Murder Included

  ‘Goodness!’ said Bunny. ‘All that behind such a very smug façade!’

  ‘Of course, she ’ad the money,’ said Beatrice. ‘’E’s only got a kind of pension — at least, that’s the conclusion we come to in the ’all.’

  ‘The money probably goes to the stepdaughter,’ Price thought aloud. ‘I wonder … Is there anything else you can tell us, Miss Blythe? What were Mr Scampnell’s relations with Miss Hudson, for instance? Can you help us there?’

  ‘I’ve never ’eard ’im speak of ’er except once, when ’e said something to Mrs Scampnell about “your ’orse-faced pal”, but Miss Elizabeth spoke to me of ’im and of Miss Margot several times. She thought Miss Margot was a nice little thing, though she ’adn’t no guts — if you’ll excuse me, Sir Charles. Once, after Miss Elizabeth ’ad ’ad words with Miss Lisa, she was talking about modern children and their going on and criticizing Miss Lisa for not calling ’er ladyship Mother or Mummy, and then she went on about Miss Margot calling ’er stepfather Scamp, as she did, and many’s the laugh we’ve ’ad over it in the ’all. I’d say that Miss Elizabeth liked Miss Margot as much as she liked anybody outside the Family and that Marvin — what their row at the end was about I don’t know.’

  Price snapped, ‘A row? What row?’

  ‘I don’t know anything about it first ’and,’ said Beatrice, ‘but it was discussed in the ’all.’

  Sir Charles said, ‘A great many things that would be better not repeated seem to be discussed in the hall.’

  ‘And thank God for that,’ said Bunny. ‘Beatrice, who did know about it first hand?’

  ‘Young Kate,’ said Beatrice without enthusiasm, and to Price she explained, ‘the kitchen-maid, my sister’s youngest girl.’ Then she turned to Sir Charles, ‘Of course, in the old days the under-servants weren’t allowed to speak at table until the upper servants ’ad withdrawn, but me and Mr Benson and Mrs Capes decided that, within reason, we in the ’all should adapt ourselves to the spirit of the times.’

  ‘That was very wise of you,’ said Bunny, ‘but I expect you suffer for it: young people are such bores.’

  Price said, ‘I’ll see the girl; but at present I’d like to concentrate on these flasks. Have you been in the room this morning?’

  ‘No,’ answered Beatrice, ‘I ’aven’t. I took Mr Scampnell ’is early morning tea, but we moved ’im into the little green room last night. ’Er ladyship thought it would be better for ’im.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much, Miss Blythe. You’ve been of great assistance. I think that’s all for just now.’ When Beatrice had left the room, Price went on, ‘If there’s any significance in this matter of the flasks, I should hardly expect to discover the second in its customary location. But I’d like to make sure. Would you entertain the idea of visiting the room and just glancing on the chest of drawers, Lady d’Estray? The guests will be rising and, under the circumstances, it will occasion less comment than if I were observed in the passages. I presume you can find some excuse for entering the room if you are questioned?’

  ‘Oh yes. I can bring out some linen …’

  ‘And while the guests are breakfasting, I can make a thorough search of all three bedrooms.’

  ‘I shouldn’t think you’d find anything. If I’d got anything incriminating I should get rid of it down the drain — no, a flask wouldn’t go, would it? — well, into a rabbit hole or the river. I suppose there’s just a chance they may not have thought of throwing it out until I asked about it; if so, they’ll have it on them until they go for a nice Sunday walk through Bottom Wood or by the river …’

  Sir Charles said, ‘You were asked to go upstairs and look in the room, Barbara — you can safely leave the rest to the Detective-Inspector.’ And when Bunny had gone he said, ‘You no longer suspect my wife, I take it?’

  ‘It is our unpleasant duty to suspect everyone until we make an arrest,’ Price told him, ‘but in point of fact I am glad to be able to inform you that I now regard Lady d’Estray, like your good self, as far down among the “improbables”.’

  ‘Then you think there’s something in this Scampnell business?’

  ‘Before hazarding an opinion I should require a great deal more evidence than I have to date. In the case of the flasks, there may be some perfectly simple explanation.’

