Murder for Miss Emily

by J F Straker

  ‘She’ll listen, all right — if I have to pin her ears back to make her.’ Miss Mytton’s voice was grimly purposeful. ‘Leave it to me, Ernest. Tom doesn’t deserve such a dreadful fate, but if Elizabeth is what he wants then Elizabeth he shall have. I’ll deal with that young woman this afternoon. I was going to the garage to have a word with George Colling, and I can call in at the farm on my way.’

  The Reverend Ernest sighed.

  ‘There’s another unhappy man for you, Emily. Did I tell you I saw him Sunday night? No, of course I didn’t; that was the inspector. But if ever a tortured soul looked out of a man’s eyes—’

  He left it at that, satisfied that his meaning was clear. It was a difficult sentence to finish neatly.

  ‘Where was this?’ asked Miss Mytton.

  He told her. ‘There’s an awful lot of unhappiness and strife in the village just now,’ he said sadly. ‘Or perhaps it was there before under the surface, and this wretched murder has brought it into the open.’

  When Miss Mytton called at the farm she was surprised at the change in Elizabeth Cluster. She had expected merely to have to command to be obeyed; but this flamboyant, rather defiant young woman was a different proposition from the downtrodden creature she had known in the past. Because of this, and because she was tired after her walk and worried about George Colling, Miss Mytton admitted to herself later that she had mismanaged the interview completely. She threatened where she should have reasoned, ordered where she should have cajoled. Elizabeth, still retaining some of her former awe of the formidable Missemily, was civil enough at the beginning. But when she realized where her visitor was driving, and that Missemily could not really harm her — that the threats were empty and the commands powerless — her attitude changed.

  ‘I don’t see as it’s any business of yours, Missemily,’ she said pertly. ‘If I don’t want to marry Tom that’s my affair.’

  ‘It’s Tom’s also,’ said Miss Mytton. ‘And I might point out that if you hadn’t conceived fancy notions above your station you would by now have been married to him for some years. Do you really think you did better for yourself in deserting Tom for Cluster? A nice dance he led you.’

  ‘Maybe. But I’m better off now he’s dead, aren’t I?’

  ‘Are you? If you’re referring to the farm, then I very much doubt it. What do you know about farming? How long can you keep this place going without an efficient and reliable man in control? I’ve never seen buildings or land in such a shocking condition. And how about the mortgage? Where will you find the interest for that?’ Miss Mytton snorted contemptuously. ‘Tom Shannon is about the only man who could put Trant Farm back on its feet. There are others as efficient, but they’re not in love with you; and only a man in love would take on such a thankless task. Goodness knows I don’t want to lose him; but if he’s fool enough to want to marry you — and it seems he is — that’s good enough for me. If you’ve any sense at all, young woman, it’ll be good enough for you too. Without Tom running the farm I give you six months at the most. After that you’ll be out.’

  Elizabeth bridled. ‘Are you threatening me, Missemily?’ she asked angrily. ‘Because if you are—’

  ‘I don’t have to threaten, Elizabeth. It’s your creditors who will turn you out, not I. You know that — or you ought to.’

  ‘I don’t know nothink of the sort. There’s plenty others besides Tom could run the farm; others as I wouldn’t have to marry. This is my farm, Missemily, and I’m not sharing it with no one. Your precious Tom was here yesterday. “We’ll do this and we’ll do that,” he says, just like he’s already moved in. And in next to no time it’ll be “I’ll do this and I’ll do that.” Only he’s not getting the chance, see? And next time I see him I’ll tell him so, straight.’

  Miss Mytton rose to depart. ‘You were glad enough of Tom’s company when your husband was alive,’ she said icily. ‘Perhaps it was foolish of me to expect gratitude in one so lacking in morals, but I thought you would at least know on which side your bread was buttered. However, it seems I was wrong.’ Angrily she began to put on her gloves, her trembling fingers finding difficulty with the buttons. ‘I understand you’ve quarrelled with your parents as well. You’re going to regret that, Elizabeth, when you find yourself out on the street. No one and least of all someone in your precarious position — can afford to be without friends.’

  Elizabeth, frightened as well as angry, said more than she had intended.

