The Widows Club

by Dorothy Cannell

  “I do understand completely,” I said.

  “What I don’t understand is how I could have been so simple as to believe that he and Mrs. Jarrod were… you know.”

  “You mean because she was taller than he?”

  “That, and Eli doesn’t like pickled herring.”

  “What is this?” sneered the Raincoat Man. “Schoolgirl confessions?”

  We ignored him. Magdalene sighed. “Just to make sure I wasn’t going peculiar in my old age, I wrote to Paris and asked him to tell me, was I right-was I wrong? I got a letter back saying that Eli had decided to face up to the inevitable. Sometime this idiot was bound to get up his courage and kidnap me. So, best to get it all over and done with. Eli would pay the ransom, get me back, and then go to the police. They couldn’t talk about idle threats then, could they?”

  “Yeah! Well, the brain here outthought your old man.”

  I took another curve. The letter that, according to Roxie, had come for Magdalene from abroad must have been the one from Paris. Ben started to snore, which comforted me; the sound was noisily healthy. The same could not be said of Heinz’s emanations.

  Reggie’s hateful currant eyes turned toward me. His dirty fingernails grabbed at my sleeve. “Why are you slowing down?”

  “I have the thing floored,” I pacified. The purr was still nice and even, but sleepy. We were coming to an elbow of land directly in line with the lighthouse. The Heinz slid a few more yards, then stopped. I gripped the steering wheel. “Sorry, Reggie, this is as far as we go. Something must have died.”

  “Something is going to die, sister, if you don’t think again.” His voice came silky quiet as his fingers closed around my knot of hair.

  “You wouldn’t kill us. You’d lose your bargaining edge.”

  “I could kill one of you.”

  “And then the arcade boys might decide not to do business with you.” A gull winged it overhead. The scent of hawthorn on the grassy incline to our left and the distant swish of the waves made the place cruelly peaceful.

  “Giselle, far be it from me to interfere,” came Magdalene’s plaintive voice, “but I think, for the sake of my son, you might start the car.”

  “Spoken like a first-rate mum.” Reggie licked his scaly lips. “Benny boy mightn’t love his wifey anymore if her nose came out the back of her head.”

  I explained and continued to explain until the message sank in that the car, not I, was the one playing games. Reggie sat picking his teeth and thinking, something clearly at which he wasn’t too handy. At last he snarled, “You two out. Benny stays where he is.”

  To be preyed upon by wild dogs and the elements? Now I had to stall. “What are we supposed to do-thumb a lift?” The last words came out in jerks. I was half out of the car. Reggie and Magdalene were already in the road and I was hearing the loveliest sound on God’s earth. And, what was more, a sound that was endearingly familiar. Creeping toward us was the hearse. I recognized Butler, who was driving, but the other two occupants were strangers. Both wore leather riding helmets and goggles, but then I saw a flutter of lavender shawl and a beaded carpet bag being flagged out the window. Spitting fury, Reggie waved the hearse on. Perhaps he had forgotten the gun in his hand.

  The hearse stopped. Nipping out of the vehicle, Butler glided around to open the other door, but Primrose was already trotting toward us, the ends of her shawl blowing in the breeze. “Ellie, my dear! Hyacinth and I are out on a scenic drive. How very pleasant encountering you! Surely this must be your mother-in-law, of whom we have heard so much. Have you also stopped to admire the view?” Primrose peered into the Heinz. “Why, poor Mr. Haskell! Carsick I see.” Deliberately, she looked at Reggie and the gun. “Young man, were you never told it is rude to point?”

  Snickering, Reggie chucked Primrose playfully under the chin with the gun. “Hey, old girl, was you born when brains was rationed?” He sucked in a fetid breath. “You got a choice. Get back in the death wagon with the other ugly sister, or come for a little walk and spend a naughty weekend with me. Only it won’t be just the two of us, sweetheart, I’ll have me other prisoners along.”

  Butler amazed me. He stood immobile in front of the hearse, his eyes fixed on the puffy little clouds, his expression one of mild amusement. It was Hyacinth in a Sherlock Holmes cape who now whapped past Magdalene, me, and Ben, still mercifully prone and oblivious in the back seat.

