is that what you call it? You think it's a joke?'

  'All right, calm down—I didn't mean you. But you like kids, and no one's going to blame you for what's happened, so why not try and make the best of it?'

  Carrie drew a deep breath. 'Yes,' she said, 'I expect you're right. I'll go and get supper.'

  CHAPTER 10

  Angie Markham ran down the path and turned at the gate to wave. Matthew closed the door. 'Pretty little thing, isn't she?'

  'Yes, and she'll make a good actress, too, if she gets the right training. She has a natural flair.' Jessica put an arm round his waist. 'Thanks for putting in an appearance, darling. And you needn't have worried about her not liking you.'

  'A forgiving nature. As has her mother, since we're invited to dinner. Unfortunately I have to go to Oxford on Tuesday and might be late back. Perhaps we could ask the other guests to collect you, and I'll get there as soon as I can.'

  Jessica grimaced. 'My friend Charles Palmer!'

  'He won't proposition you if his wife's there!'

  'I can cope with propositions, as long as that's all he tries.'

  Matthew frowned. 'You're still casting him as murderer? Isn't that rather stretching it?'

  'Potential murderer, and it's not stretching it at all. It has to be someone, Matthew, and in all probability we've met him. It hardly encourages one to feel sociable.'

  Michael Romilly looked up as the door burst open and Jill came storming into his office.

  'Have you seen this?' She slammed a copy of the Weekly News on his desk.

  'Surprisingly enough, I have.'

  'You sanctioned it?'

  He tipped his chair back, studying her flushed face. 'Jill, I've no time for guessing games. What are you getting at?'

  'Well, look at it!' She jabbed her finger on the front page headlines. 'I don't know about you, but I call that bloody irresponsible!'

  He hadn't heard her swear before, and his eyebrow lifted. '"Old lady may have seen murderer,"' he read aloud. 'Is that what's bothering you?'

  'Of course it is. Don't you realize it makes her a prime target?'

  'Now look: as I understand it, said old lady is cocooned in an old people's
home. Short of being locked up in Strangeways, she could hardly be better guarded. No one can get at her.'

  'I bet he'll have a damn good try.'

  'Bill knows what he's doing.'

  'Huh!'

  'Could this be professional jealousy, by any chance?'

  'No, it couldn't. That's the least of my worries.'

  'You did your splurge on the Randal woman.'

  'She hadn't seen anything suspicious. She's safe enough.'

  'In my opinion, no one in the whole damn village is safe. They've got a right nutter there. Nursery rhymes! Ye gods!'

  'I still think that'll put the wind up him. Then who knows what he'll do?'

  'If he does anything at all, you'll have my apology in writing.'

  'A fat lot of good that'll do the old lady.' She turned on her heel and slammed out of the room. Michael sat looking thoughtfully after her. Then, with a shrug, he turned back to his report.

  Susan said, 'Would you rather I didn't talk about it?'

  Frances Daly shrugged and reached for the menu. 'Everyone else does. Why should you be any different?' She looked up, meeting her friend's eye. 'Or have you inside information?'

  'Afraid not. Dave's playing this one close to his chest.' 'You have seen him, then?'

  'We had a drink together.' 'Sounds civilized.'

  'But it wasn't. We were both uptight.'

  'All the same, I can't imagine Steve and me ever meeting for a drink. What was it like, being with him again?'

  Susan played with the pepper mill. 'I still fancy him, Fran.'

  'Ah. And is it mutual?'

  'I think so.'

  'Any chance you'll get back together?'

  Susan shrugged. ‘I don't think he'd risk it.'

  'But you would, given the chance?'

  'Oh hell, I don't know. Life with Tony showed up all Dave's good points, but we still irritate each other. He can't stand me smoking, for one thing.'

  'Nor can I!'

  'Sorry!' Susan stubbed out her cigarette. 'We seem to be talking about me rather than you! Have you seen Dave again?'

  'He came back on Thursday, to talk to Mrs Southern.'

  'Oh yes, I saw that in the paper. Do you think she really saw something?'

  'Search me. The police are taking it seriously. It was Mrs Selby who picked it up—Jessica Randal, you know.'

  'I read that too. What was she doing with the old woman?'

  'She comes up most days to sit with her.'

  'Nothing better to do, I suppose. What's she like?'

  'Very pleasant. A bit on edge, I'd say.'

  'So should I be, living in a dead woman's house.'

  A waitress came to take their order, and as she moved away, Susan said curiously, 'You haven't the slightest idea who it could have been? You must know most people in the village.'

  'That's what's so horrible. I try them out in my mind, one after the other. Could it be him? Or him? Look, Sue, I'm sorry. Can we change the subject? I'm not quite as blase as I thought. Have another go at that ex-husband of yours.'

  'Don't worry,' Susan said quietly, 'I intend to.'

  The cottage was filled with sunshine and the sound of church bells, and Jessica hummed as she prepared lunch. Matthew was up at the Hall this morning, but he'd be back by one, and had promised to spend the rest of the day with her. They might go for a short drive.

  As the potatoes came to the boil, the phone rang. She turned down the light and dried her hands on her apron. Probably Matthew, asking her to put lunch back half an hour. Carefully, moving from one piece of furniture to the next for support, she went to answer it.

  'Hello?'

  There was a click in her ear, followed by a few notes of music and then a man's voice, loudly pitched:

  'Curly locks, Curly locks,

  Wilt thou be mine?

  Thou shalt not wash dishes

  Nor yet feed the swine,

  But sit on a cushion

  And sew a fine seam,

  And feed upon strawberries,

  Sugar and cream.'

