‘People talk so lightly about their hearts being broken, yet they still love other people. But when one’s heart is really broken it can contain no more love for anyone. Yet I could not believe Papa, I could not believe he had ceased to love me for ever. I thought he must be angry with me, I thought I must have offended him in some way. I went weeping to my room and flung myself down on the bed. I wept because he was angry and I did not know why, and because his breast had been like a defensive wall when I had tried to embrace him and he had unlatched my arms. I refused to admit that there was to be no place for him in the future, that would have been too desolating; he’ll change his mind, I thought. I’ll make him change his mind.
‘That was how I came to realise the first of the two things; that life was never going to be the same for us again. The second tremendous thing, I had not before realised, was that my own precious father was the natural and inevitable suspect of having murdered Sophia.
‘When all the fuss of enquiry did not die down after Harry’s disappearance, I learned that police interest was centring on Papa. For all I know, their attentions to Harry may merely have been a cover for their real investigation. Of course if Papa had known Sophia was going to have some other man’s child, even I could see there would be grounds for suspecting him; but because we had all in our different ways and for our different reasons tried so hard to keep it from him, the notion had really never entered my head before.
‘Almost overnight the village was a-buzz with rumours. It seemed to have been flooded with anonymous letters. Naturally one was not sent to us. But we saw it nevertheless. One kind lady “came as a friend”, as she put it, to show it me, she “thought I ought to see it”.
‘She put back her veil and said she frankly had no idea whether she ought to take it to the police or not. It seemed to her they ought to know, but ... Such a disgusting calumny! What did I think?
‘It was written on sheets from a child’s penny exercise-book, printed in large trembling capitals that asked outrageously:
‘“HOW DID THE FIRST MRS SHERIDAN DIE? PRAPS THE DOCTOR DIDNT OUGHT TO HAVE SIGNED THE CERTISSICATE SO HASTY? WHAT ARE THE POLICE GOING TO DO ABOUT IT? WHY DONT SOMEONE LOOK INTO IT? MURDRERS DIDNT OUGHT TO BE LET GO SO EASY.”
‘My fingers were shaking so atrociously I could scarcely tear up this wicked sheet. I tore it across and across, till it was too small ever to have been put together again.
‘“That’s what I think,” I said, with a white smile.
‘“My dear,” said the lady, deeply shocked. “Ought you to have done that? I mean, wasn’t it evidence?”
‘“Evidence of what?” I asked coldly.
‘“I think one of the gentlemen should have seen it first,” she remonstrated.
‘“Then why didn’t you ask to see one of them instead of me? You should have shown it to Mr Sheridan,” I said bitterly.
‘She fanned herself rapidly with her card case.
‘“Dear me! Dear me! Of course I am not for a moment suggesting that there is a word of truth in the horrid thing. But — this is all so terrible for you, my dear Mrs Bridgewater, you are so young — I do think the best thing is to be absolutely frank about meeting these accusations, if one has nothing to be afraid of. Otherwise you’ll find, I’m afraid, they leave nasty little festering places. It is natural to be impulsive when one is young. But take the advice of an older woman: it does not do.” She pulled her veil over her smile and rose.
‘I thanked her politely.
‘She said pensively:
‘“Perhaps if I had done my duty I would have taken it to the police. But it seemed only fair to let you know what you were up against. Good-bye, Mrs Bridgewater.” She nodded coolly and was gone.
‘She need not have worried. Someone else did their duty and took their copy of the anonymous letter to the police to make sure they saw it. I wonder what the police thought of it? I wonder if they would have done anything about it if it had been left to them and nothing else had happened?
‘For — it was too horrible! — it seemed that the village was clamouring for an exhumation. It was being said that Papa had “got rid” of Mama. You cannot imagine, Mr Jones, how ridiculous and terrifying that sounded. They were saying that Papa had poisoned her ... too. You have no idea the terror and disgust one feels when little by little everything that has ever happened to one is raked up again to have some pejorative meaning placed on it. In the lives of the most respectable among us are hidden things we could not bear another person to know. Not because they are wicked, but because they are sacred. Mama’s was sacred in that way to both Papa and myself.
