by J F Straker
Incredulity, dismay, anger — all struggled for expression on his weather-beaten face.
‘I don’t get it,’ he said. ‘I just don’t get it. Why should she say a thing like that? ’Specially when it ain’t true. Betty and me’s in love, we was aiming to get married when all this is over.’
Miss Mytton shook her head. ‘I’m afraid she’s changed her mind, Tom,’ she said sadly. ‘She isn’t going to marry you. I don’t think there’s anyone else; it’s just that she’s got her freedom and means to keep it. She’s a young widow with her own farm, and she’s too greedy to share it.’
His mouth dropped open. ‘Did she actually say that, Missemily? That she isn’t going to marry me?’ Miss Mytton nodded, unhappy that she could say or do nothing to help him in his misery and bewilderment. ‘Then why didn’t she tell me herself? Why make trouble for me with the police? She can’t hate me that bad. Not so’s she’d rather see me hanged than marry me.’
‘I don’t think it’s quite like that, Tom,’ she said gently, ‘I think she did it because, deep down inside her, she’s ashamed. Ashamed of herself for turning you down after you’ve stood by her all these years, ashamed of what the village will say. Subconsciously she’s trying to invent a defence for herself. You see, even if there were only the faintest suspicion that you had been concerned in John Cluster’s death, that would be a good enough reason why she shouldn’t marry you. He was her husband, no matter how badly he may have treated her. So she’s making sure that the suspicion is there. She may not be aware of her motive, but that’s what it is. I’m sure of that.’
‘Maybe you are,’ he agreed dully, not entirely comprehending. ‘But that don’t help me none.’
‘I know that, Tom. No one’s more distressed about this than I am. But you had to be told. For one thing, the police are bound to question you; Elizabeth has seen to that. Tell them the truth — about Elizabeth, I mean. It’s not enough to accuse her of lying; you’ve got to tell them why she lied. She’s out to do you mischief, and you’ve got to fight her. So don’t let’s have any mistaken ideas about being chivalrous in this.’
He nodded, his face wooden. ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘And thank you for telling me, Missemily.’
He knelt down and once more set to work on the tractor.
It’s hit him hard, poor fellow, she thought, as she walked away. I knew it would. And she comforted herself with the reflection that Tom wasn’t the hasty, quick-tempered kind. At least she could rely on him not to do anything foolish.
*
Penelope Hooper was helping her mother with the flowers when the sergeant was announced. The deep flush that spread over the girl’s face was not lost on Lady Hooper. Dear me! she thought, I hope Penny hasn’t fallen for that young man; he seems very polite and pleasant, but a detective’s wife must lead a most abnormal existence. Rather like a commercial traveller’s, only less regular. It would be much better if she married someone with a more settled and prosaic profession.
Penelope herself had no doubts at all. She was in love. She had been in love before, but this was different (the previous occasions had also been different, but she never remembered that); her only worry was that Norris-Kerr might not feel the same way about her. She supposed it was duty that brought him to the house; but was there any significance in the fact that it was always he, and never the inspector, who came? Fervently she hoped so.
‘See what he wants, dear,’ said Lady Hooper. If the girl was stricken there was nothing she could do about it. Better to give her a free rein and let the affair run its course. It was a method that had worked well enough in the past.
Why was it, wondered Penelope as she greeted him, that there was no embarrassment between them? She usually found herself tongue-tied in the presence of young men who attracted her; but with him she could talk freely and naturally, or share a silence happily.
‘More trouble for the Hoopers?’ she asked gaily, certain that she at least was not involved.
He grinned at her. ‘I hope not. I suppose you’ve heard about this chap Bright being killed?’
‘Of course. Was he really murdered? That’s what they’re saying in the village.’ She shivered, hunching her shoulders. ‘No one seemed upset when Mr Cluster was killed — I suppose because he was such a dreadful creature. But this is different. When a quite ordinary and harmless person like Miss Justin’s gardener is murdered it — well, one feels it might happen to any of us. And that’s a pretty terrifying thought. I wouldn’t go out after dark alone for a million pounds.’
