by Alisa Craig
“God, yes,” said Herbert. “He even asked for water. I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“But I thought speed really made you freak out,” said Val. “I mean, Uncle Cyril was acting crazy, but not so wild as—as some people I’ve heard about.”
“I think that might be explained by your uncle’s also having consumed a large amount of alcohol, which is a depressant. One could counteract the effects of the other to some extent. I should note that the scene culminating in your aunt’s death occurred after he’d drunk a cup of hot coffee. Hot liquids give an extra kick to the effects of amphetamines. Cyril had been relatively quiescent at dinner because he was drinking so much wine.”
“My God,” said May. “I made him drink the coffee thinking it would sober him up. Instead it sent him into high gear again. Is that what you’re saying?”
“That is what I’m theorizing, at any rate.”
“But where would he get it?”
“It’s around. Is Cyril in the habit of taking trips to Saint John, say, or Fredericton?”
“Cyril never goes anywhere if he can help it. He hasn’t been off the place in ages.”
“What does he do with his time?”
“He’s supposed to be writing a book.”
“What about?”
“Early lumbering in New Brunswick. That’s how the Condryckes got started.”
“Selling Crown lumber,”2 somebody in the darkness muttered. Squire frowned and an awful silence descended.
“Go on,” Rhys prodded. “Where does he get his reference material?”
“From local people, mostly. He’s been collecting it for years.”
“Gave him an excuse to hang around the rumshops and chin with the old souses,” Herbert grunted.
“But he no longer does that?”
“Hell, no. He’s one of the old souses himself.”
“Judge not, Herb, lest you also be judged,” Clara snapped. “Cyril’s still our brother, I’ll thank you to remember. Just because one of the staff slipped something into his drink...”
“One of the staff?” said Rhys. “Why would they do that?”
“Because they hate us, of course. They make believe they don’t, but everybody knows they’re all conspiring together to take over the country.”
“And how would getting your brother Cyril high on speed assist the conspirators in taking over?”
Clara shrugged. “Don’t ask me. It’s like them, that’s all.”
“Clara, you must not make unsupported allegations,” chided her husband. “That could be grounds for slander.”
“I haven’t named any names, have I? It’s only slander if you name names.”
“But do you in fact suspect any specific person?” Rhys insisted.
“How should I know? You’re the detective. You find out.”
“To do that I shall require your cooperation.”
Rhys didn’t put much stock in Clara’s theory. Whatever their personal feelings about the Condryckes, the employees he’d seen so far at Graylings looked to be well kept, well fed, and no doubt as well paid as they were likely to be in that area. Of course the racial problem must exist to some extent here on the border between New Brunswick, which had been a Loyalist province although it was by now officially bilingual, and Quebec, the great enclave of the French. Maybe the staff did actively hate their employers. More likely, they regarded the Condryckes with amused contempt and instead of furiously coveting their substance, beguiled the long winter evenings thinking up more interesting ways to milk them out of it. Slaughtering geese that laid golden eggs had never been a generally popular sport among the thrifty, prudent Quebecois. Still, one never knew.
“Does any of you know whether any member of the staff has any particular grudge against Cyril?”
“Like was he fooling around with somebody’s wife or daughter?” Roy interjected to show he was on the ball and in there pitching.
“Hell, no,” said Herbert. “Cyril talks a lot but he never does anything. Anyway, we’ve got a system around here. May deals with the inside staff. The outside men are responsible only to me. The rest of the family stay clear. Except Squire, of course, but he has his own duties and anyway he’s the one who set the policy. The idea is to treat them just like any factory hand or whatever with a certain job to do, instead of servants who are at everybody’s beck and call. That way we eliminate friction. We pay them well, provide comfortable quarters for times like now when they can’t get back and forth to their own homes, and don’t interfere with their off hours or butt into their personal affairs.”
“That sounds like an excellent system,” said Rhys.
