by Rebecca Tope
With shocking suddenness, the woman burst into noisy uninhibited sobs, which echoed round the hall. Thea had the impression that the tears had been gathering force and pressure ever since the woman had heard about Julian’s death. It was like the bursting of a dam, and she half expected to see a small river of salty fluid flowing across the table on which the weeping head was buried. The shoulders heaved and the noise did not abate. Thea and Jessica exchanged appalled glances, knowing they could not leave the woman like this.
‘Er… Is there anybody…? I mean, you shouldn’t stay here…’ Thea’s voice was almost drowned by the sobbing.
And then rescue arrived, as Thea remembered it had done at least once before. The tall figure of Giles Stevenson materialised, looking rather damp about the shoulders. ‘Hey, hey,’ he sang in a voice of infinite gentleness. ‘Carola, my dear. We can’t have this, can we? I could hear you from ten yards away.’ He glanced at Thea and Jessica. ‘Have you gone and upset her?’ he accused them.
‘I suppose we have,’ said Thea. ‘Without meaning to.’
The sobs subsided into choking breaths, and she raised her blotchy face to his, where he leant protectively over her. ‘Oh, Giles,’ she gasped. ‘It just hit me, without warning. I was fine until now. Oh dear.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It goes like that. I did wonder…’
‘It’s not Julian I’m crying for, you see,’ she spluttered, her chest still heaving spasmodically. ‘I didn’t like him any more than the rest of you. No, I was crying for poor Gladys. Poor old Gladys Gardner.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘Maybe she didn’t mean what it sounded like,’ said Thea. ‘We probably heard it all wrong. She was just upset because Granny was so fond of Julian and will be lost without him.’
‘Except she also said that nobody liked the man.’
Thea made a sceptical rumble. ‘Well, we know that isn’t true. Granny kept on about him all day on Saturday. You didn’t hear her – she made him sound like her best friend in the whole world. And Thomas loved him, remember.’
‘But we haven’t heard anybody actually say he was a nice person. Nick called him a curmudgeon.’
Thea could only agree. The composite picture building up was of a man who had managed to make himself comprehensively unpopular on all sides.
‘Time’s running out,’ Jessica remarked, checking her watch. ‘It’s ten forty-five.’
‘This is ridiculous!’ Thea exploded. ‘Don’t the police have any firm pieces of evidence, for heaven’s sake? What have they been doing all week? What am I meant to do once you’ve gone?’
Jessica grimaced. ‘They’re doing what they always do, as you know perfectly well. But they’ve had to withdraw a lot of officers because of the Birmingham bomb factory. The media are screaming for a result on that. The general public are far more concerned with a nice exciting terrorist threat than the death of a solitary old man. And the police do have to obey the public, when all’s said and done.’
‘Do they? Even when the public are being their usual stupid selves? If they had any sense at all they’d be more alarmed by a murder in a quiet High Street than some gang of lunatics mixing up their Semtex in a homemade bunsen burner, or whatever it was. The chances are they’d only blow themselves up, anyway.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Jessica told her calmly. ‘In just about every detail. Ask Phil – he’ll tell you.’
The reference to Phil came at the same instant as Thea was already wishing he was with them. She had increasingly found herself craving his touch and his smiling eyes looking down at her, as the day had progressed. Several times she had mentally spoken to him, wanting his reactions and reassurances. When Jessica uttered his name, the impact on Thea was great enough to half convince her that he was at that moment sitting outside the house in his car, waiting for them to return, Hepzie jumping at the window, having seen him.
But he wasn’t. As they turned into the High Street again, there were no other vehicles than their two small cars on the pavement outside the Montgomery house and its cottage. The anticipated image faded and Thea felt acute disappointment.
‘I’m going to phone him,’ she decided to herself. ‘And tell him I’m feeling neglected.’
Half an hour later, washing up their coffee mugs, Thea wondered aloud about the fate of Nick Jolly. ‘They’ll have to prosecute him for dangerous driving, won’t they? How does that affect his being a murder suspect? Can they manage both at the same time? Or what?’
