They Rang Up the Police: A classic murder mystery set in rural England (Inspector Guy Northeast Book 1)

by Joanna Cannan

  Mrs. Hemmings paused, possibly for lack of breath, and Mrs. Cathcart said, “Oh, but Cook, Jessie didn’t tell you everything. That Albert Funge was with her, and he was abominably rude to Miss Delia.”

  “Well, Madam, Jessie did tell me that ’er friend spoke up for ’er, but that’s natural, isn’t it? And if ’e forgot ’imself a bit, well, we know what the men are. I’m sure my late ’usband…”

  Mrs. Cathcart interrupted her. “Albert’s not at all a nice young man.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Hemmings. “He’s a lad, I grant you, but that sort often makes the best ’usbands.”

  “Well, that’s neither here nor there,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “The point is that Jessie was late, and not for the first time. I spoke to her myself the time before. I’m sure I mentioned it to you.”

  “You did say something about it,” admitted Mrs. Hemmings, “but speaking’s one thing and giving a girl ’er notice is another. I’ve always been one to stop, but I must say I don’t like all these changes.”

  “Oh, well, Cook,” said Mrs. Cathcart, alarmed, “I don’t want you to get unsettled. Perhaps if Jessie promised… I’ll speak to Miss Delia. You see, I haven’t had a chance to talk this over with her. I suppose you haven’t seen her this morning?”

  “No, I ’aven’t,” said Mrs. Hemmings in a voice that added thank goodness.

  “I’ll speak to her when she comes in,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “Well, that’s all then.” She stood for a moment fidgeting with the slate, and then trailed out of the kitchen.

  Jessie’s face peered round the scullery door. “Old bitch gone…?”

  “Now then, Jess,” said Mrs. Hemmings, “you speak respectful. Yes, she’s gone, and she says she’ll talk it over with Skinny. I did what I could for you, girl, but then I’m not like some…now, you put the kettle on and let’s ’ave a drop of wet. There’s that chocolate cake…they won’t remember that from Sunday…”

  “Coffee and a cream bun in a Melchester cafe is what I’m going to have this morning, thank you,” said Jessie, with her head in the air. “Got to call in at the Registry Office.”

  “She didn’t say you’d mentioned it, Jess.”

  “And supposing I ’aven’t? I’ve accepted my notice and they can’t stop me looking around. Well, I must go upstairs and tidy or I shall miss Albert and my lift in the Rolls Royce…”

  The little car drew up and the engine stopped. “Oh dear, I never can remember to go into neutral,” said Nancy, and then she called out, “Is Delia back?”

  “No,” said Sheila, who had hurried out of the front door, and her eager face fell. “Oh, Nancy, I did hope you would find her. Mother is worrying so.”

  “I went all round the lane,” said Nancy, “and back through the village. I asked lots of people if they had seen her. I’m afraid they’ll think it awfully queer.”

  “We can’t help that,” said Sheila. “I must say, I thought at first Mother was making an unnecessary fuss, but look at the time now! I mean, it’s getting on for eleven. D. can’t have been wandering about all this time in her dressing gown.”

  “What can she be doing?”

  “Something must have happened,” said Sheila. “Mother wants to ring up the police, but I’ve persuaded her not to, so far.”

  “It would make such a lot of talk,” said Nancy. “Do try to keep her quiet, Sheila dear. I’ll go off again. I’ll go towards Melchester and then back by the common this time.” She started up the car, reversed into a tub containing a bay tree, stopped the engine, started it in gear and shot off down the drive.

  Sheila watched her go, and then turned back into the hall. “Was that Nancy?” asked a plaintive voice from the top of the stairs.

  “Yes, darling.”

  “No news?”

  “No. But she’s gone off to try again.”

  “I shall ring up the police,” said Mrs. Cathcart, coming down.

  “Oh, but darling, we decided that we’d keep calm till eleven…”

  “I can’t keep calm any longer,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “I know you mean well, darling, but you don’t realize what a mother’s feelings are.”

  “I’m sorry, darling,” said Sheila instantly. “I’ll ring up for you.”