“It’s worked so far. At least we keep the same people, and they do a good job for us. The only one who comes in contact with the whole family as a rule is Ludovic, and he’s British so he understands what service is all about. As far as I know he gets along with the house staff. May would hear about it fast enough if he didn’t. I’m sorry, Clara, but I don’t see where your idea can hold water.”
“You haven’t proved anything,” his sister-in-law argued. “You say everything is hearts and flowers with the staff, but that doesn’t make it so. You don’t know everything that goes on.”
Rhys had heard enough bickering. “Thank you, Clara. I shall be able to find out what I need to know.”
“How, for instance?”
“That is a professional secret.”
“Hey, none of that rubber hose stuff like they have in the States,” cried Herbert.
“Rubber hoses are not part of our official equipment,” Rhys assured him. “My methods are quite painless and usually effective. Your staff will not quit in righteous indignation and none of you will be incommoded any more than is necessary. Rest assured, I do not wish to bite the hands that have so lavishly fed me. Unless it were to become necessary in self-defense.” Rhys preferred not to make promises he might have to break.
Val emitted a nervous giggle. “I must say, Mama, you know how to pick ‘em. Whatever possessed you to invite a Mountie?”
“Naturally your mother didn’t know,” Donald told her in a hurt, dignified tone that must mean he was beside himself with fury. “Lady Rhys deceived us.”
“Donald, I don’t think that’s very courteous of you,” said his wife. “Please remember that Lady Rhys is a valued acquaintance of ours, as are Sir Emlyn and Dafydd. We invited Madoc and Janet out of respect for his family and because we thought another young couple would be fun for Val and Roy. Furthermore, I personally am more than grateful Madoc is with us now. Hasn’t it occurred to anybody but myself that I could be in a very precarious position if he weren’t around?”
“Precarious?” said her husband. “Babs, what are you talking about?”
“Quite simply, Donald, I was the only one out there with Cyril when Aunt Addie was freezing to death outside. It’s only my word against his, assuming he were coherent enough to talk, that I didn’t push her out myself.”
“But that’s absurd. Why would you?”
“Naturally I wouldn’t, but you know what the local people might think, and where it might lead. Quite frankly, I wish you’d be a little less hostile to Madoc, because I’m depending on him to keep me out of jail.”
CHAPTER 15
“I’ve been wondering,” said Lawrence, “when someone other than myself was going to think of that.”
“Lawrence, how could you?” cried his wife. “You know Babs would never...”
“My dear, I know nothing of the sort. I surmise Babs would not kill Aunt Addie because she’s a sensible woman who isn’t apt to go off half-cocked. She’s always appeared fond of Addie, as we all were, and I can’t think offhand why she’d want to murder her. However, that’s only my assumption. When it comes to physical proof that Babs could not have committed the act, I think I can do a little better.”
“How?” said Rhys. “Did you happen to see what actually happened?”
“I did not. My proof is circum
stantial but, I think, conclusive enough. Clara, would you oblige me by going out in the hall and opening the front door?”
“You mean right now? With this gale blowing?”
“This is the same gale that was blowing when Aunt Addie was thrust out into the snow, is it not?”
“Well, yes, of course.”
“Wind’s gone down a little, I think,” said Herbert.
“Good. This should make the test that much more effective. Clara, would you mind?”
“Wait a second,” said Roy. “What about fingerprints on thedoorknob, eh?”
“They wouldn’t prove anything,” Herbert reminded him. “We were all pawing at the knob trying to get Aunt Addie inside. Go ahead, Clara. I think I see what Lawrence is driving at.”
“But why me? Why not May?”
“Because you’re just about the same size and weight as Babs. Come on, let’s get it over with.”
“This isn’t one of your crazy jokes? You’re not going to slam the door and leave me out there?”
“Clara, I think we’re all agreed that the time for crazy jokes is past.”
Squire sounded exhausted and probably was. “Please do as Lawrence says. I’m sure you’re as anxious as the rest of us to clear Babs of any possible suspicion, not that we...”
He shook his head and sighed. Clara went out to the door, not at all happy, and the rest trooped behind her.
