‘Him?’ The woman looked shocked. ‘There’s nothing like that about him! He wouldn’t harm a fly! If the coppers have got suspicions of my husband they must be even bigger fools than I take them for!’
‘They are not fools, Mrs Trench, and they do not suspect your husband of having committed a criminal act. Did you go away for a summer holiday this year?’
‘No, I didn’t. I stayed here in Kindleford, same as I always do. I haven’t had a decent holiday, not since the war.’ She wiped her eyes, and continued in maudlin accents: ‘The war upset me properly. We wasn’t here then; we was near London, and the bombing got on my nerves, and I haven’t really ever got over it.’
‘No, it was a bad time,’ said Mrs Bradley, who had remained in London, mostly at a casualty clearing station, during the worst of the air-raids. ‘Well, thank you for our little chat. I had better go now. Don’t get up. I can see myself out.’
She went at once. No protestations followed her. The moment she reached the front door Mrs Trench reached for the brandy and slopped some into a glass, fumbled in her dressing-gown pocket for cigarettes, and, after four attempts, managed to light one.
Mrs Bradley returned to Kindleford school and decided not to wait until the children were dismissed before interviewing Trench. The discovery that Mrs Trench was an habitual inebriate sufficiently explained her husband’s excuses for his absence from school functions. To these she could never accept an invitation, and probably (thought Mrs Bradley) the unfortunate man felt that it was better to be at home to make certain that she did not, in her drunken wilfulness, come to the school entertainments, and, by her conduct, betray the secret he had guarded so jealously for so long.
The trouble was that it seemed only too likely, in view of the amount of money her brandy-tippling must cost him, that Trench might have been tempted to augment his income by dabbling in the affairs of the fern experts, whatever those affairs might be. It seemed highly probable that he and Miss Faintley had been in collusion, even in partnership, over the delivery of the mysterious parcels, and that she had felt perfectly safe in advising him to be at the public telephone in Park Road to take an emergency call.
Miss Golightly seemed to extend a rather frigid hand when Mrs Bradley arrived at the school.
‘Interview Mr Trench here?’ she asked. ‘I suppose, if you want to, you must. You had better talk to him down here in my room. I will look after his class while you see him. Let me see, now… oh, yes.’ She pressed a buzzer at the side of her desk and a boy with a cow-lick and a large, solid girl appeared. ‘Mr Trench in the woodwork centre,’ she said. ‘Ask him to get all tools put away, library books out, and to come to my room as soon as he can manage it. My compliments, as usual, of course. You go, Roberts. Marion, run across to the cookery centre and ask Miss Welling to spare me a moment if there is nothing in the ovens. If there is, tell her I will come over to her. My compliments, of course, as usual.’
There proved to be nothing in the ovens, as the class was having an extra laundry lesson as a punishment for having eaten sultanas instead of dropping the full quota into the boiled puddings, so Miss Welling shortly appeared. She was an alert young woman of about twenty-eight, full of grievances, and Mrs Bradley’s presence did nothing to render her inarticulate.
‘And if I’ve told Susie Jenkins once to go and wash her hands and face before she comes to class, I’ve told her a dozen times, Miss Golightly. After all, if we can’t have personal hygiene in the cookery centre, where can we have it?’
‘Send her to me,’ said the headmistress, with (Mrs Bradley suspected) an inaudible but heartfelt groan.
‘And, Miss Golightly, I’m sure Brown’s are not sending me my full sugar. The staff are always complaining about no extra sugar for the stewed fruit… If it’s not Brown’s, then the children eat it, and I always keep everything locked up, so I don’t see how…’
‘Sugar for the stewed fruit is the business of the school meals service. The staff cannot expect to come on to the cookery centre for more, Miss Welling.’