  Jessica stood rigid, the phone welded to her ear. Though she longed to drop it, she was incapable of moving. Another tune jingled briefly, then the same voice continued:

  'Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

  How does your garden grow?

  With silver bells and cockle shells

  And pretty maids all in a row.'

  A crackle came over the wire, then the last line was repeated: 'And pretty maids all in a row.3

  Still Jessica waited, incapable of ending her ordeal. A further snatch of music introduced 'Where are you going to, my pretty maid?' When it came to an end, there was a final click and the line buzzed in her ear as, somewhere, a receiver was dropped into place.

  Holding her mind suspended, she dialled the number of the Hall which, their first week in the cottage, Matthew had scribbled down in case she needed him. It was the cultured voice of the Dowager which answered.

  'Good morning, Mrs Selby. I'm afraid your husband isn't here. He left about half an hour ago.'

  'Did he say where he was going?'

  'Just a minute.' The phone was covered. A muffled voice called a query, a distant voice replied. Jessica waited, motionless. 'Hello? No, my son understood he was going straight home. No doubt he'll be with you any minute.'

  'Thank you.' Jessica replaced the phone, fastidiously wiping her hand on her apron. Where was he? It took only ten minutes to drive back from the Hall. Her brain was still working in the rhythm of the rhymes. 'Thou shalt not wash dishes—' Where had she heard that recently?

  Matthew! He'd recited it when they first arrived here. What a perfectly horrible coincidence. If, said a little voice in her head, it really was a coincidence.

  She felt suddenly sick. Catching up the phone again, she dialled the operator. 'Get me the police,' she said hoarsely. 'I don't know the number.'

  She was talking to Webb when Matthew arrived. She said into the phone, 'My husband's just come in. Thank you, I'll be waiting.'

  'Who was that?' When she didn't immediately reply, he looked at her more closely and his voice sharpened. 'Jessica, what is it? What's happened?'

  'Where have you been?'

  He stopped on his way across to her. 'You know perfectly well where I've been.'

  'You left the Hall half an hour ago.' 'Must I account for every minute?'

  'Yes, I think you must.' She was having trouble with her breathing.

  'Jessica, what the hell is this?'

  'Someone phoned and recited a string of nursery rhymes at me.'

  'My God!' Then the implication of her attitude came through to him, and his face whitened. 'You don't imagine I...?'

  'One of them,' she said with dry lips, 'was about not washing dishes nor feeding the swine.' 'So?'

  She raised trembling hands to her face. 'Oh Matthew! That's what you said, remember? When we first arrived here?'

  'Which makes me a murderer?' Anger overcame his disbelief.

  'No, no of course not. But for God's sake, where were you?'

  'Not,' he said in a clipped voice, 'in a telephone-box.' He stared back into her wide eyes and added flatly, 'You'd better sit down before you fall down.'

  He helped her into a chair. 'As it happens, I was walking in the woods. How's that for a cast-iron alibi? Not that I expected to need one, with you.'

  'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

  'On the way home, a squirrel dashed across the road in front of me and shot up a tree. I jammed on the brakes, and more or less on impulse got out of the car, but I couldn't see it at first. Then I caught sight of it, or another one, racing along the ground, so I followed it for a while, enjoying the crackle of the leaves under my feet and the sunlight through the branches. I'm sorry. If I'd come straight back, I'd have been here and probably taken the call.'

  'How could you know?'

  'How indeed?' He went to the sideboard and poured them both a drink. 'I suppose it was friend Webb you were speaking to? He'll be intrigu
ed to know I wasn't where I was supposed to be.'

  'I didn't tell him.' This couldn't be happening. He was her husband, this hard-eyed stranger whom she'd practically accused of murder.

  'Did you mention I'd serenaded you with Curly locks?'

  'Of course not.'

  'Then please don't. He's suspicious enough as it is.' He drained his glass. 'This bloody place! What's it doing to us? We're treating each other like enemies.'

  She made a sound and reached out a hand. He gripped it tightly. 'Darling, I'm sorry. I was just so terrified I didn't know what I was doing.'

  With his other hand he tipped back her head, forcing her eyes to meet his. 'You didn't really think it was me?'

  'Of course not.'

  'Darling, I love you! Why should I put the fear of God into you?'

  'I said I didn't—'

  'But you wondered. Even if only briefly.'

  To her shame she could not deny it. He gave a brief laugh and dropped her hand. 'And who can blame you? I did lunch with the victim the day she was killed.'

  'Stop it, Matthew.'

  'Well, at least let's get our story straight. You rang the Hall, presumably, and they said I'd been gone half an hour. Which they'll repeat to the police when they check.'

  'You can't blame me for phoning.' Jessica heard her voice rise. 'I needed to speak to you.'

  He turned suddenly, sniffing. 'What's that smell?'

  'Oh God, the potatoes! They'll have boiled dry.'

  'I'll see to it.' He went through to the kitchen, and the burning odour intensified. She heard him open the back door and tip the blackened vegetables into the bin, and the hiss of water running into the burnt pan. After a minute he returned.

  'Don't bother doing more. I doubt if either of us has much appetite.'

  'There's a joint in the oven.'

  His mind had moved on. 'What kind of voice was it?'

  'A trained one. An actor's voice. But it must have been on a cassette, because there was music'

  Twenty minutes later, Webb agreed with her. 'He wouldn't risk speaking, other than in a whisper. He must have played a children's cassette over the phone.'