“Madoc, you stand right here beside me. I’ve known this lot too long.” Clara gritted her teeth and took hold of the great iron handle.
“Well, come on, Clara, open it,” May cried impatiently.
“I can’t. It won’t budge.”
Clara put her shoulder against the door and shoved with all her might. The shoulder seam of the flapper dress she was still wearing split from the strain, but the door held.
“Can’t do it, eh?” said Lawrence. “Val, you’re young and strong. You try.”
Val took Clara’s place with no better luck.
“Show her how, Roy,” said Lawrence.
“It does open out and not in, right? I mean, they’re not pushing when they ought to be pulling?”
“Oh, no. The door opens outward in order to display the very handsome wrought iron hinges to better advantage. Open it, please.”
Roy flexed his muscles, turned the knob, and pushed. He pushed harder. Sweat stood out on his forehead. At last he managed to push the door open a crack. At once the wind snatched the massive oaken slab, flapped it open and slammed it back, almost taking his arm off before he could get it out of the way.
“There, see.” Lawrence had reason to be proud of his demonstration. “Now if you’ll kindly tell me how Babs could have got that door open with a seventy-mile gale blowing against it and managed to hold it with one hand long enough to shove Aunt Addie out with the other, I’ll eat my Sunday boots. I rest my case.”
“Clara,” said Babs with a choke in her voice, “do you mind if I kiss your husband?”
“God, I’d kiss him, too, if I dared.” Donald heaved a mighty sigh of relief. “Satisfied now, Rhys?”
“Oh, yes. Thank you very much.”
“I’ll bet I could open it,” said May.
“The hell you could,” her husband retorted. “What if the wind dragged you out there and slammed the door shut and we couldn’t get to you fast enough? Christ, haven’t we got enough corpses around this house already?”
“Then how could Cyril do it?”
“Because Cyril’s a man, for one thing, and men are stronger than women. He also weighs maybe fifty pounds more than you do. He was high on some damn thing or other and people in that state do things they could never do when they were in their right minds. Remember how he hung by his hands and did a back flip over the banisters when we were coming down the stairs? Ever known him to pull a stunt like that before?”
“He used to do it when we were kids.”
“How many years ago was that?” said Lawrence.
“All right, Lawrence, I get your point. You’d rather hang my brother than my sister-in-law.”
“May, I don’t want to hang anybody, that’s just the point. We can all testify Cyril wasn’t in his right mind. Rhys says he’d been taking drugs. If he took them knowingly, I suppose he’s in for it; but if he didn’t, then I’m sure we can do something for him. It could have been an accident, a mistake. It could have been vindictiveness on the part of some of the staff. I’m not ruling that out even if Herb and you are. Cyril could make himself damned obnoxious when he had a skinful and thought he was being funny. The gist of it is, I can probably do something for Cyril. I couldn’t do a damn thing for Babs. I’m saying this in front of Rhys because he couldn’t possibly be stupid enough to draw the wrong conclusion on the strength of the evidence. Don’t ask me why Cyril shoved Aunt Addie out the door. I assume it was because of the fire ship and the fact that she’d given him a scolding. What he did was childish and unspeakably rude, but it wouldn’t have been dangerous under ordinary circumstances.”
“If it were, Don and I would have been dead long ago,” said Clara. “Cyril was always doing it to us when we were little. Remember, Don? He’d say, ‘This is my house and I can put you out any time I want to.’ And May would get furious and tell him to shut up.”
“I’m glad you remembered that, Clara,” said Squire. “As you see, Inspector Rhys, my daughter has just given you proof that I’d never concealed his status as titular head of the house from Cyril, even when he was a boy. His rage against me this afternoon could not have had any rational basis. You may be all wrong about that drug business, Rhys. You’re no doctor. Cyril may have had a brainstorm of some kind and thought he was a boy again. Though why he turned on his own father I can’t imagine.”
The reigning monarch had been reduced to a fretful old man. “I always thought we got on well enough.”
