“No,” said Nancy getting out of the car. “I’ve been all round the roads and nearly into Melchester. I’ve asked lots of people. You’d think — wouldn’t you? — that dressed as she was, someone must have noticed her?” Nancy raised her forget-me-not eyes, brimming with tears, to the Superintendent.
Like most large dark men, Dawes was touched by small fair women. He said, “Don’t worry, Miss. I haven’t yet looked into the question of what she was wearing. We are just going to see the lawn where she slept out. I conclude,” he added, “that this is another Miss Cathcart?”
“My youngest daughter,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “Our home bird.”
They passed through the wicket gate. Delia’s camp bed stood on the lawn unmade and presumably just as she had left it. “That’s good,” said Dawes. “I was afraid that someone would’ve been tidying. You can see, Madam, that the young lady just threw the blankets back and got out — no sign of a struggle.”
“Thank God,” said Nancy. “I didn’t say anything for fear of making you anxious, but when I went out early this morning I met such a terrible looking man. I’m sure he was a burglar.”
“What time was this?” asked the Superintendent.
“I suppose I started about ten, didn’t I, Sheila? I went up Lovers’ Lane and back by the road because D. often goes that way just for a walk, you know. This man was walking along the road. He did look awful.”
“I’ll make enquiries about him,” said Dawes, “but I shouldn’t think there was anything in it. No burglaries have been reported in the district this side of Christmas, and it’s a fact that very few burglars resort to violence. The man may have been just a tramp, Miss Cathcart. Some of them look rough customers, especially to a lady’s eye, but they’re generally quite harmless.”
“Then what’s your theory?” asked Sheila.
“My theory is that the young lady got up, put on her hat and coat — and underthings, of course — and went off somewhere.”
“But where? We always discuss our plans days ahead,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “Besides, none of us heard her.”
“Would you have heard her?” asked Dawes, turning round and surveying the solid facade of Marley Grange. “That looks a well-built house; I noticed that the doors were good thick oak ones; and perhaps she didn’t want you to hear her.”
“We didn’t hear her that night when she came in because it was wet,” Sheila reminded her mother.
“There you are, you see, Madam. Now I should like to look at the young lady’s bedroom.”
As they filed indoors, heads in caps disappeared from the landing and the attic windows. Upstairs, Elspeth was clinking cans in the housemaid’s cupboard.
“The upstairs work ought to be finished by now, Elspeth,” said Mrs. Cathcart.
“Yes, m’m,” said Elspeth. “But it’s Saturday — my day for the cupboard.”
“You can leave it till later,” said Mrs. Cathcart, and with maddening deliberation Elspeth wrung out a floorcloth, picked up a bucket of soapy water and disappeared in the direction of the back stairs.
Mrs. Cathcart took the Superintendent into Delia’s bedroom and Sheila and Nancy remained in the corridor. Presently Mrs. Cathcart called to them, “The officer wants you to tell him if anything’s missing.”
Blushing deeply, Sheila walked into a bedroom with a man in it who wasn’t a doctor.
“There isn’t,” she said shortly. “I looked through the wardrobe.”
“And what,” said Dawes, “about underclothes?”
“I can hardly tell that,” said Sheila. “I mean, there would be things in the wash and so on.”
“Shoes?
“Her bedroom slippers aren’t there, but then they wouldn’t be. Oh!” said Sheila, looking under the dressing table, “Where are her blue suede shoes?”
“Ah, now we’re getting hot,” said Dawes.
“Perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Cathcart, “they are in the ottoman with her other London clothes.”
At the foot of the bed stood a wicker ottoman, gilded and covered with brown and yellow cretonne. “I gave each of my girls one last Christmas. I meant them for their hats, but Delia keeps all her best things in hers.” She opened the ottoman and Sheila, peering over her shoulder, said, “Yes, her blue flowered frock is gone and her hat. And the shoes aren’t there, are they?”
“How very extraordinary,” said Mrs. Cathcart.
“Reassuring,” said the Superintendent, “I should say. And what about the dressing gown and…er…night attire? If you haven’t seen anything of that, I think it’s obvious that the young lady took some luggage along with her.”