‘Well, they always have,’ said Miss Welling, unanswerably, ‘and they think I’m being mean about it, and it’s most unpleasant, especially the men. They seem to think I’m made of sugar… no, I don’t mean that, exactly…“
‘I will put up a notice in the staff-room. And you had better go to Brown’s yourself instead of sending girls. And now, Miss Welling, what I really wanted to see you about… Oh, here is Mr Trench. Excuse me one moment. Ah, Mr Trench, Mrs Bradley, who is assisting the police in an inquiry into the circumstances of Miss Faintley’s death, would be glad of a word with you. She thinks you may be able to help her. Miss Welling, if you will walk across to the woodwork centre with me, I will…’
Her voice grew muffled and then faded, as she and Miss Welling went out. Mr Trench, a small, compactly-built man with greying hair and a weak chin, closed the door and looked inquiringly at Mrs Bradley.
‘I’ve been to see your wife,’ she said. His expression changed.
‘Yes? She’s – she’s quite an invalid, I’m afraid.’
‘Indeed? She seemed to know very little about Miss Faintley.’
‘I shouldn’t think she knew her at all. You will have gathered that my wife had really no connexion with the school.’
‘What was your connexion with Miss Faintley, Mr Trench?’
‘I don’t think I had much connexion with her. Our subjects did not overlap, and I —’
‘And you were only able to take an occasional telephone message. That much I understand. What I do not understand is this extraordinary business of the parcels of ferns.’
‘Ferns? Oh, but I had nothing to do with that.’
‘With what?’
‘Well, the parcels, you know. I know she used to collect them, and then, when she said would I go, and I rang her up… or, rather, she rang me up… well, she just wasn’t there, do you see?’
‘I know all this, Mr Trench. Miss Faintley is dead. She was murdered. We have to find her murderer. You agree?’
‘Of course I do. But I can’t help you. What happened was this: Faintley… Miss Faintley, I should say… asked me to go to the public telephone on the evening of the Old Scholars’ party. The time was fixed, and all that, and I went along to the telephone-box, as we’d arranged. I waited for the call. It did not come. I had to get home, and I was not really committed… I did not feel I was committed… to remain beyond the appointed time. So I left the telephone-box and went home.’
‘And you really felt you were fulfilling your obligations?’
‘Of course not,’ replied the wretched man. ‘But how could I have stayed out any longer?’
‘You would know that better than I. Tell me, Mr Trench, what sort of message did you expect to get from Miss Faintley that evening?’
‘I didn’t know what to expect. My salary does not go far, and when Miss Faintley suggested that she was prepared to spend five pounds if I would accept a message, well, it was fixed up between us. I stood in the call-box quite a long time, but she didn’t ring, and so, as it was rather a nasty night, I went home, as I’ve told you, and thought no more about it. I just concluded she had changed her mind, and that I’d got very wet for nothing.’
‘Almost as soon as you left the box, that call came through. It was answered by an impartial witness who had gone to the public call-box on his own account, and accidentally received Miss Faintley’s message. When he heard of her death he went to the police.’
‘My God, then, I’m glad I wasn’t there to take it myself!’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘It wouldn’t do for the police to know I’d telephoned Faintley. They always suspect the worst! I’ve never been in any kind of trouble.’
‘Didn’t you think it odd that a fellow-member of your school staff should offer you five pounds for answering a telephone call?’
‘She said it was a matter of life and death. I took it that some near relative was ill.’
‘And during
a matter of life and death, Miss Faintley was at a school party! It won’t do, Mr Trench. You are not doing yourself justice. You are an intelligent man… a professional man. Do you seriously tell me that that is what you thought?’
‘I didn’t trouble to think at all. I needed the money badly, and I was terribly disappointed not to get it. After all, it was no business of mine to worry about what Faintley was up to. I didn’t give a damn! And I’m not answering any more of these questions without a lawyer! Excuse me. I have to get back to my boys.’
‘One moment, Mr Trench,’ said Mrs Bradley; and so formidable was the strength of her personality and so persuasive her beautiful voice that the harassed man halted half-way to the door and turned round. ‘I am not a police officer. I am a psychiatrist and a doctor. Why have you allowed your wife to arrive at her present deplorable state? Why don’t you take her away from Kindleford to some larger, more interesting place? She’s killing herself. You must know that. She has no friends, no interests, here, and that is why she drinks as she does. You don’t even take her on holiday.’