‘Yet the most innocent acts and motives somehow look false beneath the theatrical limelight of village gossip. Twist and turn as one may, one cannot evade it ... Any more than I could evade the recollection of Mama’s small panting face, exhausted with vomiting, sallow against her pillows,’ recalled the old woman soberly.
‘At last,’ she continued, ‘I ventured to go and see Mr Gifford — the husband of the lady who had cut me recently in the haberdashers; they had both been great friends of Mama’s, and it was for her sake, in her name, that I went to ask him if he could do nothing to stop this wretched scandalising.
‘“My dear young lady,” he said, “what can I do?”
‘“Why, you could tell them how wicked, how monstrous, it is to suggest such a thing. You knew Mama. You know how much Papa loved her. Can you imagine him poisoning her? Or even wanting to? Why, he was heart-broken when she died. Absolutely heart-broken,” I insisted. “For four years he cut himself off from life entirely in his grief. Why should he have done that if it was not sincere? ... And then these wicked people say ... how can they think such things?”
‘“A man has always got enemies, even though he may not be aware of them,” Mr Gifford said quietly.
‘“Enemies?” I echoed in surprise. And at once I had a picture of old Mrs Falk in the churchyard. This was her malevolence. How was it I had not seen it before? She would see to it that somebody suffered, guilt or no guilt. And the person she would like best to injure, accuse, and punish, would be none other than her dead daughter’s husband. How stupid of me not to have seen it before! I leaned forward eagerly:
‘“If I tell you who has spread this slander ... ” I began.
‘He held up his hand.
‘“Please!” he said. “Nothing is to be gained by accusations — they will help no one.”
‘“You could force them to stop. You could threaten them with prosecution. That would frighten them. They would listen to you, you’re a Justice of the Peace,” I urged.
‘“Alas,” he said and shook his silvery head, “I fear it has gone too far for that.”
‘I said:
“Mr Gifford, tell me the truth! Do you believe Papa could have poisoned Mama?”
‘He seemed to consider for an age, and then at last said, “No.”
‘“Then there must be some way of stopping this indecent talk, and you must help me find it,” I declared.
‘“There is only one way to do that,” said Mr Gifford. “If you do really want it stopped.”
‘“I do! I do!” I cried.
‘“It is for your father’s innocence to be proved. Then there will be nothing more to say.”
‘“But how?”
‘“Your father must demand an exhumation himself to clear his name.”
‘I stared. I shrank back into the wing of the armchair.
‘“I couldn’t tell Papa that,” I stammered. “To desecrate Mama’s grave! He never would.”
‘“What has he to fear?” said Mr Gifford in a level tone.
‘“N-nothing, of course. It isn’t that. But, don’t you see, if it was only to clear his name, he would never permit such a thing. He doesn’t care any longer, he doesn’t care about anything. All this,” I said with a gesture, “has completely broken him up.” I could not
prevent my own voice breaking as I realised the truth of my words. “If you could see him now, you would weep, he has become so old and weary and dead-looking.”
‘But Mr Gifford did not weep. He only answered:
‘“He may have to permit it, young lady.”
‘“What do you mean, sir?”
‘“He will be given no choice in the matter if an exhumation order is asked for and the Home Secretary grants it. Myself, I think it is the best thing that could happen, if you want my opinion.” He studied his fingernails and added: “You can tell your father I said so.”
‘“You mean, it is going to happen, Mr Gifford?” I said quietly, resting my anxious eyes on his.
‘“You must not ask me questions I have no right to answer,” he said.
‘So then I knew.
‘And I was afraid. That was the root of the matter. I had become infected with their horrible evil thoughts, and I was in a panic at the idea of an exhumation because I dreaded what they might discover. Not that for half a split-second would I have allowed myself to fancy Papa had really tried to poison Mama. But who knows what could happen inside a person’s body after years underground? I imagined innocent substances commingling to become some deadly poison, and that sort of thing. And if once poison was established in poor Mama’s cadaver I knew nothing could save Papa.
