The Woman Died Thrice

by Evelyn James

  “I asked if the gentleman was dismissed also. Mrs Farthingdale said that was more problematic, seeing as he was the schoolmaster and not so easy to replace as one of the teachers.”

  “Ah!” Clara said, understanding at once. “And Mrs Farthingdale was the wife of the schoolmaster. Yes, I see why she would hate Mrs Hunt so. In that case, why did she respond to the letter?”

  “I doubt the woman knows herself,” Annie shrugged. “Perhaps it was just so she could gloat at seeing Mrs Hunt fallen, or perhaps she really wanted to hear her apology. Whichever it might be, the problem I see with her being our murderer is the frailness of the woman. She walks with a stick and looks about fit to fall over at the slightest breeze. I would say she is not long for this world either.”

  “How sad,” Clara said, genuinely feeling sorry for the woman’s situation. “And yet she has such a strong motive! Betrayal is a bitter crime, and it has clearly festered inside her all these years.”

  “Motive, yes. But Clara, this woman could not lift a chamber pot and throw it, she barely lifts her glass of water to her lips without seeming ready to crumple up by the effort. I can’t see how she could hold a struggling woman under water either.”

  “No,” Clara had to agree that both acts would require if not precisely strength, certainly a good sense of balance and a steady hand. “Then we are no further forward. But that is not to worry. I have an idea that it is time we discovered something more about Mrs Hunt’s life in Brighton and that might provide the clue. I shall make a phone call in the morning to Inspector Park-Coombs.”

  “And in the meantime?” Annie asked.

  Clara glanced at her cup of cocoa.

  “In the meantime I suggest we make ourselves comfortable and await Tommy. Let us hope he is as stealthy as he claims to be.”

  Annie pulled another face.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tommy pondered how ironic it was that here he stood about to use his newfound ability to walk to commit an act of theft. He wondered what his doctor would say? Probably he would argue it was not what he meant when he extolled Tommy to use every opportunity he could find to exercise his legs. It had not been a lie when Tommy had declared he knew how to be stealthy, all those years on the western front had not been just about going over the top and trying to avoid Trench Foot. He had been on his fair share of reconnaissance missions, scoping out the enemy line, while knowing that the enemy was doing precisely the same. On occasion two scouting parties from the opposing sides would bump into each other. Usually this resulted in a little confusion, a few very gentlemanly excuses for happening to be wandering in No Man’s Land and then a pretence that nothing had actually happened. On the odd occasion, when an over-enthusiastic officer happened to be in the party, there might be a shoot-out, which never ended well for either side. Yes, four years of muddy, bitter warfare had taught Tommy how to tread lightly and avoid being spotted. That was one reason (the other being luck) that he had survived.

  Of course, when he had been confined to his wheelchair, such secret expeditions as he was about to perform would have been impossible. Probably that was why he was relishing this opportunity. There is nothing quite like knowing you have the legs and the wherewithal to get into mischief, to cheer a man’s soul.

  Tommy slipped quietly through the door marked ‘employees only’ that he had spotted at the end of a long corridor. There was no one about on the other side, though the light in the hallway was on. He checked his watch. It was close to midnight, with any luck only a skeleton team of staff would remain on duty. Tommy traipsed down the hall, trying to keep his steps soft on the wooden floor, which was not so easy. He came upon a line of multi-paned windows that looked out over an internal courtyard. It was too dark to see anything through them.

  Tommy had no real idea where he was going, though he assumed the master keys would be kept somewhere obvious for the maids, possibly in a cupboard near the laundry where they collected fresh sheets to change the beds. He had toyed with the idea of getting an impression of Blake’s room key from those hanging behind the reception desk, but this idea had two problems; first the desk was manned all day and night, so that there might be someone on call for any guest emergencies; second, because it seemed the police had been dastardly enough to remove the key themselves. Rumour had it they were testing the key for fingerprints, to convince themselves that no one else had somehow miraculously used it to lock Blake’s room from the inside after hanging him. Tommy supposed that two related suicides by guests from the same hotel was a little much even for them to overlook. Good luck to them, he didn’t think it likely they would get anything more than smudges off the key.

  He followed the corridor until it came to a junction. There were no signs to guide him, so he opted to go right, assuming this would take him deeper into the warren of rooms belonging to the staff of the hotel. Everything was painted very white – the walls, the doorframes, the skirting boards. It was rather like wandering through a hospital. He came to another junction and made the perfunctory decision to turn left. He could be at this all night.

  Abruptly he turned a corner and nearly bumped into a maid carrying a stack of towels.

  “Ooh, sorry!” the maid spluttered, almost dropping her load.

  Tommy steadied her and gave her his most winning smile.

  “Old girl, I am dreadfully lost. Seems I went wrong somewhere back there. I came after some fresh bed sheets, fool that I was I spilled a cup of tea over mine as I was heading for bed.”