She half-expected a vituperative outburst from Trench. He did open his mouth and he flushed angrily. But then he regained control of himself, stared at the carpet, and said, with difficulty:
‘She’s ruined my life. Why should I do anything for her?’
‘I don’t need to answer that question. Look here, man, you cannot allow her to commit slow suicide. If you do, you are as much of a murderer as the man who killed Miss Faintley. Get her away! Show her some affection instead of the pious horror which you affect! Take her out of herself! If she wants to drink, have people in, and all get drunk together!’
Trench looked up. He had had enough of it.
‘She’s hopeless,’ he said. ‘You’ve seen her, of course, and you know. You’re a — snooper! Keep your — nose out of my affairs, or I’ll…’
‘Yes?’ said Mrs Bradley calmly. She measured him with a mild, professional eye. ‘How many times did you work with Miss Faintley? How convenient has it been to have a wife who was seldom in a condition to ask any questions? What were you doing on all those occasions when you did not attend school functions on the excuse of having an invalid at home?’
There was no doubt about the effect of these questions on Trench. All the hysterical bluster had disappeared. He looked older. His weak chin was shaking with horror. His eyes, as they caught hers, were begging for mercy.
‘I swear,’ he stammered, ‘I swear I had nothing to do with Faintley’s death. I swear it by…’
‘No, don’t trouble,’ said Mrs Bradley briskly. ‘What you had better do is to go straight to the police as soon as school is over, and tell them everything you know. One thing in particular you must tell them. You must tell them that you are the person who met Miss Faintley in the cathedral city of Torbury, and you must explain to them the reason for your visit. I do not say confess to the murder. That might, at this stage, be going a little too far. By the way, I have a little present for you.’ She took out an envelope and produced a small piece of fern. Trench gave a horrified moan. She gave the sagging man a kindly pat on the arm and watched him stumble out of the room. The chisel he flung, as he turned round suddenly at the door, stuck in the wooden window-frame before it fell to the floor. Mrs Bradley darted to the door, slammed it shut behind him, shot the bolt which protected Miss Golightly from unauthorized visitors (especially from members of the staff who brought recalcitrant children to her or complaints against one another) and rang up the police.
Chapter Twelve
CROMLECH DOWN BAY
‘Look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under’t.’
shakespeare – Macbeth
« ^ »
‘But how could you possibly know?’ demanded Laura, when, after Trench had been arrested for intent to cause bodily harm, Mrs Bradley was back at the Stone House.
‘I did not know, child, but I interpreted a remark made by Mrs Trench.’
‘You’ve told me what she said. I don’t see anything to suggest that Trench was the person who caused Miss Faintley to “lose” Mark in Torbury, let alone that he murdered her at Cromlech.’
‘Mrs Trench said that she had never had a holiday since the war, but she indicated that her husband had had a good many. She mentioned his excuse of attending the conferences organized by his professional association. I made a shot in the dark on the strength of this, and jockeyed Mr Trench into confirming that I had hit the target. Then, of course, he nearly hit me.’
‘You know,’ said Laura, shaking her head, ‘you’re the most immoral person I’ve met.’
‘Murder is an immoral action, child.’
‘All right. Where do we go from here?’
‘Back to Cromlech to-morrow. Now that we know Miss Faintley’s reason for taking Mark out and for being obliged to abandon him, we shall be able to check Mr Trench’s account of his actions in Torbury, I hope. We have taken a big step forward, and I am happy to compliment you upon your efforts and to thank you for your co-operation.’
‘Bow-wow-wow!’ said Laura crudely. Mrs Bradley cackled, but added seriously:
‘As a matter of fact, I mean it. We should not have arrived at this stage in the investigation unless you had taken a post at the school and given us the benefit of your knowledge of the staff.’
‘Did Trench come across with anything valuable, then, when you went with him to the police?’