Mrs. Cathcart said on a rising note, “But Delia wouldn’t go away without telling me…”
“Of course not, darling,” said Nancy.
“But supposing she had,” said Dawes, “what suitcase or handbag would she be likely to take?”
“Either her rawhide suitcase or her dressing-case,” said Nancy. “The rawhide, I should think. The dressing-case was fitted with silver things and rather heavy.”
“Where did she keep them?”
Sheila went towards the fireplace and opened a built-in cupboard. “Here, with her riding boots and things. Oh, the dressing-case is here…and her hat box…but the suitcase isn’t…”
“Well then,” said the Superintendent, “I think that’s clear. The young lady came in from the garden, dressed, packed her suitcase and went off wherever she was going. Probably some of the girls heard her.”
“If you mean the maids, they didn’t,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “We asked them.”
“What time do they get up?”
“Cook was down by half-past six.”
“And the rest,” said the Superintendent flippantly. “Anyhow, the young lady came in early and evidently she didn’t want you to know that she was going away. I shouldn’t upset yourself at all, Madam. You’ll probably get a letter first post tomorrow.” His manner had changed. He smiled as he spoke and his gray eyes twinkled.
“But where can she have gone? And why? It’s so unlike Delia.”
“Young ladies will be young ladies,” observed Dawes.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” said Sheila.
“Oh, well, Miss, I mean you never know… But, if you ladies don’t feel like waiting till you hear from Miss Cathcart, I should try round among her friends. All of us get tired of family life sometimes, and perhaps she took it into her head to plan a jaunt — Paree or somewhere — and thought that you mightn’t quite approve.”
“Not like Delia,” quavered Mrs. Cathcart.
“You never can tell, Madam. The best of us kick over the traces at some time. Well, I must be getting back to the station. Perhaps you would give me a ring there and let me know that it’s all OK.”
“But aren’t you going to do anything?” asked Sheila.
“About tracing the young lady? I’m sure it’s unnecessary, Miss — not a police job at all. Of course, I’ve got all particulars, and if you don’t hear from her in a day or two, you must let me know.”
“What I don’t see,” said Sheila, “is how she could have got anywhere. She didn’t take the car.”
Dawes said, “There’s buses. But it’s much more probable that whoever she went with picked her up at the end of the drive here in his car.”
“His car…?”
“Or her car,” said Dawes hastily. “Or their car, as the case may be. You try round among the young lady’s friends, Miss, especially if there are any of whom Mrs. Cathcart didn’t quite approve. I must be off now. Good morning, Madam. Good morning, ladies. You’ll let us know.”
He walked resolutely out of the bedroom and downstairs. The three women heard his car start, roar down the drive and hoot at the entrance, before they spoke again.
“What do you think he thinks?” asked Nancy.
“I hate him,” said Sheila furiously. “He thinks that our darling Delia has gone off with some man.”
“What can you expect
?” said Mrs. Cathcart. “Men have such horrid minds. You don’t know, darlings… No girl would get married if she knew what men are.”
“Not all men, surely,” said Nancy. “He’s common; I mean he must have started as an ordinary policeman — an elementary schoolboy…”
“They’re all the same,” declared Mrs. Cathcart. “But never mind what he thought. We’ll find our darling Delia ourselves.”
Sheila said, “But how?”
“Well,” said Mrs. Cathcart, “the only sensible thing that horrible man said was about ringing up our friends. Of course, I don’t see why Delia should have gone to any of them without telling us, or why she should have started off at such a queer hour, but perhaps she thought of something important that she had forgotten to tell someone, and then she got delayed. But then, why did she take her night things…? Oh, dear.”
“Darling,” said Sheila getting up from the ottoman, where she had been sitting in one of her ungainly attitudes. “Let’s not bother so much about the ‘why’ as the ‘where.’ It’s getting on for lunch time. I suggest that we have lunch early and then start ringing up people. Everybody will be at home having lunch then.”