  “How dare you!” She swept her sister aside and fixed her goggles on Reggie. “How dare you address my sister as sweetheart! I demand satisfaction, sir! And choice of weapons.”

  Her arm swung out in an arc, her hand cracked Reggie on the chops, her elbow caught the gun, sending it spinning over the cliff edge. It was probably imagination overload, but I swore I heard a small gulp from the sea.

  From the Files of

  The Widows Club

  Saturday, 16th May

  The Whist and Crocheting Groups both cancelled meetings on the evening of the above date, on account of several members not feeling up to light-hearted socialising as a result of the immensely disappointing cookery demonstration in the church hall. When it next meets, the Board will consider whether to withdraw our annual contribution to the Policeman’s Benevolent Fund. It will also discuss whether the club feels it would be immoral to serve the recipe provided by Mr. Bentley Haskell at the Midsummer Potluck.

  Also to be discussed at the next Board Meeting-1st June-is the matter of membership badges lost or misplaced by owners. Suggestions for penalties for this infraction will be voiced. In the past, offenders have been banned from participating in trips for a three-month period, but with the rising cost of badges, it is felt that this censure is insufficient.

  23

  “I always hoped I would get to meet the Raincoat Man.” Primrose pushed her goggles up on her forehead as, with cowardice aforethought, Reggie decided against taking on four women bare-handed. Away he went, slithering over brambles and boulders to the flat land above the road, hurling down stones and threats.

  “I ain’t done for! I’ll be back!”

  “I shall pray for you,” Magdalene called after him triumphantly. I would have cheered for her if my throat hadn’t squeezed shut.

  Butler coughed deferentially. “A very small world this is, madams. That cove… person is none other than Reggie Patterson; he and I were partners once upon a time in a pickpocketing h’enterprise.”

  “Really, Butler, you should be ashamed,” reproved Hyacinth.

  “Agreed, madam. I should have known better than to work with someone so incompetent.” Butler flexed his fingers. “I’ll see to your car, Mrs. Haskell. There’s nothing I can’t start, not h’even if the motor’s missing.”

  “Where the hell am I?” came a drowsy growl from the back seat. It began to rain, a few drops at first, then a gauzy blur, like curtains blowing at the window. The Tramwells were talking to Magdalene, their exclamations of concern laced with professional excitement. Finally, the full horror of the afternoon’s events clobbered me. I took Ben’s hand, glad he couldn’t see my face clearly. “We’re on our way home, darling. There was a little accident with the pressure cooker.”

  Strangely, he looked more pleased than not. “Really! Well, you know what I think of those things. I’ve been having the most awful dreams, fraught with menace. I dreamed I was dying.”

  “You’ll live,” I promised fervently.

  I was alone in the drawing room. Magdalene had led the Tramwells to the bathroom so they could freshen up. Butler was in the kitchen. And Poppa was with his son. Ben had insisted he was fine. His face and hands were only slightly reddened and sore from the steam, and his headache was negligible. Poppa had gone the colour of putty when he learned about the pressure cooker, and although he quickly rallied, saying that a mishap of that nature was preferable to rotten eggs being thrown by the audience, it wasn’t hard to persuade him to take a little rest himself and keep his son company.

  The women were back.

  �
�Yes, Giselle does have everything nice and clean; my son won’t have it any other way.” As I got up from the sofa, Magdalene paused behind me and whispered, “These are your friends and this is your house, but you won’t encourage them to stay long, will you?”

  Both sisters heard, but gave no sign of taking offence. As we settled ourselves, Butler entered with a loaded tea tray.

  “I can highly recommend the cherry cake,” he informed the Tramwells. “Should anything further be required, kindly knock on the wall with the poker-this h’establishment lacks a bell.”

  As he padded from the room, Hyacinth adjusted her chair and drew out the familiar green notebook. “Where”-she flexed an orange-lipped smile-“do we begin?”

  I handed out cups of tea. “Magdalene, the Misses Tramwell are private detectives. I want you to tell them about the Pattersons, after which they will have something to tell you.”

  Abigail watched from her portrait.