Jessica considered this technical issue, looking worried. ‘I ought to know this,’ she said. ‘I think the more serious charge takes precedence. It must do, I’m sure. Then the lesser ones are asked to be taken into consideration. But it’s useful to have something to hold him on, for the time being.’
‘Except he’s in hospital. How does that work?’
‘There’ll be an officer guarding him. One of the most tedious of all the jobs, according to Mike. They can’t formally interview him until a doctor judges him fit.’
‘It would be very convenient if he did turn out to be the killer. Neat.’
Jessica gave her mother a warning look. ‘Convenience doesn’t come into it,’ she said sternly. ‘You know it doesn’t.’
Thea sighed. ‘But think how terribly inconvenient it would be if they found firm evidence pointing to Granny.’ Ever since the call to James, her hopes had been rising that Granny would walk free, to live out her limited days in peace. But every few minutes, the fragility of these hopes made itself felt. The police would find a way to convict her, and she, Thea, did not want to be part of whatever might happen then.
Jessica seemed to read her thoughts. ‘I didn’t tell you everything he said,’ she confessed. ‘They can’t just let it all slide. Uncle James is arranging for a team to search her cottage sometime today. There has to be a special geriatric worker present, and there’s a protocol. They’ll do their best not to upset her.’
Thea felt a chilly current flowing through her, a dread combined with a sense of injustice. ‘I ought to warn her,’ she agonised. ‘But I know it wouldn’t do any good.’
‘They really don’t want to have to do it. It’ll make them feel terrible.’
‘It sounds as if it’s all sewn up. They’ve actually decided she killed Julian. So what about the Southcott Box business, and Upton and Nick and all that? What about those pictures in that exhibition?’
‘They investigate everything,’ Jessica said tiredly. ‘And all we have to do is to let them get on with it.’
‘I’m going to talk to her, one last time,’ Thea announced, at eleven-thirty, as they were sitting nervously awaiting developments. ‘I won’t say anything about the police. I just want to be with her for a bit. After all, I am being paid to watch over her. You could say I’ve failed in my mission – letting her commit a murder. It must have happened while I was here.’
‘Mmm,’ said Jessica non-committally.
Seeing no further point in abiding by the rule about the connecting door, Thea gently opened it and let herself into the small hallway on the other side. ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Mrs Gardner?’
‘Who is it?’ came a querulous voice from the upper floor. ‘Is that you, Yvette?’
‘No, it’s Thea Osborne. Can I come up?’
‘I’m poorly today,’ the voice floated down. It sounded thin, with a wobble in the word poorly.
Thea hurried to the bedroom, where she was buffeted by a powerful smell on the threshold of the room. Something strong and sour and disgusting.
‘I was sick,’ said the little voice. ‘All over myself.’
She spoke accurately. Vomit spread copiously across the bedclothes, as well as down the front of Granny’s brushed cotton nightie. It looked as if she must have eaten at least a five-course meal.
‘Oh, Lord, so you were,’ said Thea. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Don’t know. I was a greedy girl. I had too much.’
Thea couldn’t avoid a sudden suspicio
n that there was something deliberate going on. ‘What would you have done if I hadn’t turned up?’ she demanded.
‘Don’t know.’ The same whining little girl voice as before rendered Thea helpless. There was obviously nothing to be done but a wholesale cleaning-up operation, which was not going to be any fun at all. Through gritted teeth, she pulled all the bedclothes free and bundled them up. There were two blankets and a sheet, all badly affected. She carried them into the bathroom and hurled everything into the bath. That, she realised, would make it impossible to give the old woman the thorough clean she needed. She went back, thinking about the task ahead.
‘We’ll have to get you washed,’ she said. ‘Take that nightie off.’
Granny Gardner was marooned on the naked bed, huddled into herself with her knees drawn up. She whimpered and made no move to obey Thea’s order.
‘Come on. You can’t stay like that.’
‘I can do it for myself,’ came a much stronger voice. ‘I’m not an invalid.’
