by J F Straker
Norris-Kerr muttered something under his breath, and she saw the inspector frown. ‘We’ll be seeing Mr Mace later,’ he said, and walked over to the girl. Clearing his throat noisily to attract her attention, he said, ‘Do you mind answering a few questions, miss?’
The girl turned, considered him idly, and nodded. Then her gaze wandered back to the garden. She was well aware that she was posing, but the knowledge neither shamed nor displeased her. She even felt a secret enjoyment at the prospect of being interviewed. She had loved William, and his death had saddened her; but now the first shock was over she felt a sense of relief. The enforced secrecy of their meetings had been part of his attraction, relieving the boredom that village life had hitherto held for her. But latterly William had become more of a problem than she knew how to handle. He had begun to chafe at the restrictions that secrecy imposed. He had demanded that they come out into the open and get married.
Marriage! Sybil shuddered at the prospect. Not after Daddy and Julia, she thought; I prefer my freedom. And William hadn’t a bean. Sometimes he had hinted mysteriously at wealth that would soon be his, but she hadn’t believed him. And to live in a workman’s cottage, slaving and scraping and making do, just wasn’t on. Not for her. Not even with William.
Out of the corner of her eye she looked at her mother, and smiled inwardly. Julia had been honey itself that morning. She’s glad William is dead, thought Sybil; but mixed with her gladness is the fear of what I may say to the police. No, not to the police — to the village. William’s dead, but she knows that isn’t the end of him for her. He’s a big black cloud filling her horizon, and she knows damned well that at any moment I can bring the cloud down and ruin all her stupid social aspirations. I will, too, if I feel like it.
She shivered, and a wave of contrition swept over her. I’m a bitch, she thought; almost as big a bitch as Julia. Last night I was crying my eyes out because William was dead, and now here I am planning to use his memory as a threat to hold over Julia.
‘...may seem unduly personal,’ the inspector was saying. ‘You would be perfectly justified in refusing to answer. But it seems that the statement you made on Tuesday wasn’t altogether correct. Or rather it was incomplete. You neglected to mention, miss, that for a good hour on Sunday evening you were sitting in your car in the Hall drive. That’s so, isn’t it?’
Julia sat up with a jerk.
‘Don’t answer that, Sybil,’ she ordered, her voice high-pitched. She turned to the detective. ‘I don’t like this, Inspector. It seems to me that you are deliberately taking advantage of my husband’s absence to try to involve my daughter in something which does not concern her. I shall certainly not let her answer questions like that. Not until Mr Mace has been consulted.’
‘Of course not.’ Pitt’s tone was almost benign. ‘I’m sorry; I had the wrong impression. I thought Miss Mace had merely been forgetful. I had no idea she had anything to hide, or that she had made a statement knowing it to be false.’
‘She didn’t,’ Julia said sharply. ‘Make a false statement, I mean. And of course she has nothing to hide. You’re deliberately misunderstanding me, Inspector.’
Again he apologized. ‘But I still think you’re right, ma’am. Mr Mace should be present. I’ll arrange with him for your daughter to visit the police station, where the interrogation can be conducted on more formal lines.’
Julia was taken aback by this ready acquiescence; she mistrusted it because she could not guess at the motive behind it. But despite her mistrust, and a firm conviction that any association with the police led inevitably to unsavoury reports in the Sunday newspapers, she was anxious not to antagonize them. And Sybil’s visit to the Carter cottage would certainly be noted by the village, and commented on adversely.
If only she could be sure that Sybil would reveal nothing scandalous or discreditable! But Sybil, after that horrifying announcement the previous evening, had stubbornly refused to go into detail. ‘Isn’t it enough that he’s dead?’ she had sobbed into the pillows. ‘Leave me alone, can’t you?’
‘But what will you say to the police?’ Julia had insisted. ‘They’ll be here tomorrow. And how can we help you if we don’t know what’s been happening?’
But Sybil had not been interested in the police.
Edward had been as concerned as his wife, but more philosophic. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see,’ was his comment later. ‘We can’t force her confidence.’
