Thrones, Dominations

by Dorothy L. Sayers

  My attempts to lead the conversation into any detail about the actual day of the murder have so far been unsuccessful, and I have been careful not to press enquiries too far, in case she becomes suspicious of me.

  I hope you will not think it excessive of me to have had a dinner of roast beef today, as it was table d’hôte at a special price.

  I will tender a further report as soon as possible.

  Yours faithfully,

  J.L. Mango

  Report from Miss Juliet Mango to Lord Peter Wimsey:

  Thursday 19th March

  I hasten to make a report to Your Lordship as I have discovered something of GREAT SIGNIFICANCE. Rose came for a fitting session this morning, and in the course of much conversation she revealed to me that IT WAS NOT SHE who provided a servant for Mrs Harwell on the evening of her death!!

  It seems that what happened is this. Thursday evening is Rose’s regular day for walking out with Ron, and that particular Thursday they had most eagerly anticipated, because Ron’s parents were going to a regimental reunion party at the British Legion, and so Ron’s house would be empty. When Mrs Harwell arrived unexpected and asked for Rose’s services, Rose was in a difficulty. She could not tell Mrs Chanter that she was unwilling to spend the evening at Rose Cottage, because she did not want to confess to the reason. So she recruited a young friend to do the evening job for her.

  She told me that she had been in mortal terror when questioned by Lord Peter that she would have the truth winkled out of her with her mother listening, and would be in terrible trouble. She thinks that Lord Peter knew she was lying, because she could not ‘remember’ what in fact she had never seen, the contents of the food hamper.

  However, when Mrs Harwell expected Rose to return in the evening, a young girl called Mary Moles in fact turned up. Mary has just left school, and is only fourteen. I got the impression that Mary has rather a ‘pash’ on Rose, and would do anything for her. Rose persuaded her to take her place at Rose Cottage, so that the assignation with Ron could take place as planned. Rose understands from Mary that Mrs Harwell asked her to set the table, and then sent her on an errand which the girl could not accomplish. I cannot think of a way to interview Mary without ‘blowing my cover’ as a theatrical costumier. Will telephone this evening for further instructions.

  Yours faithfully,

  J.L. Mango

  15

  For in what stupid age or nation

  Was marriage ever out of fashion?

  SAMUEL BUTLER

  ‘Harriet, something has happened.’ Peter had entered the library in which Harriet was reading with scholarly application an account of the procedures of post-mortem examination of cadavers.

  She heard in Peter’s voice a note that made her at once close the notebook in which she was writing, get up from the table, and come towards him.

  ‘Bunter has handed in his resignation.’

  ‘Oh, Peter, no! Whyever? It hasn’t anything to do with me, has it?’

  ‘Why do you think that?’ he asked her.

  ‘Well, it was rather obvious he might find things very difficult when the master took a wife. Helen even suggested I should get him sacked – did I tell you? But I thought he and I had come to an understanding. I hate the thought that—’

  ‘Well, it is your doing, but not in the way you think. It is our happiness that has been the cause. Bunter wants to get married himself.’

  ‘Oh, but that’s good news! Wonderful!’ said Harriet.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Peter. ‘Of course it is. Beastly selfish of me not to dance for joy; but God, Harriet, it will be a wrench! Worse than that; he was my insurance cover, if you like, against making your life a misery if my nerves went to pieces again. I knew Bunter would always be ready to take the brunt of it, and you could just turn your back till it blew over. Now I don’t know . . .’

  ‘I would be ready to take the brunt of it,’ said Harriet. ‘For better or worse, Peter, in sickness or in health; don’t you remember?’

  ‘I remember perfectly; but I would rather you didn’t have too much of the worse and the sickness to cope with.’

  ‘But, Peter, does Bunter have to leave you if he marries? Is being a gentleman’s gentleman a kind of celibate priesthood? Surely there are married servants – or does he want to go?’

  ‘No, he doesn’t. He does me the honour of being as shattered at the thought as I am. But I don’t see what to do, all the same. Bunter’s job does entail being under the same roof as me.’

  ‘What usually happens when a servant marries?’ asked Harriet.

  ‘Well, they usually marry another servant. One either dispenses with their services, and off they go to a house which is looking for a married couple – cook, gardener or similar; or else one finds a job for the intended oneself, and keeps the twosome on.’

  ‘Can’t we do that?’

  ‘Bunter is not proposing to marry a servant. The young woman is a photographer, I gather. It would be unimaginable to have her living here as a sort of permanent house guest.’

  ‘Oho,’ said Harriet. ‘I think I have met her. What does she say herself?’

  ‘Bunter hasn’t actually asked her yet. Asked her to marry him, I mean. He broke the news to me first.’

  ‘Peter, that’s outrageous!’

  ‘Is it? Perhaps it is. The truth is, Harriet, I am so taken aback I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘You are being rather Victorian about it, my lord,’ said Harriet. ‘Let’s wait and see what answer Bunter gets, and meanwhile I’ll see if we can think of a solution.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Would you mind if I played for a bit?’ He had moved across to the piano, and lifted the lid.