‘That’s an awful lot of money not to go out for,’ he said.
She laughed. ‘Well, maybe I’m not that scared.’ She noticed he had ignored her query about murder, but decided not to press for an answer. It might embarrass him. ‘You haven’t yet told me why you’re here.’
‘I’d like a word with your brother if he’s available.’
‘Yes, I think so. I’ll fetch him for you.’
‘Wait a minute.’ He caught her arm. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, only I’ve never managed to pluck up the necessary courage. I think I’ve got it this morning.’
The girl waited, her heart beating fast. This will be my first proposal of marriage, she thought. And for all I care it can be the last.
He hesitated for so long that she could not resist prompting him. ‘What is it?’ she asked, her voice not entirely steady.
‘People don’t seem to regard policemen as ordinary human beings,’ he said. ‘But we are. Or most of us are. And we get the same urges as other men when we meet a pretty girl.’ He smiled down at her. ‘So I was wondering if you and I couldn’t make a date when all this is over. Being a detective ties one down a lot, but I do get the occasional free evening.’ The smile broadened into a grin. ‘Or do you object to being seen around with a copper?’
‘Of course not.’ She strove to keep the disappointment from her voice. ‘I’d like that.’
Clifford was in the garden. He showed no surprise at the summons, and had she not been so preoccupied Penelope would have wondered at that. After he had gone she stayed in the garden, anxious to avoid her mother. Her mother would be quick to sense that something had upset her. She did not want an inquiry into what that something was.
I was a fool, she told herself, to think he would say more than he did. We’ve only met two or three times; five days ago he didn’t even know I existed. It isn’t everyone who can make up their minds about a person as quickly as I made up mine about him. And at least he wants to see me again.
She wondered idly whether there was a ban on policemen proposing while on duty.
When Clifford came out of the house he looked worried. But Penelope was more concerned about their visitor. ‘Has he gone?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Oh!’ She had hoped he might ask to speak to her again. ‘What did he want?’
‘He’s checking on this chap Bright who was killed last night. Miss Justin’s gardener.’
‘I know. But why come to you?’
‘Did you know him?’ he asked, ignoring her question.
‘Bright? I’ve spoken to him sometimes when I’ve visited Miss Justin — which wasn’t often. And I danced with him once at that “do” in the village hall last month. Remember? Oh, no — you were away. Sybil danced with him several times. Mrs Mace was furious; you know how she hates anything that might reflect on them socially.’
‘The police had the idea I might have been involved in his death,’ Clifford said, his voice a little too casual.
‘You? What nonsense! You didn’t even know him, did you?’
‘Never even spoken to the fellow.’
Penelope shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I can’t understand it. What on earth put that into their heads? I hope you told In — the sergeant that you were at home yesterday evening.’
‘Of course.’ He bent to pluck a weed from the soft earth. ‘Did you know Bright was also attacked the previous evening?’
He nodded. ‘And they were right. It was.’
‘Cliff! Were you mad?’
‘A little,’ he admitted. ‘These last few weeks have been hell. Finding Sybil necking in the car on Sunday evening with that fellow Stolpe was the last straw. Or I thought it was Stolpe. The sergeant’s just told me it was Bright.’
‘Bright? You mean Sybil was having an affair with him?’
‘So it seems. Anyway, on Wednesday I decided to go over to the Maces’ and have it out with her; I just had to know where I stood. But when I got to the house I lost my nerve; couldn’t even bring myself to walk up the drive. I was still standing by the gate when a chap came along on a bicycle, popped it into the ditch, and clambered through the hedge into the paddock. That looked a bit irregular, so I decided to investigate. I went through the hedge after him, and there they were.’
‘Bright and Sybil?’