‘Wait and see!’ Julia had repeated scornfully, before bursting into tears. ‘If this gets round the village we’ll have to move. I won’t stay here, Edward. I just couldn’t face it.’
‘No sense in worrying before it happens,’ he had said. His manner was meant to be soothing, but they had drifted too far apart for it to have much effect. ‘I don’t know why the inspector wants to see her, but it’s probably something quite trivial. Or trivial as far as Sybil is concerned. He’s calling at my office in the morning; I’ll ask him then. If it’s anything serious I’ll come home. But it won’t be; Sybil had nothing to do with the murder. As for the scandal — the police don’t gossip, Julia. Anything Sybil tells them about herself and Bright won’t go any further.’
It was the memory of that final assurance that made Julia hesitate now. She was anxious to know the truth, and it seemed that she would never get it from the girl direct. If Sybil were to tell it to the police in her presence...
While Julia hesitated, Sybil made her own contribution to the discussion.
‘My mother seems to think I’ve done something wrong, Inspector,’ she said, her voice cool and impersonal. ‘I haven’t. And I’ve nothing to hide either. But you’re right; I did spend part of Sunday evening sitting in my car. I didn’t mention it before because I couldn’t see that it had anything to do with you. I still don’t think it has.’
Pitt looked at the mother, his heavy eyebrows lifted in a query. Julia shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘If my daughter’s got no objections I suppose I haven’t,’ she said. ‘Not so long as I am present to advise her.’
He thanked her politely, and turned back to the girl. ‘Who was your companion, miss?’ he asked. ‘I take it you weren’t alone.’ And, when Sybil hesitated, ‘Was it Erich Stolpe?’
If he had exploded a hand grenade in the room he could hardly have caused greater consternation. Julia, unaware of the truth, was suddenly confronted with the possibility that her daughter had taken not one, but two lovers from among the young men of the village. There might even be others. But it was Sybil who was the more startled.
‘You mean — the man who works for Miss Mytton?’ Her detachment had gone. ‘Good Heavens, no! What on earth gave you that idea?’
The two detectives looked at each other, puzzled by the obvious sincerity of her answer. Before either could speak, Julia pounced on them.
‘Really, Inspector, this is too much!’ Relief at Sybil’s denial lent vehemence to her indignation. ‘To suggest that my daughter was having an affair with a — a common labourer! I insist on an apology.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Pitt said. ‘I meant no offence; the question was prompted by information which I took to be genuine. If my informant was mistaken I apologize.’ He coughed. ‘Who was your companion then, miss?’
Julia did not see the look her daughter gave her. She was already regretting her outburst. Bright the gardener, she reflected, was not much higher in the social scale than Stolpe the farm labourer.
‘It was William Bright,’ Sybil said quietly. But even to her own ears there was not enough sadness to her tone, and she fumbled for a handkerchief and dabbed hastily at her eyes.
‘Are you quite sure, miss?’ the sergeant began. And then stopped, realizing the stupidity of the question. Pitt nodded to himself. There was a superficial likeness between Bright and Stolpe. In the dark Clifford Hooper might well have mistaken one for the other.
Julia endeavoured to amplify her daughter’s announcement to her own satisfaction.
‘I see you’re
surprised,’ she said, with forced cheerfulness. ‘So was I at first. But one only had to talk to Mr Bright to know that he came of a good family. Such a cultured voice — and excellent manners.’ She could not remember ever having spoken to the man, but someone (was it Edward?) had mentioned that he seemed a cut above the ordinary labouring class. ‘Goodness knows why he should choose to work as a gardener. But then young people do such extraordinary things these days, don’t they?’ She suddenly remembered that Bright was dead, and dropped her voice to a more solemn note. ‘Poor boy. Such a tragedy! We never met his parents, of course, but I feel so sorry for them.’
‘His mother was a nursemaid and his father is a gardener,’ Sybil said, sickened by Julia’s hypocritical sympathy. ‘A jobbing gardener. And if he wasn’t ashamed of them, why should we be?’