  ‘Music hath charms?’

  ‘And I am excessively conscious of having a savage breast tonight.’

  ‘What passion cannot music raise and quell? Play on.’

  ‘Bunter paid us a dashed queer compliment tonight,’ said Peter, with a catch in his voice. ‘He said he had not previously supposed it possible to match physical passion with friendship.’ And before Harriet could answer he sat at the keyboard and plunged into an intricate and convoluted fugue.

  Report from Miss Juliet Mango to Lord Peter Wimsey:

  Thursday 19th March

  A very interesting development has taken place. Before I had made the telephone call I intended to make to Your Lordship for further instructions, Rose Chanter came to see me, bringing Mary Moles with her. The two girls had decided to consult me as to what they should do, as a person who knew more about the world than they did, and one who would not be likely to tell Mrs Chanter, or cause her to be told, of Rose’s secret assignation. They are both, as you can imagine, my lord, deeply agitated by the scrape they have got themselves into, and Mary would best be described as petrified. She has realised, of course, that she was the last person to have seen Mrs Harwell alive, and she is afraid of being found out, and incriminated by her deception and silence. On the other hand, she is clearly very influenced by Rose, to whom she had sworn secrecy, and Rose is holding her to her promise.

  This is Mary’s account of what happened on the fatal evening. She went to Rose Cottage, and introduced herself to Mrs Harwell; she was very nervous, and half expecting to be sent away. She told Mrs Harwell that she had come to do what Rose would have been asked to do, as Rose was unwell. Mrs Harwell seemed very agitated. She wanted the table set in a great hurry, although it was only five o’clock. She told Mary to set the table, while she herself unpacked a hamper.

  Then Mrs Harwell was cross with Mary because she did not set the table properly. Mrs Harwell called her a nincompoop. I understand that Mary had never seen a table laid so elaborately, did not know how to fold napkins, or in which arrangement to put out knives and forks, and such like. When Mrs Harwell saw that she genuinely did not know what was required, and that she was upset, she told the girl not to mind, and showed her exactly how the job should be done, and they did it together. It looked lovely,
Mary said.

  But then the need for hurry was made clear. Mrs Harwell gave Mary a note, and her train fare, and asked her to take it at once to an address in London. She said she had not been able to get in touch because of the phones. She said she had been trying all afternoon, but if Mary went at once and caught the five thirty train she would be in time. Mary was very alarmed. She could not go to London without being later in returning to her home than her mother would have expected; her mother supposed she was having tea with a friend. And the whole task was beyond her; she had never been to London in her life, except once when an uncle took her to the zoo for her sixth birthday, and she had not the least idea how to find a London address.

  On the other hand she was afraid of making Mrs Harwell angry with her again, so she took the note, and left the bungalow, and went off to find Rose, to give her the note and the fare, and ask her to take it to London.

  It now appears that Rose had not confided fully even in Mary, because Mary did not know that Rose would be at Ronald’s house, but trailed round the village looking everywhere she could think of. When at last she intercepted Rose and Ron coming home from an evening of love, it was nearly eight o’clock; much too late to deliver a supper invitation. Rose told Mary to go home. What about the note? Mary asked. Just chuck it, get rid of it, Rose said.

  ‘What do I say when Mrs Harwell wants to know what happened to it?’ Mary asked. Rose said that she wouldn’t find out for several days, and she would never be sure if the person who said they hadn’t got it really hadn’t got it, or was just saying that. ‘She wouldn’t be the first person to be stood up for a supper date,’ Rose had said. ‘You could always say you lost it, so lose it now; just throw it away.’

  BUT MARY KEPT IT AND HID IT INSTEAD. The train fare she had been given was on her conscience too, until she put it into a Salvation Army collection box.

  She was very alarmed by her evening’s experiences, my lord. I would say she was an exceptionally silly woman, if I didn’t have to bear in mind that she is a very young girl. As I have reason to know, my lord, it is very easy for a young girl to get herself into trouble with the authorities.

  Well, the problem that they have now, my lord, that they were putting to me for my advice was this. What should they do with the note? Rose was for destroying it; but Mary is very frightened of doing anything which, should it ever come to light, would get her into worse trouble. The murder has turned what was a mild scrape for both of them into a very serious matter. When you questioned Rose closely about the hamper and the table she realised only too well what a deep pit she had dug for herself, and that she might have got Mary into deep water too; but she is still very unwilling to make a clean breast of it all round. I have the impression, my lord, that she is more afraid of her parents than of the police.

  However, it occurred to me to suggest that if they entrusted the note to you, you might find a way of making sure that the evidence was in the hands of the police, without anybody in Hampton ever needing to know a thing about it. I admitted to some slight acquaintance with you, my lord, and suggested that if the note were given to me, I could undertake to deliver it safely to you. The two girls have gone away to think about it.

  I shall stay here another day to see what transpires.

  Yours faithfully,

  J.L. Mango

  ‘It is a blessing beyond price,’ said Lord Peter Wimsey, ‘to have intelligent servants.’