  “My dear Ellie.” Primrose clinked her teaspoon into her saucer. “Naturally, Flowers Detection will be delighted to do everything possible to assist Mrs. Elijah Haskell against the forces of evil; indeed, we regret that more pressing matters placed the Raincoat Man low on Butler’s job list. As for…” she floundered, “I am not sure it is wise to discuss a certain organisation…”

  “It isn’t only wise, it’s morally right,” I said firmly. “Ben is Magdalene’s only child and she nearly died three times having him. Besides which, I think she may unknowingly have the answers to some questions of mine.”

  “I don’t know about that.” On the edge of the seat, her feet tight together, Magdalene tugged at her cardigan. “And before I say anything about the Pattersons’ persecution of Eli and me”-her eyes nipped from one sister to the other-“I do need to know if you charge by the hour. Otherwise I won’t know whether to talk at a run or a walk.”

  Butler replenished the teapot twice during Magdalene’s story. The Tramwells commented and exclaimed. They expressed sympathy and a willingness to assist, but I knew that their curiosity having been appeased, they were anxious to discuss Ben’s close call.

  “Magdalene,” I said, moving to the edge of my seat so I could catch her if she swayed, “you face a very difficult problem. In fact, you face two. What happened to Ben at the church hall was no accident. It was a vicious attempt on his life.”

  Her screech brought an I-told-you-so look to Primrose’s face. Out came the smelling salt bottle and at the close of the next minute Magdalene had a lavendar shawl around her shoulders, properly set for her hour of suffering. Throughout the horrible disclosures which followed, she resorted to the smelling salt frequently and was so silent I was afraid shock might have affected her vocal cords.

  I took over the story from the Tramwells at the point where they entered Delacorte’s to find me crouched over Ann’s body.

  “When I retrieved that note to Felicity Friend from Ann’s bag and consumed it, I foolishly believed my involvement had ended. Admittedly, I felt a momentary alarm when I read a confidential in her column to Heartbroken, but I was confident it was a coincidence.”

  Magdalene’s eyes closed. Was she praying for strength to forgive me?

  “Completely understandable, my dear.” Primrose’s small papery hand closed over mine. “Your mind rebelled at the possibility of the unbearable. But it is apparent that the late Mrs. Delacorte had discussed with The Founder your avowed interest in joining the widows. What amazes me,” she said with a tiny sigh, “is that anyone whom Mrs. Delacorte put up for membership should be accepted as a viable candidate. One must assume that your being known to The Founder stood you in good stead.”

  Hyacinth took up from Primrose. “We were duplicitous in saying that we were out on a scenic drive this afternoon. The confidential you mentioned, Ellie, did not escape our notice.” Her voice was grave. “We, too, hoped it was a coincidence, but Flowers Detection leaves nothing to chance. Perceiving the grim possibilities of the cookery demonstration, we parked at the side of the hall in readiness for a quick getaway and, when everyone had gone inside, moved to stand outside the main entrance, where we could hear what was going on without our presence disturbing you, Ellie. I had brought along my grandfather’s duelling pistol”-she patted the carpetbag-“and when the commotion commenced, we were about to charge to the rescue when the Raincoat Man burst around from the other side of the hall, barged against us without so much as an apology and went inside.”

  “An unsettling moment.” Primrose crumbled her cake. “But after overhearing what he had to say, we thought it best to protect our cover and let him make the rescue. One does, at times, have to practise a professional detachment.” Her face puckered. “I do hope you understand, Ellie?”

  I took a slice-two slices, actually-of cake. “What I understand is that someone unknown fiddled with the pressure cooker valve and from behind the screen of steam a chloroforming hand was pressed against poor Ben’s face.” I stopped. Magdalene was crumpling. However, before I could touch her, she straightened, lips so compressed they disappeared. I continued, keeping a watchful eye on her. “And then came that awful Dr. Bordeaux. What sort of accident, I wonder, would have befallen Ben at The Peerless?”

  “One can only surmise, of course, but one suspects he would have been sent spiralling down the stairs onto the marble floor or got tossed out of a window.”

  I reached out and took Magdalene’s cold hand.