‘And behind that fear lay the deeper fear of what Papa might do when he learned of the impending exhumation. I thought he might ... I don’t know what I thought, but I was distracted for him. I determined that he should not hear of it from me; I would not be a messenger of bad tidings.
‘But in fact when he did learn of it he did nothing at all. He was like a trapped lion, roped and badgered, who cannot believe the indignity of his fate.
‘The worst of it was that even if the exhumation should prove a blank, Father would still not be exempt from the suspicion of having murdered his second wife. I wondered how that suspicion was ever to be cleared away? Certainly, he could not live out the rest of his days with the mystery of Sophia’s death hanging round his neck like an accursed albatross ... the eternal, inescapable accusation! More impossible yet for me to contemplate was the idea of Father, my Beloved Hero, facing the accusation and standing trial. Rather than that, I almost think I would have given myself up in his stead. Indeed, that was the only possible solution, the real culprit must be found!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
A SUM OF OLD PAPERS
‘Have you ever been present at an exhumation?’ the old woman asked Mr Jones in the tone of one who asks, ‘Have you ever had tea at the Palace, I wonder?’ ‘No, I suppose not,’ she answered herself, ‘but you can imagine for yourself the sombre setting with the great black yew trees blotting out the sky and the cold mournful sound of the gravediggers’ spades striking into the stony clay. And then in one corner of the churchyard, like some enormous ghostly Chinese lantern resting on the ground, an arrangement of canvas screens across which huge shadows blunder perpetually, as though a moth were blundering about the candle inside the Chinese lantern. And one tries not to picture the gruesome little scene within, as brilliant to the imagination as some dark glinting old painting of body-snatchers or anatomists. One tries vainly not to think about that pretty soft hair, so life-like and familiar on the bleached temples. One tries not to imagine scalpels propped within the hollow pelvis. One tries not to wonder what these unknown men with their secret intent faces will find in those shrivelled organs.’
‘Really!’ protested Mr Jones. ‘Must you be so macabre?’
‘How else is one to deal with a macabre subject?’ she countered. ‘However, if it alarms you we need not pursue it,’ she said agreeably, like a kindly old nanny, and simply would not listen when he tried to explain that it was not alarm but something more subtle and fastidious.
But while he was resisting her cool imputation they were interrupted by a neat gentleman in white drill, who salaamed, was given permission to speak, and spoke. The old lady listened, nodded once or twice, and dismissed him. But something about the airiness with which she did it struck a sudden doubt in Mr Jones’s mind.
‘What was that?’ he asked sharply as the man disappeared.
Nanny looked mild disapproval at this breach of good manners.
‘I wondered,’ said Mr Jones sheepishly, ‘if it was anything to do with my plane. I really am getting a little anxious,’ said he, though the truth was that this was the first time it had entered his thoughts for some hours. ‘I wonder if I should stroll across and see how he’s getting on? Might stir him up a bit; they do slack, these beggars, don’t they?’
‘It’s all right,’ said Miss Hine. ‘It will be quite ready when you are.’
He gave the bland old soul a searching look.
‘That fellow came to tell you the plane was ready now, didn’t he?’
‘As a matter of fact, he did.’
‘Then I must go!’ he said, springing up.
‘What’s the hurry?’ enquired the old lady calmly.
‘We must get off before dark. I don’t think Ras Ali is a very good pilot.’
‘But it’s not six yet. There’s two hours to sunset. Plenty of time. Besides, you can’t expect the man to fly off through the night without anything in his stomach and not even an hour’s rest. Be reasonable, my dear sir.’
‘Of course, of course. I suppose not,’ said Mr Jones, uneasily. ‘But I’m afraid Mahmoud Kahn will be worrying about what has happened to us. Even if we’re not hopelessly off route, as I fear, we’re already hours late.’