‘Thank goodness for that,’ snapped Thea. ‘Off you go, then. Take some clothes with you, and get changed in the bathroom. You’ll have to wash your hair as well.’
Slowly, stiffly, Granny rolled off the bed and took a collection of clothes from a chair. ‘Clean pants,’ she muttered and went across the room to a chest of drawers. Thea watched her, thinking about old age and dignity and the basic procedures necessary for survival. How did anyone cope with the moment when it became inescapable that some of those procedures were no longer within one’s capabilities? When you couldn’t get your own socks on, or climb in and out of a bath, or get the tops off jars of jam? Wouldn’t the terror of the next phase drive some individuals into the haven of senility? Was it not acknowledged that senility was generally quite pleasant for the person afflicted with it? Was this the point at which Gladys Gardner had arrived?
‘Do you feel poorly?’ she asked. ‘How’s your tummy?’
‘Empty. Sore. And my throat hurts. I couldn’t get to the lavatory in time,’ she added plaintively. ‘It was so sudden.’
For a moment Thea thought this was an admission of incontinence, until she understood that Granny meant she’d wanted to throw up into the loo. ‘It happens like that sometimes,’ she said, with sympathy. ‘Especially if you’ve been asleep.’
‘Thank you, dear,’ came the stately reply. ‘You’re being very understanding.’
Twenty minutes later, Thea had helped the old woman downstairs and made her some dry toast and weak tea. ‘I must just pop next door and tell my daugthter what’s happening,’ she excused herself.
‘Daughter? I had a daughter,’ came the fuddled reply. ‘Two of them, in a manner of speaking. Do you know Frances? She’s gone away, you know. She won’t know what’s happened to her father.’
Father? Before she could elicit anything more, Granny had slipped away into the bathroom, and closed the door firmly behind her.
Which left Thea ample time to think. Had she heard correctly? Had Granny just revealed that Julian Jolly was the father of Frances, her second daughter? And if so, what difference might that make?
Could Frances have taken the opportunity presented by her sister’s absence to pay a clandestine visit to Blockley and attack the old man while the coast was clear? Might her aged mother have assisted her in some way? Thea felt an urgent desire to go and tell Jessica what she had just heard, and perhaps make another call to James at the same time. Instead, she knew she had to stay with Mrs Gardner and see that she was all right. But there was no reason why she shouldn’t try a few questions at the same time.
‘When did you last see Frances?’ she asked, when a refreshed and fragrant Granny was finally installed on the sofa downstairs.
‘Yvette refuses to have her here. I never see her any more.’
Encouraged, Thea continued. ‘She was a late baby, is that right?’
It was much easier than she could ever have imagined. Granny Gardner met her eye and smiled sadly. ‘I thought I was too old for child-bearing. I thought I didn’t need to worry about it any more.’
‘Did Yvette help you bring her up?’
‘Oh, no.’ The old woman frowned at the plate in front of her. ‘Oh, no. Yvette was long gone by then. Twenty-five, at least, she must have been.’
‘So you brought her up? You must miss her now.’
‘Who? I don’t miss Yvette. She doesn’t have any feeling for me, you know. Pushing me out of my own home into this cottage, where the servants used to be.’
It was slipping away, and Thea made no attempt to get it back. The police were coming – very probably to arrest Gladys Gardner for the killing of Julian Jolly and nothing was going to stop them.
Or so she believed. Gradually, as if in slow motion, Granny began to slump sideways, one hand raised to her head. ‘Oh-h-h-h,’ she moaned. ‘It hurts.’
At first Thea simply thought it was a headache, probably exaggerated by the drama queen she was learning to mistrust so completely. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
There was no reply. Granny’s left leg began to jitter weirdly of its own accord, and her left hand opened and closed convulsively.
Not waiting to witness any further display of symptoms, Thea rushed through to the main house, calling for Jessica. ‘Phone for an ambulance!’ she shouted. ‘Granny’s having a stroke.’
Jessica was on the sofa with the dog, a book in one hand. She looked up sharply, but didn’t move. ‘A stroke? Are you sure? She’s not play-acting again?’