  While they talked, Bunny, joined by Babette on the west wing staircase, had reached the large room looking south over the formal garden, which Cecily Scampnell and her husband had occupied. In size and brightness it was equal to the Roses’ room on the other side of the main staircase, but the Roses had a private bathroom, contrived by Bunny from a windowless slip of a room, matched, on the Scampnells’ side, by the ‘upstairs pantry’. Both rooms were charmingly furnished with late eighteenth-century pieces and modern beds, and when Bunny had learned what Cecily’s tastes were she had gone round the house collecting sporting prints, which she had substituted for water-colour landscapes by a Victorian Lady d’Estray. Cecily had brought photographs, mostly of India, and hunting trophies — masks and brushes — which she had hung herself, with small regard for the old Chinese wallpaper. A masculine room, thought Bunny, as she drew back the faded, yellow damask curtains; if you didn’t know the Scampnells, you’d guess at a domineering husband, but the accent on sport was Cecily’s … how had he felt about it, the little man from the suburbs of the industrial town in the Midlands? Was he, as few are, truly meek-hearted? Or did he, like so many, hide behind a mask of amiability the cankerous malignity of the domestically oppressed?

  On the marquetry chest of drawers there was nothing but a pair of silver candlesticks belonging to the house: there was no flask among the variety of patent remedies on the shelf above the wash-basin or on the dressing-table, devoid of any aid to beauty beyond one bowl of powder, an elaborate old-fashioned manicure set and a selection of stout grey hairnets. So that’s that, thought Bunny, and looked round for the linen she had intended to carry out with her, but the too-efficient Beatrice must have taken it all away last night, she discovered; even the counterpanes on the twin beds had been replaced by dust-sheets, on one of which Babette now lay, her eyes affectedly closed and her tongue showing. Bunny prodded her and signalled to her to follow; then, since her only excuse now for entering the room was to air it, and that would sound remarkably unconvincing to anyone who knew her, she opened the door as soundlessly as possible and peered out into the corridor. It was deserted, but there had been a sound somewhere … the closing of a door on her right … the locked door into the east wing, which was only opened when an extra piece of furniture was needed, or on warm bright days when Beatrice opened the windows.

  Bunny thought: the east wing … Of course. Why on earth didn’t we think of it? It’s a wonderful place to hide in … some outsider may have been hiding there for days … the disgruntled groom whom someone had thought of in the first place. That there were policemen almost within call didn’t occur to her; all the events of her life had conspired to teach her self-reliance. She turned the handle of the door. It opened.

  Somewhere down by her ankles. Babette snuffled. She’ll patter and snort and give me away, thought Bunny, pushing her back into the corridor and shutting the door between them. The bitch gave one searing scratch on the mahogany, and then Bunny could hear no more of her. Lisa had called her, perhaps, or she had caught sight of Captain.

  The first-floor corridor in the east wing, like that in the west, ran the length of the building and was lit by a window at the end, which looked southwards, and an east window over the stairs. It was well lighted, but now pale blinds were drawn down over the windows; the morning was dark, and in the white twilight there was nothing sinister, but a kind of eerie elegance, in the long vista of tall, closed doors. Bunny stood listening. Though the rooms on her left looked over a screen of chestnuts to the stableyard, no cheerful sounds of morning penetrated to the corridor: the silence was profound. There were eight doors on her right and four on her left, and in any of these room
s the murderer might move at will; a sigh, a sniff, a footstep, the rustle of garments would be inaudible through the solid mahogany. A systematic search must, she felt, betray her; she couldn’t hope to open and shut a dozen doors quite noiselessly; it would be best to take up some strategic position and watch until the adversary revealed himself. The staircase with its sheltering curves and command of three floors seemed indicated. Quite silent in her rope soles, she trod the threadbare Persian rugs which carpeted the corridor. When she reached the staircase a small sound brought her, heart in mouth, to a standstill. Somewhere above her on the second floor a tap was dripping.