  ‘You and your precious Tom!’ she snapped. ‘You’ve got a shock coming, Missemily, and no mistake. Perhaps you didn’t know me and Tom was in your barn Sunday night? But the police know because I told ’em. And I told ’em Tom went out of the barn about the time John was killed. He did, too.’ She gave a shrill, hysterical laugh. ‘What do you think of that, Missemily? How about your precious Tom now?’

  It was Miss Mytton’s turn to be alarmed. No doubt Elizabeth had mangled whatever truth there was in the story, but the police must pay considerable attention to any statement involving someone as suspect as Tom. If his alibi depended on Elizabeth, and if Elizabeth in her spite had destroyed it, Tom was in trouble.

  As she walked down the Market Lacing road towards the garage Miss Mytton decided that she must take a firm line with the Collings; she could not allow them to shelter behind Tom. Nothing could persuade her that Tom was a murderer; but she already had her doubts about George, and no doubt at all that his wife was at least an accessory, if nothing worse. It was time they told the truth, and it was up to her to see that they did.

  It was in this determined frame of mind that she confronted George. Even the misery reflected in his woebegone expression did not deter her. She marched into the dark little office and sat down thankfully on the solitary wooden chair.

  ‘I want the truth this time, George,’ she said bluntly. ‘You fobbed me off with lies on Tuesday, but I’m a little wiser now. I know, for instance, that you were away from here considerably longer than the ten minutes you said. And it may surprise you to learn — I hope it does — that Gwendoline was seen in Tithe Lane at a quarter-past ten that night.’ She paused to let that sink in. ‘What have you got to say to that, George?’

  He did not query the information. ‘To you, Missemily? Or to the police?’

  ‘Does it make any difference? It shouldn’t. There can be only the one truth.’

  ‘I dare say. But some folks like to distort it,’ he said slowly. ‘Not that I’ve anything to hide, mind you.’

  ‘Haven’t you? Then why did you lie to me? You lied to the police too, didn’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘Not that it did me any good. Just made ’em more suspicious. But I wasn’t thinking of myself, Missemily. I was trying to help Gwen.’

  She said, more gently, ‘I guessed that. But you haven’t helped her, have you? So why not tell the truth now? To me, anyway; we can decide later about the police.’ In a burst of confidence she added, ‘A great many people are under suspicion, George, and until we get the truth from everyone concerned they’re going to stay that way. Perhaps that doesn’t worry you, but it worries me. I don’t like to see people under a cloud when they ought to be out in the sun. Particularly when they’re my friends and neighbours.’

  It was a poetic simile for Miss Mytton, and had she been less earnest she would have hesitated to use it. But George accepted it without comment.

  ‘The truth is, Missemily, that Gwen was out when I got back from Market Lacing that evening.’ Miss Mytton waited patiently while he perched himself awkwardly on the desk, one leg dangling, and carefully filled and lit his pipe. ‘Knowing how it was between her and Cluster I went out to look for them. I tried both the pubs and the farm, but they weren’t there. So then I didn’t know where to look. I drove through the village as far as Miss Justin’s, keeping my eyes skinned, and came back down Tithe Lane. And that’s all there was to it. Gwen was here when I got home, but she wouldn’t say where she’d been, nor hasn’t since.’ He blew out a cloud of smoke
and sighed deeply. ‘It seemed a good idea to say I was back by ten past; it narrowed the time Gwen could have been out. I didn’t know, you see, that she’d been spotted.’ He paused. ‘Who was it, Missemily?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say, I’m afraid. It was told to me in confidence.’ She waited for the smoke obscuring his face to drift away. ‘But what was Gwen doing in Tithe Lane? That’s what I’d like to know.’

  ‘So would I,’ he said grimly. ‘But she won’t say, and there’s no way to make her. She just doesn’t trust me.’

  She felt so sorry for him that her determination weakened. Then she thought of Tom, and steeled herself to continue.

  ‘That’s unfortunate, George.’ She would tackle Gwen later, if possible without his knowledge. In some ways he was a proud man, and she did not wish to hurt his pride by inferring that she might fare better with his wife than he had done. ‘But we’ve not finished yet. What have you to say about last night?’

  ‘Last night? What’s last night got to do with Cluster being murdered?’