‘No, I’m not sure of anything – but that’s what it looks like. Her head hurts and her left side is acting strangely. Christ, Jess, this is an emergency.’
‘You’ve been in there for ages. Why the sudden panic?’
Thea forced herself to calm down. ‘It’s only just happened. She was sick earlier on, and she’s been cleaning herself up.’ She felt sick herself, all of a sudden. ‘That might have been part of it,’ she realised. ‘We need an ambulance right away.’
Jessica screwed up her face, trying to judge the urgency. ‘All right. You do it. Just dial 999 and give them this address. If you’re sure, that is. You do understand the implications, don’t you?’ She scrutinised her mother closely. ‘It’s not some clever trick to evade arrest?’
Thea took a deep breath. ‘Absolutely not. I’m scared to go back in there, in case she’s gone and died. I shouldn’t leave her alone. I want you to phone, and I’ll go back and stay with her.’
When she went back to the cottage, Granny was sitting exactly as Thea had left her. Before she could say or do anything there was a knock on the door, which was briefly confusing. She thought at first it was the connecting door she should open. When the knock came again, she remembered with a hollow thud that it was the police, come as promised to search the cottage, and perhaps arrest the old woman. Fumbling with the lock, she was burdened by a sense of treachery. Could she deflect them, she wondered. Would they go away if she told them Granny had had a stroke?
But when she finally got the door open, there was no group of authority figures confronting her. Instead there was a familiar woman in a headscarf. ‘Gussie!’ she cried, almost throwing her arms around the woman.
‘Hello,’ said Gussie calmly. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Granny’s poorly. I think it might even be a stroke. She was sick earlier on, and now she’s…well, come and see for yourself.’
Turning back into the house, followed by the newcomer, Thea met Jessica clutching her mobile phone. ‘Have you called an ambulance?’ Thea demanded.
Jessica shook her head. ‘I thought I ought to see her for myself first. They’ll want to know the symptoms.’
‘What’s all this then, Gladys?’ they heard Gussie loudly asking Granny in the living room. ‘Trying one of your old tricks on these good ladies, I shouldn’t wonder.’
The room felt uncomfortably crowded with all four of them in it. Thea wanted to explain the imminent arrival of the police to Gussie, but couldn’t b
ring herself to do it in front of Granny, who although appearing decidedly droopy, could probably hear quite well.
‘Come into the kitchen for a minute,’ she urged. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What about the ambulance?’ Jessica asked. ‘Is she bad enough for that?’
Granny Gardner’s head jerked at these words, and her lopsided mouth made urgent gargling sounds. Thea’s suspicions that she could hear and understand what was being said were confirmed, at the same time as her diagnosis of a stroke seemed more and more probable.
Gussie seemed to grow taller and more authoritative. ‘Hold your horses,’ she ordered. ‘No need to do anything rash. I suggest we calm down and have a little chat together. Gladys should hear it all. I don’t believe in secrets.’
The realisation that Mrs Gardner could not make coherent statements was slow to hit Thea. When it did, she felt a powerful sense of frustration and disappointment. She had wanted to hear the whole story directly from the old woman. If she had killed Julian, Thea wanted to know why, and precisely how it had been achieved.
‘But she needs a doctor,’ insisted Jessica. ‘We can’t just sit around chatting when she’s like this.’
‘We’ll get a doctor in a little while,’ Gussie soothed her. ‘Someone who’ll come to the house and keep the disturbance to a minimum. Not an ambulance and those great clumping medics in their dreadful yellow jackets.’
‘I think it’s more important to postpone the arrival of the police,’ said Thea. ‘Can you call James and tell him what’s happened? He might be able to head them off.’
Gussie had settled herself on a chair pushed up close to Granny’s, and the old woman was clutching her hand tightly. ‘Don’t worry, my old love,’ she crooned. ‘We’ll have you straight in no time. I seem to remember this has happened before a time or two, hasn’t it?’
Granny nodded, and to Thea’s unmedical eye, it seemed as if there was slightly more control in the movement. ‘Has it?’ she asked. ‘And she recovered completely afterwards?’