  There was no bathroom in this east wing of the house; she had planned to convert some of the smaller rooms if the guest-house business proved successful enough to warrant the opening and modernizing of the wing. On the second-floor landing there was, however, a cold-water tap above an old-fashioned sink, where housemaids’ pails could be emptied and filled. Bunny tried to remember what grounds she had for assuming that the water had been turned off in the wing; in none of her raids on the furniture had she heard a tap dripping, nor had there been any talk of trouble with frozen pipes during the frosts of the previous winter. If the water had never been turned off, a perished washer might account for the dripping; if it had been turned off … and turned on again by someone who had no legitimate business in the east wing …

  The second floor was darker than the first; the windows were smaller and the drawn blinds dark blue. On the landing you turned left, and the sink stood under the staircase which led to the attics; in the west wing the space had been used for the bathroom which served the nurseries, this being the only improvement in the house that had been made by Hermione d’Estray. Flattening herself against the wall, Bunny peered cautiously round the comer. Margot Rattray was kneeling at the cupboard under the sink. On the floor beside her gaped a brown zip-fastened handbag. She was wearing her Sunday dress, a wool frock of a dull middle-blue. There was a row of covered buttons down the back, and a belt of the same material as the dress, which tied in a meagre bow. Bunny observed, too, that Margot wore bedroom slippers of the moccasin type and a charm bracelet, which tinkled as her hands moved. So that’s it, thought Bunny, and, I’d better get back, for what in heaven’s name can one say? but before she had taken a step, Margot’s head turned, the bobbed hair swinging. She jumped to her feet with something between a gasp and a sigh.

  Bunny felt no fear. You couldn’t be afraid of Margot, dumpy in the dull little blue dress she had chosen because it was cheap and wouldn’t show the dirt. But she felt embarrassed: what could one say? Apologetically she explained, ‘I heard a noise and, as this wing is supposed to be shut up, I came to investigate.’ That was terribly feeble, she thought: I must be tougher. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Margot whispered, ‘You interfering painted-up old hag! Why didn’t you die last night?’ She took a step nearer. ‘Damn you! why didn’t you die?’

  Bunny said, ‘You mustn’t talk like that … we always thought you were such a nice girl …’ Keeping her eyes on Margot’s she stepped back into the corridor. ‘Even Elizabeth always said what a nice girl you were.’

  ‘That silly old cow,’ said Margot. ‘She died because she stuck her nose in. Oh, I don’t need poison. Just let me get my hands round your scrawny throat.’ With outstretched hands and crooked fingers, she sprang.

  Bunny dodged for the staircase. She’s got weight and youth, but I’m nimbler, flashed through her mind. But she was too late. Margot had hold of her sweater, and the best she could do was to wriggle round and strike a swinging buffet at the bent bobbed head. Margot laughed savagely and caught her by the throat. Bunny remembered that you brought your knee up into your adversary’s stomach, and tried it, but with Margot’s weight against her she lost her balance and fell backwards, striking her head against the bannisters of the landing. The sudden blackness around her solved all problems. Gladly, gratefully, she plunged down and down.

  *

  Price broke the silence.

  ‘Lady d’Estray has been gone for rather a long time, Sir Charles. Do you think she can have mistaken my instructions?’

  ‘They were clear enough. But she’s very absent-minded; it’s quite on the cards that she’s meandered off and started something else,’ said Sir Charles, rising. ‘I’ll go and look for her.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Price, following him out. ‘She may have run into something. It’s quite ten minutes since she left us,’ he added uneasily.

  ‘Writers,’ pronounced Sir Charles, as he crossed the hall, ‘are queer people. She has probably opened a book and got engrossed in it. What’s that?’ he said, halting abruptly. ‘Bath water,’ said Price. ‘No, that other noise,’ said Sir Charles and then, ‘Oh, it’s that dog,’ he said, as he reached the gallery, and Price, catching up with him, could see the Boxer bitch running to and fro, jumping against the door at the end of the passage to the accompaniment of a crescendo of unearthly howls. ‘It’s not gone mad, has it?’ asked Price, nervously.

  ‘No,’ said Sir Charles, ‘no. I think my wife must have gone through to the east wing and shut the dog out. It’s curious … perhaps she had one of her brain-waves about the furniture.’ Then Babette, aware of the men, gave up her assault on the door and bounded towards them. Price recoiled, but Sir Charles said, ‘Well, Babette, where’s Missis?’ and Babette ran back to the door.

  Sir Charles went up to it, turned the handle and opened the door a few inches. In a flash the lithe tawny body was through.

