Singing in the Shrouds ra-20

by Ngaio Marsh

  “All the same,” she murmured, “I can’t help rather wishing it was the G.B. who was taking me out.”

  “The G.B.?”

  “My dear, the Gorgeous Brute. Glamorous Broderick, if you like. I dropped hints like thunderbolts but no luck, alas.”

  “Never mind,” Brigid said, “you’ll have a terrific success, anyway. I promise you.”

  She ran off to effect her own change. It was when she fastened one of Tim Makepiece’s red roses in her dress that it suddenly occurred to Brigid she hadn’t thought of her troubles for at least six hours. After all, it was rather fun to be dining out in a foreign city on a strange island with a pleasant young man.

  It all turned out superbly, an enchanted evening suspended like a dream between the strange intervals of a sea voyage. The streets they drove through and the food they ate, the music they danced to, the flowers, the extremely romantic lighting and the exotic people were all, Brigid told Tim, “out of this world.” They sat at their table on the edge of the dance floor, talked very fast about the things that interested them, and were delighted to find how much they liked each other.

  At half-past nine Mrs. Dillington-Blick arrived with the captain and Aubyn Dale. She really was, as Brigid pointed out to Tim, sensational. Everybody looked at her. A kind of religious gravity impregnated the deportment of the head waiter. Opulence and observance enveloped her like an expensive scent. She was terrific.

  “I admire her,” Brigid said, “enormously. Don’t you?”

  Brigid’s chin rested in the palm of her hand. Her forearm, much less opulent than Mrs. Dillington-Blick’s, shone in the candlelight and her eyes were bright.

  Tim said, “She’s the most suffocatingly feminine job I’ve ever seen, I think. An all-time low in inhibitions and an all-time high in what it takes. If, of course, that happens to be your line of country. It’s not mine.”

  Brigid found this answer satisfactory. “I like her,” she said. “She’s warm and uncomplicated.”

  “She’s all of that. Hullo! Look who’s here!”

  Alleyn came in with Father Jourdain. They were shown to a table at some distance from Tim’s and Brigid’s.

  “ ‘Distinguished visitors’!” Brigid said, gaily waving to them.

  “They are rather grand-looking, aren’t they? I must say I like Broderick. Nice chap, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do,” Brigid said emphatically. “What about Father Jourdain?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Interesting face; not typically clerical.”

  “Is there a typically clerical face or are you thinking of comic curates at the Players Theatre Club?”

  “No,” said Tim slowly. “I’m not. But look at the mouth and the eyes. He’s a celibate, isn’t he? I bet it’s been a bit of a hurdle.”

  “Suppose,” Brigid said, “you wanted advice very badly and had to go to one of those two. Which would it be?”

  “Oh, Broderick. Every time. Do you by any chance want advice?”

  “No.”

  “If you did, I’d take it very kindly if you came to me.”

  “Thank you,” said Brigid. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

  “Good. Let’s trip a measure.”

  “Nice young couple,” said Father Jourdain as they danced past him and he added, “I do hope you’re right in what you say.”

  “About—?”

  “About alibis.”

  The band crashed and was silent. The floor cleared and two spotlights introduced a pair of tango dancers, very fierce, like game birds. They strutted and stalked, clattered their castanets, and frowned ineffably at each other. “What an angry woo,” Tim said.

  When they had finished they moved among the tables followed by their spotlight.

  “Oh, no!” Father Jourdain exclaimed. “Not another doll!”

  It was an enormous and extraordinarily realistic one, carried by the woman dancer. Evidently it was for sale. She flashed brilliant smiles and proudly showed it off, while her escort stood moodily by. “Señores y señoras,” announced a voice over the loud-speaker and added, they thought, something about having the honour to present “La Esmeralda,” which was evidently the name of the doll.

  “Curious!” Alleyn remarked.

  “What?”

  “It’s dressed exactly like Mrs. D-B.”

  And so it was — in a flounced black lace dress and a mantilla. It even had a green necklace and earrings and lace gloves, and its fingers were clamped round the handle of an open fan. It was a woman-doll with a bold, handsome face and a flashing smile like the dancer’s. It looked terrifyingly expensive. Alleyn watched with some amusement as it approached the table where Mrs. Dillington-Blick sat with the captain and Aubyn Dale.