‘Yes. They didn’t see me; it was dark, and anyway they were too engrossed in themselves. So I went back to the lane and waited for him. And the longer I waited the madder I got. It was bad enough being stood up for Stolpe. But two of them — and both of them yobs—’
‘Bright wasn’t a yob,’ Penelope said. ‘He didn’t speak like one, anyway.’
‘Well, yob or not, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. But I’d no intention of doing him in, or anything like that. At least, I don’t think I had. To be honest, I’m not sure now what I intended.’
‘But what did you do, Cliff?’
‘Hit him over the head with a chunk of wood. I’d picked it up while I was waiting.’
‘Cliff! You might have killed him!’
‘I thought I had.’ He began to sweat at the memory. ‘But I had a good look at him and he didn’t seem too bad. When he started to come round I cleared off. I didn’t want to be there when he was fully conscious.’
‘And now he really is dead,’ Penelope said sadly.
‘Yes. But I didn’t kill him.’
She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t thinking of you. I was thinking of Sybil. I wonder if she really was in love with him?’
*
Miss Stewart was neat, intelligent, and precise. That she was also observant was demonstrated by her detailed description of William Bright. (‘Just over six feet tall, with blue eyes and a fresh complexion, and dressed in rubber thigh boots and a dark-blue duffel-coat. He wore the hood up, but I could see he had fair hair. His English was good, with a faint North Country accent.’) Her account of both Bright’s and Miss Justin’s visits to the solicitor’s office tallied with those given by Mace, but she could provide the inspector with no fresh information of value.
‘What did Bright say when he left?’ he asked. ‘Did he give any indication of where he was going?’
‘I didn’t speak to him,’ she said. ‘He let himself out.’
‘But you’re quite sure he left at six-thirty?’
‘Six-thirty-two,’ she said promptly. ‘I was in the general office, watching the passage through the glass partition and wondering how long the man would be. I was afraid I was going to miss the next bus; they run every half hour. That’s why I looked at the clock when I saw him go down the passage to the front door.’ She smiled. ‘I didn’t know we were due for another visitor.’
He returned the smile. ‘At least Miss Justin saved you from the bus,’ he said. ‘That must have been some consolation.’
When she had gone back to the general office (Mace had lent them his own office for the interview) Pitt sat down and tugged at his chin in vexation. He was convinced that Bright’s death had not been accidental, yet he was no nearer to discovering how or where the man had been killed.
Except that it certainly wasn’t here, he thought.
He looked round the typical lawyer’s office; at the big kneehole desk with the neat array of pens and writing materials, the large blotter, the piles of documents and letters; at the shelves filled with law books, and the deed boxes beneath the tall windows that overlooked the rather dingy street. William Bright had gone down that street on his bicycle the previous evening. And within half an hour he was dead.
‘Finished, Inspector?’ asked Mace, as he came into the room.
‘Yes, thank you, sir. I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you. Miss Stewart tells me you’re busy.’
‘That’s all right, Inspector. We’re always busy. Anything else while you’re here?’
‘There is one other matter, sir. When Bright called here yesterday, had you any idea he and your daughter were planning to marry?’
Mace frowned. ‘You’ve been talking to Sybil, eh? My wife has just been on the phone to me.’ Some of the friendliness had left his voice. ‘If you’ll forgive my saying so, Inspector, that was pulling a fast one. I thought I’d made it clear that I wished to be present when you questioned my daughter.’
Pitt was unperturbed by the accusation. He had expected it.
‘Mrs Mace was there, sir. I impressed on them both that it might be wiser for Miss Mace to make a formal statement at the police station in your presence, but they thought otherwise.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think you need worry. We’ve nothing against your daughter.’
‘I should hope not.’
Mace sat down at his desk, picked up a pencil, and began to doodle idly on the blotter. After a pause Pitt repeated his question.
The solicitor shook his head. ‘I first heard of it last night from my daughter.’ He dug the pencil-point deep into the blotter. ‘If I’d known of it when Bright came to see me our chat would have run on very different lines. I’m no snob, but I know Sybil. Love in a cottage isn’t up her street at all.’