Mrs. Cathcart agreed and Nancy ran downstairs to ask that lunch should be served as soon as possible. As it happened to be Mrs. Hemmings’s afternoon out, she was only too happy to oblige, and the gong rang before Mrs. Cathcart had finished tidying her disheveled hair. At lunch Sheila and Nancy made conversation for the benefit of Taylor’s obviously pricked ears, but when she had put the biscuits and cheese on the table and withdrawn, they discussed whom they should ring up and what they should say. Sheila volunteered to do the telephoning, and Nancy said she would look up the numbers, and then both of them besought their mother to go and lie down. Mrs. Cathcart, however, declared that she couldn’t rest till she knew where Delia was, and obstinately followed her daughters to the telephone.
Sheila rang up the rectory. She didn’t, she said, very much like prevaricating to the rector, by whom she had been confirmed, but Mrs. Cathcart assured her that what she was saying was only a white lie. So Sheila said that Delia had gone out and not come back when she was expected and her mother was getting worried in case she had had a crash in the car. “You know what the roads are nowadays,” said Sheila, laughing nervously. No one at the rectory had seen anything of Delia. Then Lady Angela between a furious “Damn those dogs,” and “Shut up you blasted bitch, can’t you?” declared that she hadn’t seen Delia either while she had been out riding this morning or at the Hall. The Misses Hepburn hadn’t seen Delia and avidly hoped that nothing was wrong. Colonel Crabbe hadn’t seen Delia since the fete on Saturday, and Major Crouch hadn’t seen her since Wednesday evening, when she had been the only sane person besides himself at the committee meeting. Sheila said wearily, “That’s the lot except for the Willoughbys.”
“I should call those her nearest friends,” said Nancy. “I mean, among the local people. Of course, there are plenty of others further afield — in London, for instance. But people would think it so queer, wouldn’t they?”
“Besides,” said Sheila, “if she had gone far, she would have had to hire a car or take a bus. If we think she’s done that, it would be best to get the police to trace her. The Willoughbys are seven one, aren’t they, darling?”
Mrs. Willoughby answered the telephone. She had a clear deep voice, which Mrs. Cathcart and Nancy could hear easily.
“Yes?” she said. “Yes?” But when Sheila said that it was Sheila Cathcart speaking, she said, “Oh, yes, what is it?” in a dull, flat tone.
Sheila asked if by any chance anyone at Lane End Farm had seen anything of Delia, and the voice, suddenly deep again, boomed out, “What? Has she gone too?”
“Well, she went out and she hasn’t come back, Mrs. Willoughby. Mother’s getting a little worried in case she’s crashed — so many accidents nowadays. But has…anyone else gone?”
“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Willoughby. “At least…oh, no, there couldn’t be any connection. It’s nothing at all. Oh, no. No, we haven’t seen anything of Delia. In fact, I haven’t seen her since the day I had tea with you. Only yesterday, was it? Sometimes I lose all sense of time. She can’t have been taken ill, can she? She looked the picture of health, then.”
“No, she’s been quite all right,” said Sheila. “By the way, how are you? I ought to have asked, only you know what it is…we’re so worried.”
“When I fainted? Was that only yesterday, too? Do you think it can have been premonition? It’s so unlike me to faint. How kind you all were! I do hope you will soon have news of Delia. What time did she go?”
“Don’t tell her, dear,” hissed Mrs. Cathcart. “She’s such a gossip,” so Sheila said down the telephone, “I don’t quite know — fairly early.”
“It wasn’t very early, was it?” asked Mrs. Willoughby. “I mean not before breakfast…? And she didn’t leave a note, did she?”
“Why?” asked Sheila, while her mother hissed again, “Don’t tell her.” “I mean, Mrs. Willoughby, do you know anything? I mean, we should be so glad of the slightest clue…so grateful…”
“She did go before breakfast, then,” said the deep voice, growing shriller. “And so did Michael. He’s gone, too.”
“Good heavens!”
“Yes, he’s gone. It’s all those horses…just because I’m too highly strung, too nervous to ride! Horses, horses, horses!” shrilled Gerda Willoughby, “all day long! And that sister of yours is the same…”
Sheila’s face was scarlet.
“It’s not true,” she said, and then, “Mother, Nancy, she says that Captain Willoughby has gone away.”