  “Oh dear, yes.” Primrose brushed cake crumbs from her fingers. “There would have been a distraught nurse sobbing into her starched handkerchief at the inquest, saying she had only left the patient for a moment, and when she got back, he was gone. He must have become disoriented waking up in a strange place and… thank you, Butler, I will have a ginger biscuit… I doubt she would have been sufficiently composed to go on.”

  “But why? Why did it happen? Why did Ben get put on the widows’ hit list? Ann said there were four stages to the application process. First, the heartbreak letter to Dear Felicity Friend; second, a telephone contact asking if you want your husband murdered”-Magdalene was going over the side of her chair again. Butler realigned her and I rushed on-“third, the confidential item in Dear Felicity’s column delivering the message, your application is approved. Fourth, the initiation fee. But I was never contacted by phone, meaning Ben should have been safe.”

  The Tramwells weren’t looking at me. They were staring at Magdalene, who sat there like a broken-winged sparrow. Somewhere in the house Sweetie howled.

  “The voice didn’t say ‘Do you want your husband murdered?’ ” The movement of her lips made the rest of Magdalene seem abnormally still. “It said, ‘Do you ever dream of having your husband murdered?’ I thought it was Reggie trying to lure me out of the house in the middle of the night. I was told to bring money or jewelry and a signed note saying it was blood money and hide them in a statue in the churchyard.”

  “The dues.” Hyacinth’s earrings bobbed as she wrote.

  Magdalene kept staring straight ahead. “I didn’t know what to do. If I notified the police, they might capture Reggie in the churchyard, but what if he started shooting? How could I guess the voice was talking about murdering my son? Giselle hadn’t thought to confide in me. His own mother the last to know! I still can’t believe it. When I picked up the phone, the voice asked for Mrs. Eli Haskell…” Her voice wound down, and she stared at me. “Oh, I think I see… Mrs. Ellie…”

  It was exactly the sort of bungle I might have made. Butler pressed a glass of brandy into Magdalene’s limp hand. “I must be going senile,” she sighed. “First the wrong convent and now this. I… I signed that note Mrs. E. Haskell.” She reached into her cardigan pocket for a handkerchief.

  “Nonsense.” Hyacinth eyed her imperiously. “You-a woman stalked by an unscrupulous villain-pick up the phone to hear the word murder. What could you be expected to think? And to all proper-thinking people, Mrs. Ellie Haskell is an error of address, but”-a mild shudder-”these people don
’t think like us.”

  Magdalene held her nose and downed her brandy. “I have to blame myself. Perhaps if I hadn’t come here, been such a burden, none of this would have happened.” She set down her glass and squared her shoulders. “I have something to confess to you, Giselle, and, later, to Father Padinsky. I don’t have any jewelry other than my wedding ring, so I took… stole your engagement ring. Naturally, I don’t expect you ever to understand…”

  I stood and glared down at her. “Will you stop with this nonsense! That was a ring well spent if it saved Poppa’s life, or if you thought it would. Now, can we stop talking about trivia, please, and decide how we are going to keep Ben from being murdered!”

  Her eyes spun. When she revived, they gleamed with determination. Primrose signalled for Butler to fetch more brandy.

  “My dear Magdalene, if I may so presume to address you, I do hope you do not think Flowers Detection is minimizing your personal plight, but kidnapping, whilst most annoying, is scarcely as onerous as murder.”

  “It would take a very selfish mother to put her own safety ahead of that of her son, and I am sure Giselle would not intentionally have given you such a view of me.” Magdalene, hair wisping around her set face, was back in form. Primrose and Hyacinth made admiring noises.

  Despair had me by the fetlock again. I stood up, drew the curtains against the gathering of evening, and spied a protrusion of tail over the edge of the bookcase. Reaching for Tobias, I buried my hands in his fur. Eyes on Abigail’s portrait, I said, “It is clear to me what must be done to unmask The Founder and I am entirely prepared to face the risks involved. But in the meantime, how do we keep Ben safe? The widows won’t fold up their weapons and go away. Remember Vernon Daffy? They tried and tried again until the third time was the charm.”