  Mrs. Cathcart seldom spoke on the telephone. She suffered from a varying degree of deafness due to blockage of the eustachian tubes. She didn’t imagine that she was deafer than she was, but she expected superhuman powers of hearing from non-sufferers, and when her daughters telephoned for her she would sit or stand beside them, making suggestions and asking what was being said. It was a maddening habit, but neither Sheila, Delia or Nancy ever snapped at her. “Just a minute, Mother,” they’d say, or, “Ssh, darling.”

  Now Sheila asked for the police station and, as the operator repeated the number, Mrs. Cathcart said, “Is that the policeman?” “Not yet, darling,” said Sheila. “You had better tell him that we fear an accident,” said Mrs. Cathcart, “or perhaps it would be better if he came up at once and we could explain.” “Ssh, darling,” said Sheila, and into the mouthpiece, “Are you there?” “Is it him?” asked Mrs. Cathcart. “Is that the police station?” said Sheila. A loud voice, that Mrs. Cathcart could hear, said that Constable Haydon was speaking. “I should tell him to come up,” said Mrs. Cathcart at the same time as Sheila was saying, “I’m speaking for Mrs. Cathcart at the Grange. We can’t find my sister, Miss Delia Cathcart, and we wondered if any accident had been reported…?”

  “Tell him to come up,” said Mrs. Cathcart.

  “One minute, darling,” said Sheila. Constable Haydon was speaking: “Accident to a cart, did you say? In the event of neither party wishing to make a charge and names and addresses having been exchanged, there’s no occasion to report it.”

  “What did he say?” asked Mrs. Cathcart. “No,” said Sheila down the telephone, “that isn’t it. We want to know if there’s been an accident. Miss Delia Cathcart is missing.”

  “Miss Delia Cathcart?” said the constable. “Oh, I see. Missing, is she? Well, we ’aven’t ’ad no accidents reported, not since Friday the 24th ult. Her ladyship, that was, outside the Dog and Duck.”

  “What does he say?” asked Mrs. Cathcart.

  “No accident has been reported,” said Sheila, and to the constable, “We’re getting a bit worried. What ought we to do?”

  “Well, Miss,” said the constable, “I don’t rightly know. ’Ow long ’as the young lady been out?”

  Sheila said, “We haven’t seen her this morning.”

  “Tell him to come,” insisted Mrs. Cathcart, so, interrupting the constable, who was saying that it was a nice morning and perhaps the young lady had taken it into her head to go for a nice walk, Sheila said, “Mrs. Cathcart would be obliged if you would come up to the Grange at once.”

  “Oh, I see, Miss. But I can’t do that. I’m just setting off to an inquest at East Bearswood. Principal witness of an ’orrible accident under the influence.”

  Mrs. Cathcart said, “What’s that?”

  “Oh, said Sheila, “but couldn’t you come up later? When’ll you be back?”

  “Couldn’t say, Miss. Sometimes they’re over sharp, and sometimes they drags on. I could get up in the evening for certain, Miss, but can’t promise you before.”

  “He can’t promise to come before the evening,” said Sheila to Mrs. Cathcart.

  “Why not?”

  “He’s going to an inquest.”

  “Oh, how very tiresome…”

  Constable Haydon was saying that most likely the young lady would be back before he was, so Sheila said, “Thank you. You’ll be up as soon as possible, then,” and she rang off. Mrs. Cathcart said, “Oh, you’ve rung off. Why didn’t you tell him to call in on his way to the inquest, dear?”

  “It’s at East Bearswood,” said Sheila. “That’s in the opposite direction, you know. Anyhow, darling, there hasn’t been an accident.”

  “How do we know?” asked Mrs. Cathcart. “It mig
ht have been out of his district.”

  “Well, darling,” said Sheila, “shall I telephone to Melchester?”

  “It would be very kind of you, darling. I know you think I’m a tiresome old woman.”

  “No,” said Sheila, “not at all. I mean, it’s after eleven.” She took up the receiver and asked for Melchester police station.