Norris-Kerr, who had been gazing at Julia with fascinated disgust, leaned forward impulsively. ‘May I offer you our sympathy, Miss Mace? We didn’t realize Mr Bright was a friend of yours. I’m sure the Inspector—’
Thus prompted, Pitt hastened to add his own condolences. He also offered to cut short the interview. But the girl declined. ‘Now you’re here I’d rather get it over. What else did you wish to know?’
The sergeant, noting his superior officer’s indecision (Pitt was hastily trying to review previous statements in the light of this new information), breached the gap. ‘Did you see anyone while you were parked on the drive?’ he asked.
‘Only Clifford Hooper. He was going up to the Hall, I think.’
‘No one else?’
‘No. Oh, yes — there was a car. It went up towards the cottage. I meant to tell you about that on Tuesday, only I couldn’t think how to do so without bringing William into it.’ She gazed stonily at her mother. ‘I knew my parents wouldn’t approve.’
‘What time did you see this car?’
‘Not long before I went into the house. Somewhere around a quarter to ten, I imagine.’
‘Did you see it return?’
The girl shook her head. ‘And I can’t even tell you what kind of car it was. I just saw the lights as it went up the drive.’
It was the inspector’s turn. ‘When did you last see Mr Bright, miss?’ he asked.
‘Wednesday evening. In the paddock after dinner. We often met there. I expected him last night, but he—’
She bowed her head and dabbed again at her eyes. And this time she was not posing. The thought of what had happened to prevent that meeting was not a happy one.
Pitt waited patiently. When she looked at him again he saw that her eyes were red. He said, ‘You hadn’t heard, then, that Mr Bright was attacked on Wednesday evening? Presumably after leaving you.’
‘Attacked? By whom?’
‘We don’t know, miss. Not yet. Mr Bright didn’t see fit to confide in the police, so our information is second-hand.’
There was bitterness in his voice. He did not approve of people who bypassed the police with the intention of taking the law into their own hands, as he had no doubt Bright had done. Nor did he approve of elderly ladies who jumped to conclusions — as it now seemed that Miss Mytton had done.
‘I can’t understand it,’ Sybil said. ‘I thought William was popular in the village. Why should anyone want to kill him?’ She paused. ‘Why was he killed, Inspector?’
Pitt gave a rather negative shake of the head. ‘After Bright left, did you come straight back to the house?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Daddy was in here, reading the paper. I talked to him for a few minutes. Then Colonel Gresham called to see him, and I went upstairs. I don’t know where my mother was.’
‘I was in the kitchen,’ Julia said hastily. That final sentence had sounded like an accusation.
Pitt nodded. ‘One final question, miss. In view of what you’ve just told us it may seem out of place, but — well, it’s been reported that Mr Bright was on more than friendly terms with Mrs Colling. I’m told he’d been meeting her of an evening. Can you confirm or deny that?’
Sybil stared at him.
‘Mrs Colling? Why should he be meeting her?’ Anger crept into her voice. ‘That’s not much of a compliment to me, Inspector, is it? And if it were true — which I’m sure it isn’t — I’d probably be the last person to hear of it.’
At the inspector’s request they went into the garden, the girl leading. As they reached the gate to the paddock Archie came running from the house to join them. He caught Norris-Kerr by the sleeve.
‘D’you think I ought to get Colonel Gresham?’ he asked, ignoring his mother’s protests.
‘Eh?’ The sergeant looked down at him, momentarily nonplussed. Then he smiled. ‘It can’t do any harm,’ he said. ‘And you never can tell. Why not be on the safe side and get the lot?’
‘I think I will. It’ll mean another page, though. Are you going to arrest Sybil?’
‘Not just yet.’
‘H’m! A pity,’ Archie said.
The sergeant laughed. ‘Why aren’t you at school, young man? Is this a half-term holiday or something?’
‘I’m in quarantine for mumps. Lots of people in the village have got it.’
‘Have they, though!’ Norris-Kerr looked grave. ‘This is a more dangerous assignment than I thought. Mumps is something I haven’t yet had and don’t want.’
‘Go back to the house at once, Archie,’ ordered Julia. ‘I told you to stay in your room.’