“I heard her,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “And I was thunderstruck. Did she dare to insinuate that my Delia…oh, let me speak to her.” Sheila handed over the receiver. Mrs. Cathcart said, “Mrs. Cathcart speaking. Mrs. Willoughby, do I understand that because your husband has left you, you are impudent enough to suggest that my daughter is with him? Are you there? Hullo, hullo, is that Mrs. Willoughby? Oh, she has rung off, has she? Thank you.” Mrs. Cathcart replaced the receiver. “She’s rung off. What will the Exchange think?”
“I’ve never liked her,” said Sheila.
“Next time I meet her I shall look through her,” said Mrs. Cathcart. “Or else I shall give her a look that she will understand. Darlings, forget what she said. She sounded quite hysterical. Who else is there?”
“There’s Major Carruthers,” suggested Sheila. “He likes Delia, you know. At the fete he spent over five pounds at her stall. And, being the Chief Constable, he might give us some advice.”
“I rather hesitate,” said Mrs. Cathcart, “to worry him. I mean, he’s real county, besides being a military man.”
“I expect he’d think us very silly,” said Nancy. “The police did, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Cathcart, “but the police aren’t gentlemen. And the Major’s got a kind face. What do you think, Sheila?”
“I think it would be a good thing, darling.”
“Very well. Get on to him, darling, will you? And then I’ll speak myself — that would be more courteous. I’ll tell him a little more than I told the others. He has a kind face, and he’s always taken notice of me at bazaars. Oh, is that Major Carruthers?” said Mrs. Cathcart into the telephone. “Oh, Major Carruthers, we are a little worried about my second girl, Delia — the riding one. She hasn’t come back and we’re ringing up our friends to find out if she’s with any of them.”
Besides his face, the Chief Constable’s voice was kind, and, after they had talked for a few minutes at cross purposes, Mrs. Cathcart told him the whole truth. “We called in the police,” she said. “I hope you don’t think it was silly of us. But all that your man could suggest was that Delia had gone for a jaunt with some friends in a car. Of course she wouldn’t do that. We are a very united family, Major, and she’d realize how worried we’d be. Then that Mrs. Willoughby — her husband left her this morning and
I don’t wonder at it, but she had the audacity to suggest that Delia is with him.”
The Chief Constable’s kind voice said, “Tch, tch. I should think that most unlikely, Mrs. Cathcart. I’d put the odds at a thousand to one against it, any day. I mean, your daughter doesn’t strike me as that sort of…er…girl. Rides straight at her fences, what? Besides, I should imagine that Willoughby’s tastes would run to quite a different type. Bit of fluff, what? Not your daughter’s type at all.”
“Then what do you suggest we should do, Major Carruthers? You see, Delia is our adviser. I call her the man of the family, and we’re quite at a loss without her.”
“I know it’s worrying, but you can only wait, Mrs. Cathcart. Wait and hope, what? Most likely you’ll hear from her.”
“That’s what your man said. He said we’d hear by the first post tomorrow. He seemed to think that she’d gone to Paris — I can’t think why.”
“Figure of speech, I expect,” said the Chief Constable. “Gay Paree, what? Of course he doesn’t know your daughter, probably pictures her as a modern type of girl. But I shall be in Melchester this afternoon, Mrs. Cathcart, and I’ll call in at the police station and study the particulars and have a chat with Dawes. I must say that in the general run of things I should take the same attitude, but Miss Delia always struck me as a particularly levelheaded reliable stamp of…er…girl.”
Mrs. Cathcart talked a little longer about Delia’s character and then about a mother’s feelings, which the Chief Constable said that he understood perfectly, only he’d got a fellow to lunch and must buck up if he was going to get into Melchester. Mrs. Cathcart said good-bye and rang off and sank back in her chair. “I expect you got the gist of that, darlings,” she said wearily. “Now, as dear Major Carruthers says, all we can do is to wait and hope; and,” she added, thinking suddenly of that queer God whom she kept on a string and fed and exercised at the proper times, “pray…”
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They Rang Up the Police: A classic murder mystery set in rural England (Inspector Guy Northeast Book 1) Page 5