  The dancers had of course noticed the resemblance and so had the headwaiter. They all smiled and ejaculated and admired as the doll waddled beguilingly towards Mrs. Dillington-Blick.

  “Poor old Bannerman,” Alleyn said, “he’s sunk, I fear. Unless Dale—”

  But Aubyn Dale extended his hands in his well-known gesture, and with a smile of rueful frankness was obviously saying it was no good them looking at him, while the captain, ruby-faced, stared in front of him with an expression of acute unconcern. Mrs. Dillington-Blick shook her head and beamed and shook it again. The dancers bowed, smiled and moved on, approaching the next table. The woman stooped and with a kind of savage gaiety induced the doll to walk. “Ma-ma!” squeaked the doll. “Ma-ma!”

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the loud-speaker repeated and continued, this time in English, “we have the honour to present Mees Esmeralda, Queen of Las Palmas.”

  From somewhere in the shadows at the back of the room a napkin fluttered. The woman snatched up the doll and swept between the tables, followed by her escort. The spotlight settled on them. Heads were turned. One or two people stood up. It was impossible to see the person at the distant table. After a short delay the dancer returned, holding the doll aloft.

  “She hasn’t sold it,” Father Jourdain remarked.

  “On the contrary,” Alleyn rejoined, “I think she has. Look.”

  The doll was borne in triumph to the captain’s table and with a magnificent curtsey presented to Mrs. Dillington-Blick.

  At the other side of the room Tim said, “Look at that, now!”

  “What a triumph!” Brigid exclaimed delightedly.

  “Who’s the poor fish, do you suppose?”

  “I can’t see. It’ll be some superb grandee with flashing eyes and a crimson cummerbund. What fun for Mrs. Dillington-Blick.”

  The dancers were making gestures in the direction of their customer. Mrs. Dillington-Blick, laughing and triumphant holding the doll, strained round to see. The spotlight probed into the distant corner. Somebody stood up.

  “Oh, look!” cried Brigid.

  “Well, blow me down flat!” said Tim.

  “How very surprising,” observed Father Jourdain, “it’s Mr. McAngus!”

  “He has made his reciprocal gesture,” said Alleyn.

  The Cape Farewell sailed at two in the morning and the passengers were all to be aboard by half-past one. Alleyn and Father Jourdain had returned at midnight and Alleyn had gone to his cabin to have another look at his mail. It included a detailed report from the Yard of the attack that had been made upon Miss Bijou Browne on January fifth and a letter from his senior saying nothing had developed that suggested alteration in Alleyn’s plan of action. Alleyn had telephoned the Yard from police headquarters in Las Palmas and had spoken to Inspector Fox. Following Alleyn’s radiogram of the previous night, the Yard had at once tackled the passengers’ alibis. Father Jourdain was, Fox said, as good as gold. Mr. Merryman’s cinema had in fact shown The Lodger on the night in question as the first half of a double bill. The name of Aubyn Dale’s sweetie so far eluded the Yard, but Fox hoped to get it before long and would, he said, dream up some cock-and-bull story that might give him an excuse to question her about the night of the fifteenth. The rest of Dale’s stat
ement had been proved. Fox had got in touch with Mr. Cuddy’s lodge and had told them the police were making enquiries about a valuable watch. From information received they believe it had been stolen from Mr. Cuddy near the lodge premises on the night of the fifteenth. A record of attendances showed that Mr. Cuddy had signed in but the secretary remembered that he left very early, feeling unwell. Apart from Mr. McAngus having perforated his appendix four days after the date in question, Fox dryly continued, it would be impossible to check his litter of disjointed reminiscence. They would, however, poke about and see if anything cropped up. An enquiry at Dr. Makepiece’s hospital gave conclusive evidence that he had been on duty there until midnight.

  Captain Bannerman, it appeared, had certainly been in Liverpool on the night of the fifteenth and a routine check completely cleared the other officers. In any case it was presumed that the ship’s complement didn’t go aboard clutching passengers’ embarkation notices.

  The missing portion of the embarkation notice had not been found.