  The maid, who was probably little more than seventeen, looked up at Tommy. She was small and mouse-like, he was tall and strikingly handsome. Tommy had always been the looker in the family, with his well-proportioned face, hazel eyes and dark hair carefully slicked back. And he had a charm about him that had always made him popular with women.

  “You should have asked at reception, and someone would have brought them up,” the maid said, a tad flustered. She rearranged her load of towels so she could get a better look at the handsome stranger before her.

  “I didn’t like to bother you all over such silliness,” Tommy grinned at her. “Four years at the front at least taught me how to change my own bed linen.”

  “Ooh, you was in the war?”

  “I was. I made captain.”

  The little maid’s eyes widened a fraction, she was clearly envisaging Tommy in a uniform with medals on his chest. Tommy imagined she was one of those girls who read magazines full of romantic stories about dashing men in uniform. He had seen the sought of thing they contained when he had come across a pile in Annie’s kitchen. She had denied all knowledge of them, which had made him laugh. He endeavoured to look as dashing as a character from one of those stories.

  “If you could just show me where the laundry is, I’ll get out of your hair, you are clearly busy.”

  “These are some of the clean towels for putting fresh in the rooms tomorrow. We have a hundred and one rooms here, and each has three towels. That’s three hundred and three towels to wash each night ready to change with the ones that are being used in the rooms. All I seem to do is wash towels,” the maid juggled the towels in her arms again.

  “Then I shall not disturb you further, just point me in the right direction.”

  “Ooh, I better take you. This place is a right jumble of rooms. You’ll get lost again all alone.”

  Tommy didn’t argue, just followed the maid as she bustled along one corridor after another until she stopped outside a door. She motioned for Tommy to pause, almost dropping her load, and then opened the door and peered inside.

  “No one about, you can get your sheets,” she moved back. “I’ll wait for you and show you the way out.”

  That was the last thing Tommy wanted.

  “No need,” he smiled. “You are far too busy to worry about me. I insist you carry on with what you were doing, I have already wasted your time long enough. I have the feel of the place now. I can find my way out.”

  The maid looked dishe
artened, but she was used to being told what to do and didn’t argue. She would get into trouble if the towels were not all clean, dried, pressed and folded on time. She reluctantly departed.

  Tommy went into the laundry, being struck by a strong smell of washing soap. He glanced about, but his assumption that a cupboard full of keys may be here was in error. There were no keys to be seen. Not to be defeated, Tommy exited the room and headed further down the corridor, there must be an office or something where they were kept. He noticed that in this part of the service area the doors were labelled with their respective functions. He came upon a cupboard full of cleaning materials, and a boot room where guests’ shoes were polished ready to be left at their doors in the morning, but there were no keys.

  He had come to another junction and was about to cut straight across and hope to find what he was looking for, when he heard voices to his right. He slipped back down the corridor he had come from and hid in the boot room, keeping the door open a fraction so he could see where the people behind the voices went.

  “It’s a queer business. I don’t like it. Can’t be working in a place where people keep killing themselves,” a woman said. She sounded older than most of the maids, so possibly was some sort of housekeeper.

  “Get some sleep in you and it will seem better in the morning,” a male voice responded.

  The two people came into view at the junction of the corridors, where they both paused. One was indeed an older woman, dressed smartly. She caught Tommy’s attention because she had a large ring of keys in her hand. The man was dressed in a suit and seemed to be some sort of under manager.

  “Try not to think on it, Mrs Mackin,” he said to the woman. “These things happen. He was plainly a very disturbed young man.”

  “No call to go hanging yourself off light fittings,” Mrs Mackin muttered. “Scared that maid half to death. People have no thought for others.”

  “Quite Mrs Mackin, but really it is very late…”

  “Yes, yes, Mr Lake, I know you are fit for your bed.”

  The pair said their respective goodnights and Mr Lake turned down the corridor one way, while Mrs Mackin carried on straight. Tommy gave it a moment, then slipped from the boot room and hurried to the end of his corridor. He peeped around the corner and saw Mrs Mackin entering a room. She was only inside it a few moments, before she exited, now minus her bunch of keys, and walked further along the corridor to another room. She went inside and Tommy waited impatiently to see if she reappeared. She did not.

  Tommy glanced around. All was silent. He crept quietly to the door she had first entered. It bore a sign that read ‘Mrs Mackin’s office’. Tommy tried the door handle and found that the room was unlocked. He entered and shut the door behind him. The room was unlit and in complete darkness. There was no window as it was an internal room, and an electric light was required at all times to enable anyone to work here. Tommy didn’t like to switch on the main light in case it drew attention to him, so he fumbled in his pocket for some matches. Lighting one he glanced around in its dim glow and saw that there was a desk straight ahead. The match burned down to his fingers and he hastily blew it out, returning to the pitch black.