‘Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Bright made no mention of it?’
‘Not at all odd. He knew damned well it wasn’t news that would be well received. Common sense must have told him that, even if Sybil didn’t. Frankly, I doubt if he ever had any intention of asking my permission; he’d have married her first and hoped for my blessing — and an allowance — later.’ Mace threw the pencil down and leaned back. ‘In any case, he came to consult me as a solicitor, not as a possible father-in-law. Whatever he had on his mind (or his conscience) was probably more pressing than marriage.’
‘You didn’t like him?’ Pitt asked.
‘I neither liked nor disliked him. That brief visit was the only contact we had. But I certainly wouldn’t have approved of him as a son-in-law, if that’s what you mean.’
Pitt did not pursue that. He said, ‘I understand from your daughter that you did not mention Bright’s visit to her.’
‘Certainly not. For one thing, I am not in the habit of divulging a client’s business — not even to my own family. And even if I were I should not have done so in this case, since it had nothing to do with Sybil. Nor, come to that, did she give me the opportunity.’ He snapped out the sentences, his irritability increasing with each. ‘And now, Inspector, if you’ve no more questions I’d like to get on with my work. As Miss Stewart has told you, we happen to be busy.’
*
For some time after Emily had gone Miss Justin sat in her sitting-room, her hands idle in her lap but her thoughts busy. From time to time she glanced out of the window at the garden, as from habit; William had never been a diligent worker, despite her defence of him to Emily, and she had liked to keep an eye on his progress. But now the garden was deserted; it seemed to her almost reproachful in its dull November loneliness. I suppose I shall have to get another gardener someday, she reflected. But not yet. No, not yet.
In the meantime the garden had to be tended, and there was only herself to do it. Reluctantly she eased herself from the comfortable armchair, collected Peter from the kitchen (Mary had not yet arrived; William’s death had probably been too much for her, thought Miss Justin), and went outdoors. But she lacked both the energy and the inclination for work, and she wandered idly along the paths, mentally noting the more pressi
ng jobs for future attention.
She was still in the garden when the inspector arrived. He walked up the path to where Miss Justin stood, bass broom in hand, staring with some distaste at the leaves scattered over the lawn. Having at last driven herself to finding the broom, she was now driving herself to the point of actually using it.
He said politely that he hoped she had recovered from her harrowing experience of the previous evening. But Miss Justin had not recovered, and said so. The sight of William’s body lying there on the road, she told him, would probably haunt her for the rest of her life. It was not an experience to be forgotten in a few hours.
‘Of course not,’ Pitt agreed. ‘Particularly as I understand you were much attached to the man.’
She eyed him warily. It was one thing to express sorrow for William, but quite another to admit to an ‘attachment.’ That was a word which, under the circumstances, had a rather illicit sound. If it got round the village that she had been ‘attached’ to William there would be more than a breath of scandal. She must strangle such a suggestion at birth.
‘Certainly not,’ she said severely. ‘He was my gardener; no more than that. I should have been sorry had such a terrible thing happened to anyone. That William Bright was in my employ naturally aggravated my sorrow.’
‘Naturally,’ he agreed, restraining a smile — a process he seldom found difficult. What had the woman read into his harmless words? ‘But you probably knew him better than most people in the village. You would have heard, for instance, of his attachment—’ (Surely it was safe to use the word here?) ‘for a certain young lady.’
‘Ah! Miss Mytton!’ she exclaimed. Noting the astonishment on the inspector’s face, she added hastily. ‘You got that from Miss Mytton, didn’t you? Well, she got it from me. So I must have heard of it, mustn’t I?’
He nodded. ‘And you, presumably, got it from Bright?’
‘Yes. But only after I’d put two and two together and taxed him with it. He was most reluctant to discuss it.’
‘And who was the lady?’ asked Pitt.
Miss Justin was slightly shocked. Except between intimates, scandal was something to be hinted at, and that only delicately. Such bluntness was indecent.