  A number of psychiatric authorities had been consulted and all agreed that the ten-day interval would probably be maintained and that the fourteenth of February, therefore, might be anticipated as a deadline. One of them added, however, that the subject’s homicidal urge might be exacerbated by an untoward event. Which meant, Inspector Fox supposed dryly, that he might cut up for trouble before the fourteenth, if a bit of what he fancied turned up in the meantime and did the trick.

  Fox concluded the conversation by enquiring about the weather and on being told it was semi-tropical remarked that some people had all the luck. Alleyn had rejoined that if Fox considered a long voyage with a homicidal maniac (identity unknown and boning up for trouble) and at least two eminently suitable victims was a bit of luck, he’d be glad to swap jobs with him. On this note they rang off.

  Alleyn had also received a cable from his wife which said,

  LODGING PETITION FOR DESERTION DO YOU WANT ANYTHING SENT ANYWHERE LOVE DARLING TROY.

  He put his papers away and went down to the well-deck. It was now twenty minutes past midnight but none of the passengers had gone to bed. The Cuddys were in the lounge telling Dennis, with whom they were on informal terms, about their adventures ashore. Mr. Merryman reclined in a deck-chair with his arms folded and his hat over his nose. Mr. McAngus and Father Jourdain leaned on the taffrail and stared down at the wharf below. The after-hatch was open and the winch that served it still in operation. The night was oppressively warm.

  Alleyn strolled along the deck and looked down into the after-hatch, yawning black, and at the dramatically lit figures that worked it. The. rattle of the winch, the occasional voices and the pulse of the engines made a not unattractive accompaniment to the gigantic fishing operation. He had watched and listened for some minutes before he became aware of another and most unexpected sound. Quite close at hand was someone singing in Latin; an austere, strangely measured and sexless chant:

  “Procul recedant somnia

  Et noctium phantasmata

  Hostemque nostrum comprime

  Ne polluantur corpora.”

  Alleyn moved across the after end of the deck. In the little verandah, just visible in reflected light, sat Miss Abbott, singing. She stopped at once when she saw him. She had under her hands what appeared to be many sheets of paper; perhaps an immensely long letter.

  “That was lovely,” Alleyn said, “I wish you hadn’t stopped. It was extraordinarily — what? — tranquil?”

  She said, more it seemed to herself than to him, “Yes. Tranquil and devout. It’s music designed against devils.”

  “What were you singing?”

  She roused herself suddenly and became defensive. It seemed incredible that her speaking voice could be so harsh.

  “A Vatican plainsong,” she said.

  “What a fool I was to blunder in and stop you. Would it be — seventh century?”

  “Six-fifty-five. Printed from manuscript in the Liber Gradualis, eighteen-eighty-three,” she barked and got up.

  Alleyn said, “Don’t move. I’ll take myself off.”

  “I’m going anyway.” She walked straight past him. Her eyes were dark with excitement. She strode along the deck to the lighted area where the others were congregated, sat in a deck-chair a little apart from them and began to read her letter.

  After a minute or two Alleyn also returned and joined Mr. McAngus. “That was a charming gesture of yours this evening,” he said.

  Mr. McAngus made a little tittering sound, “I was so lucky!” he said. “Such a happy coincidence, wasn’t it? And the resemblance, you know, is complete. I promised I’d find something and there it was. So very appropriate, I felt.” He hesitated for a moment and added rather wistfully. “I was invited to join their party, but of course I thought better to decline. She seemed quite delighted. At the doll, I mean. The doll delighted her.”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “Yes,” Mr. McAngus said. “Yes.” His voice had trailed away into a murmur. He was no longer aware of Alleyn but looked past him and down towards the wharf.

  It was now twenty past one. A taxi had come along the wharf. Out of it got Brigid Carmichael and Tim Makepiece, talking busily and obviously on the best possible terms with each other and the world at large. They came up the gangway smiling all over their faces. “Oh!” Brigid exclaimed to Alleyn. “Isn’t Las Palmas heaven? We have had such fun.”

  But it was not at Brigid that Mr. McAngus stared so fixedly. An open car had followed the taxi and in it were Mrs. Dillington-Blick, the captain, and Aubyn Dale. They too were gay but with a more ponderable gaiety than Tim’s and Brigid’s. The men’s faces were darkish and their voices heavy. Mrs. Dillington-Blick still looked marvellous. Her smile, if not exactly irrepressible, was full of meaning, and if her eyes no longer actually sparkled they were still extremely expressive and the tiny pockets underneath them scarcely noticeable. The men helped her up the gangway. The captain went first. He carried the doll and held Mrs. Dillington-Blick’s elbow while Aubyn Dale put his hands on her waist and made a great business of assisting her from the rear. There were jokes and a lot of suppressed laughter.