‘Sorry,’ said the boy. ‘Oh, I forgot. The butcher’s at the back door and Daddy’s on the phone. He wants to speak to you.’
Sybil watched the two men crawl through the gap in the hedge, so often used by William, and begin to search the ditch on the far side. But she did not wait for them to complete the search. She walked slowly over the long grass to the chestnut, and stood there thinking about William. Would I ever have married him? she wondered. I don’t think I would; not even to spite Julia. But it was a pity he had to die before I found that out.
Pitt came across the paddock to join her. ‘Your mother tells me you first heard of Mr Bright’s death at dinner last night,’ he said. ‘Did your father mention that Bright had been to see him at his office that evening?’
‘Been to see Daddy?’ She looked at him in astonishment. ‘About us, do you mean?’
‘Not according to your father. Bright hinted he knew something about Cluster’s murder, and wanted advice on how to pass it on to the police without involving a certain young lady. That’d be you, miss, wouldn’t it?’
‘I suppose so. I wonder why William didn’t tell me on Wednesday he was going to see Daddy.’
‘The idea may not have occurred to him until later,’ Pitt suggested.
‘That’s true.’ She frowned. ‘Although he did say that some one knew about us being up at the Hall on Sunday, and that he thought you ought to know too. He wanted to tell you about the car. It was my fault he didn’t; I was afraid our — our association might become public. I wasn’t thinking about the murder, you see. I was too concerned with my own problem.’
‘A pity,’ murmured the inspector. He was going to add more, but decided to spare her. Instead he said, ‘Yet natural enough, I suppose.’
*
Miss Mytton regarded the bent back of her foreman with affectionate concern. She had pondered much on what she should say to him. It wasn’t easy to tell a man that the woman he loved and hoped to marry was doing her utmost to have him arrested for murder.
Yet for his own sake she could not leave him in ignorance.
‘Good morning, Tom,’ she said. ‘Having trouble with the tractor?’
Tom Shannon looked up, unsmiling. ‘Nothing serious, Missemily. Reckon I can fix it.’
He was no mechanic, but experience had taught him some of the faults to look for and how to cure them. He went on cleaning the plugs while she watched him, hopeful that there or in the carburettor lay the trouble. It annoyed him when he had to admit defeat and call in the more expert help of George Colling.
‘When d
id you last see Elizabeth?’ she asked.
‘Wednesday dinner-time.’ Missemily knew all about him and Betty. Or nearly all.
‘She’s changed, don’t you think?’ Miss Mytton persisted.
‘A bit.’ He stood up, rubbing his hands on the seat of his trousers. ‘I reckon what she’s been through would change most women.’
‘Was she pleased to see you?’
He looked at her, puzzled by the question. ‘I suppose so,’ he said doubtfully. ‘But she don’t like us being seen together so soon after the murder. She thinks people’ll talk. And then there’s the police. They come round to the farm while I was there Wednesday. They didn’t see me; but she got proper scared, so I ain’t been since.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Reckon I can wait a few days more after all these years.’
She might have told him then, but she didn’t. Instead she said, ‘I’ve never interfered in your private affairs before, Tom, but now — well, I’ve a rather special reason for doing so. It’s true, isn’t it, that you spent Sunday evening in the barn with Elizabeth?’
‘Not the whole evening,’ he said. ‘Just a couple of hours.’
‘She told me about it yesterday,’ Miss Mytton said, choosing her words with care. ‘She also told me you left her for a short while.’
‘It was short, all right,’ he agreed. ‘Matter of a minute or so.’
‘Why?’ asked Miss Mytton. Then, noting his embarrassment, she went on hastily, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. But did you mention it to the police?’
‘No. It wasn’t none of their business. I just said I was in the barn with a girl.’
‘Elizabeth told them,’ she said, watching him intently.
‘What? That I went out?’ It never occurred to him to doubt her. ‘That was stupid of her. It must have slipped out while she wasn’t thinking.’
‘She not only told them,’ Miss Mytton continued, now irrevocably committed, ‘I suspect she made out that you were absent for quite some time. Certainly longer than a minute or so.’