  A voice told her yes, an accident had been reported: a young lady had been found with her head in a gas oven — Edna Biggs, of 9 Abbatoirs Road. Recovering from a shock that had turned her face white, then crimson, Sheila, shushing her mother, explained that Miss Delia Cathcart was missing from Marley Grange, and the voice recommended that she should speak to Superintendent Dawes. The Superintendent was brief and businesslike. He asked for particulars, and gave an opinion that the young lady had not been long gone. Perhaps, however, he heard Mrs. Cathcart telling Sheila to tell him that she knew the Chief Constable, for when Sheila suggested that he should come over, he readily agreed. “He’s coming, darling,” said Sheila, replacing the receiver, “and police cars don’t have to bother about the speed limit, so he’ll be here in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour.”

  It was, however, a full half hour before the Superintendent arrived. Mrs. Cathcart spent the time in walking about the room discovering cobwebs and dust and alternately wondering if she had been silly to send for the police and whether it would be for the best if Elspeth as well as Jessie and probably Cook should go. Sheila stood by the window giving vague answers, and presently she saw the small, dark blue police car swing round the corner of the drive.

  “Here he is.”

  Mrs. Cathcart wrote “Dust” on the top of the piano and put back a wisp of gray hair.

  “He’s taken half an hour. Go to the door, Sheila. It will only make talk if Taylor lets him in.”

  Sheila obeyed, and came back with the Superintendent behind her. Mrs. Cathcart gave him one look, saw uniform, height, breadth, steel-gray eyes and a firm chin, and immediately began.

  “Oh, Officer, we’re so worried. My second daughter, Miss Delia, has been sleeping out at night and last night she slept out and this morning she was nowhere to be found. We didn’t get anxious till after breakfast; we kept on expecting her to walk in, but it’s ten minutes to twelve now and there’s no sign of her and where can she have got to in only her pajamas and dressing gown…?”

  “One moment, Madam,” said the Superintendent, taking out a notebook and pencil.

  “What did you say was the young lady’s name?”

  “Miss Delia Cathcart. My second girl.”

  “Age?”

  “Forty-three.”

  “Oh, I see,” said the Superintendent. “And she’s been sleeping out. Where?”

  “On the lawn by the drive. I’ll show you.”

  “In a moment,” said the Superintendent. “What time did the young lady retire?”

  “She came into my room and said good night to me some time between half-past ten and eleven. She was later than usual because one of the maids didn’t come in. My daughter waited for her and spoke to her and to her young man, who was abominably rude. My daughter told me about it and then she went to her room to get ready for bed.”

  “That would be about eleven, then. Has the bed been slept in?”

  “I haven’t looked,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “Sheila, have you?”

  “Yes,” said Sheila. “It has been slept in. I mean it’s all untucked. And the catch of the front door was down this morning. My sister always slams it behind her and takes a key with her.”

  “I see. Then it’s pretty certain that the young lady went to bed, but there’s no evidence of how long she stayed there. Now, Mrs. Cathcart, did there seem to be anything on her mind last night, or was she just as usual?”

  “I’m sure there was nothing on her mind,” replied Mrs. Cathcart. “She was just her usual cheerful self, wasn’t she, Sheila? And if there had been anything wrong, she wouldn’t have hidden it. We are a very happy family, Officer. Each of my girls has her own niche, of course, but any little worry is confided to Mother.”

  “I see,” said the Superintendent. “That’s unusual nowadays, isn’t it? Of course, the young lady might have wanted to spare you, Madam.”

  “Then,” said Mrs. Cathcart, “she would have confided in her sisters. They are very devoted. Sheila, you don’t know of anything?”

  “Nothing at all, darling. Besides, Delia isn’t the sort to worry.”

  “No,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “She has a very strong, direct character. I call her the man of the family.”

  “Then it couldn’t be a nervous breakdown or anything of that description?”

  “Certainly not,” said Mrs. Cathcart.

  Dawes was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I suppose there is no love affair — we have to ask these questions.”

  Sheila colored and turned back to the window. Mrs. Cathcart said, “Oh no. Nothing of that kind. My daughter’s attitude to men is that of a comrade — no sentiment.”

  “I see,” said Dawes. “Platonic. And had she any special…er…comrade?”

  “She has a great many men friends,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “You see, she hunts and she breaks in horses. Whom would you say, Sheila?”

  “Well,” said Sheila, “there are several. But they’re only friends. I don’t see what they could have to do with Delia being…away, this morning.”

  “Perhaps not, Miss,” said the Superintendent. “But it’s a question we always ask. Where nothing’s outstanding, the only way we can get on is by exploring every avenue.”