‘Valuable, and interesting too, although some of it was lies, I fancy. He declared that he had had no outside-school dealings with Miss Faintley until she asked him to answer that telephone call. That I cannot believe because of what follows. He went on to say that he left the telephone-box not because he got tired of waiting, as the call was overdue (which was what he told me in Miss Golightly’s room at school), but because a man had already rung him up in Miss Faintley’s name and had told him not to wait any longer, as Miss Faintley was able, after all, to attend to the business herself. Asked what the business was to be, he said he had no idea. He was to be told over the telephone. Then he went on to the subject of his visit to Torbury. He admitted that he had met Miss Faintley there, but declared that the meeting was accidental. He explained that Miss Faintley thought it well to “lose” Mark because she was not anxious to be the subject of a boy’s gossip at school, for she supposed that Mark would inevitably detail to his fellows that a man and a woman teacher had met during the holidays, at a town a considerable distance from their homes, and that the boys would perceive something disingenuous in the encounter.’
‘Yes, they’re all nasty-minded little brutes,’ volunteered Laura, with no note of criticism in her voice. ‘Can’t quite see why you don’t accept the innocent beginnings of his evidence, though. I should have thought it would have been safe enough to stick to it that he’d got tired of waiting in the telephone-box, but highly dangerous to admit that he’d met Faintley in Torbury, so near the scene of the murder, and only the day before it happened. Damn silly, too, to have chucked that chisel at you.’
‘Yes, but don’t you see, he doesn’t realize that we possess no evidence (beyond his own confession) that he was ever in Torbury at that time.’
‘It’s a good thing you’re not bound by Judges’ Rules,’ said Laura, grinning. ‘But why don’t you believe someone rang him up in Miss Faintley’s name and put him off?’
‘I neither believe nor disbelieve that. I am keeping an open mind. I am slightly inclined to disbelieve it because I am prejudiced by the fact that he changed his story, and I am slightly inclined to believe it because it does seem more likely that he was told not to wait any longer rather than that he—’
‘Pushed off of his own accord, having got fed-up with hanging about on such a dirty night? Yes, with five pounds in the wind, I should think that is more likely,’ agreed Laura. ‘Oh, and I say!’
‘Yes, I thought you’d remark upon that,’ said Mrs Bradley, nodding like a bright-eyed mandarin but conveying n
o other impression of a Chinese, since she was wearing a dinner dress of mustard-coloured velvet, turquoise ear-rings, bracelets of Peruvian silver and a fob-watch. ‘I should have been disappointed and disillusioned had that interesting and significant coincidence not occurred to you.’
‘You mean the five pounds the shopkeeper gave Mandsell.’
‘Exactly, child. It was always a fascinating thought that five whole pounds came so readily out of the till in a miserable little back-street draper’s shop in a place like Kindleford, and on the afternoon after early-closing day.’
‘I take it that Tomson thought Mandsell was really Trench. If he did, though, why did he behave high-hat with Mandsell?’
‘Merely because he did not intend to give the receipt which Mandsell went back to demand.’
‘But if he thought Mandsell was Trench, and knew that Trench had been promised five pounds, why didn’t he hand out the five pounds at once, in exchange for the parcel?’
‘We asked him that when we confronted him with Trench this afternoon at the police station. He said he had forgotten the five pounds for the moment, and that the gentleman had seemed in a hurry. Then when the gentleman came back and began making a fuss, he remembered the five pounds which his “niece” had left with him, and handed them over, thinking to placate the gentleman, which, incidentally, they did.’
‘What did he say when he saw Trench instead of Mandsell?’
‘He behaved creditably. The man has the makings of a very pretty villain. He must have been considerably shaken when it dawned on him that he had reimbursed the wrong man, but, after staring at Trench in a way that made our schoolmaster look very uncomfortable, Tomson said that it looked like the same man, but he couldn’t be sure. As you know, there’s not the slightest resemblance except for a certain parity in height.’
‘Cagey work! There’s one thing, though. If Tomson didn’t know he’d given the wrong man the money in the first place, it looks as if he didn’t know Trench at all. Added to that, it is now obvious that the left-luggage clerk at Hagford didn’t know Trench either. He’d been told to expect a man instead of Miss Faintley, and when Mandsell turned up he cheerfully gave him the parcel. On the other hand, when I went along to collect there was nothing doing. Very strange, as one would have thought he would have accepted me as an accredited agent, seeing that I came from the school.’
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