  ‘Babette!’ called Sir Charles, and ‘Barbara!’ and, followed by Price, stepped into the east wing. Babette was nowhere to be seen now, but they could hear the scrabble of her feet on the stairs and a high shrill scream and the sound of a fall. Then Price was running up the stairs two at a time and, as well as the noise he made, Sir Charles could hear the dog snarling, and then he, too, was on the landing and there was Babette standing like a statue, her forepaws on the chest of a woman, who lay with her hands over her face and whimpered with fear. Crumpled against the bannisters, Bunny gasped painfully. Sir Charles went to her.

  ‘What’s happened, Barbara?’

  Bunny croaked, ‘Heard her … Followed her in … Found her at the sink there … She tried to strangle me … Babette came …’

  Price was snapping his fingers and making chirping noises at the Boxer, but he was utterly ignored. Sir Charles shouted, ‘Come here, Babette,’ but with no more success. ‘Babette,’ whispered Bunny, and Babette bounded to her. Margot Rattray sat up. The bitch growled, but quietened when Bunny passed an arm round her neck.

  Margot rose to her feet and smoothed her skirt. ‘That dog’s dangerous: it ought to be destroyed,’ she said.

  Price did not contradict her. He said, ‘Miss Rattray, I must ask you what you are doing in this part of the mansion?’

  Margot moistened her pale lips with her tongue. ‘When I opened my bedroom door to go downstairs to breakfast, I saw Lady d’Estray unlock the door and pass through, so I followed her. I’ve had my suspicions all along, but of course since my mother’s death I feel much more strongly. I found Lady d’Estray at the sink and she attacked me, and naturally I defended myself and I was getting the best of it — which isn’t surprising considering her age and skinniness — when that dog appeared and she set it on me. I make no accusations, but her flying at me like that speaks for itself, doesn’t it?’

  Sir Charles’s face was grey. ‘Barbara, this isn’t your story?’

  ‘It’s damn … lie,’ croaked Bunny.

  Price said, ‘Lady d’Estray is in no state to be questioned. We must get her into bed, Sir Charles. I’ll take Miss Rattray through and send someone back to help you, but I’d be obliged if you would keep that dog under control until we have left the wing. Come along, Miss Rattray.’

  When they had gone Bunny struggled to her feet. ‘I can get back under my own steam. It’s only my throat that hurts now.’ Grasping the bannisters, she go
t to the head of the stairs. ‘I feel a bit giddy,’ she said, with her hand to her forehead.

  ‘Wait until someone comes,’ Sir Charles advised her.

  ‘If you’ll give me a hand …’ and then, as he made no movement, ‘What’s the matter, Charles?’ A glance at his frozen face informed her. ‘Oh, I see. You believe the Rattray.’

  ‘No,’ said Sir Charles, ‘no. But you and she tell quite different stories. It’s all got to be sorted out, you see …’

  The reeling stairs were kinder than his company. In a sitting position, with Babette, who thought it a game, frolicking beside her, Bunny went down them. In the corridor, a constable was telling Henry Scampnell, ‘Now you go back, sir, and leave it to us. If Miss Rattray dropped her bag, we’ll find it.’ Scampnell turned and hurried away, and the constable, watching him said, ‘Come sneakin’ in ’ere, ’e did, most suspicious. Lookin’ for summat other than ’is daughter’s ’andbag, if you arsks me. Can I give you an ’and, my lady?’

  Bunny said, ‘I’m quite all right now, only I’m so cold,’ and when they were out of the east wing she asked Sir Charles to send a double whisky to her bedroom. He went down the main staircase, hoping that the Roses were still at breakfast or already deep in the Sunday papers in the drawing-room. The dining-room door was, in fact, open, and from the hall he could hear Sybella’s voice asking, ‘What was going on this morning, Benson?’ to which Benson replied, ‘Just the police making some further enquiries, madam. Shall I bring you some more toast, or will that be enough for you, sir?’

  Sir Charles waited till Benson came out and then ordered the double whisky. ‘Her ladyship’s had a bad shock,’ he felt bound to explain. Then he went to the library and sat down by the fire and set his weary mind to work again. Less than half an hour ago, Price had placed Bunny among his ‘improbables’, but now … Who was the more likely to have known of the sink on the second storey? — he had forgotten it himself, but she was always in and out of the east wing looking for pictures or pieces of furniture … who could have become possessed of the key of the wing without attracting comment?... who had the wits to fake an attack on herself in order to avert suspicion? …