  When they arrived on deck the captain went up to the bridge and Mrs. Dillington-Blick held court. Mr. McAngus was made much of, Father Jourdain appealed to, and Alleyn given a great many sidelong glances. The doll was exhibited and the Cuddys came out to see it. Mrs. Cuddy said she supposed the dolls were produced with sweated labour, but Mr. Cuddy stared at Mrs. Dillington-Blick and said, with an odd inflection, that there were some things that couldn’t be copied. Alleyn was made to walk with the doll and Mrs. Dillington-Blick went behind, imitating its action, jerking her head and squeaking, “Ma-ma!”

  Miss Abbott put down her letter and stared at Mrs. Dillington-Blick with a kind of hungry amazement.

  “Mr. Merryman!” cried Mrs. Dillington-Blick. “Wake up! Let me introduce my twin sister Donna Esmeralda.”

  Mr. Merryman removed his hat, gazed at the doll with distaste and then at its owner.

  “The resemblance,” he said, “is too striking to arouse any emotion but one of profound misgiving.”

  “Ma-ma!” squeaked Mrs. Dillington-Blick.

  Dennis trotted out on deck, plumply smiling, and approached her. “A night-lettergram for you, Mrs. Dillington-Blick. It came after you’d gone ashore. I’ve been looking out for you. Oh, mercy!” he added, eyeing the doll. “Isn’t she twee!”

  Mr. Merryman contemplated Dennis with something like horror and replaced his hat over his nose.

  Mrs. Dillington-Blick gave a sharp ejaculation and fluttered her open night-lettergram.

  “My dears!” she shouted. “You’ll never credit this! How too frightful and murky! My dears!”

  “Darling!” Aubyn Dale exclaimed. “What?”

  “It’s from a man, a friend of mine. You’ll never believe it. Listen!

  “SENT MASSES OF HYACINTHS TO SHIP BUT SHOP INFORMS ME YOUNG FEMALE TAKING THEM LAT
EST VICTIM FLOWER MURDERER STOP CARD RETURNED BY POLICE STOP WHAT A THING STOP HAVE LOVELY TRIP TONY.”

  Her fellow passengers were so excited by Mrs. Dillington-Blick’s news that they scarcely noticed their ship’s sailing. Cape Farewell separated herself from Las Palmas with an almost imperceptible gesture and moved away into the dark, taking up the rhythm of her voyage, while Mrs. Dillington-Blick held the stage.

  They all gathered round her and Mr. Cuddy managed to get close enough to look sideways at the night-lettergram. Mr. Merryman, with an affectation of stretching his legs, strolled nearer, his head thrown back at an angle that enabled him to stare superciliously from under his hat brim at Mrs. Dillington-Blick. Even Miss Abbott leaned forward in her chair, grasping her crumpled letter, her large hands dangling between her knees. Captain Bannerman, who had come down from the bridge, looked much too knowing for Alleyn’s peace of mind, and repeatedly attempted to catch his eye. Alleyn avoided him, plunged into the melee and was himself loud in ejaculation and comment. There was much speculation as to where and when the girl who brought the flowers could have been murdered. Out of the general conversation Mrs. Cuddy’s voice rose shrilly, “And it was hyacinths again, too. Fancy! What a coincidence!”

  “My dear madam,” Dr. Makepiece testily pointed out, “the flowers are in season. No doubt the shops are full of them. There is no esoteric significance in the circumstance.”

  “Mr. Cuddy never fancied them,” said Mrs. Cuddy. “Did you, dear?”

  Mr. Merryman raised his hands in a gesture of despair, turned his back on her and ran slap into Mr. McAngus. There was a clash of spectacles and a loud oath from Mr. Merryman. The two gentlemen began to behave like simultaneous comedians. They stooped, crashed heads, cried out in anguish and rose clutching each other’s spectacles, hats. The hyacinth Mr. McAngus had been wearing had changed hands.