  “Yes,” said Sheila, “but I mean, it’s too absurd. Why men friends and not women?”

  Dawes said pacifically, “I daresay I’ll come to the lady friends, but let’s finish with the gentlemen first, please. Can you give me any names?”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Cathcart, “there’s Captain Willoughby.”

  “We don’t know him well,” objected Sheila.

  “He doesn’t come to the house much,” admitted Mrs. Cathcart, “but Delia must know him fairly well, dear; she calls him Michael. You see, Officer, the Willoughbys live at Lane End Farm and my daughter often rides home with Captain Willoughby after hunting.”

  “But,” said Sheila, “he’s married.”

  “That makes no difference,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “I mean, I’ve explained to the officer that Delia’s friendships are platonic. Then…let me think…there’s old Colonel Crabbe…again, horses and hunting are the mutual interest. Then my daughter, like the rest of us, is often at the rectory and the Hall. She organizes the village cricket and the Cubs, so she sees a lot of the rector and that nice Major Crouch, who runs the Scouts — I think he might be described as a great friend of hers. But of course, Officer, you quite understand: these friendships are founded on mutual interests.”

  “Quite,” said the Superintendent, who was jotting down names. “Anyone else?”

  “I can’t think of anybody.”

  “And what about enemies?”

  “Oh,” cried Sheila hoarsely and her hands lifted in an ungainly gesture. “You don’t think that anyone’s done any harm to her?”

  “I don’t, Miss,” said the Superintendent. “In fact, I shouldn’t be in the least surprised if that door opened any minute and the young lady walked in as cool as a cucumber. But I’ve been sent for, and it’s up to me to make the usual enquiries.”

  “Of course,” said Sheila. “I quite understand. But I’m sure my sister hasn’t any enemies. I mean, she does so much. Everyone respects and admires her.”

  “Yes,” said the Superintendent, “but that’s just the point, Miss. The more a person does, the more they’re likely to come up against people. When I say enemies, I don’t mean people who have gone about threatening the young lady. I mean someone she’s had a little difference with, or a servant she’s dismissed — something in that style.”

  “Oh,” cried Sheila, her eyes staring behind her glasses. “Jessie and Albert!”


  “What’s that?” asked the Superintendent.

  At some length Mrs. Cathcart told him of Jessie’s disobedience and how Delia had mentioned that Funge had been abominably rude to her. Dawes made a note, observed that there was probably nothing in it, and asked if there had been any other unpleasantness of the same kind recently. Mrs. Cathcart remembered hearing Delia speak sharply to the groom, and then Sheila said, “What about Forbes?”

  “Oh, yes, there was that,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “What was it exactly?”

  “We used to have Mr. Ross for our vet,” explained Sheila. “And then he took an assistant called Forbes. He came about John — our spaniel — and Nancy — that’s my other sister — saw him. Nancy thought he was quite good, and then he came about the horses, and Delia thought he was good till the last time. Something was wrong with a gray horse she had, and whatever it was — I don’t understand horses — Forbes did the wrong thing for it. Delia said afterwards that he had been drinking. Anyhow, the next day he came again, and Delia had found out what was really wrong with Sultan and she told Forbes that she would tell Mr. Ross how careless he’d been, and they had rather a row. Delia said that Forbes was tipsy then, though it was only eleven o’clock in the morning.”

  “And did she report him?”

  “I don’t know. She said she was going to.”

  “Well, there’s nothing much in that,” said the Superintendent again. “Still, it’s as well to know.” He closed his notebook with a snap. “Now I’ll see the lawn where the young lady slept out, if I may, please.”

  Sheila went towards the door, but Mrs. Cathcart hesitated.

  “What will the maids think?”

  “I’m afraid we can’t bother about them,” said the Superintendent, following Sheila.

  They went out into the lobby. Sheila opened the front door and, as she did so, the little car, missing on one cylinder, came chugging up the drive. Nancy braked in gear as usual, said, “Oh, dear,” and then as she looked out of the window and caught sight of the policeman, “Oh!”

  “It’s all right, darling,” said Sheila. “Nothing’s happened, only it got so late we thought we had better notify the police. I suppose you haven’t found out anything?”