‘Not he!’ said Miss Hine robustly. ‘It would take more than a trifle like a missing plane to trouble Mahmoud Kahn, believe me. Why, all the caves of the ocean and desert places of the earth are littered with the bones of the wretched tutors and secretaries who have been engaged by Mahmoud Kahn and never arrived to take up their duties. I assure you, he makes nothing of it. If a tutor doesn’t arrive, Mahmoud Kahn simply engages another by post.’
‘I have to be back in London by October the 17th,’ said Mr Jones with a pale look.
‘I shall be so interested to know if you arrive,’ said Miss Hine with something like a gush. ‘You must give me your address! Now, promise!’
Mr Jones stared incredulously at this phlegmatic ghoul.
‘You don’t really think,’ he began, and stopped.
‘Don’t worry, I shall have a very powerful spell made to protect you. You will be quite safe. I have an excellent wizard,’ she assured him, in exactly the same tone she had used to describe her chauffeur and her cook. ‘Now, do sit down again and be comfortable.’
‘Do you mean you actually do believe in wizards and spells and things?’ asked the young man cautiously.
She smiled placidly.
‘Well, well, well,’ she said. ‘There’s no telling what you can make people believe. But I think we shouldn’t waste any more time, if you want to hear the rest of my story.’
‘I do indeed,’ said Mr Jones, for there was no denying the old woman was as crazy as your best girl’s spring hat.
Miss Hine clasped her hands lightly in her lap and immediately resumed:
‘I saw that the important thing was for me to stop, by some means or other, that old fiend Mrs Falk’s mouth. I knew she was still with her sister, Mrs Livingstone, in the house at the shady edge of the village.
‘“Ah,” she said with rich satisfaction when she saw me, “I thought you’d come. Said so, didn’t I, Fanny? Be off and ask that gal of yours to make her some tea. The special tea, Fanny!” she bawled after her. “Now then, whatyer want?”
‘“This is not a social visit, Mrs Falk,” I began sternly.
“Never supposed it was,” she retorted irrepressibly. “Yer’ve come because yer want something. I know your kind,” she said with grand contempt.
‘“I want you to stop blackguarding my father’s name for a crime he never committed.�
�� I said coldly.
‘“Me? What’s it to do with me?” she said, opening her eyes so that I could see their yellow whites.
‘“It is useless for you to pretend you are not at the bottom of it all. I assure you I would not have come, Mrs Falk, if I had not had proof of what I am saying.”
‘“A person’s entitled to their thoughts,” she said blandly.
‘“Anonymous letters,” I drawled, “you’ll find come in a different category in law.”
‘“God works in a mysterious way ’Is wonders to perform. ’E’ll see Justice is done,” she said, crossing her ankles and surveying her stumpy toes.
‘I took no notice. I was listening and watching the door.
‘“I want to speak to you alone,” I said quietly, bending my head and stroking my gloves.
‘So she got down and waddled over to the door without a word, the quick-witted old monster, and appeared not in the least surprised to find Mrs Livingstone kneeling at the keyhole, for all the world as if she’d been caught at her prayers; and I’m bound to admit that she could not have looked more astounded if the god she was praying to had suddenly appeared before her.
‘“Now, Fanny, it’s no use looking for your letter there,” said the old woman imperturbably.
‘“Not a letter, Amelia,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “I dropped a garnet out of Reginald’s bracelet. Such a pity! I thought it might be in the mat.”
‘“You ’ave a good look, dear. I’ll leave the door open to give you a better light,” she said wickedly; but Mrs Livingstone, still mumbling apologies, had trotted away.
‘“Yer can’t blame poor Fanny,” said Mrs Falk temperately, hitching herself back on her chair. “She wants to know how much longer she’s going to have to keep me here. I dessay she don’t feel it would be kind to ask me outright. I dessay she’s afraid of the answer. So she listens, in case I should ’appen to mention me plans to someone else. But, poor old me, I’ve no plans. Where can an old woman like me go? I’ve no money. A few sticks of furniture and some old-fashioned gems. But what would they fetch? They mean more to me than they’re worth, I fear ... memories ... memories ... That’s all I’m rich in,” she said dabbing her eyes.
An Afternoon to Kill Page 13