  Lady Peter Wimsey presents her compliments to Miss Fanshaw, and would be grateful if she could call at Audley Square at her earliest convenience.

  ‘I ought to tell you at once,’ said Miss Fanshaw, turning to meet Harriet as she entered the drawing-room, ‘that I have refused Mervyn’s proposal.’

  ‘It is in no way any business of mine,’ said Harriet, slowly. ‘And you are perfectly at liberty to tell me to mind my own business.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind telling you why,’ said Miss Fanshaw. ‘I wouldn’t have come if I was going to be shy about it. I really hadn’t realised what a wrench it was going to be for him – how genuinely hurtful – to give up Lord Peter. I mean, I know it’s a blessing to be counted to have a decent master and a good secure job; I hadn’t expected it to be an affair of the heart, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘I do see, exactly. Peter is taking it badly too; they are both walking round the house bleeding invisibly like wounded ghosts.’

  ‘Well, they can stop doing that,’ said Miss Fanshaw. ‘I have changed my mind. Mervyn can stay just where he is.’

  ‘I don’t know that that quite gets things back the way they were,’ said Harriet. ‘Apart from sounding as though it would be very painful for both of you.’

  ‘I’ve been around a bit,’ said Miss Fanshaw. ‘I don’t think it is a good idea for someone to come to a marriage having made enormous sacrifices. It ups the ante too much. Instead of merely needing to make someone happy, one would have to make them so happy as to make up for the loss. And somehow a loss and a gain tend to stand in separate columns, and one doesn’t cancel the other.’

  ‘How very sensible of you,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Do you really think so? My mother says it is hard-hearted of me. But I can’t bear to have Mervyn do something for me for which I would have to be eternally grateful. I don’t think I’m a grateful sort of person really.’

  ‘Neither am I!’ said Harriet. ‘Look, I don’t know about hard-heartedness; I was proposing we might try a little female hard-headedness about this. Would you slip your coat on again, and come with me?’

  Harriet led her guest down to the basement floor of the house. A corridor from the foot of the stairs led between a door into the area at the front of the house, and a garden door at the back. Left and right, green baize doors separated the servants’ quarters, and the kitchens and storerooms. The glazed garden door opened to a brick path down the garden, past the dolphin and cupid statuary in the empty basin of the ornamental fountain. In the absence of water it was the dolphin that looked least at home; when the fountain had been in working order the cupid must have been uncomfortably wet. As in most London gardens there was a small rectangle of grass, surrounded by flower borders. A large old apple tree shaded the far end, and beyond was the mews. Down the damp path, and under the dripping apple branches the two women made for a door in this building. Harriet produced a key, and they went in. They were in a large dusty-floored room, with the Daimler parked at one end, and garage double doors behind it. Shelves and a workbench held the household’s hoard of tools and gardening equipment; cans of oil and a spare tyre stood against the wall. But the car and its clobber occupied barely a third of the space. The remaining area was still divided into stalls with mangers on the walls, and a tack-room at the other end. Beside the tack-room, an open-tread wooden staircase led to an upper floor. The two women climbed upstairs.

  After the gloom of the nearly windowless space below, the upper room was bright. Again it was the full length and width of the building, but it had windows down both sides. On one side these windows gave onto the branches of the apple tree, which in its current leafless state permitted the back of the main house to be seen. On the other side the windows looked into the little mews street, cobbled and picturesquely neat, that ran behind the grand houses all along the street. When these houses were built the row of mews buildings behind them was necessary; people kept horses and carriages. Horses needed stables and grooms. Now the little street was lined with garages at street level, and flats above, or little bijou cottages with large windows where the stable and carriage doors had been. Opposite, a proud owner had planted window-boxes with trailing ivy.

  Miss Fanshaw, with her hands thrust in the pockets of her coat, walked round the room, and looked out of each window in turn. At one end of the room a pretty little Victorian fireplace was still in position, with its grate filled up with sticks by a team of hopeful jackdaws, and then abandoned to time and the falls of soot. The wide old floorboards were thick with dust, in which the two women
’s footprints were discernible. Another, still steeper wooden stair led up again, and Harriet led the way.

  Right at the top was a low run of attics, each with a little dormer window facing the street. An iron bedstead rusting in one of them indicated that here the grooms had slept. Without fires, it seemed, and by candlelight. But the windows were those pretty Georgian sashes with squared panes and narrow dividers. The corridor that linked the attic rooms was lit by dirty skylights. No outlook here into the garden. Harriet and the still silent Miss Fanshaw descended to the first floor again.

  Miss Fanshaw looked quizzically at Harriet. ‘One could divide off the garage space, and make a proper front door into the mews, with its own address,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Yes; I suppose such a thing could be done,’ said Miss Fanshaw, non-committally.

  Harriet plunged in. ‘Lord Peter could afford to do all this up very nicely,’ she said. ‘I think one might get a good three-bedroomed cottage out of it, with a pleasant living-room here, and a kitchen and dining-room downstairs. One could run a bell out here from the house, and Bunter would be only a step away. Don’t you think?’