“Anyway, Cyril always let us in again,” Donald said loyally. “He didn’t mean anything by shutting us out. He just wanted to show who was boss.”
“Then if I hadn’t come along and made a scene, he’d probably have let Aunt Addie back in.” Babs wrung her hands. “All I did was get his back up by trying to make him do what he’d meant to do anyway. So—so I suppose I killed her, after all.”
“Nonsense,” May bellowed. “You did no such thing. Anybody would have done what you did. Nobody could hold you responsible. Could they, Lawrence?”
“Positively not. You can’t try a case on the basis of what might have been. Rhys will bear me out on that, I trust.”
“Besides,” said Roy, who must still have hopes, “if Cyril was on speed as Rhys says, he’d forgotten she was there, like as not. At least your aunt would have stood some kind of chance if he’d opened the door when you told him to.”
“Roy’s right, Mama,” Val chimed in. “Anyway, the person really responsible is the one who slipped Uncle Cyril the speed, if you ask me.”
Babs was still wringing those hands of hers, capable hands that must be used to dealing effectively with any problem that came their way. “You’re sweet to try to make me feel better, darlings, but I suppose I’ll always feel I should have handled the situation more intelligently. As to how Cyril might have got hold of reducing pills, I can’t imagine. One would think that was the last thing on earth he’d bother with. May, can you think of anything?”
Interesting that Babs asked May. Was she trying to divert attention from Val, who might very well have done a little experimenting with pill-popping? Did Babs know or suspect what had been going on in the billiard room?
Franny and Winny were trying ever so hard not to look at each other, Rhys noted. He’d tackle that pair when he could get them alone. They’d be too smart or too scared to give a coherent answer in front of the assembled clan.
May couldn’t think of anything, or claimed she couldn’t. Either she was a remarkably obtuse mother or an overprotective one. Rhys felt like telling her to smarten up. Instead he went doggedly on with his questions.
> “If Cyril had no friendly contact with any of the servants and hadn’t been off the place in months, that means one of yourselves is the likeliest person to have got the drug for him. You’re quite sure nobody has anything further to tell me? He hasn’t asked any of you to fill a prescription or pick up a package for him, for instance? You could have done it in all innocence, you know.”
Squire appointed himself spokesman for that one. “The suggestion that Cyril hasn’t been off the place for months may be open to question, Inspector. We’re a busy family and we don’t sit in each other’s pockets all the time. Clara and Lawrence only come for weekends and holidays as a rule, Donald and Babs can’t be with us as often as we’d like, and Val and the boys are still at school. Herbert, May, and I all have reason to leave the place from time to time. May and Clara went on a Christmas shopping spree to Montreal a week ago, for instance. I was in Fredericton on business for the estate last Tuesday and Wednesday. Herbert drove down to pick up the boys day before yesterday. This is typical of our behavior pattern. Cyril might easily have decided to drive into Charlo or somewhere without bothering to mention it. As long as he was back in time for dinner, it’s unlikely anybody would notice. As to how he might have obtained drugs on any such excursion, I expect you could answer better than I. From what one reads in the papers, it would appear these things are readily available.”
“One would have to know where to look, however,” said Rhys. “A respectably dressed, middle-aged man asking at random where he might purchase narcotics would be apt to get taken for an underground government agent doing a remarkably stupid job of investigation.”
“Why the hell should Cyril start looking for dope anyway?” Herbert broke in. “Cyril’s not a drug addict, he’s a soak. Don’t glare at me, Squire. We all know Cy drinks from the time he gets up in the morning till he keels over for the night. We also know there’s not a damn thing we can do to stop him, so we don’t try. What the hell, the rest of us like our cup o’ tea, too, though we don’t overdo it as he does. Anyway, Rhys, what I’m getting at is that Cyril likes booze and he can always find plenty of it right here at Graylings. Why should he risk his neck and freeze his ass off humping over the road looking for something to get high on when he’s high as a kite already? Answer me that one, will you?”