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing, perhaps. But it needs an explanation.’

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. ‘I don’t get it, Missemily. What am I supposed to have done last night?’

  Miss Mytton, tired and anxious for her tea, clicked her tongue in annoyance. She had no doubt he was prevaricating. He must know what she meant.

  ‘I was referring,’ she said sternly, all sympathy gone, ‘to your assault on Miss Justin’s gardener.’

  ‘What — William Bright?’ His brow furrowed. ‘You’re joking, Missemily. I never assaulted him, not last night nor any other night. Why should I?’

  ‘Bright says you did.’

  ‘Then he’s a bl...he’s a liar.’

  ‘He didn’t actually accuse you by name,’ she admitted. ‘That’s because he was attacked from behind, and never saw his assailant. But under the circumstances it could hardly be anyone else, could it? I’m surprised you even bother to deny it.’

  ‘Under what circumstances?’ he demanded.

  It was stupid of him to pretend ignorance, and she told him so. ‘You force me to be blunt,’ she said. ‘You know as well as I do that Cluster wasn’t the only man with whom Gwendoline has been associating. Bright was another.’

  He stared at her incredulously. He’s a good actor, she thought, but he won’t get away with it this time.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Who says so, anyway?’

  ‘Bright himself. He has admitted he was with her Sunday night, he was seen here on Monday evening while you were out, and it was after he left her last night that he was attacked.’ Miss Mytton knew that that last assertion might be inaccurate, but it seemed a reasonable assumption. ‘Doesn’t that point to you as his assailant?’

  Some of the tension left his face. ‘Bright’s been pulling your leg, Missemily. I don’t know about Sunday or Monday, but he certainly didn’t meet her last night. Neither of us left the flat the whole evening.’

  ‘You said something of the same sort about Sunday,’ Miss Mytton reminded him. But she said it without conviction. She had an uneasy feeling that this time he might be telling the truth.

  George Colling limped to the door leading to the flat, opened it, and called up the stairs to his wife. ‘We’ll see what Gwen has to say about this,’ he said grimly.

  Gwen gave Miss Mytton a swift, surprised glance. She did not come right into the room, but stood in the doorway, one foot still on the bottom stair, as though poised for flight.

  ‘Missemily wants to know what you were doing last night,’ George said.

  ‘Does she? Then why not tell her?’

  ‘I have told her. She doesn’t believe me.’

  ‘It looks like nobody’s got any privacy these days,’ she said, bitterness in her voice. ‘Everyone poking their noses into other people’s business.’ She looked at Miss Mytton, her eyes hard. ‘If you must know, Missemily, me and George were upstairs watching the television.’

  It’s gone wrong somewhere, thought Miss Mytton. But where? William could not have invented the liaison. There was no doubt about the assault; Mary West and the doctor could testify to that. And it was Vera, not William, who had told her about his visit to the garage on Monday.

  ‘Missemily seems to think you’ve been meeting William Bright on the sly,’ George said. ‘You know — Miss Justin’s gardener. You’re supposed to have been with him last night. And Monday. And Sunday.’

  Miss Mytton was watching Gwen. She saw the look of wariness on her thin face and knew that, whatever the woman might say, there was truth somewhere in what Bright had said. And switching her gaze to George she was filled with a sudden revulsion of feeling. She hardly listened to Gwen’s emphatic denials; it wasn’t pleasant to see a man look at his wife the way George was looking at Gwen. If he had not before considered William Bright as a rival he was considering him now.

  I’m a silly, interfering old woman, she told herself wearily. Tom didn’t kill Cluster, so why should I worry? The police may badger him, but they can’t harm him. Why should I go to all this trouble, antagonizing folk who were my friends, when there are the proper authorities to deal with it?

  ‘You had better drive me home, George,’ She said. ‘I’m tired, and it’s raining.’

  *

  It was not until Miss Justin had finished her tea and was toying with the idea of telephoning Emily to learn the outcome of her visit to the garage that Colonel Gresham arrived in Belinda. He was apologetic for his lateness, but offered no excuse. Miss Justin, thankful to see him, asked for none.