  Tommy edged his way forward, trying to feel for the desk before he bumped into it. He failed and his knee caught the corner with a thud. A sudden tremor went through his leg and it gave way beneath him. He fell to the floor on one knee. Tommy had to still a sense of panic that suddenly raged within him. For one awful moment he thought the knock had instantly removed the ability to walk he had just regained. He had to forcefully calm himself. As the panic subsided, he realised he could feel the throb in his knee, not the frightening numbness that had once overcome him. Gingerly he used his hands on the edge of the desk to lever himself upright, then he was standing and he took his hands off the desk. His leg did not give way under him.

  Tommy sighed in relief. He lit another match and was relieved to see there was a desk lamp. He flicked on its switch and it cast enough light for him to look around the room without the aid of matches.

  The keys were hanging on the wall in several big bunches on rings. They were mounted on small hooks on a board, with labels above that indicated which floor they were for or if they were keys for use below stairs. Tommy stood before the board and picked off the bunch for Captain Blake’s floor. Each key had the room number it referred to embossed on its end. Tommy flicked through the bunch until he reached the correct one.

  From his pocket he produced a large bar of soft soap provided by Annie. It had become warm in his pocket and he hoped this would aid it to take a good impression. He rested the bar on the desk and pressed the key end into it, first one side, and then the other. He checked the impressions. They seemed satisfactory. Making sure there was no soap left on the key, he replaced it in the correct place and restored the soap to his pocket. He turned off the desk lamp and carefully opened the door to Mrs Mackin’s office. There appeared to be no one around.

  Tommy slipped out and headed back the way he had come, passing by the boot room and the cupboard of cleaning materials. He was just passing the laundry when he heard footsteps approaching and he darted into the room to avoid being seen. He had only a moment to enjoy his relief, before he realised the footsteps were coming directly to the door and suddenly it was swung back. He was ready with an excuse, anything he could think of, when he realised the new arrival was the little maid with the towels.

  “Are you still here?” she declared, looking surprised.

  “I… ah… exactly which sheets are bed sheets?” Tommy put on his best impression of being a helpless male.

  The maid gave a giggle.

  “See, you should have let me help.”

  “I should have, yes,” Tommy looked duly abashed.

  The maid went to a shelf and picked off a pile of linen.

  “Come on, I’ll show you out. Else you’ll be lost down here all night.”

  Tommy was not resistant to her help now his mission was concluded. He followed her out of the labyrinth and had some trouble persuading her not to come with him to his room to change the bed herself. He eventually was rid of her and went to seek out Clara, pleased with his success. There was only one issue as far as he could see – what was he going to do with the extra set of bed linen he had just acquired?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Clara declined to go on the excursion the next day with the rest of the party, she had things to attend to. In truth, many of the holiday makers were rather depressed about the whole affair – two deaths among their company had somewhat diminished their spirits – and it seemed quite a sombre procession that left the hotel that morning. The driver and his conductor mirrored their passengers’ grim demeanours and it seemed no one was much up for sightseeing, but it was better than staying indoors.

  The fine weather that had so far graced their adventure had also chosen to depart. A particularly unpleasant drizzle was lacing down outside as the charabanc rattled its engine into life and left the hotel behind. Clara watched the departure from the hotel foyer and then went to the hotel’s double front doors and stared out into the rain. She intended to go into town that morning and that would mean walking out into this weather. Resigned to her fate, Clara borrowed a hotel umbrella from a stand of them near the door and set forth.

  There were, fortunately, not too many turnings along the road that led into town, so she did not go astray as she left the confines of the hotel grounds and dodged puddles. The town nearest the hotel was rather quaint. The houses consisted of grey stone cottages, many of them looking fairly ancient, though newer builds in a modern style were springing up around the perimeter. Clara walked past the town’s common, where one or two determined dog walkers were bracing themselves against the weather. Otherwise people were opting to remain indoors, unless they had to go outside.

  Clara found her way to the locksmith’s shop. He had a splendid array of shiny brass padlocks in his narrow window and a few shop models of locks that he
might install on doors. A large poster stuck to one of the windowpanes declared that he cut keys and would come out day or night (even on Sundays) to deal with a troublesome lock. Clara wandered in and found she had to ring a bell on a counter to attract the proprietor of the premises.

  The locksmith was a robust young man who looked like he spent a good deal of time sitting around and eating. In fact, he appeared on his shop floor with an apple in his hand, which he was munching away on. When he observed that it was a young woman who had entered his shop – and not a bad looking one at that – he hastily put the apple to one side and wiped his fingers on his shop apron.

  “How can I help?” he enquired, putting on a breezy smile.

  “I am having a problem with a key,” Clara informed him. “It is such a nuisance and I thought you might be able to help.”

  The young locksmith beamed at her. He liked being helpful to pretty young women, especially as his usual customers tended to either be farmers after new padlocks for their barns or old women who had lost their house key while out shopping.

  “Tell me the problem and I shall see if I can fix it,” he said.

  Clara produced the lump of soap Tommy had taken the key impression with. She had wrapped it in a handkerchief and now laid it on the shop counter and carefully unfolded the hanky. The locksmith initially thought she had a large padlock in the parcel, but as the soap bar emerged he looked perplexed.