  She had tried without success to have a word with William that afternoon. William wasn’t seeing anyone, Mary West had told her; his head still ached. Miss Justin had suggested that in that case he would be wise to postpone his visit to the solicitor until the morrow; if that were not possible she was sure the Colonel would not object to an extra passenger. But William had not been co-operative. He had refused to postpone the visit or to accept a lift. He insisted on cycling into Tanbury, Mary West told her.

  Somewhat perturbed by his stubbornness, Miss Justin had to leave it at that.

  It was raining as they left Cheswick, and she was glad that at least Belinda’s roof was sound. The Colonel seemed glumly preoccupied; she had her own worries, but to arouse his interest she told him of William’s misadventure the previous evening. He received the news in silence, which surprised her. But after a while he asked, ‘Anything to do with Cluster’s murder, d’you think?’

  She had not mentioned the mission on which William had gone, or his association with Mrs Colling. Now, wishing to be mysterious, she said, ‘We can’t tell, can we? William hasn’t confided in me fully. But he could know who killed Mr Cluster, I suppose. In fact, I believe he does.’

  The Colonel did not comment at once. Belinda was making heavy weather of a hill, and it needed careful manipulation of gears and throttle to coax her to the top. That feat achieved, he said, ‘Which is why the murderer tried to eliminate him, eh? Is that what you think?’

  It wasn’t what she thought. It was George Colling who had assaulted William — and not because of what William might know, but because of Gwendoline. But she could not tell him that. She said cautiously, ‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’

  ‘Then why doesn’t the fellow go to the police?’

  ‘I don’t know. But he is seeing Edward Mace this evening.’ She gave a sidelong glance at her companion. ‘I suggested he might like to come in with us; I knew you wouldn’t mind. I was thinking of his head, you see. But he said he’d rather cycle in. I suppose this is too early for him. His appointment isn’t until six.’

  ‘Protecting his own interests, eh?’ The Colonel grunted. ‘Can’t say I blame him.’

  He made no comment on Miss Justin’s offer of a lift to William, although he considered it infernal cheek. He had fought as determinedly to maintain his bachelor state as he had for his country, and was firmly convinced that all spinsters (a
nd Clara Justin in particular) were out to catch him. But Miss Justin was reputed to have money, and at that moment the Colonel was much interested in people with money. Even spinsters, dangerous as they might be. It behoved him to be civil.

  ‘D’you think he’ll go to the police if Mace gives him the all clear?’ he asked presently.

  ‘I don’t know what he’ll do,’ she confessed. ‘I wish I did.’

  ‘H’m! Well, I’ll be seeing Mace myself this afternoon. Maybe I can find out what’s afoot. Though you never can tell with these solicitor Johnnies. Close as clams when they choose to be.’

  ‘Edward won’t have seen William by then,’ Miss Justin pointed out.

  Mace was not at all pleased to see the Colonel. He could do nothing to improve the other’s finances, and it was annoying constantly to have to refuse a neighbour. ‘There just isn’t the money about,’ he explained. ‘Not for schemes like yours. It’s too precarious, and the possible return too small. Forget it, Colonel.’

  ‘Forget what?’ the Colonel asked blankly.

  ‘That mushroom scheme. Isn’t that what you want the money for?’

  ‘Good Lord, no!’ He had already forgotten his proposed incursion into the mushroom industry. ‘No, it’s the bank. Had a sticky letter from the manager yesterday, clamping down on me overdraft. Lived on it for years, too. What does the fellow expect me to do, damn him?’

  ‘Start paying it off, perhaps,’ Mace suggested. ‘It’s customary.’

  ‘Maybe. But it ain’t practicable. Not in my case.’

  The solicitor sighed. ‘If the bank doesn’t consider you good for a loan, Colonel, why should a private speculator? You’ve no security to offer, have you? None that isn’t already fully mortgaged, that is.’

  Sadly the Colonel shook his head. He had had no high hopes of success, but he was always a trier.

  ‘So what do I do?’ he asked.

  Before Mace could answer the telephone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, and picked up the receiver. The watching Colonel saw his brow pucker, and guessed from his annoyed expression and the sharp crackle of a woman’s voice in the earpiece that it was his wife who was calling. Don’t look too pleased about it either, he thought.